#he’s just so fucking aggravating he gets on my nerves so bad

[mooseonahunt]

As a kid, I used to be terrified that I’d be the reason my parents got divorced. As an adult, I’m kinda tempted to be the reason by whispering to my mom “you should leave him” any chance I get

[thatztyv]

Still Yours

Description:

- Just a baby daddy and his baby mother

Word Count:

- 1.7k

Rɪʟᴇʏ Jᴏɴᴇs

(rie-lee joe-ons)

"Daddy", Tiana squealed as she ran to Oakley and jumped on him.

"Hey princess", he chuckled. "Where's mommy?"

"Over there", she said and pointed at me as he set her down.

He walked over to me and flashed a smile.

"Hey Riley."

"Oakley", I said as I placed some party bags on the table.

"Now why you acting like that?"

"You want me to jump up and down and act excited?", I said raising a brow at him.

"Preferably", he said making me laugh.

"Nigga you wish."

My mom walked over to us and greeted Oakley.

"Hey Oakley it's good to see you again", she said as she gave him a quick hug.

"Hey Mrs.Jones it's been a while."

"Every time I turn around he somewhere far off", I said and rolled my eyes. "I'm surprised he made it."

"Well I couldn't miss our daughters sixth birthday. That's unforgivable", he said and playfully poked out his bottom lip.

"How long you here for?", my mom asked.

"Rest of the month."

"Well make sure you come by my house before you leave this time", she said and patted his back.

"Yes ma'am."

Her phone started ringing.

"It's your dad, I'll be back", she said.

"Ok", I hummed.

"So how you been baby?", Oakley asked once she walked away.

"Baby is crazy", I chuckled as I walked over to the sweets table on the other side of the room. Oakley following behind me like a lost puppy.

"You want me to call you love, babe, or if you're feeling spicy señorita."

"Riley is just fine Oakley", I hummed as I fixed the cupcake tray.

"Stop calling me Oakley. It's too formal."

"Well what else do you want me to call you?", I sighed as I looked at him.

"Cench, Cee, baby", he said and wiggled his eyebrows.

"I didn't even call you Cench when we was together and I'm definitely not starting now. And the other two... uhnt uh. Imma stick with Oakley."

"You ain't have a problem calling me Cee and baby a few weeks ago", he said and pressed up against my back side.

"That was a spur of the moment thing", I said pushing him off me.

"I bet it was", he chuckled.

.✿.

"I saw y'all two over there", Lana said as I came and sat with them. "Y'all back together."

"No and we never will be", I said as I watched Tiana play with her friends.

"Mmhm, not with the way he was all up on you", Remi chuckled.

"Chile please, I can't stand Oakley", I said making them look at me.

"Now you know", Remi started.

"Both of y'all still want each other but y'all tryna deny the fact", Lana said.

"Like everyone around y'all can see it. Flirting and going on", Remi said. "I know y'all still be kissing and shit when nobody around."

"We kissed twice since we broke up."

"How many times y'all fucked though?", Lana asked making me playfully roll my eyes.

"That ain't y'all business", I chuckled making them laugh.

"That's what I thought. Y'all minus well stop acting delirious and get back together."

"Oh no ma'am. He aggravates my soul", I said and shook my head.

"Obviously he must not be that aggravating if y'all still fucking", Remi chuckled.

"He's aggravating to an extent."

"So he's aggravating when y'all just being causal and co-parenting. But he not aggravating when he's fucking you?"

"Exactly", I said making them laugh.

"You is a mess", Remi chuckled.

.✿.

"Can I go to daddy's house tonight?", Tiana asked running up to me.

"If daddy says yes then you can go baby", I said pushing some of her hair out her face.

"Daddy can I stay with you tonight?", she said turning to him standing beside me.

"Of course you can baby", Oakley said with a smile.

Tiana smiled before running back over to her friends.

"Mommy are you going to stay the night too?", Oakley asked getting behind me and wrapping his arms around me.

"Hell nah", I said and pried his arms off me.

"Why not?", he chuckled.

"Cause if I come over there imma hurt you cause you get on my nerves."

He laughed.

"Am I that bad?"

"The worst", I huffed sarcastically.

.✿.

I felt my phone vibrating beside me, making me groan.

I picked it up and saw it was Oakley. I rolled my eyes and declined it.

'If there's a problem he'll call my momma and she'll call me. I'm sleeping', I mumbled, getting comfortable again.

After a few minutes it rung again.

I sighed and just answered.

"You up?", Oakley asked after it connected.

I could see he had his side lamp on and could hear something playing in the background.

"There is literally no reason for you to be FaceTiming me right now", I groaned. "Where my daughter at? She ok?"

"Tiana's our daughter and she's asleep, she's good. So calm down sweetheart", he chuckled.

"Oakley it's four in the morning, the hell is you calling me for if Tiana not in need of something."

"I just wanted to talk to you Riley", he said making me roll my eyes.

"What you want?", I sighed.

"Come over", he said innocently.

I looked at him like he was crazy. Cause he is crazy.

"Oakley if you don't get off my phone playing."

"I miss you baby", he chuckled. "Come home."

"Take your horny ass to bed Oakley."

He scoffed playfully.

"I gotta be horny to call you and tell you I miss you? I just wanna talk."

"I know you ain't just tryna talk. You wanting some pussy and you ain't getting it. Good night Cee!", I said and blew him a kiss before hanging up.

Baby Daddy 🤸🏾‍♀️

You called me Cee, you do miss me 🥹

Riley 🫀 laughed at a message

Riley 🫀

Go to sleep

Baby Daddy 🤸🏾‍♀️

Please come over🥺

Riley 🫀

Night night, Love you Oakley 😚

Baby Daddy 🤸🏾‍♀️

Awwww

I knew you still loved me😏

Love you too Riley 🤭

Riley 🫀

You're delusional 😐

Blocking you for the rest of the night

.✿.

I knocked on Oakleys front door and looked around.

After a few minutes the door opened, revealing a shirtless Oakley.

I looked over his chest as I had a flashback from the last time I was here.

Oakley decreased the speed of his strokes and repositioned himself to thrust deeper inside me.

Each thrust caused a loud gasp to escape my throat.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling his body closer to mine.

I gripped at his shirt, nearly ripping it, as he gave me slow deep strokes.

"Cee.. baby to- too deep", I cried out.

He rolled his hips smoothly as I continued to call out his name.

'Oh my god', I sighed to myself as I regained my composure.

"Where's Tiana?", I asked making eye contact with him.

"You're mom came and got her earlier to go shopping. They'll be back later", he said with a smirk.

"So you had me drive all the way out here to get her and she not even here", I said and he just stood there with that smirk on his face. "Ooh you make me sick."

"Since you're here", he started with a chuckle. "You wanna come in and wait?"

"No, I'll wait in my car", I said flashing him a feeble smile before turning around.

"Nonsense", he said grabbing my arm and pulling me inside.

He closed the door behind me and pushed me up against it.

"Stop acting like you don't want me", he mumbled as he pressed hisself against me.

"I'm not acting", I said and bit my lip. I looked over his face and down his chest before looking him in his eyes.

He put his head in the crook of my neck, gently kissing my sweet spot. I moaned quietly as I felt myself melting from his touch.

"Cee...fuck", I mumbled when he bit my neck softly.

He was making me wet and as I much as I want to hate it, I can't.

"I thought you didn't want to call me Cee", he said with a smirk after he pulled back.

"Shut up", I said before pulling him in for a rough kiss.

.✿.

"Just be my girlfriend again", he groaned as I traced over his tattoos.

"Oakley", I sighed.

"Riley we should stop playing games and be for real with ourselves."

I sighed as I laid my head on his chest and looked out the window.

I felt Oakley's fingertips lightly trace over the tattoo on my back, a faint smile spreading on my lips.

I can't lie. I missed moments like this.

He moved my hair out the way as he leaned down to place a kiss on the base of my neck.

"Please Riley?" He hummed and pressed another kiss into the crook of my neck. He stayed there as his thumb rubbed circles on my waist.

I pulled myself up and hummed as I shifted my body so I straddled his waist, "One more time."

Oakley looked at me with a small smile and an admiring look, caressing my waist, hips, and thighs, making me bite my lip.

I cupped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. He groaned as I slipped my tongue into his mouth.

Both his hands move down to my butt grabbing my cheeks gently. I moaned softly into his mouth.

He pulled back, grinning as he spread his fingers over the backs of my thighs.

.✿.

"Mommy", Tiana said running up to me.

"Hi baby. Did you have fun with grandma?", I said picking her up.

"Yes she got my nails painted", she said and showed me her nails.

"They're so cute baby", I cooed making her smile.

"Thank you mommy."

"You're welcome", I said before kissing her forehead.

"Hi princess", Oakley said as he tickled her chin.

"Hi daddy", she said between laughs.

"You wanna show mommy what I got for you're birthday?"

"Yes", she said smiling.

"Go get it."

"Ok."

I let her down and she ran off to her room.

"So what's this?", my mom asked turning to me and Oakley.

"What's what?", I asked raising a brow.

"I know y'all wasn't in here talking."

Oakley let out a hysterical laugh.

"I just got here", I lied.

"Sure", she chuckled. "We'll see if you just got here in a few months."

"What you mean by that?", I asked crossing my arms.

"Just know I love my granddaughter", she chuckled.

"Momma", I scolded playfully as I realized what she meant. "I am not having no more kids."

"We'll see about that", Oakley mumbled making me elbow him.

My mom just laughed.

[sapphicmsmarvel]

feysand: disability comfort

note: i have sciatica nerve pain and will for the rest of my life and i had a bad flare up recently (im at the lower end of that flare up as i write this)  so this is a super duper self indulgent fic. These are my specific symptoms and experiences, pls seek a medical professional’s opinion if you find yourself feeling the same things. 

Self diagnosing is dangerous ! 

We love doctors ! 

When you woke up, you knew it was going to be a bad day and that a potential flare up was on its way to you. 

You had shifted your leg ever so slightly, and felt it. 

The twang. 

And you sighed. The twang of the muscle was a sign that you were in for it for the rest of the day and possibly the next few days. It didn’t necessarily hurt. The twang was a minor discomfort. 

It was the most comfortable part of a flare up. 

So you got out of bed ever so carefully to not aggravate it further. You knew you’d be able to go to work and complete your tasks for the night court today, but the next few days? Might as well bring work home with you so you can do it from a bed. You were the last of the family to leave for the day, Feyre was at the studio, Rhys was running a city and Nyx was away with Auntie Nesta, Uncle Cassian and Uncle Azriel. 

When you went to grab your jacket, a note fell out of the coat pocket. 

Have a good day my love. MWAH Feyre didn’t need to sign it, her kiss mark with her pink lipstick was her trademark. 

When you went to grab your lunch, you saw Rhysand wrote you a note.

This is almost as delicious as me and Fey! See you soon, angel! 

Ps don’t forget about us while you're off running an entire newspaper! 

You couldn’t help but snort, he seems to forget he’s the main breadwinner. 

You were a journalist for Velaris. Extremely well known across the entirety of Prythian. You were the reason most of your staff were able to stay calm because you kept things in order. 

You didn’t start limping until you had gotten to your office, your secretary asked why you were limping and you lied that you twisted your ankle.

If anyone else had told you they were also disabled, you would offer them whatever they needed, and tell them how it wasn’t embarrassing and there were zero things to feel bad about.

But since it was you, you were quite hard on yourself. 

After putting out a small metaphorical fire, you were able to hide a bit in your office where you can limp and cry in peace. It was getting worse, the pain was more intense, it was white-hot pain at this point all across your lower back and butt. You had managed to not cry yet, teared up yes, but you were able to swallow them down. 

You had gotten to lunch, and that’s when you couldn’t stand up straight. 

Fuck. 

Feyre and Rhysand were absolutely on their way to the cafe you three had agreed to meet at today. But there was no way you would make it to that restaurant, back and then the walk home. 

You opened up the bond to say, I won’t be able to make it to lunch. Things are crazy over here, I will see you both at home. Love you!

Feyre’s worried voice came through. Is everything okay? 

Just a gossip column issue with the Spring Court branch! I’ll see you both at home. 

It was a small lie, technically there was an issue with the gossip column for the Spring Court branch. You just took care of that that morning, not the afternoon. 

Rhysand didn’t respond but you chose not to worry. 

You closed the bond and resumed your work, you were agonizing over some final edits when there was a knock at the door. You looked at the clock, you knew you had zero meetings for once today. 

“Come in.” You said. 

Then the door opened to your lovely spouses with food. 

“What the hell?” You asked. 

“We wanted to make sure you ate. But your secretary said that everything was calm.” Feyre tilted her head, those grey eyes narrowing and are somehow able to detect your lies. 

You stood up, “baby-” then your back just twinged and it caused you to gasp and nearly fall over. Your hands slapped against the oak of your desk, causing your pencil cup to rattle. 

“Y/N!” Rhysand was fast as light as he came to stabilize you. Feyre was right there at your front, the look of irritation quickly replaced by concern. 

You were trying to breathe deeply and Rhys’ hands were on your hips. 

“Sciatica pain?” Feyre’s brows furrowed as she asked. 

“Yeah.” You breathed out, Rhys’ large hands massaging your hips gently but not putting so much pressure on the area where it’s really throbbing because pressure doesn’t help all the time. 

“C’mon, sit.” Rhysand guided you down to your chair, and you let out a breath of relief at the loss of tension when you sat. However, there was still an echo of pain. 

“When did this start.” Rhys didn’t ask the question. He demanded it. 

“This morning.” “And you didn’t tell us because…?” 

You sighed, “I just. I hate this part of me. I didn’t want to bring attention to it.” 

“My love, it's a part of you, whether you like it or not.” Feyre said the harsh truth. 

You snorted. “Thanks.”

“Shut up.” She said and nudged your knee with her own paint splattered shoes. “It’s a part of you, and we love all parts of you. Granted, we don’t want to see you in pain, but if you are, we want to help you. We aren’t burdened by this.” 

Rhysand began scratching the top of your head lightly, but it was soothing. “So tell us the truth, Angel.” 

You sighed, and looked back and forth between them. “I hurt. A lot.” 

“You wanna go home?” Feyre asked. 

“More than anything. Am I allowed to do work? Or is that a no go?” You looked at them, “May I have my nurse's opinion?” 

Feyre smiled, “work stays here.” 

You looked at Rhys, who smiled and kissed your forehead, “work stays here.” He agreed. 

