#how to filter elements

[pvposeur]

As someone who writes fanfics for a wide variety of fandoms, I needed to find some sort of way to be able to help people with being able to simplify what fandom they are wanting to read fanfics for on my website. And with the help of W3schools and their beautiful tutorial on How To Filter Elements, I can now officially do so.

I uploaded the HTML (+ Script) Code and CSS Code onto Pastebin for anyone who wants to use it for one reason or another. Not credit or anything is required and you can edit/change it all to your heart's content. It's also mobile/tablet, so that is definitely a bonus!

[faerygardens]

There are more tallulah & tommy fics on ao3 than there are pac & mike fics

[vriendenboekjes]

one thing that grinds my gears when looking up knitting pattern collections on youtube is people making videos like "the BEST korean and japanese knitwear designers" and then they introduce it like all knitwear designers are a monolith. can we stop it with the east asia fetishization. isnt everyone tired of it. dont you feel gross?

[starculler]

strap in for this week's fic flavor: the failsafe episode of season one of the young justice cartoon except the simulation just won't. fuckin. end.

(fics that inspired this at the end)

If I ever did sit down to make my own fic, I'd split it in 3 parts:

The Simulation: bits and pieces of the 40 years Dick lives after most everyone he knows has died

The Return: the immediate aftermath and healing from the trauma of having not-quite-actually lived a whole life only to wake up and find out it was all fake. nothing traumatizing about that whatsoever.

The Unintended Consequence: aka the twist I'd love to add and would hint to in the second part - finding out the simulation, through martian mind fuckery, pulled from the real world (and in many cases, from real minds). Dick meets a bunch of people he didn't think were real outside the confines of his simulated life. A bunch of rowdy, heroism-inclined teens across the years get to meet the sibling/friend/mentor figure they all dreamed up one night.

(actual idea snippets under the cut)

.

Dick Grayson is 14 and most of the world's heroes have died. He planned a suicide mission that left him the sole survivor of a doomed team he helped found. The invasion may have been stopped, but is this really the price he wanted to pay?

The first face he sees in the infirmary is Roy's, and he has to close his eyes and just breathe for a few minutes because for one painful moment he'd thought it was Wally. But this isn't the world where his best friend miraculously survived alongside him. This is the one where he got his best friend killed and didn't even give him the courtesy of following behind him. Behind them.

.

Dick Grayson is 27 and has lived longer without Bruce than with him. The invasion's anniversary is always a tough day for him, but that morning seems especially harrowing. He'll get shit for it later, but can't resist stepping out onto the balcony of the manor's master bedroom (Bruce's old bedroom) for a smoke -- his first since he'd promised to quit if Jason, just 15 then, did too.

"Bad habits tend to pile up," he'd said, a rueful quirk to his tired grin. He'd tapped the cigarette twice on the railing and added, lower, "and this one's especially nasty, huh."

He inhales, watches the sun creep across the horizon, and lets acrid smoke burn through his lungs for a long moment before blowing it out in a small cloud. His eyes water, but he doesn't cough. It tastes just as bad as it did the first time he smoked one, not even a year after the invasion and treading water as Robin proved insufficient.

There hadn't been enough heroes to go around then, and Dick had been trained by one of the best. It hadn't been fair, but it had been his plan that had ultimately stopped the invasion. His shoulders everyone's expectations fell on.

He takes another drag, then smudges the lit end against the rail he's leaned on when he hears a boot scuff purposefully against the roofing above him.

"Todd and Pennyworth will be upset with you."

He doesn't turn around. Damian doesn't jump down to join him.

.

Dick Grayson is 54 and wakes up in a room full of ghosts. He hears his long-dead father-figure tell his long-dead team about a simulation they weren't meant to win. A training exercise gone wrong and only half a day spent under their mentors' careful, if slightly panicked, supervision.

He looks at his hands, watching the way his gloves crease when he flexes them in and out of tight fists. He looks at his team, their eyes a little haunted but shoulders slumped with relief even as they grumble. Batman's heavy, gloved hand settles on his shoulder and the weight of it is a nauseating mix of foreign-familiar.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Tears prick his eyes behind his domino mask, and he tells himself the suffocating, acidic void building in his chest is just some leftover side effect of the ordeal and not the grief-guilt of outliving yet another family (no matter that they hadn't been real in the end).

.

Dick Grayson is 16-going-on-56 and well used to the coincidences piling up between his simulated life and the real thing. Some of it -- missions and villains he remembers cropping up -- he's marked for Bruce to review and sort as he pleases. Some -- security for the cave, team building anecdotes, and training regimens -- he's shared with the team. And some he keeps only for himself.

Tim is one of those. He knows it's not fair to the kid (so much smaller now than he ever was when Dick lived his simulated life), but he can't help being selfish just for this. Tim is the one kid he's sure he didn't make up, and if Dick's taken to babysitting the kid just to be near at least one member of the family he built for himself in the wake of the worst days of his life .... Well, anyone who says shit about it can happily stand in line to have their teeth kicked in.