You sighed, as they began getting your stuff around to take home. You let Rhys winnow you home while Feyre ordered people around the office to not bother you. Your staff adored her and you, so it was an easy ask. She told them to just leave things on your desk and again, the world will not end if the paper is slightly delayed. But the way you ran the office, you were always a week ahead, with editing boxes available for actual timely events. 

So nothing was too crazy. 

By the time Feyre got home, you were in the bath. And Rhys was making your favorite foods. He already had your painkillers set out on a tray on the made bed. 

He’s such a housewife. 

You hated how much you had to depend on them for the next few days. You could barely move. It hurt to lay, it hurt to sit, to stand, anything. Even using the toilet, it took you a while to just get the momentum to stand up. (Rhys had bars installed to help you up because he knew you wouldn’t ask them).

Sometimes your leg would go completely numb or tingly. So they’d work with you to ‘wake’ your leg up. You knew they were scared when they saw you like that. You’d be scared if you saw them like that. 

When you went stir crazy from being in the house for a few days, they would bring you random drawers to organize. Or untangling Feyre’s jewelry from each other, organizing Rhys’s photo boxes. 

You and Feyre did stretches together as well, Rhys would press a hot cloth to your back and switch with a cold cloth when you requested. 

And when you’d cry from the pain, they would brush your hair back, they’d rub your sore spots if you wanted. They’d bring you water or snacks. 

They would comfort you through anything, and you couldn’t be happier. 

(Even though you felt completely miserable at the moment).

[sixhours]

One Day at a Time - Chapter 6 - Transition

Author's note: Good news! The rest of this will probably be posted today, with the exception of an epilogue I haven't had the guts to write. When I do, it will be posted as a separate work, and it's not necessary to wrap up this story. Thank you for reading! Your comments and reblogs are feeding me. <3

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

After weeks of sleeping on the narrow, lumpy mattress in Ellie’s old room, his back finally gives out.

He’s reaching for the coffee pot and something about how he moves his shoulder causes a domino effect of rippling pain that starts at the nape of his neck and ends by setting his sciatic nerve on fire, every muscle along his spine locking up tighter than a fist.

He barely makes it to the couch, easing himself down to a prone position with a groan that he hopes Charlie can’t hear from the bedroom.

Her footsteps echo on the stairs.

No such luck.

“Did someone just die down here?”

“M’fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Just my back.”

“What happened?“

Ellie chooses that moment to come through the front door. “Joel? I need a–”

“He’s on the couch. Think his back gave out,” Charlie says, now standing over him, looking concerned.

Ellie’s face pokes over the back of the couch. “Again, old man?”

“M’fine,” he repeats, trying to roll to his side to try to stand, but that only aggravates the nerve and sends a ripple of spasms up his traitorous spine. “Fuck!”

“Should I go find Maria?” Ellie asks. “Those pills she had worked last time–”

“No, I just…need to rest for a minute,” he grumbles, knowing full well he’s out of commission until someone finds him a muscle relaxant.

“Is he always like this?” Charlie asks.

“Pretty much,” Ellie says, too quickly for Joel’s liking.

“I’ll go find Maria,” Charlie says, surprising them both when she takes Joel’s hand and gives it a tender squeeze. Ellie’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself again. I’ll be back,” she addresses Ellie before heading out the door.

When Charlie is gone, Ellie plops into the armchair and leans forward, an almost predatory smirk on her face.

“So…is she your girlfriend yet?”

“S’not like–”

“If you say ‘it’s not like that’ one more time, I’ll take the damn pills myself,” she says.

Joel groans. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Got ya right where I want ya,” she says. “Spill it, dude.”

“No, we’re not…I don’t…I dunno,” he grumbles.

“You ‘don’t know?’”

“S’what I said,” he grits his teeth against another wave of pain, forcing himself to lie absolutely still. “It’s complicated.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “That’s just what grown-ups say when they don’t want to tell you the truth.”

He winces. “Yeah. Well, the truth is…it’s complicated.”

She sighs. “Are you sleeping together?”

“That’s none of your–”

“Just saying, if you’re fucking her, she’s probably your girlfriend. So it’s not that complicated.”

“Ellie, I’m not havin’ this conversation,” he growls, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Well, you should probably figure it out before the baby gets here.”

He can’t argue with that, so he doesn’t.

“It’s gonna be weird…having a baby around,” she says thoughtfully. “Remember how bad Tommy was after Izzy was born? When he kept putting Maria’s breastmilk in his coffee by accident?”

Joel snorts. “Yeah. I remember.”

“You’re gonna be busy,” she says. “Babies are a lot of work.”

Even in his pain, he picks up on the unspoken question in her voice. He softens. He wants to sit up so he can look at her, but his back protests. Instead, he reaches blindly for her hand.

“C’mere.”

There’s a reluctant pause, and then she’s standing beside him, slipping her fingers into his.

“I know I haven’t been, uh…great…lately. M’sorry.”

She shrugs, biting at her lower lip.

“Truth is…I was just gettin’ used to the idea of bein’ your dad, and now with the baby…”

He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“It’s a lot. An’ I know it’s prob’ly a lot for you, too.”

Her voice is too light, like she’s trying to cover something up. “You’ll have a real kid soon.”

He frowns and gives her an experimental pinch between her thumb and index finger. “Dunno. You feel pretty real to me.”

“You know what I mean,” she says softly, and he feels it in his heart, a twinge more powerful than any back spasm. He grips her fingers tighter.

“It’ll be different for a while…and yeah, I’m not gonna get much sleep. Prob’ly be…distracted. But it’s still you and me, kid,” he says. “An’ I’m always gonna be here.”

His back takes that moment to seize up again and he hisses. “Shit, sorry.”

She sighs, but there’s a smile in it. “At this rate, you’re always gonna be here on the couch .”

“What’d you need, anyway?” he groans, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, a hammer.”

“What for?”

“Cat found me this new poster, was gonna hang it in my room.”

“There’s one in my toolbox; s’by the door,” he says. “Just put it back when you’re done.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re not gonna hurt yourself again, are you? Your girlfriend’ll have my ass.”

His answering glare has no effect and she leaves him, laughing.

Charlie returns with the pills a few minutes later, and he swallows two of them eagerly before she can fetch a glass of water. Then he hears her rummaging around up in the bedroom. She comes back with a heating pad.

“Found it at the post,” she explains. “Your kid is killing my hips. Lift up.”

Your kid.

He frowns. “I don’t need—“

“Spare me,” she sighs. “Lift up.”

So he does, still grumbling, and she slides the pad under his lower back and plugs the cord into the wall. It’s instantly warm, oozing heat up his spine, and the muscles slowly start to unwind. He can’t hold back a groan of relief.

“It’s the bed, isn’t it?” she sighs, easing herself into the armchair.

“No,” he says too quickly. “Strained it at work. Tommy’s got us workin’ doubles to get the new barns up.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe you should consider moving back into your room.”

“Not kickin’ you out,” he scoffs.

“I’d stay there, too.”

He side-eyes her. “No playin’ house, remember?”

“I think we might have crossed that line already,” she murmurs, quirking her lips.

Then she’s up and doing something in the kitchen, and Joel tries to focus on letting the heat work its magic. He knows the muscle relaxant has kicked in when he can roll over slightly and it doesn’t make his back seize. He tries to sit up, but Charlie is instantly at his side, holding him down by the shoulders.

“Gotta work,” he mutters weakly.

“Nuh-uh. I already told Tommy you’re out of commission,” she says.

“The hell’d you do–”

“You’re not good at letting people take care of you, are you?”

He grunts. “Says you .”

“Yeah, we have that in common. Not so much fun on the other side, huh?” she murmurs.

She plunks down a mug of coffee, a glass of juice, and a plate of eggs and toast on the table next to him, then puts a DVD in the player and hands him the remote.

“Stay,” she commands. “I’m at the post all day, but I’ll bring you lunch on my break. You’d better be horizontal when I get back.”

He wants to complain, but the pills have made him slow, and she’s out the door before he can think of a response.

The coffee is black and strong, just the way he likes it. The juice is awful–it’s green, some combination of things from the garden–but he chokes it down anyway, thinking of Sarah and her vitamins.

And then he passes out because he forgot that taking muscle relaxants on an empty stomach will do that. He wakes a few hours later, mouth dry and tasting of that awful juice, to find a paper bag and a note from Charlie have replaced the food and drinks on the table.

It’s a sandwich. Take another dose if you need it. I’ll be home by 6.

He’s pleasantly surprised to find he can sit up. Sure, the noise he makes in the process is unflattering, and he’s not going to be doing cartwheels anytime soon, but it’s an improvement.

This time, he eats the sandwich before he takes the second dose and manages to stay awake until Charlie gets home, but his head swims and he barely makes it halfway through their nightly movie. He wakes to her tugging gently on his hand.

“Come to bed.”

He’s too tired to protest. He lets her lead him to his bedroom, lets her pull back the covers and tuck him into bed, lets her wrap her body around his.

“You just wanna take advantage of me,” he slurs lightly into her hair.

She snorts a laugh. “Yes, Joel. This was my grand plan. For you to knock me up and throw your back out so I could keep you as my sex slave.”

“Mmmff. Knew it.”

“Go to sleep, old man,” she murmurs, nuzzling into his chest until he can feel her smile against his skin.

Sometimes Charlie is so distant, it’s like she isn’t there at all. She stares into space and he has to say her name four or five times before she hears him. Sometimes he has to physically touch her to bring her back, and then she looks at him as though he’s a stranger.

After the second or third time, he recognizes it as the disassociation of grief. He lost days of his life after Sarah was taken from him, days where he existed in body only, when Tess or Tommy would have to pull him back from the edge of a deep, dark pit. He’d wake up unable to remember how he’d gotten to bed or find himself in the middle of a fight with no idea how he’d gotten there. It might have scared him if he thought he had something to lose.

Those are the nights she needs him.

He knows he should turn her away. He knows he’s using her as much as she’s using him. But she comes alive when they’re together, and he tells himself it helps, and maybe it does.

He takes half as many showers.

Tonight, she arches back into him as he thrusts into her on her side from behind, curled around her body, heady with the feeling of being surrounded by her, all soft skin and warmth. She’s murmuring into his palm, slicking her tongue around his fingers, sucking them into her wet mouth and humming. His other hand rubs flutter-like circles against her clit the way he knows she likes.

She’s three orgasms deep and still hungry, panting and pleading, more, there, so close, please .

And then she comes hard, clenching around him and wrenching a hoarse name from her throat.

Not his name.

It barely registers until she’s scrambling away to sit at the edge of the bed, still trembling from the aftershocks, pulling the sheet across her naked chest.

“Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” she gasps.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, reaching out to pull her back against him, but she jerks away from his touch.

“Fuck,” she grits out, followed by a low, keening sob. “Shit. Fuck.”

Some part of him has always known; the way her eyes clamp shut at the critical moment, the way she positions him and guides him and takes and takes and takes, the way she asks to forget, to pretend. Joel knows it’s foolish to think she needed him and not just the idea of him: a warm body, a working cock and fingers and tongue.

“Charlie, it’s–”

Her muffled sob cracks something in his heart. Then she’s locking herself in the bathroom before he can find his feet.

Shit.

He gets out of bed and pulls on his boxers, goes to the closed door. “Charlie?”

“Go away.”

He rolls his eyes. “Dammit, I’m not…mad.”

Silence.

“I don’t care if you…if you need…if you…fuck,” he hisses. “Just talk t’me.”

Her voice is so faint it barely registers. “I can’t.”

“Okay, you don’t have to, but…can you at least open the door?”

“No.”

He makes a fist against the wall, gritting his teeth. Without a better idea, he turns and slides down the wall, pressing his back to the door.

I’m here , he thinks helplessly. Just tell me what to do.

Silence. And then…rustling, a soft grunt, until they’re back-to-back with the door between them. He hears the hitch of another muffled sob.

“I always…thought it would be him,” she whispers finally, voice thick. “That we’d do this together.”

He feels a familiar shameful flush. What can he say?

I’m sorry it happened the wrong way, at the wrong time, with the wrong person.

I’m sorry I’m not him.

But he’s not sorry at all. He’s a selfish asshole, so he doesn’t say anything.

“We wanted this so much. And sometimes it feels like a…a betrayal. Like I’m moving on…forgetting him.”

He swallows hard, thinking of Sarah, wondering if he might hold this child in his arms and feel that same gnawing guilt, like he doesn’t deserve to be whole again.

“I think he’d want you to be happy,” Joel says softly.

“I tell myself that, I do…but I don’t think I believe it. I don’t–”

More silence. He shifts his weight. The floor is cold and hard, digging into his ass. It can’t be good for her back.

“When we…started…you said…you needed to pretend,” he tries, tipping his head back against the door and closing his eyes. “I knew that goin’ into this. Knew I wasn’t, uh…I’m not–”

“I thought…I wanted…I don’t know,” she hiccups. “I don’t know anymore.”

“We…you don’t need to—”

“It hurts,” she grates out. “It h-hurts and I miss him and it’s not f-f-fucking fair.”

It’s not fucking fair .

What else is there to say?

“I know,” he whispers roughly. “I know.”

They sit like that until his ass is numb and her silence is too unnerving to bear.

“Come back to bed,” he says, defeated and not expecting her to answer. “Please.”

There’s a watery sigh on the other side of the door. Then he hears her moving, the slightest groan as she gets to her feet, and he eases himself off the floor. The door opens. She’s wrapped in a robe, one hand cradling her belly under the terrycloth, the bedsheet pooled at her feet.

Her eyes meet his, red-rimmed and hollow. He cups the back of her neck and pulls her into an embrace.

“S’alright,” he whispers when her tears wet his chest and she shudders against him. He sways like he used to when Sarah was little, rocking her back and forth until she quiets.

“Oh!”

She jumps suddenly, startling in his arms, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Swiping at her eyes, she grabs his hand, guiding it down her body until it’s resting just below her belly button. Her skin is warm and taut and smooth.

“What—“

Then he feels it, the tapping against his fingers, some tiny arm or elbow or foot poking at him from under her skin. She laughs through tears as the insistent little being seems to dance under their hands.

“Never been this strong before,” she whispers thickly.

Joel doesn’t trust himself to speak, pride warring with sadness in his chest. They stay like that for a long time, his hand on her stomach, new life roiling beneath his palm.

The baby should be able to hear them now, so at night, he reads out loud from a tattered copy of The Fellowship of the Ring , sitting up in their shared bed with a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. The reading was his idea, the choice of material was hers.

One hand holds the book, the other rests on Charlie’s stomach. She says she likes the sound of his voice, but most of the time, she’s asleep before he gets to the third page. At this rate, the kid will be twenty before they finish the first book in the trilogy.

Tonight, the baby–Coconut, he thinks–is particularly active, rolling and kicking against his hand. A particularly hard jab causes Charlie to jump, hissing a soft ouch under her breath, and he puts the book aside.

“Hey, kid, settle down,” he says, rubbing at the squirming lump. “Let your mama sleep.”

This earns him another pointed jab; the kid is all attitude.

“Mmm,” Charlie mutters. “I know what’d help me sleep.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm,” she stretches, arching her back, and he can see the outline of one dark nipple through her bra.

“Again?” he murmurs, sliding a hand up to cup her breast and rolling it gently through the fabric. “Already?”

She sighs at the contact. “Mmm. Please?”

He tosses his glasses on the nightstand, more than happy to abandon the book, and curls around her, nuzzling her neck. “‘Fraid I’m not going to be much help with, uh…y’know.”

Not for the first time, he wishes he was about fifteen years younger. Even then, he’s not sure he could keep up with her. He wonders if she was always like this, or if it’s the pregnancy. He wonders if he’ll get to find out.

They don’t talk about this, or what will happen after the baby comes. They go to her midwife appointments together and Joel grinds his teeth through every second, but he stays by her side. Sometimes she holds his hand, and when she kisses him, she does so with the full force of her being. But just like the baby, their relationship doesn’t have a name.

She guides his hand between her legs, under her panties, finding her slick and swollen. She gives a contented little hum of pleasure when his finger traces her seam. “I’m sure you can figure something out.”

He huffs a breath into her nape, kisses the spot where the soft, downy hairs tickle against his nose, and strokes her the way she likes, circling and tapping until she’s arching against him. She comes almost immediately, fluttering and pulsing against his fingertips. A little one.

“More?” he murmurs, gentling his touch as her breathing calms.

“Mmhm, please.”

Her clit is a hard, slick little pebble under his fingers. He draws her orgasm from her more slowly this time, teasing, building her up until her climax is a growl sprung from the depths of her throat and her thighs clench his hand in a vise. He cups her sex gently and trails kisses along her neck, her throat, her shoulder as she rides it out, whispers into the shell of her ear, “More?”

Charlie reaches back and threads her fingers into his hair in answer, pulling him tighter against her, and he breathes her in, sweat and soap and something uniquely her. It drives him crazy, makes him feel feral and protective and alive. She turns her head, seeking his mouth, and he obliges, tongue parting her lips and tasting her as she hums and shivers and writhes against his hand, don’t stop please don’t please don’t stop . 

“I got you,” he murmurs against her lips in between kisses, fingers circling and circling until his wrist aches. He can feel the baby roll and kick under his forearm, feels her fingers gripping him there. He loves watching her like this, loves the way her back arches and jaw goes slack with pleasure, the sounds she makes when she comes.

And then she does, coming undone in his arms with a throaty moan, shuddering and keening in a way that makes his cock twitch.

“Better?” he murmurs, finally pulling his hand away and groping for the blanket they’d tossed aside.

“Much,” she sighs, relinquishing herself to his warmth. “You sure you don’t want me to…”

“M’fine,” he says, wrapping an arm around her belly, which has gone mostly still. “Kid calmed down.”

“Yeah. S’the hormones,” she murmurs drowsily. “Oxytocin.”

“They can feel that, huh?”

“Mmhm,” she says. “They can feel everything.”

“...everything?”

“Don’t make it weird,” she murmurs, and he can feel her smirking against his arm. “Read to us?”

Us . They’re slowly bending all the rules, he thinks.

He groans. “Thought you were goin’ to sleep.”

“I am, but I like your voice.”

“Uh huh. Damnit, lost my place,” he grumbles, grabbing for the hefty paperback. “Never find it again, damn book is six-thousand pages long. Thought this’d have dragons, so far they’re just describing’ stuff and yackin’.”

“It’s Tolkien,” she yawns. “It’s a classic.”

“Buncha elves and gnomes and shit,” he mutters. “This Dildo Baggins character sounds like a porn star.”

“They’re hobbits,” Charlie laughs and pokes him in the thigh. “And it’s ‘Bilbo’, you grouch.”

He squints. “Right, need my glasses. Tiny print.”

Charlie snickers, something about old eyes , and burrows deeper into the covers as he finally finds his reading glasses and his place.

He doesn’t make it two pages before he hears her snore.

They’ve kept up the movie night routine even though there’s no good reason for Charlie to stay off her feet. They’ve rented the last of the action flicks from the library, so now they’re working through television shows and sitcoms. Some unlucky soul from the time before left behind a sizeable collection of M*A*S*H episodes on tape, so Charlie often falls asleep to the sounds of Hawkeye’s sarcastic drawl.

They’re on the couch in their usual spots, her with a bowl of homemade strawberry ice cream perched on her belly, him with a beer. The ice cream is the only thing she craves–strawberry preserves mixed with cream and sugar, then frozen and scooped into a bowl. Joel makes a new batch every other night before they go to bed. They’re going through Maria’s summer preserves like crazy, and he’ll be doing work on the community greenhouses for the rest of his fucking life at this rate.

But it’s worth it, he thinks, as she takes another bite of the rich, creamy concoction, licking the spoon clean with her strawberry-pink tongue. She’s a fucking distraction. The laugh track is going off in the background, but with every bite, her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter, and he wants to take that spoon out of her mouth and–

He adjusts himself, forces his eyes back to the screen, takes another sip of his beer. Jesus .

A few minutes later the bowl is licked clean, and a well-placed kick from the baby sends it rocking, tumbling into her lap.

“Apparently we demand more,” Charlie laughs.

“Kid’s gonna come out lookin’ like a strawberry,” Joel mutters.

She smiles. “Baby wants what it wants.”

The phrase triggers a memory, and he chuckles. “With Sarah, it was mangoes.”

Sarah’s mom, sitting at the kitchen table in their tiny one-bedroom, devouring the fruit straight from the rind, sticky juice coating her fingers, running down her chin.

Baby wants what it wants , she’d said, and then he’d kissed her, lips syrupy sweet.

He doesn’t remember if he loved her–there was no room for love to grow, really. Not enough time, not enough money, not enough maturity between the two of them. But they’d made Sarah, and he’d loved his baby girl enough to make up for the rest.

“Who’s Sarah?”

Charlie snaps him out of his reverie. She’s looking at him curiously.

Oh.

He reaches for the remote, pausing the show, and the silence around them has weight, he can feel it pressing against his chest. He coughs, clears his throat, tries to figure out how to start.

“She was, uh…my daughter. Before.”

She blinks at him, wide-eyed, her question a small, breathless whisper. “You had a daughter?”

He ducks his head. “Yeah. She, uh…was killed on Outbreak Day. She’d be about your age now. Little younger, I guess.”

Her eyes are so bright, they almost glow.

“Her mom…my ex…liked mangoes,” he explains. “When she was pregnant. Couldn’t keep enough of ‘em in the house.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Didn’t know you liked mangoes,” he says weakly, trying for a joke. She doesn’t smile.

He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to hide it. It never felt like a good time, and it’s…I didn’t want you to feel like I was…replacin’ something.”

She looks around then as if seeking some kind of clue, something obvious she might have missed. There are no photos of Sarah on the mantle, no drawings or keepsakes to indicate he’d been a father before Ellie–only the broken watch on his wrist. He holds it out to her, the shattered glass face shimmering in the light of the TV screen.

“She gave me this for my birthday,” he says, and the words stick in his throat. “It’s…all I have.”

“And her name was Sarah?” she says in a small, tight voice.

His smile is sad. “Go figure, huh?”

Her lip quivers. “Joel…”

She sets the bowl aside and starts to get up, the bulk of her belly and gravity working against her.

“Don’t–” he starts, but she makes it to her feet before he can protest.

Then she’s standing between his knees and cradling his face in her hands. There are tears in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She cries at everything now, but that doesn’t explain why he wants to cry, too.

He wants to say something reassuring, to set her at ease, but his tongue is thick in his mouth and it hurts like it does sometimes, like the wound is fresh and raw and new all over again.

“I can’t,” he says thickly, pleading. “Not…right now. Not yet.”

She nods slowly, kisses his forehead with something like love, and cradles him against her. Her warm, full belly presses against his chest, against his heart, and he hates that it soothes the ache. It’s too much like forgetting.

Her whisper at his temple is a balm.

“One day at a time.”

[lasciviouspoison]

i’ve been reading lolita for the past two days (sigh) and this scenario popped into my head after i read a part that made me wanna tear the book apart with my teeth….. so ofc i had to write it down. although it’s just a blurb, tw: contains mentions of the book Lolita (which is graphic in itself), written for a female reader (no pronouns are used so pls feel free to read even if u do not identify as a girl!). not a tw, but i write for black women so ofc y/n is black coded!! even if u think she isn’t <3

eren would love his little nerd gf.

the way you’re curled up into the corner of your shared cream colored couch. the tan blanket that you recently purchased flung over your legs, illuminated by the dull lamp that sits beside you. the off white hoodie that you stole, as eren likes to say, from his closet swallowing you whole. the sleeves constantly sliding too far off your wrists once you lift your arms too high.

your eyes flashing across the book you recently bought. he can see them through the reflection of your cute little glasses, the ones that he wishes you would wear more.

even though he’s supposed to be working on finishing his work proposal, he can’t help but stare. from the dining room table, his designated working area, he stares at his little girl friend who dances circles around his intelligence. who corrects him when he’s wrong and who will make every necessary edit on his proposal once he’s finished. “i just have to look over it, i can’t help it”, a statement you’ve made one too many times.

he loves you. it’s why everytime he sees you his brain flashes to the little red box that’s hidden in a compartment within his bedside table. he’s been itching to propose for 2 weeks now….

his train of thought is errupted when you huff at your book and borderline throw it down.

“this is disgusting. i don’t wanna keep reading, but i have to”. you say while shifting slightly to drink a bit of your matcha.

“what’s this one about baby?” please don’t tell me to keep working, is what he thinks after his inquiry. his english major lover refuses to let up on him when he’s tasked with a project.

you turn over to him, shaking your head ever so slightly, “it’s fucking Lolita… this deranged ass book. i hate it so much.”

“i’m assuming it’s the writing that makes it awful?”

“no! and that’s the problem!” you say while getting up, he knows your coming over to sit on the table next to his laptop. “it’s the content! this old mother fucker is lusting after a 12, eren, a 12 year old girl! and you know what he does eren…? he jokes about it! oh my god this is rancid! it was written as a cautionary tale so i get why it’s supposed to make me uncomfortable but jesus… and the worst part is people have the nerve to call it a love story. we’re a love story, not this pedophilic bullshit.”

eren puts his head onto his fist and cracks a small smile, “you think we’re a love story?”

you narrow your eyes and lean down to his face, “is that all you got from my rant just now?”

he laughs and bit and leans back into his chair, “of course not. the book sounds like actual nightmare fuel for parents. but, that doesn’t mean i can’t find you calling us a love story endearing.”

you sigh and hop off of the table. you’re making your way to the kitchen so you can grab some of the holiday cookies eren bought you because they were quote ‘snowman shaped’. “one of these days, you’re going to aggravate me so bad that i wax off one of your fucking eyebrows,” you say with a mouth full of cookie.

he walks over and grabs one out of the box as well, “i can’t wait y/n”.

you shake your head and push at his chest a bit, “i’ve been talking to you for too long. go and finish your proposal so i can edit it. god knows you can’t write a paper to save your life.”

he feigns hurt while you begin to walk back towards the couch, paying him absolutely no mind. “that last part wasn’t needed.”

you crack a smile and put your glasses back on, trying to wiggle back under the blanket and into the corner, “yes it was, it’s literally the reason why you’re paying for my education.”

“no, i’m doing that because i love you and want to see you succeed.”

“of course you are, but also to help you with writing”.

he sits back down and moves his mouse, causing the laptop to illuminate his face, “i’m not going to admit nor deny my poor writing skills. so hush and finish your rancid book Mrs. yeager.” proposal is so deeply ingrained in his mind that it’s making him feral.

you giggle, “mhm, i bet you won’t, Mr. yeager”.

[i-hate-people-1]

This is the final part of my Warren Rojas fic I know it’s been a while but I wanted to do this series justice hopefully y’all enjoy it! thank you so much for reading you have no idea how much it means to me!

It's a little under 3.k words and it's a little spicy towards the end but there’s nothing explicit

Warren Rojas x reader

Masterlist

Not my gif

Warren                                                                  

"Look, I know what you’re thinking, but I had to come up with a way to tell her that I really did love her, and it wasn't just drunken rambling.”

“I think you should just tell her how you feel.” Karen sighed.

“He can't do that,” Eddie laughed.

“Why not girls like that? Besides, you know that she feels the same way,” Karen said, looking at the boy, exasperated.

“I know, but she said, I think what if now she thinks that she hates me?” Warren told them, falling dramatically onto the couch face first as Karen and Eddie laughed at him.

It's been two weeks. TWO WEEKS! Since Warren said he loved you, he still hasn't said anything. absolutely nothing.

You've still been hanging out every day. He’s just done nothing, and it’s killing you!

Every time he opens his mouth, you pray it’s those three words you oh so want to hear, but nothing!

Your strategy has been waiting things out, but enough is enough. Whoever said a girl can’t make the first move?

And you were so sure it was going to happen right up until you knocked on the door because you swear every bit of courage that’s ever been in your body just took a vacation. With no notice, your palms started sweating, and there was this quiet, incessant ringing in your ears as your brain came up with every possible way this could go wrong and then some.

But just as you were deciding between running back home and never talking to any of them again or making up a reason you were here and playing it off, a man you didn’t recognize opened the door. He had longer, unkempt curly hair, sad green eyes, and an unpleasant frown on his face as he noticed you standing on the other side of the door.

As you were opening your mouth to ask who the hell he was, he held his hand up, making you shut it. “We don’t want whatever you’re selling." He told you, slamming the door in your face.

You stood there for a while before snapping out of your shocked state. I mean, what the actual hell who does that? It’s so rude!?! You have half a mind to stomp in there and tell him to learn some manners. I mean, the nerve of that guy. You banged on the door more aggressively, ready to give this guy a piece of your mind. Unfortunately for your anger, but maybe good for your sanity, it was Camilla who opened it this time.

"Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you okay?" she asked, seeing your upset state.

“No, who the fuck was that guy?” You asked, trying not to scream, but with your aggravation, it was proving to be difficult. “I mean, he didn’t even let me talk; he just held up that condescending hand and slammed the door in my face. Ugh, what an asshole," you complained as you walked in the house, not letting Cammy get a word in edgewise.