Despite this, it still catches him off-guard when he sees a familiar face pop up in one of Bruce's reports.

Jason Todd, caught boosting tires off the batmobile, is nearly the same age now as he was when Dick met him. He stares at the words, but none of them really sink in beyond the kid's name and address. He's moving before he's even made the decision.

He's used to the world kicking him when he's down - lived it for 40 frustrating years. But he has Bruce again. And things with Tim have been so good. And he's always been selfish when it comes to family. If he could just see Jason. If he could just meet him. If he could talk to him.

If if if if if--

.

Inspirations:

Circles in Shattered Mirrors by InfinityIllusion

Fine (But Not Okay) by CharlotteDaBookworm

Verisimilitude by mutemelody

[lovetogether]

We love spec bio so much… we often apply it to our kemonomimi “worlds” as we enjoy thinking of the actual implications of a world where people have animal features.

[gascoignes-homewrecker]

Ublock Origin

Youtube: SponsorBlock (skips ads within videos), DeArrow (replaces clickbait thumbnails & titles), Blocktube (block channels), Enhancer (Quality of Life features), Youtube-Shorts Block

Youtube Mobile: Youtube Vanced/Revanced Manager

Twitter: Minimal Theme extension

Tumblr: xKit/xKit Rewritten, Dashboard Unfucker, Stylus with "Old Tumblr Dashboard" userstyle

Spotify: xManager (desktop & mobile)

Firefox: High chance you'll love it and curse holding out for so long.

Linux: No whiney search box trying to Edge you, no ads in the start menu, no trending searches reminding you about celebrity gossip & politics.

i would move heaven and earth to avoid hearing one single advertisement

[pvposeur]

This is kinda sorta a Part 2 of a previous post I've made.

Can't remember the name of that one fanfic you enjoy reading but remember the ship? Or how about wanting to read a specific Rating? Maybe you want to read Completed works? Well, with the help of how AO3 has their fanfics structured and W3schools with their beautiful tutorial on How To Filter Lists with JS, I can now officially do so.

I uploaded the HTML (+ Script) Code and CSS Code onto Pastebin for anyone who wants to use it for one reason or another. No credit or anything is required and you can edit/change it all to your heart's content. It's also mobile/tablet, so that is definitely a bonus!

[twilightofthesandwiches]

When talking about the distinction between Simon Petrikov and the Ice King,  it’s important to remember that originally, the Crown wasn’t trying to turn Simon into Ice King -

It was trying to turn him into this guy.

At the time, the Ice Crown - or rather the Wishing Crown - was programmed with Gunther’s wish to become Evergreen. So everything related to making the current wearer like Evergreen is a very direct result of the Crown’s Magic. The physical changes -

And the obsession with the name ‘Gunther’ -

And maybe some of the irritability and anger issues -

That is something the Crown is very directly forcing unto its current wielder. 

But everything else?

Ice King, personality-wise, was not much like Evergreen at all, or even like Gunther's view of him. And Ice Finn of the Farmworld Universe was also pretty different from the both of them.

At the time, I remember people assumed Ice Finn’s behavior is more indicative of what the Crown is actually trying to do with its wielders. That Ice King is so different because of Simon’s subconscious resistance against the Crown - while Finn’s much younger and dumber brain is a lot susceptible to the Curse’s influence to become some sort of mad world-conquering emperor of ice and snow. 

But, with the context of the Crown’s actual backstory. That doesn’t seem very likely anymore. I think what’s actually happening there is that the Crown is just trying to make its wielder an Ice Wizard on par with Evergreen (who was the Actual Goddam Ice Elemental) and that means pumping the wielder’s brain so full of Magic, Madness and Sadness to a level that is bound to overwhelm anyone.

And Simon’s and Farmworld Finn’s very different behaviors after putting on the crown is indicative, more than anything, of how their psyche reacts to Madness and Sadness in general. You know, Finn has a very proactive and kinda aggressive personality - and you add Crown-induced-Madness-and-Sadness and a compulsion to use Ice Magic as much as possible and you get all of…. this 

Meanwhile, for Simon, the compulsions of the Crown originally filtered exclusively via the language of protection 

As his madness always manifested as romantic obsession 

And using goofy humor to try and deny the pain he’s going through 

Because that’s how Simon’s mind specifically reacts to being flooded with so much Madness and Sadness.

That’s why there’s so many parallels between Ice King and the sort of mistakes and screwed-up stuff Simon does right now! He’s even kidnapping people again!

Because the Madness and Sadness of Ice King might’ve been induced by the Crown, but now Simon has plenty of personal home-grown Madness and Sadness inside him - and it’s no surprise that Curse-Induced or not, his mind reacts to it in a sorta-similar way. (Although obviously not as intensely, again, there was a LOT of MMS in the Ice Crown).