“That asshole is the owner of this house,” the guy snapped from the kitchen doorway. “Who the fuck are you?” he bit back, his glare intensifying as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Instead of letting the man get to you, you turn to Camilla, choosing to talk to her instead of him. "Seriously, Cami, who is this dude?"

"Y/N, this is Billy Dunne, my husband,” she sighed.

Suddenly it all made sense. This was the Billy Dunne two-timing asshole dream-crushing dick and every other bad name. In the book extraordinaire, I mean, you’ve heard story after story, and so far, they’re looking to be true. This guy sucks.

"Oh,” was all you said. I mean, how are you supposed to respond? You were at a loss for words; all you could think was just poor Cami, unfortunately for you, though Billy took your silence as a win.

"Oh, that’s all you got. I should think you’d at least offer me an apology,” he said, smugly smirking at you, which pulled you right out of your speechless state.

“Excuse me,” you said, getting upset. “I owe you an apology. You're the one who slammed the door in my face, but no, your right. I owe you an apology. I’m sorry." You paused with a serious tone, waiting just long enough to make him cocky before finishing “that you’re such an asshole,” and the smirk was immediately gone as Cami hid her laughter behind her hand.

Billy went to reply before you stuck your hand in his face to shut him up as he did to you earlier. "Ah, ah, the adults are talking,” you said, motioning between you and Camilla. "Now, Cam, I love you and I respect your life choices, but this guy is a dick." Billy’s jaw clenched, his fist balling at your words.

Luckily, before your mouth could get you in too much trouble, the front door opened again, revealing Karen, Graham, Eddie, and Warren. They looked at you all, surveying the situation with confused looks. Billy looked pissed while you seemed perfectly fine, and Camilla was trying not to fall on the floor in fits of laughter.

They had caught Mount Billy just as he was erupting, and unfortunately,them being there wasn’t enough to stop it. “Who the fuck are you?!" Billy yelled at you. Billy yelled at you, and Warren snapped, punching Billy straight in the nose and jumping on his friend, who had fallen to the ground, laying on punch after punch.

Warren

"Man, I don’t know what happened, dude. It was just like my body went into autopilot. I don’t even remember jumping him until Eddie pulled me off.”

“Don’t you fucking yell at her, you asshole, I’ll kill you. I swear, Billy Dunne, I’ll fucking kill you!.” Warren continued to scream at him as Eddie pulled him out of the kitchen. Warren struggled against him the whole time.

You all stood in shock at the events that just unfolded. Warren was normally so calm that you had no idea he was even capable of something like that. You came too as Camilla passed you to check on Billy.

He was fine, a little bruised, nothing he didn’t deserve, but he’d be fine. His eye, lips, and cheek were starting to swell already as Camilla and Graham helped him up to his and Cam's room to clean him up.

“He's calming down in the bathroom,” Eddie said as he walked back into the kitchen. “I think you should check on him,” he told you, putting a hand on your shoulder squeezing it gently.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding. You tried to shake the nerves out as you walked towards the bathroom.

"Warren,” you knocked on the door softly after a quiet come-in. You interred Warren was sitting on the counter, staring at the wall in a kind of dazed-out state. You knew he was just as confused at what just happened as all of you, so you chose not to ask any question right now that could wait till later.

You walked to the cabinet below the sink. You took out the small first aid kit you knew they kept under there, grabbing the boy's bloody hand and gently cleaning it, trying not to focus on how close you were to him.

“This is going to sting a little,” you whispered, putting on the antiseptic. He winced softly but didn’t pull away.

You finished wrapping his hand and setting it back in his lap before stepping in front of him to get a better look. His eyes widened when they met yours before falling to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Your heart hurt at the boy’s dejected tone.

"Hey,” you tried to get his attention, but his gaze stayed glued to the floor. Putting your hand under his chin, you lifted his face, moving it to look at you. "Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for. You lost your temper. It’s okay. It’s not like it happens a lot. I’m sure Billy will forgive you."

“No Y/N That’s not why I’m sorry. I don’t regret doing it. I’m just sorry you had to see that side of me." Warren told you, and you nodded, unable to keep the oh expression off your face as you listened to him. “Billy deserves it and more. I mean, I love the guy, but he’s such an ass and so arrogant. I can’t believe he yelled at you like that, I swear.” You could tell he was getting angry again by the way his fist clenched and his eyes filled with rage, so you stopped his words by bringing a finger to his lips. Those gorgeous, perfectly plumb, oh, so kissable lips. Wow, you were whipped, you thought, catching his puzzled expression, pulling your hand away, clearing your throat, realizing you probably made him uncomfortable.

As you moved to take a step back, Warren's hands found your arms, keeping you in place as you met his gaze again.

You stayed there a while in comfortable silence, staring at one another. With Warren's hands still on you, yours had moved to rest on his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful." Warren whispered breaking the silence you blushed profusely at his words moving to cover your face and brush the comment off but Warrens hands kept you from hiding “I’m serious,” he told you noticing your disbelief “That first day we met me and the guys spent thirty minutes just staring at you from our house before Karen said we should offer to help you I almost said no too” he paused chucking as he recalled that day as you were practically hanging onto ever word he said “ I was so scared because I swear the moment I saw you out that window my heart stopped and going over to talk to you that was even scarier I mean I was just a guy in a dying rock band and you well I didn’t even know you but you were everything even if I didn’t know it yet”

"Warren,” you whispered to caution him because if this wasn’t what you thought it was, you’d be crushed and you couldn’t live with that, so maybe just maybe if you stopped it now, you could still be best friends. You could just pretend none of this ever happened. It was a terrible existence, but one where you kept him was better than one where you lost him.

"Wait, please, just let me finish. I need to say this." Warren understood your whisper to be one of rejection, but he needed to get this off of his chest; it was eating him alive. Your gentle nod told him to continue. He took a deep breath, hoping it would calm his nerves before he spoke again. “You were even prettier up close, and you were so humble trying to refuse our help. I figured you’d never want to talk to us again, but when you did, I was ecstatic. I couldn’t believe that such a pretty girl was even giving me the time of day, but I thought you just saw me as a friend, and I settled for that because as long as you were in my life, it wasn’t really settling." He paused again, unable to muster the courage to finish his confession, before looking into your eyes. Those beautiful Y/C eyes that took his breath away in most other circumstances just gave him courage this time.

“But I can’t do that anymore; it’s killing me, and I know you don’t feel the same anymore, so everything will go back to the way it was right after I get this out, I swear, but I love you so much, I just had to tell you just once,” he finished, tears falling down his cheeks as he did, looking at your shocked face as emotions washed over him. He couldn’t quite place it; it wasn’t regret; he definitely didn’t regret it, perhaps sadness for the friendship he felt he’d ruined maybe even defeat from his pending rejection.

As Warren was stewing in his emotions, you were trying to come up with a way to tell him you loved him to prove to him that you did just as much, but he had just poured his heart out to you. How are you going to follow that? So you stood there in shock, racking your brain for the perfect response.

"Okay,” Warren sighed, letting you go as he got up from the counter. "Look, I know I said things can go back to normal, and they can. I just need a day to feel miserable, and then it’s business as usual,” he chuckled somberly, trying to make light of the situation before exiting the bathroom, leaving you behind so utterly confused it took you a second to process.

Realizing he must have taken your silence as rejection, you quickly left the bathroom to catch up to him, calling for him to explain how he had made it all the way outside. You’d never know.

You finally caught up to him as he was opening the car door. “Warren!” You called again, running up to him and closing the car door for him. Poor thing looked so confused and upset.

"Look, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a day."

“Shut up and kiss me,” you cut him off, to which his face contorted in more confusion, and he tilted his head like a puppy, making you laugh at his cuteness. You rolled your eyes, pulling him by the collar of his shirt into your lips. He snapped out of his daze, his lips quickly moving against your arms, wrapping around your waist.

“Finally!” Eddie shouted from the porch, where he Camilla, Graham, Karen, and a bruised Billy stood, everyone but Billy and baby Julia in his arms were cheering.

The two of you pulled away, bashful. You hid your face in Warren's chest to cover the blush as you both laughed with your friends. Warren pulled you closer to him, with one arm around your waist resting on the small of your back and the other on the back of your head, playing with your hair.

“Hey guys?” Warren shouted at your friends as they stopped cheering and paid attention to him. “You’re kind of ruining the moment!”

“Or we’re making it more interesting,” Graham yelled back, shooting finger guns at the boy.

“Go away,” you said, lifting your face from Warren's chest.

Cami and Karen respected your wishes, pushing the boys inside as Graham and Eddie awwed, “I still don’t know who she is.” You heard Billy complain as the door shut, and the two of you laughed, turning your attention back to each other.

“So…” Warren started rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that was in your hair.

You smiled coyly, pulling him in for another kiss, which he gladly reciprocated.

This kiss was longer; you got to feel the way his lips felt on yours, how soft they were, and the way his arms wrapped around you to pull you closer, finding their way into his hair, tugging on the ends slightly so you could pull away.

“I love you,” you said in between breaths, your lips still so close together that you could feel the smile that overtook his features.

“I love you,” he said, quickly reconnecting your lips and lifting you off the ground. You wrapped your legs around his waist, smiling into the kiss, breaking away from his lips and leaving kisses across his face as you made your way to his neck as he started to walk the two of you to your house.

As y’all entered the house, he kicked the door closed with his foot pressing you up against it, pulling your head from his neck, and smiling at the small pout you gave him for having your attack on his neck interrupted.

He chuckled, taking the opportunity to kiss your pouted lips, which in turn made you smile.

“I love you,” Warren told you, pulling away from your lips. He made a trail of kisses down to your neck, whispering “I love you” in between each kiss, making you grin like a crazy person.”

He only stopped when he found a spot on your neck that made you whimper as he kissed over it, deciding to suck on the spot and grinning into it when you let out a quiet moan.

"Fuck, you drive me crazy,” Warren panted as he pulled away from your neck, resting his forehead against yours, beautiful brown eyes meeting your own.

“How crazy?” You asked, pecking his lips and capturing the bottom one in between your teeth as you pulled away.

“So crazy, you have no idea,” he replied, tilting his head back and groaning, his eyes shut tightly.

“Oh yeah?” You egged on kissing his neck again as your hands found their way under his shirt.

“Yeah,” he whispered in between gentle moans. The effect you had on the boy was insane; he full-on whined when you pulled away, grabbing his head in your hands to have him look at you.

“You want to show me?” You asked cheekily, making a giant grin take over his face. His eyes clouded slightly, but you could still see every emotion in them. You could feel the love he had for you in that moment.

“With pleasure,” he smirked his lips on you once more, leading you to your bedroom, never breaking away from your lips.

Warren

“One of the best nights of my life.” Warren smirked at the camera, giving you a wink behind the camera.

[voidsdamned]

Wicked Natures - The Ghoul/OC (Female Character) Chapter Three

Summary: Bounty hunters are frequent customers at Mulholland's Saloon, and Rue's taken quite a shine to one gunslinger in particular: a cantankerous, old Ghoul in a tattered duster. Witness her unabashedly lust after him in all his irradiated glory (as we are all currently doing), as well as navigate the precarious relationship she unfortunately has with local law enforcement.

Minors, do not interact.

Content Warnings: a mild chapter. Swearing. Drinking. Mentions of prostitution. Unwanted attention. More dirty talk.

Enjoy.

Chapter Three: Mighty Need

“Warner says he’s gonna marry me.”

“He the… um….” Rue bites her bottom lip thoughtfully, grasping for the face to match the name, and her hands briefly still in the mess she’s making of Lara’s corset laces. “The real muscley one, right? Clean boots? Blushes a lot?”

Lara –petite, brunette, and honey-eyed– smiles bashfully. Rue can see her face flushing in the mirror they sit before. “Yeah.”

“He seems alright in my book, so I guess I don’t mind him sweepin’ ya off your feet.” Rue braids a length of the laces, then interlaces the braid with the crazy criss-crossing going down Lara’s back. “Think he’s serious?”

“I think so. I hope so…. I can… I can dream ‘bout it, at least.” Lara picks at her nails. Twists at her fingertips. “He’s supposed to be joinin’ up with a caravan and says we can travel together. I… I want that badly.”

Rue smiles, heart twisting sadly but hopefully for Lara. She’s Rue’s favourite person that works at Mulholland’s –Hal second and everyone else is… well, everyone else is a bit of a dick– and she deserves so much more than life as a courtesan. She deserves more than Dust.

“I want that for you. This place doesn’t suit ya.”

“It don’t… it don’t suit you either,” Lara’s voice is hushed, nervous, as if she worries someone listens. “Maybe we could bring you with us?”

Rue’s throat goes tight; her heart flutters and breaks. “All I’d do is bring you trouble.” She looks to the monstrous snare she’s concocted and changes the subject. “I like to dream about havin’ robot parts. Wouldn’t it be neat to have metal legs? They wouldn’t break or get tired. Suppose I’d have to worry ‘bout rust, but I think the perks outweigh the bad.”

Lara is quiet for a moment, her shoulders tense. Rue doesn’t look up. She doesn’t want to see the face the honey-eyed girl might be making.

“Y’know… that does sound kind of fun,” the brunette finally humours her. “I think I’d get me some fancy eyes that can see in the dark.”

Rue looks up, beaming brightly to find Lara smiling right back. “And through walls! Catch people in all kinds of shit.”

Lara’s grin goes devilish. “Ooh. There’re several people I’d like to get some dirt o-.”

The door to Lara’s room bangs open, causing the brunette to jump and for Rue’s hands to still in the catastrophe of corset laces. Both girls look over their shoulders, to the glowering figure of Adel puffing a cigarette in the doorway.

“Deck’s here for ya, Rue. Finish up what you’re doin-.” The viper’s face goes red. “Rue. Rue, ya know how to lace a fuckin’ corset. What the fuck are you doin’? Get the fuck up –get the fuck outta here!”

Rue untangles her fingers and pops to her feet, smiling innocently. “I was just tryin’ somethin’ new!”

“Only thing you’re tryin’ is my goddamn nerves,” Adel snaps, aggravated arm motions ushering Rue to skedaddle. “Lara, you sort yourself or get Molly to.”

Rue shoots Lara a small, apologetic smile, and then yelps when the viper seizes her by the arm. Her grip is harsh and pinching as she hauls Rue from the room.

Adel grumbles all the way down the hall, dragging Rue to the staircase and giving her a prompt push to get her moving. Just a little bit harder, and Rue probably would have tripped and tumbled all the way to the ground floor. But she keeps her balance, and her pace is reluctant. The man she hates most in the world is here, standing in the midst of Mulholland’s main floor and surveying his currently empty kingdom with his hands propped on his waist.

Deck Craven is a barrel-chested man with sandy hair, green-eyed and well kept. He wears a tan, pinch-front cowboy hat and ranching clothes: button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, jeans, and boots. Not a spot or stain on them; no holes or fraying edges. It’s all part of his brand, but that magnum on his hip is more than just for show. It’s the only part of his ensemble that looks as if it’s seen some use. Rue knows it has.

Rue used to think him handsome and his green eyes kind, but he’s not much more than an acid blob in human skin to her now. She wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire –unless she had a mouthful of gasoline. But she makes her face light up, her smile so bright, and waves.

“Afternoon, Deck!”

Green eyes find her, and his smile widens. “Hey there, little bird. How ya doin’ this afternoon?”

“Pretty good!" Rue doesn't quite skip up to him, but she makes sure there is a good deal of pep to her step. "Lara and I were talkin’ about havin’ robot bodies. I want fancy legs, and she’d like a new set of eyes.”

Amused, brassy laughter fills the air. "Fancy legs, huh?" He shakes his head. “I never know what’s about to come out your mouth…. But I’m glad you’re havin’ fun.”

Rue only knows to smile. She rocks back and forth on her heels, hands held behind her back. “You in house tonight?”

Another shake of the head. “Not tonight –not for a few nights, actually. Got business outta town. It’ll probably be two weeks ‘fore I’m back in Dust. I just wanted to pop in and see ya before I headed out. Let ya know what’s goin’ on if you get to lookin’ for me.” Pure joy floods through Rue, instantly doused when the sheriff’s hands find her shoulders. He adopts a serious look, a fatherly cadence that burns her up. “I got a few of the boys keepin’ eyes out for ya, okay? You need anything, you get with Lucky. And I’ve already told Adel not to mess with ya.”

The last bit of his spiel is actually good news, bringing back a smidge of her stomped-on joy. Adel’s always trying to whore Rue out or strip her down. She needs constant reminders, warnings, to not try anything funny.

Rue dips her head, genuinely appreciative. “I’ll be good so she won’t have a reason to.”

“Oh, I know you will.” He ruffles her hair, seriousness given way to a smile. “You’re always good.”

Bleh.

“I gotta get on the road now, Rue.” A gentle touch to her chin, fingers trailing and not quite grabbing. “Have you a good shift and a good night.”

Rue grins wider, waving with both hands. “Safe travels, Deck!”

The sheriff winks and tips his hat. The double doors part around him, swinging even after he’s gone. Rue watches them until they’ve gone still, and then for a moment longer, not quite trusting that he’s gone. Not quite believing that he’s going to be gone for a whole two weeks. It’s too good to be true.

Two weeks without all his little, lingering caresses. Two weeks without hearing his voice say her name. Two weeks of not having him show up on her –well, his– front porch and ruin breakfast. Two weeks of his eyes not following her every move. She knows his posse will be filling in for him, but they’re lazy about it. They’ll maybe follow Deck’s orders to the letter for the first night or two, but they always end up getting tired of watching the ditzy server girl go to work and go home. Then she’ll have some real breathing room. A break.

Rue looses a long, long sigh. Grin genuine when those double doors stay closed.

Goddamnit, does she need a break.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I know I ask ya to do this too much, but will you please, please close up for me?”

Rue, leaned into the bar and watching the night-dark world out the window, blinks and looks towards the beseeching voice –Hal’s. She hadn’t heard him approach, but he’s draped over the bar beside her, looking up at her with wide, puppy eyes the colour of coal.

“Those last two tables of yours are lingerin’, and I got a pretty fella waitin’ out back for me to get off.”

She mimics his dramatic pose, already leaning torso lying flat on the counter and her head propping upon her arm. She tries to match the look he gives her, but Hal’s too, damn good at pleading, puppy-dog eyes.

“Only if you make me those fancy muffins.” Rue might not be able to hold a candle to his eye expressions, but she nails the sad, entreating tone of voice.

Those begging eyes brighten with the smile that takes his mouth, and Hal’s upright quick as lightning. “That’s a done deal. Thank you so, so, so, so much.”

Rue returns the smile. “Not a problem.” She’s just happy one of them can get some action… and then she’s very jealous. Hal can just meet people and take a roll in the hay. Rue’s been working on the object of her affections for well over a year, and she still hasn’t managed so much as an ass grab or tit squeeze.

Hal’s out the back door in seconds, his departure accompanied by another round of profuse thanks. When he’s gone, the saloon goes near-quiet, the only sounds left that of the hushed chatter of her tables, the usual perversion from upstairs, and the soft, guitar plucking in Johnny Guitar filtering from the jukebox. Rue calls to her tables, telling them they can hang around as long as they please, but she’d like to go ahead and take care of their tabs unless they’re wanting another round of drinks. One table allows her to close out; the other wants another round of beers, and then they pay up. Both stay.

Rue resumes her ritual of window gazing, thinking about rope burns and hair tugging.

She’s unbelievably jealous of Hal. She’d ask him for tips if he wasn’t so blabbermouthy.

Rue doesn’t know how long passes, but she’s eventually pulled from her horny spacing out by two, harsh knocks against the bar –enough to shake the wood and her vision. She turns, her heart doing cartwheels in her chest and smile blooming fully.

The Ghoul sits across from her, dusty and impatient. His ensemble seems to have a few more patches to it, and almost his entirety is stained with rust smears. His hat is tipped back a touch, enough to allow her to admire the way Mulholland’s dim lighting paints the valleys and plains of his face. Deeper shadows. Bright, whiskey eyes. The no-nonsense set of his mouth.

Rue could swoon. She really could.

“Hey you.”

Hands gloved in leather, he taps at the bar twice with his pointer finger.

Rue gets him his whiskey, filling the stout tumbler to the brim and sliding it into his waiting hand. He drinks deep and slow, which could mean he’s in a good enough mood to savour or that it has been a long, long day. Not infuriating but exhausting. She'll find out soon enough which of the two it is.

In the meantime, she shamelessly watches his throat bob. He doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he pretends not to.

“I was startin’ to wonder if I’d see ya again.”

He sets the whiskey glass down; Rue tops it off.

“’There’s money to be made in Dust. I’ll keep comin’ ‘round ‘til it’s dried up.” He takes another slow pull, shorter this time. “And it will one day. Deck’s got himself some trouble brewin’ with a weapons manufacturer, and the hits he keeps puttin’ on ‘em ain’t doin’ nothin’ but pissin’ ‘em off.”

The Ghoul must be in a grand mood to tell her all that. Something so useful. So delightful –absolute music to her ears that inspires vivid imaginations of Deck being pumped full of holes while he's out. The grin Rue already wears stretches, and a contented sigh passes through her lips. “Gun Runners?”

“Smaller.” A quick sip of whiskey. “Think they’re callin’ themselves the Nightstalkers.”

“Cute.” Rue reaches into her pockets, feeling around for the Vials she keeps and placing seven onto the bar –along with a tied-off bundle of caps that have been junking up her pockets for over a month.

The gunslinger reaches for the cloth pouch before the Vials, browless brows netted curiously. He unties it and simply stares at the caps for a long moment before his eyes tick to her wordlessly.

“I didn’t want ‘em,” she tells him firmly, voice pitched soft just in case her tables aren't as lost in their own worlds as they appear to be. “That’s not what that was to me. I like ya. Plain and simple.”

He doesn’t say a word as he rakes the caps into his gloved hand and drops them in a duster pocket. The Vials follow. He goes back to sipping his whiskey.

And Rue goes back to smiling sweetness. “Oh! Someone told me what olives are the other day –they said they’re these little, oval fruits that are kinda salty. Really salty if they’ve gone black. But I’ve been keepin’ an eye out for ‘em since. Maybe one day a caravan’ll pass through with ‘em, and I can fix ya that fancy drink you want so bad. It’s mostly just gin, huh? Do ya want some gin next? You kinda look like you want gin tonight.”

The Ghoul sighs and shakes his head, polishing off his whiskey with a last, slow draw. “You’ve got somethin’ wrong in your heady, honey.” But the corner of his mouth curls slightly, and he doesn’t sound so aggravated or done with her when he says, “Get me the gin.”

Rue gets the gin; she fills the glass too full and leans into the bar, watching him drink and smiling lazily. She talks about nonsense. He doesn’t stop her. In fact, the Ghoul humours her a little bit when she starts talking about robot body parts by tossing in his two-caps about all that fancy metal not being worth shit. The right kind of gun and ammunition or know-how can make it useless –a hindrance. Deadly, even.

“Suppose, you’re right, but I don’t know that it much matters. Those things can kill me no matter if I’m fleshy or metal. …I’d probably be a lil’ harder to catch if I had robot legs. Think I’d be a bit harder to kill. Catch a bullet down there, and I wouldn’t have to worry about bleedin’ out or infections.”

“You ever end up goin’ Ghoul one of these days, and that’ll make ya harder to kill without all that other shit. I get shot, and I heal up quick.”

“Already have gone Ghoul,” Rue mutters, a faux-frustration to her voice as she traces patterns on the bar. Her eyes tick up to his, and with the mild confusion on his brow, she knows he hasn’t caught her drift yet. She sighs and props her cheek upon her fist. “But he thinks I’m tryin’ to trick him somehow.”

Confusion dissipates with an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”

Rue leans further into the bar and bats her eyes all pretty-like up at him. “I’m tryin’ to be full of you.”

The Ghoul snorts behind the rim of his glass, the grin that takes his mouth a wicked thing. His drawl is dismissive and mean when he says, “Ya couldn’t handle me, sweetheart. Dick suckin’s one thing, but anything more, and I’d wreck you.”

The delight of the challenge, the prospect, curves Rue's lips. “Then wreck me, sweetheart.”

He pauses in what is likely to be the last sip from his glass, eyes flicking to her lips. Back to her eyes. It’s like she watches something spark to life in his, a building burn and heat. He tips his gin back slow.

Rue is pulled from his gaze when the doors to Mulholland’s part, a group of three she well recognizes walking in: Lucky, tall and broad; Yannis, shifty-eyed and jumpy; and Gus, droopy-faced and pale. All three are part of Deck’s posse, Lucky being his right-hand man while the other two are just goons. But they’re all effective, and she knows they’re here for her.

She takes a few steps back as nonchalantly as she can. She changes her smile and tone. She waves, greeting the three as old friends. “Hey boys! You here for a drink?”

Lucky sidles up to the bar, propping an elbow on it and offering her a kind smile. Truly, it is. Out of Deck’s whole posse, he’s the only one that seems truly decent and like he has half a conscience rattling in his skull. If she has to deal with any of them, she prefers it to be him. Especially when he's drunk and that conscience gets to gnawing at him -then his lips get loose, and he spills information Deck would kill him for sharing. Information that turned Rue's world upside down. 

“No ma’am. Just to check in on ya." He lets her know, "It’s way past time you shoulda been home.”

She cocks her head. “Is it?”

Lucky's grin stretches. “Rue, it’s about four in the mornin’.”

Rue blinks. She didn’t notice it was that late herself. She was too wrapped up in the Ghoul silently observing the conversation as he polishes off that last bit of gin.

“Oh! Shoot. Sorry. Y'know time gets away from me.”

“I know. It’s alright. I was just a little worried.”

Rue smiles bright, but then her eyes dart to the tables still lingering. She’s so grateful that they are. If it were just her and the Ghoul, this would be a different conversation and confrontation. “Um. Could ya help me shoo out the tables? I don’t wanna be mean to ‘em.”

Lucky nods and makes a motion for Yannis and Gus to handle it. “’Course, but that’s somethin’ Hal shoulda done an hour or more ago. Where’d he get off to?”

“Stomach ache,” Rue lies easily. “I told him I could wrap up, so he could get himself home.”

The right-hand man nods at that, and then turns his personable smile on the Ghoul. “Sorry, sir. It’s time to mosey, but come back and see us again.”

The Ghoul says nothing. He sets his glass down bottom-side-up on the bar and slides off the stool. He reaches into a duster pocket, pulls out a fistful of caps, and leaves them. The spurs of his boots jingle-jangle as he breezes out.

Rue sneakily watches him go as she moves to tidy things, plucking up his caps to tuck away in the till so Lucky can take it to the office for storage. So, she notices when his head turns as he parts the double doors. His gaze is shaded by the rim of his weathered, old hat, but Rue knows he’s looking her way when the corner of his mouth quirks –pulls into enough of a half-grin to show a bit of teeth.

Then he's gone, leaving Rue there with a brain going absolutely wild in her head and a mighty need to kiss that ruined mouth of his. 

[mattphobiia]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT 2.

matt and i arrived at the party thirty minutes ago along with chris, who was probably doing regular party shit in the backyard. nick couldn't make it because he was "ill", but we all knew that was bullshit. we were mainly just talking about university and about all our curriculum subjects but it was hard to focus on matt when chris walked back into the loud atmosphere stumbling around with his stupid smirk on his face. his black shirt, golden chain, with slightly damp hair. god if he wasn't the annoying chris sturniolo i could've pounced on him with how attractive he was. yes, he has an annoying face but its also hot. suddenly, my eyes shift back to matt who was now holding a weird object to his lips.

"matt, what is that?" i question while laughing, trying to peek from his hands who now covered it. he quickly stuffed it back into his pocket while acting like nothing had happened. i felt uneasy and confused before i reached my hand to grab it until i felt my heart drop. my face began to scrunch up in disbelief as he was using a a vape.

"what the fuck is this?" my voice breaks, shoving it directly in front of his face as he begins to breathe heavily and stutter on his words; why was he vaping?

"i- uh... i'm sorry, just- chris got me into it... and it helps calms my nerves-" he blurts out, a look of guilt on his face.

i interupt him with the sudden smash of me throwing it to the floor in a rage while matt jumps back to avoid all the broken pieces that flew around, looking at me before we both began to laugh awkwardly as we both walked over to chris to get him from this party, not that i wanted to though.

"fucking hell, chris you are so drunk." i scoff, rolling my eyes. i had a bad history of people who drunk excessive amounts of alcohol so i really didn't like to hang around drunk people.

"shut up, you're so pretty but- you talk so much." he replies in an exaggerated tone, grabbing my face with his hand before he launched his lips against mine.

my heart immediately began to race as matt watched us in surprise, trying to hide his laugh as i attempted to push him off but failed. he had a strong grip against both my arms as he held them behind my back while he pressed his own body into me. i mumbled in annoyed as my eyes shut tightly. why was i slightly enjoying this? well, not the taste of alcohol and cigarettes, but his lips felt soft. after what felt like hours, he finally pulled away and released his grip on me as i almost tumbled into matt.

"what the fuck chris?!" i scream, slapping his face as i storm away from them both. that slap felt nice. matt immediately rushed after me while chris stood there like a fool, but discarded it as he went back for a last drink before also leaving with us.

it was now time to experience an awkward car ride back home, im so happy. chris laid spread out in the backseats while mumbling random things to himself while throwing up in a target bag, while matt and i just stared ahead of us. there was nothing to be said really, apart from the mystery in my head of why chris full on kissed me.

"im never drinking again, im dying!" chris exaggerates before leaning his head back down in exhaustion.

"thats a fucking lie, i swear you've been drinking for an eternity but still don't know your limit?"

"i- i know my limit! why are you talking when you dont even drink!" he shouts, beginning to cough before throwing his head back into the bag.

"this is fucking disgusting, i almost feel bad until i remember that you're chris sturniolo, and i do drink for your information!"

"my head is spiralling matt." he groans, completely ignoring me while matt hums in agreement not knowing what to say. i could tell he was getting aggravated with our bickering but blame chris, not me.

"don't fucking ignore me! also, why did you kiss me? you were my first kiss moron!" i scream, chris jolting his head up before getting interrupted by the sudden halt of matt pressing on the breaks.

"oh- fuck. jesus matt!" he stuttered, trying to change the subject before matt slammed his fist onto the wheel in anger.

"will both of you fucking shut up?! im tired of your constant fighting, chris get the fuck out of my car and throw that bag away, y/n, let's just forget the kissing incident! please guys, i have such a bad headache." he groans, falling back into the wheel as he sighs heavily.

chris and i remain awkwardly silent before he opens the car door and wonders away. i turn my head around to face the window before feeling my heart sink. matt never usually yelled and i felt bad for stressing him out this way.

"look-" we both began to say, giggling as matt motioned for me to start.

"i'm sorry about constantly fighting with chris, i just don't like hanging around with drunk people- and he-"

"-kissed you. it's fine, i'm sorry for yelling at you both. i just wish you could get along." he smiles sadly before i pulled him into a tight hug.

"i know matt, i wish we could." i sigh into his shoulder before the door opened again and chris slumps back inside the back seat.

"get a room weird-"

"oh my god!- no, im not saying anything." i interrupt myself before returning to my seat as matt starts the engine again.

chris rolled his eyes in annoyance as he rested his head against the cold glass of the window, staring out into the distance before his eyes fully shut.

MASTERLIST / P1 , P3 , P4

a/n: part 3 is coming sooooon😜😜😜 love u all sm i appreciate all my support! im not sure when the next part will be released but ill work on it when i can, there should be around 4-5 parts (maybe 6 if ur lucky)

[insult-2-injury]

A Corndog Catastrophe

This is a very important fic I wrote for @chickenparm months ago that I think deserves to finally see god's light.

Tags: 682 wc, Jimmy Dean corndog, tragedy

Truth is fickle. Someone like Zhongli would tell you that the truth is a simple thing, a plain thing; concrete and unmoving. But the truth isn’t so unshakeable, you think. In fact, there are only a few solid truths that have withstood the test of time. 

One: a hungry Paimon is a dangerous Paimon.  

And two: Scaramouche is a petty little twat.

He’s late getting back to camp again, and you know exactly why. One silly little comment about the bell on his hat and he’s withholding your dinner. A real sourpuss. “It’s just nice that I can hear you coming from down the road,” you’d reasoned, but it seemed being compared to a kitten with a bell around its neck was a most insulting thing to your new traveling companion.

So when the crown of that very hat peeks over the horizon, you immediately leap up from beside your dwindling campfire.

“You’re late!” you shout and then pause to furrow your brows, “did you really walk all the way back from the city?”

“You think I’d be caught dead flying across the foothills with this foul waste you call food?” he spits, aggravated.

You grin at the image of him hauling ass across Sumeru with a baguette poking out of his satchel and your anger at him subsides momentarily. Scaramouche sets a single bag in front of you. 

“Not even double bagged?” you ask, “feeling dangerous?” You shoot him a cheeky smile and his eyes narrow. 

“It’s what you asked for.”  

“Tsk tsk. It’s like you’ve never been to market before.”

He leans down until his face is terribly close to yours, his voice cool. “I’m a puppet, remember?  I don’t need to eat. Or are you just trying to get on my last nerve?”

You used to not be able to read his little micro-expressions, but you know him well enough by now to know that he’s been struck with a sudden bout of self-consciousness.

“No, no. I’m just hungry, really. Wish my dinner hadn’t taken so long to arrive.”

There’s humor in the tiny quirk of his lips as he stands up straight again. “Serves you right.”

Ass. You frown. “What’s in those other three bags?”

His eye twitches and he begins to walk away, feigning nonchalance. “Supplies. Nothing to worry your little head over.”

Odd, you can’t recall needing, let alone asking for any further supplies. But just as you’re about to shrug it off, all three bags break at once, sending a shower of unpackaged Jimmy Dean corn dogs onto the ground by his feet.

There’s a long pause where nothing is heard but the breeze whistling gently about the shells of your ears. And you wonder whether this is it; whether this is the moment that he cuts his losses and kills you. Tosses away the burgeoning relationship the two of you were building whilst your heart breaks through your chest like some single-bagged weiner delicacy.

All the things you’ve seen… the collapse of a nation. The downfall of a god. And yet there is nothing, you know now, more devastating than a man standing amidst the broken bodies of his Jimmy Dean blueberry pancake corn dogs.

“Can we ever come back from this?” you ask.

“They’re not mine,” he says stiffly. 

“I thought you said you didn’t eat.”

He swings around. “They’re not mine. I must have grabbed someone else’s–”

“Is this why I keep smelling sour blueberries?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking–”

“Why I keep finding wooden sticks lying around the garden?”

You flinch as his hands fly out and vicious blades of air scatter the Jimmy Dean blueberry pancake corndogs to the wind. “THEY’RE COMPOSTABLE.”

You raise your hands up. “I’m not making fun, Scaramouche. I’m just really confused why you felt the need to hide this from me.”

“I had a bad childhood. And you’ll never understand.”

He swings around and marches back into the tent. His arm goes to slam the door but it’s a fucking tent so he has to sort of just aggressively pull the flaps together.

<3

[antibigotwhumpblog]

A Bad Match

He tapped the pistol against his thigh. Crowds rushed underneath the hot Sun just beyond the alley he was in. Whumper appreciated an unaware audience. The idea that every person on the streets of the city had no idea the danger he could put them in ignited adrenaline underneath his skin. Although not his favorite part, he enjoyed sitting in his own ecstasy as he waited for one unsuspecting civilian to tread just deep enough into the path. His favorite part was when he took out his gun. Whumper loved their victum's fear. A young man in a red hoodie turned into the narrow passage. His little red riding hood, Whumper thought fondly. He adjusted his stance, and clicked the safety off his gun. He observed the skittish man pause because of the sound. Whumper smirked. He relished in the familiar twist of his stomach. He passed the garbage can. Whumper wrapped his forearm around Whumpee's neck, and shoved his gun against Whumpee's temple. "Empty your pockets," Whumper sneered into his ear. "Damn, it's only Tuesday," Whumpee snarked, and struggled to get away. Whumper's grip against the man's neck tightened. He pressed the barrel of his gun harder against the man's skull like the man hadn't noticed it was there. "Give me everything you've got or I'll fucking kill you." Whumpee didn't cry, beg, or even shiver. He rolled his big brown eyes, and tried to rip Whumper's arm off. "I am not in the mood for 'tude, dude." Whumper roughly shoved Whumpee to the ground. Whumpee grunted, and scraped his knees on the pavement. He scrambled onto his back, and propped his arms behind him. Whumper could get a good look at the man like this. His face was far too relaxed for Whumper's liking. "I'll shoot you," Whumper snarled. He shrugged, "I always thought I'd go out more dramatically, but it is what it is." Whumper twitched. All he wanted was an easy adrenaline fix. How likely was it that out of all the people who could walk into the alley, the guy who did was an annoying son of a bitch? Whumper was gonna kill him. "Get on with it," Whumpee jeered, and he laid back on his palms. Whumper shook with rage. Not even killing the idiot would be fun. Whumper shouted at the air. Almost in response, an iPhone rung. Whumper whipped his head to look at Whumpee. The man had the nerve to take out his phone. "I'm so sorry, I have to get this. Can I step away for a second?" Whumpee asked smugly. Whumper pulled the trigger. The gun exploded, and the bullet struck the ground. He dropped his phone, and it skirted away from him. Whumper glanced down, curious to see what in God's name could be so important. The contact name was "Friend." Whumper froze. He crouched immediately, and picked up the phone. He ignored Whumpee's protests. He examined the contact profile. To his utter shock, that picture above the display name was one he absolutely recognized. "You know Friend L/N?" He demanded from his hostage. The man had gotten on his feet, "That's none of your business." Whumper aimed the gun at Whumpee, "Tell me how you them." "No way. That's creepy as shit. Give me my phone back," He demanded. "You're not coworkers. If your his friend, you haven't visited him in the past year and a quarter. And by God, you're not his family," Whumper growled, "So how do you know them?" "Better question," Whumpee retorted, "How do you?" Whumper glanced around the alleyway, and back at the crowds, "Tell me how you know Friend now." Instead, Whumpee started to scream. "Help! Help!" Whumpee hollered. Whumper tackled Whumpee against the brick wall, and behind the garbage can. He wrestled Whumpee underneath him, and shoved his hands over his mouth. He knew everything about Friend, after all he'd stalked them for over a year. He knew every relationship they had. Clearly, he'd missed something. If he'd missed this one person, he was scared he'd missed a whole part of Friend's life. He needed to know more. Still, he was not looking forward to bringing home such a aggravating little shit.

[dastardlydandelion]

i’ve honestly always wholeheartedly adored kirby tbh. i’ll never forget seeing scream 4 at a formative age and wanting to be just half as cool as her so bad lmaoo. i don’t know if this is really related at all but i think at least in 4, she was a little more flawed as a person than some people really pick up on. and i think those flaws genuinely make her a more interesting character. she’s a little rude, blunt, callous, whatever. doesn’t outwardly care too much about her friend getting brutally murdered right in front of her. still goes to stab-a-thon, has a good time, flirts with charlie, hosts an after party, brags about her movie knowledge. which good for her with the last one ❤️ but she does come off a little self involved. she’s also a teenager so. fair enough. but she obviously has a lot of good moments as well. she seems to care deeply for jill and shows a lot of courage, heart, and vulnerability in that final scene trying to save charlie’s life. she wasn’t perfect and that’s what makes her pretty compelling to me. i think mindy shares a lot of these qualities as well but she didn’t really get a heart and vulnerability moment like kirby did with the trying to save charlie debacle. i feel like she’ll be getting one in 6 though, not gonna lie. idk but i do love them both and i’m excited to see them again <3

agreed in full, buddy, agreed in full!!

and to be fair, as self-involved and blunt as she comes across, uh, even kirby's more callous lines don't compare to robbie tbh. iirc like, olivia's body is barely cold and he refers to her as "the girl who'll now never date me," or if not that exactly, something to the effect of it (now i have to re-watch scre4m yet again). like. fuck man.

also when kirby tried to save charlie (as far as she knew) and started shakily rattling off whatever remake come to mind, hayden panettiere's performance was so raw and compelling that on the first watch i didn't even realize it's supposed to be the film taking a crack at how derivative and lazy so many remakes are!! the commentary totally flew over my head bc i was so wrapped up in her urgency and desperation.

although my favorite kirby moment will always be when she yells at trevor after her interrupts her and charlie. her face is a whole mood, i swear if this movie had come out a handful of years later than it did kirby prolly would've become a reaction gif. 😂

and mindy! yes, ofc i adore mindy. and she is similarly kind of harsh. like when she refuses to go with richie to the basement and he goes alone and like, as soon as the door shuts behind him she's all, "well he's dead," and shoves her hand in a bag of chips. LMAO. to be fair tho, to be fair richie is irritating af and that prolly would've been my reaction too. anonymoose friend, i am sorry if u like richie but he just aggravates me, personally, he was getting on my nerves the whole movie.

i do feel we'll be getting more vulnerability from mindy come scream vi tho, more development for her character in general. jasmin savoy brown has the range!!! and already the super bowl ad heavily suggests her girlfriend is going to get killed.

i keep re-watching it (and all the other ads, ngl) trying to work out the mechanics of that scene.

it looks like anika is already wounded? she's covered in blood. yes, it could be someone else's blood but i'm thinking it's hers bc in the one shot it looks like mindy is helping her on the floor? it's blink-and-miss-it, but it's there, for the life of me tho, which trailer or tv spot was it in?? i don't remember, they're all blurring together. but also it seems that mindy gets on the ladder before anika does, that she's left her in the bloody bedroom (quinn's bedroom?) and that makes me wonder if the plan is for mindy to go first bc anika could potentially successfully play dead if ghostface enters the room, given that she's already injured. if that is the plan it clearly doesn't work, but. still.

anyway, yes, i love kirby and mindy and i'm very excited to see them both again and hopefully we'll get some good interactions between them too!!

[ackackh]

you KNOW i have to ask 13 and luztoye ✨✨<33

13. Things you said at the kitchen table

May I interest you in some George POV Liteform® Unit “Z” au?

❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Damn it, hold still!”

“I am still! I am so still right now.”

George’s thumb involuntarily jumps toward his palm, just to prove him wrong.

1 a.m. in the morning—and George did try to avoid this, he did, he just put it off for too long. Came to Joe in their bed an hour ago clutching his arm like it might run away from him. (“I’m sorry! Sorry, sorry, but I think it’s trying to kill me.”) And now Joe’s in just his underwear, his touchgloves, headlamp, and triple-layer lens, pinning George’s arm to the table like he’s wrangled a snake. George feels lousy for waking him up, really, but if he slept on this another night who knows how fucked it would be by morning? His wrist has been bothering him for days, and his thumb was practically buzzing every time he tried to pick up a pen or a mug; something was bound to snap sooner or later. Just shitty timing.

George knows nerves are tricky. Joe could fuck him up worse if he isn’t careful. That’s half the reason Joe is as grumpy as he is—the other half is likely the time of night.

“You gotta stop letting it get this bad, Georgie.” Joe sighs as his tools set something in George’s hand to sparking.

The back of George’s shoulder itches where Joe decommissioned his arm, otherwise George really wouldn’t be able to hold still; he’s been worked on fully connected once or twice before, and it hurts like a bitch. But it’s always weird to see his arm lying limp from his torso, to know it’s his and still feel nothing. Now he watches half-fascinated, half-repulsed as Joe curls over his work, forceps and wire-strung needle clicking against each other and against the inside of George’s hand.

His wrist is opened up in the middle, blue fibers glowing against the midnight dark, and Joe split his palm along the seam beneath his thumb to get at whatever the fuck is making it twitch like a junkie looking for a fix. Now he’s tampering with the very tips of his fingers. Little pinpricks across his skin a distant sensation George knows is more phantom than physical.

“I thought I could give it another day,” George quietly defends and tries not to flinch as he watches Joe’s rough-hewn hand pick his own apart, “It was your day off.”

Joe sets down his forceps and picks up his torch. He looks right at George, who rests his head on his good shoulder, Joe’s sweatshirt bunched up under his ear as a makeshift pillow. He’s so handsome—really, it’s ridiculous. He should look like a clown dressed as he is, hair a mess of bed head, that new tattoo healing and swollen on his bicep. He keeps pinching his tongue between his teeth; his eyes are lined with fatigue and concentration.

But when he looks at George, he’s happy, if a bit exasperated. “Helping you isn’t work. I don’t want you to be in pain.” Oh, he’s so damn handsome.

George can’t help the smile that breaks over his face. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah, shit head.” Joe scoffs and turns back to his work. After a few moments more of fighting with George’s self-made wound, he huffs an aggravated sound and says, “I’m taking you to Bill in the morning, I need a second set of eyes on this.”

“Shit.”

“When’s the last time you went to Liteform for an update?”

George winces, both at the question and at the sight of Joe’s lit torch against his skin, “Uh, maybe like, a couple years ago? Three, maybe?”

“Jesus,” Joe sits back in his chair and pulls the lamp and lenses from his face, “you know you’re supposed to go once a year, right?”

“They just want my money! I don’t need a new arm, this one works just fine!”

“Maybe not a whole arm, Georgie, but the tendons in your wrist are half-gone at this point.”

“Can’t you just like,” George sighs; he already knows the answer, “slap a metaphorical bandaid on it?”

“They don’t make bandaids this size.” Joe takes George’s hand gently in both of his. Using one of his tools, George doesn’t know what the fuck it’s called—he calls it “the gluer” and he’s never let Joe correct him—to tamp down the open blue-light fibers of his fingers and close the skin seamlessly over them. He kisses their tips, does the same to his palm and his wrist, and as he helps George’s arm and shoulder back into their correct positions, he asks, “How’s that feel?”

George rolls his shoulder. It’s always stiff after these sessions. But flexing his elbow and hand, he finds them both relatively painless, a little easier to move. “Good, thanks,” he answers.

“I think this will get us through the night,” Joe leans over to kiss George’s cheek, “and tomorrow we’ll double check with Bill and make you an appointment.”

George stands with Joe and catches him around the waist as he tries to round the table. He says right into Joe’s collarbone, “I’d rather play doctor with you.”

George can fucking feel it when Joe rolls his eyes. But he takes him to bed anyway.

[lavendertowerarchives]

I will always find something to stress about. Summer is the chillest part of the year, and I'm still worried about too much shit.

I haven't beaten terraria, it's getting on my nerves and making me aggravated with it's sheer difficulty (I'm playing master mode plus I'm just bad).

I haven't written enough of my latest literary fling. I can churn out twenty full pages in a single day, five on a worse day. Why can't I just write when I want to? Why do I have this massive mental block that lets me imagine and write the story in my head, but never through a keyboard?

I've eaten very little. I mean like less than I should, and I've eaten waaay less than I normally do. Today's breakfast was a burrito. Today's dinner was a single tortilla. That's it. I have paralysis when it comes to making food. I really don't want to get up and start a whole new project just to keep my stomach from wrenching itself every two minutes.

I haven't talked to AH all summer. I haven't talked to S all summer. I haven't talked to E all summer. I havent 100% isolated myself but I still need more contact. My parter is nice to be around, AK is nerdy as hell and fun to play games with, PP is lovely to talk to no matter the subject. I just need more. I'm too scared to hit people up so late in the summer. I didn't even wish JC a happy birthday because it had been so long since he talked to me, and he will likely never see me nor seattle ever again.

I intended to do a personal project with JH (her idea, not mine) but there's been barely any contact. I want to ask if we're still on but summer is halfway over. I might've waited too long. For this issue, I just haven't been doing well, and want to bring her a version of me that can code. I haven't written c++ in months.

I haven't watched Inuyasha, Ranma (new series woo), half of GDQ, and most of the stuff in my queue. I just need to devote my entire attention to them, and my attention is always split. Focusing on anime\youtube means not finishing kirby, proxying decks, reading manga...

I still gotta schedule my trip to see my brother, or else not go at all. Fuckin hell. Plane tickets are gonna be awful.

I can't stop focusing on finishing things. I see the halfway mark on some project and see it as nothing at all. I'm halfway through a kirby game (got stuck on boss four), and I feel no pride, no accomplishment, nothing but disappointment for the lack of visible progress. This view is applied to literally everything I do.

What happened to me enjoying things in the moment? Why can't I feel happy unless there's a little box to be ticked off? Why do I feel relief and exhaustion and not satisfaction when a thingy is done? Fuck if I know.

I'm too goal-oriented. I can't do something without fixating on whether it's done or not. The reason I care so much if it's done is it's another thing I have to come back to. I don't want to come back to anything, I want to explore it when it makes me happy and never think about it again.

For every unfinished task, I have to remember it exists. I have three writing projects that I can never let leave my mind, or else risk my fourth project overwriting my memories. One's fifty pages, one's twleve pages, and the other is fourteen. I hate that I measure them in pages. The number should mean nothing at all. It only matters whether I'll ever come back to them.

The only task I'm comfortable with not ever completing is conversing with someone. I will always want more, and sometimes I'll even get my shit together and grab it. That's one of the few things I can do just to do it. I am incapable of interacting with something if there isn't a way to prove I did it.

"What did you do over the summer, Lavender?"

I did half of many things. I have nothing to show for my efforts. Absolutely nothing. No pride, no satisfaction, not even rest.

[yesterdayiwrote]

Re: Alex and George. It’s even cuter because Lily was at another event so basically Alex went with George, Carmen and a bunch of other people first out to dinner together (there are pics if you look for them on socials) and later to the club afterparty (the three of them were dancing and stumping around the club). 💙

Re: your tooth. Is that the same tooth you’ve got some work on recently? Sharing my also recent (unfortunate) experience: if you had caries in a small tooth, sometimes it happens that the dentist will dig too much near the nerve to take it out.

it’s not the dentist fault, but the tooth being small means that going deep to erase the caries, they might get too close to the nerve underneath, so when they do the filling, the filling hits on the nerve and it causes inflamation, inflamation might cause some matter to form underneath the filling and that is what is causing you pain.

I suggest you contact your dentist if that is your case because you might have to devitalize the tooth, that’s what happened to me.

Nothing particularly bad, but have it checked out because there might be inflamation working underneath the filling.

The Alex thing is even cuter because he basically stays glued to George’s side on the red carpet at the club and he’s opposite George at dinner, like they’re properly inseparable and it genuinely is adorable 🥰

And yes, it’s a long story with the tooth. Basically it had a filling in that fell out and in order to refill it, the dentist basically did what you described above. I had earache for about three weeks before a doctor put two and two together and figured what was causing it cos bizarrely I had no tooth pain, it was entirely radiating into my ear and the dentist gave me some antibiotics and it cleared up and I’ve just had minor twinges from time to time but nothing serious …

Then the dentist decided it needed another filling in the top so I’m guessing in doing that it’s just aggravated the nerve again. It’s not as bad today as it was yesterday and if it’s not feeling much better tomorrow I’ll try and get back to see them and hopefully it’ll just need some antibiotics again 🤞🏻 I’ve been taking painkillers and doing a few saltwater rinses as well to see how it goes. It’s a fucking nightmare trying to even get an emergency appointment at the moment!

I’m going away soon for a few days so I’m hoping I can get it sorted by then!

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Two Sides of The Same Coin - Chapter 30: "Out Of The Woods"

"But the monsters turned out to be just trees, when the sun came up you were looking at me..."

Pairing: Sunshine!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes

“She’s up,” Sam announces from the doorway that leads to your little garden.

“I know. I saw her," Bucky admits, trying to focus on the task at hand. Or trying to distract from the fact that, after two weeks, he'd seen you up. He watched you through the blind of your hospital window, you hadn't even seen him. You were talking to Sam. And Bucky smiled to himself as he watched you through the window, Sam brushed the hair out of your face, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. And then from what it looked like, Sam proceeded to mildly scold you. 

And the moment he saw you awake, he froze.

What was he supposed to say to you?

What did he say to a person that risked their life to save him?

What did he say to a person he was madly in love with?

He didn't know, and now that you were awake, he knew he needed to figure it out- to get it right. It was just a lot harder than he ever realized.

“Then why are you here? You do know that she doesn’t actually do any of this, right?” Sam says, gesturing to your garden. 

Bucky scoffs sarcastically. “Oh, silly me! Why don’t I use my magic abilities to help me?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam shrugs, lightly kicking one of the mounds of dirt Bucky dug up. “She’ll probably wave her hand and it’ll all be back to it’s pristine condition without all of this mess.”

“Nothing wrong with a little elbow grease, Sam,” Bucky grunts, resting the shovel against the building.

“There is when you’re using it to avoid dealing with your problems.”

“I don’t have any problems. You just said she’s awake, that’s what matters.”

“Mhm... so why aren’t you with her?”

“Speaking of," Bucky interjects, purposefully avoiding Sam's question. "If you’re here aggravating me, who’s with her?”

“Oh, I left her alone.”

“You what?” Bucky shouts.

“Jeez, I’m kidding! Steve and Bruce are with her. Man, you’ve really got it bad," Sam teases, slightly shaking his head. "Which brings me back to what you’re doing here Mr. ‘I Sat Covered in Her Blood for The Entirety of Her 12 Hour Surgery’?”

“Just trying to figure some things out,” Bucky mutters.

“Well figure it out faster, she’s been asking for you.”

“She has?” Bucky asks hopefully, finally looking up off the ground.

“You two really couldn’t be more blind, could you?”

“Shut up," Bucky grumbles. "I’ll get cleaned up and I’ll be there soon.”

-

Bucky takes a deep breath as he walks the hallway that leads to your room.

He's about to round the corner to your room, but he stops just short of your room to steel himself to say the words he's been practicing in his head over and over. It was simple - he'd just put it all out there and you could do with his feelings what you will.

He stalls for another moment, gathering all his nerve to walk into your room.

His grip tightens on the bouquet of sunflowers he bought for you. "I'm an idiot," he mumbles to himself. "She can grow her own flowers. Why would I buy her flowers? She took a bullet for me and I buy her flowers."

He continues pacing just around the corner of your room, mumbling to himself about how stupid he was being. "She's your friend. You talk to her all the time- but that was before she took a bullet for you. And I bring her fucking flowers! Why would I do that?"

He's distantly aware of the nurses at the nursing station watching his tailspin. Watching as he talks to himself, pacing back and forth in the hallway like a crazy person.

He stops in his tracks, now worried that they'll put him in the psych ward because he's clearly lost his mind. He shakes his head, sucks in a breath and forces himself to take a few steps around the corner.

Then he hears you call, “James?” 

He involuntarily smiles at your excited reaction to him simply walking into your purview. He takes another deep breath and walks through the door. 

“How’re you feeling, Doll?” he asks, shuffling into your room and over to your bed. "I brought these for you. In hindsight, it's kind of stupid, but-"

You shake your head, cutting him off, "They're beautiful. Thank you."

"How are you doing?" he asks again, putting the bouquet on the nightstand next to the homemade 'get-well-soon' card Morgan made for you.

“Pretty good,” you nod affirmatively.

“Really?” Bucky asks with an eyebrow raised. “You had us, me, pretty scared for a minute.”

“Come on, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” you smile, waving your hand dismissively. “Besides, the doctors said most of my bleeding was internal, last time I checked that’s where the blood is supposed to be.”

He huffs softly, both in amusement and relief. "Where'd Steve go? And Banner? Sam said they were both here."

"They were," you affirm. "I told them I was tired so they took off just a few minutes ago."

"If you're tired, you can sleep. I can go or I can stay here- not that you want me to watch you sleep or anything. Just whatever you want."

"No, it's okay. Honestly- and you can't tell Steve this, but he was acting kind of weird. He kept calling me 'pal'. I think he's keeping a secret or something. He only acts like that when he's trying to keep a secret - wait, do you know what's going on?"

"No," he immediately shakes his head. Though knowing Steve, he was probably bursting at the seams to keep Bucky's confession to himself. 

"Anyway, go ahead, I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Well, you were pretty mad at me for the whole bomb thing, and I’m sure getting shot didn’t help my ‘I’m not reckless’ argument. You said that we were going to have a very long talk about my lack of survival instincts, so go ahead, I’m ready for your lecture.”

“I’m not going to lecture you. At least until you’re out of the hospital.”

“Why not? It’s not like I can go anywhere.”

“You took a bullet for me,” he states, both in disbelief and in explanation. 

“I did.”

“You saved my life. And you almost lost yours.”

“James,” you sigh, because even in hindsight, you wouldn't have done anything differently.

He simply continues speaking as if you hadn’t said anything. “I was so scared that you weren’t going to come back. I don’t think you understand how terrified I was.”

“I wasn’t going to let you die,” you quietly exhale.

“That’s my point! How do you think I felt? And I feel like a selfish jackass that I’m even talking about how I feel when you’re lying there because of me!”

“I like when you tell me how you feel. I want to know, even if it’s not always good.”

“Well, I was scared. Beyond scared. There aren’t words for how I felt seeing you lying there, bleeding out in my arms.”

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Don’t be sorry! I don't want to make you feel bad. I’m just trying to- I just- I can’t get the words out.”

“Okay, you lost me a little bit,” you wryly admit.

“Aghh,” he dramatically groans, fists raised clenching around nothing but air. “I’m trying to do this right, but apparently I don’t know how because you've ruined me. Absolutely ruined me!”

“I ruined you?” you echo, your head jolting in a strange mix of confusion and worry about whatever has Bucky so flustered and off-kilter.

"Yes, you've absolutely ruined me!"

"Okay," you shake your head. "You lost me again. How exactly did I ruin you?"

“I’m in love with you!” he abruptly shouts, cutting off your question. “There! I said it. I’ve been trying so hard not to fall in love with you, but I can’t do that because I’ve clearly lost my damn mind because I’m so hopelessly in love with you.”

“James,” you try to interrupt.

“No, let me finish or I’m never going to get this out. Because now I’ve got this weight in my stomach, but at the same time I’ve never felt better about myself. You’re- you see the good in me, even when I think there isn’t any, you bring it out. You single handedly bring out the best in me. The person that has all these stupid, corny ass words that I want to say to you. Like how the world feels right when you’re next to me. Or how you’re so full of light and I’m absolutely terrified that I’m going to be the one that ruins that. And I don’t have the first clue why you stick around me, why you chose the worst, grumpiest person to spend your time with, but you do. You do and every day I wake up thanking God that you do because nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do. And how you make me smile all the time, I’m smiling so damn much that my cheeks hurt. My cheeks actually hurt, my ribs hurt from the way you make me laugh. You make me laugh in a way that I’ve never laughed before. And-And…shit, I’m really bad at this.”

“And?” 

“And I don’t want to know a world without you in it," he continues, his voice returning to a normal volume. "And when you were lying there, all I kept thinking about was that I never got a chance to tell you that. To tell you that every future I picture for myself, the only future where I’m actually happy- is with you right there with me.” 

“James,” you try again.

“Don’t," he stops you. "Please don’t say anything. Not while you’re lying there, hopped up on all kinds of pain medication.”

“I feel fine,” you assure him.

“Either way.”

“Okay,” you whisper, completely enchanted by the man in front of you. 

It remains silent for a moment before the weight of Bucky's words starts to sink in. "Okay, you have to say something."

"You just said not to," you softly point out.

"And I don't want you to. Not like this."

"Then what do you want me to say?"

He shakes his head and clears his throat before speaking again, “Well I think it’s only fair that since I just embarrassed the shit out of myself, you tell me something embarrassing too.”

“Alright, if it makes you feel better,” you agree, wistfully smiling at the man. “Hmm…what can I tell you?”

“Come on, there’s gotta be something that embarrasses you,” he anxiously urges, his leg shaking as the idea of his vulnerable rant sinks deeper into his self-conscious mind. 

“Hold on! I’m trying to think.”

“In that case, I’ve got one. Sam told me there was a reason you called me James instead of Bucky. Tell me why.”

“Hmm…” you wrinkle your nose with a playful smile. “Too embarrassing.”

“Come on, I definitely just embarrassed myself out of any chance I had with you.”

You shake your head wondering how he couldn't see the effect he had on you. “I think you’re more endearing than you give yourself credit for.”

“You’re not getting out of this. Tell me,” he cajoles, slightly sticking his lower lip out. “Please?”

You let out a huff of defeat. You absentmindedly pick at the petals of the flower in your hand as you tell the story. “Do you remember the day we met?” Bucky wordlessly nods. “Well, I was very excited to meet a new person. My first new person since Sam took me in. Anyway, Sam told me a little about you and that your name was Bucky. And I told him that Bucky was a funny name.”

“Of course you did,” Bucky chortles.

You exhale one more time before continuing, “Anyway, Sam explained that it was a nickname. That nicknames were something that your friends call you, like how people call him Sam. And at first, I knew you didn’t want me around-"

“It wasn’t like that,” Bucky interrupts.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, resting your hand on his. “But I knew that you didn’t like me, that to you- I wasn’t your friend. So I called you by your real name. And after a while, before I even knew it, I didn’t want to be just your friend. So I kept calling you James, thinking maybe you’d…see me as more than a friend.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky states, his face dropping. “You’re supposed to tell me something embarrassing.”

You deeply exhale, feeling your cheeks burn at your confession. “That was embarrassing!”

“That’s literally the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. That’s the kind of thing you say at a toast at our wedding. Or a cute story you tell the grandkids! That’s not embarrassing!”

Your lips pull in as you try to hide your wistful smile. “You’ve thought about our wedding? And grandkids?”

“I didn’t say that,” he immediately backtracks, internally cringing at his lack of a verbal filter. “I meant- you know, just in general.”

“No, you definitely said ‘our wedding’. The grandkids. You’ve really thought about things like that? A real future with me?”

He stands up, pointing his thumb in the direction of the hospital window. “I’m just going to throw myself out the window now.”

You laugh as you intertwine your fingers with him to keep him in his seat next to you. “No, I think it’s sweet.”

“I’m going to stop talking before I keep embarrassing myself.”

“Don't make me laugh. It hurts,” you chortle, resting your head back on your pillow.

“How am I making you laugh? Except for how painfully embarrassed I am.”

“You know what you’re doing.”

He smiles for the first time in days, placing his elbows on your bed. “Maybe I do."

“James?" you say, placing your hands on his cheek. "I know you said not to say anything, but I do too.”

He leans into your touch, relishing in the feeling of rightness. It all felt like it was falling into place. "Then I'm the luckiest man on the planet."

You exhale softly as he slowly leans closer to you. You can't move to sit up, so you let him come to you. He presses a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips. You lean in just the slightest bit, deepening the kiss.

"Gross," Sam gags from the doorway. Bucky jolts away from you in an instant.

"Sam," you stammer. "It's not-"

"We were just-" Bucky starts, though no excuse comes to mind as to why he was draped over you in your hospital bed.

"Checking each other's tonsils?" Sam finishes with an eyebrow raised. "I was wondering when I was going to catch you two. I was hoping that you'd come clean-"

"Wait- you've known this entire time?!" you exclaim, cutting Sam off.

"I might play the fool at times, but do you two honestly think you're that slick? Of course I know. A blind man could see the way you two look at each other. It's gross. And it doesn't help that he confessed his love for you in front of me and Steve."

"What?" you exclaim, looking wildly at Bucky. "Why would you do that?"

Bucky scoffs at Sam with wide eyes, "I was in emotional turmoil. I'm not used to feelings!"

"Are you mad?" you anxiously ask Sam.

"I'm not mad, but you should've told me- rule number one, remember?"

“Aww…” you groan, throwing your head back. “Come on, don’t ‘rule number one’ me.”

"What's rule number one?" Bucky asks, eyes flickering between you and Sam. "Don’t set things on fire?"

“No,” Sam states, still pointedly eyeing you. “It’s honesty. Complete and total honesty. Don’t lie to me, don’t omit things, even if she thinks it’s something that I don’t want to hear. And I give her the same respect.”

"Well," you interject, intertwining your fingers with Bucky's as he takes his seat again. "We're all alive. No more secrets. It's gonna to be great!"

Next Chapter

"Two Sides Of The Same Coin" Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

[noobsquasher]

your smut, holy shit like ma’am they’re the hottest fucking things i’ve ever read😩

Let Me Make It Up To You

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: oral sex (reader receiving), praising, degrading, swearing, etc

Summary: After Peter feels bad for ignoring you for his new video game, he makes it up to you.

Note: Peter Parker x Female Reader

All characters in this story are 18+

Also, thank you all for 1000 followers! I truly appreciate all the love <3

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You regretted getting Peter that stupid video game for his birthday.

He has been playing it for the last couple of weeks now, screaming every time he gets shot at or when he’s doing some sort of heist with his gamer friends.

It got to the point where he blatantly ignored you whenever he was playing the game.

You sat next to him, hand on his thigh as his fingers furiously moved on his gaming controller. You wondered how he moved his fingers so fast on the controller, remembering each button by heart.

It just proved how long he’s been playing this damn game.

But you couldn’t help but imagine his long digits, inside you, pumping and curling as you moaned his name like a song.

The familiar wetness between your legs started to form as you gazed at him, breathing slowly heightening.

“Ned! Ned, we have three stars! Fuck- the cops are shooting! Get 'em!” He yelled into his mic.

Your hand started moving up, caressing his thigh before you got to the jackpot, his cock.

Hand over his clothed cock as you rubbed it, instantly hardening in your palm.

He groaned.

“Babe… babe I’m playing.” He whispered, moving his mic.

“I don’t care…” you spoke back, his cock now poking through his sweatpants.

“SHIT! OH NED! I FUCKING DIED! OH!!” He screamed, frustrated because now he needs to restart the whole heist again.

You could hear Ned screaming over the mic, aggravated.

“Y/N, now I gotta start this shit again!”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I just want to spend some quality time with my boyfriend, but he wants to play his stupid fucking game instead! I’ll leave you alone then!” You argued, standing up to walk away.

He quickly grabbed your hand, stopping you.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I’m sorry baby…” he spoke softly, removing his headphones and moving his controller to the side.

“I’m sorry… please stay… please. I’ll hang out with you.”

“You seem to care more about that game, Peter.”

“No, I don’t. Not right now. I’m sorry. Lemme make it up to you…” he said, standing up and holding your waist tightly, pulling you closer to him.

“You wanna make it up to me?”

“Yeah… let me take care of you…” Peter whispered before your lips crashed into one another, teeth clashing, tongues dancing.

Your anger quickly escaped as soon as his soft lips hit yours, his large hands squeezing your ass as your lips smacked. You couldn’t help but let out a groan, enjoying the feeling.

He smoothly moved you onto his bed, lips attached to your neck, leaving love marks.

His hands went under your shirt, cupping your breast as he rolled your bud in his palm, getting yet another groan from you.

“Let me make it up to you…” he mumbled in your ear, sending chills down your spine.

Swift with his movements, your shirt and shorts were quickly thrown to the side.

Trails of kisses and love bites were left on your soft skin, stopping to suck on your sensitive nipples before he made his way down to your drenched panties.

“Fuck Peter…”

He looked up at you as his thumb rubbed your clothed clit.

“You are always so wet for me princess… shit… I love that about you.”

Your body was already shaking with just the slight touch of his thumb on your bundle of nerves.

“Gosh… I’m not even inside you and you're already shaking. Such a needy slut, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, hands gripping his sheets.

“Please Peter…”

“What is it? Use your words.” He teased, thumb leaving your clit.

You whined, missing his touch.

“I can’t read minds. What is it?”

“Just! Just eat me out! Please… please baby…” you begged, tears about to form if you didn’t get what you wanted.

“Good girl. See, just a few words can make a wish happen.”

“Oh, Peter you talk too much! Focus on my clit!” You yelled, getting frustrated.

He glared at you before he suddenly got on top of you, hand holding your neck tightly.

“Is that any way to speak to me? Tell me? Is it?” He spoke, tone deep.

Oh, you pissed him off now.

“No… no… I’m sorry. I’ll be nice. I’ll be a good girl.”

“Will you? Or will I have to fuck you till you cry so you can obey me?”

“I’ll be a good girl. I promise.” You assured.

He gazed at you before releasing his hold.

He then kissed along your jawline, making way to your ear.

“You better live up to your word. You don’t wanna see me punish you for being a bad girl. I like sluts who obey me.”

His filthy words made you shutter, your panties saturating even more.

Finally, his head made way to your needy pussy. She was begging at this point.

Fingers hooked your panties as he slid them off.

He took a deep inhale of your soaked cunt, admiring how a few words and kisses from him got you so riled up.

Fingers went as he parted your folds, taking a peek inside you.

“My pretty pussy…”

Suddenly, his lips attached to your clit, fingers sinking into you.

You gasped, the intense feeling overwhelming you.

He sucked, slurped, and sipped your pussy. As his tongue twirled around your little bundle of nerves, his fingers worked in and out of your slick folds.

Peter was most definitely a multitasker.

“PETER!” You screamed as he ate the soul out of your pussy. He was devouring you as if you were his last supper.

“Taste so sweet…” he spoke before he dived back into you, his fingers curling inside you.

Your hands gripped his curls, head jerked back as your eyes rolled and back arched.

You were about to snap.

“I’m- fuck- I’m gonna- OH MY GOSH!” You cried, your orgasm hitting you like a huge tidal wave. You didn’t even have time to finish telling him you were gonna come as you literally saw stars. Legs shaking as you nearly ripped Peter's hair out. Tears trailing down your face.

You thought that Peter should earn a reward for his ‘god tier’ pussy eating.

Peter continued to go, gulping down your juices as if he was dehydrated.

“P- Pete- Peter… Peter- FUCK!”

“Gimme another one…”, he dived back inside you again.

You screamed, entire body shaking.

Peter loved how he made you look like a shaking, babbling mess. It turned him on heavily, he had to hump his bed to get some form of relief from his strained cock.

“Pete! Oh my gosh…” You cried again, clit now abused.

With how good this man was eating you out, how could you say no to another orgasm?

Your moans filled his room, curse words rolling off your tongue. His tongue sliding in between your folds, collecting your juices at the tip, soaking into his taste buds.

Your body jerked, back-arching, eyes rolling to the literal back of your head as you had your second intense orgasm.

You were completely out of breath by this point, and Peter didn’t stop obliterating your clit, his fingers still pumping you.

You nearly passed out when he curled his fingers again, hitting your sweet spot with much love.

“Good girl… that's my baby…” he praised, thumb circling your throbbing bud.

Incoherent whimpers escaped your lips as your chest rose and fell at a quick pace.

“Another.” He demanded.

“No… no… I can’t…”, your voice shaky.

“You can. Give me another…” he prodded.

“Please… oh gosh!” You wined, tears falling.

“You're giving me another one.” He spoke strongly before his lips connected back to your swollen folds.

You couldn’t protest Peter and his need to pleasure you. He was super stubborn and there was no point in arguing with him.

He continued to obliterate your swollen clit and already penetrated hole for a little more before your third orgasm of the day happened.

Screams tore from your mouth, scraping your vocal cords.

By now, you were a complete mess.

Hair was all over the place, entire body shaking, brain scrambled as Peter used you as a personal play toy.

You stared at the ceiling, the high of your orgasm leaving you in a vegetable-like state.

Peter finally stopped playing with your sore slit before he climbed on top of you, grinning as he saw the state, he left you in.

“You alright, princess?”

You gazed into his chocolate eyes, breath heavy. You tried to say something but forgot how to speak.

“On a scale of one to ten, how good would you rate my pussy eating?” He teased.

You glared at him, groaning.

“An 11? Wow… I’m impressed with myself.”

You were too exhausted to laugh. All you could do was shut your eyes and try to catch your breath.

You felt him wipe your sweaty forehead before he kissed it.

“I love you.”

Before you fell asleep, you heard him play his game again.

“Hey man, yeah sorry. I had to eat my girlfriend out or else she would break up with me.”

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