Now as for Ice Thing, and the fact that he seems to be actually rather well-adjusted under effects of his version of the Wishing Crown. I mean... not by the time of the 1000+ Era, but that’s literally eons in the future and also maybe more Gibbon’s fault. Even if the Crown will eventually take some sort of toll on him, for now he seems to be doing pretty well considering his wish. I mean, there's still some sort of Loss of Identity stuff going on

But everything we've seen of Ice Thing (in the present day, at least) shows him as a friendly and cheerful individual that gets along well with others. A far cry from how maladjusted every single wielder of the Ice Crown acted.

At the very least, if there's any notable amount of Sadness in him, we really haven't seen it yet.

There might be several factors here:

First things first, I should acknowledge the possibility that it’s just that Orgalorg’s eldritch brain is better at intaking all that MMS juice. That could play a part, but I think it’s probably more important, at least thematically, to look at the distinction between ‘I wish to be Evergreen’ and ‘I wish to be Ice King’. 

First in the sense that while Ice King was occasionally mean to Gunter at times - he was generally much kinder than Evergreen ever was for ‘his’ Gunther. So, like, pretty much the one Personality Flaw of Ice King that you can directly link to the Ice Crown’s attempt to mimic Evergreen is the occasional anger issues.

And how they relate to Gunther’s view of Evergreen, so grumpy and controlling and constantly saying ‘NO!’

(Both Finn and Simon’s demonstrable not-crown-induced trauma responses can make them pretty short-tempered as well. So I’m not going to say this is purely the effects of the Crown. It still probably plays some sort of factor at why the wielder of the Ice Crown is Like That).

And that is not a factor in how Gunter views Ice King. For him, Ice King was a doting and loving father figure - so if the Crown was ever trying to implement any sort of specific negative personality traits, this is absolutely no longer a factor. Because the original Ice Crown was a reflection of Evergreen’s abuse, and now Ice Thing is a reflection of Ice King’s fatherly love.

Which is, itself, probably an echo or remnant of Simon’s own strong parental instincts. 

Secondly, while the Crown was trying to make the Ice King just as powerful as Evergreen…. Ice King was obviously not as powerful as Evergreen. Because he was already a second-rate copy of the Ice Elemental’s power, and because Ice King was often just too doofy to use his powers correctly and probably because some remnant of Simon’s original sensible self is subconsciously holding his powers back.

Either way, being ‘like Ice King’ as Gunter sees him requires less Magic than being ‘like Evergreen’ as Gunther saw him - and therefore less Madness and Sadness. Leading to the wearer or, um, the eater being a lot more well-adjusted from the get-go.

And I think that the implication that Ice Thing has fused with the Crown, so there's never going to be another poor sap who puts on the Crown and gets Ice King'd. But if there is one somehow... at least the process is going to be less mentally detrimental that time around?

Maybe one day Simon could look back and appreciate how much he (or Ice King, or both of them, or however you want to look at the situation) is responsible for basically neutralizing the Crown that ruined his life in the first place.

[simplygojo]

Gettin' A Full Service

author's note ⸺ Y'all I'm so sorry im nothin but a nasty dog bc no way this is 4.3k 💀. ANYWHO this smutty fic idea came to me when seeing the art used as the cover for this by @actuallyvalerie (original art is linked here), I just couldn't help myself from writing this...heh. Hope you enjoy!

pairing ⸺ Mechanic!Toji Fushiguro x reader

word count ⸺ 4.3k (im a nasty dog y'all...)

content ⸺ 18+ content, SMUT!, oral (reader receiving), intercourse, dirty sex, choking, pet names (pretty girl), fingering, slight overstimulation, mndi, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions || discord channel

^^ art by @actuallyvalerie

The low rumble of engines filled the air as you stepped into the garage, the familiar scents of motor oil and gasoline swirling around you. Your heartbeat quickened the moment you caught sight of him—Toji Fushiguro. 

He was bent over the hood of his car, focused on something behind the propped-up hood.

The muscles in his broad back flexed as he worked, his white tank top clinging to his sweat-slicked skin. His strong arms glistened with a light sheen of sweat, smudged with streaks of oil that only added to the raw masculinity he exuded. 

A dark smear ran along his sharp jawline, the grease contrasting with his striking, rugged features. The late afternoon sun filters through the wide windows of Toji’s garage, casting long shadows across the floor as you lean against the doorframe, watching him work. 

His muscles flexed as he tightened a bolt with practiced ease. His black hair falls into his eyes, and he grunts, annoyed, pushing it back with his forearm before continuing.

You can’t help but smile at the sight. Toji, focused and in his element, and it was really turning you on…

The way he concentrated on the task at hand, brow furrowed and lips slightly parted as he grunted with effort, was enough to send heat coursing through you. Each twist of the wrench, every subtle shift of his frame, seemed to radiate raw masculinity, igniting a spark of desire deep within you.

Your pulse quickened, and you felt a warmth pooling in your core, drawn in by the mix of confidence and sheer masculinity he exuded.

Toji, sensing your gaze, glances over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna stand there all day or actually say something?” His voice is teasing, rough around the edges, but there’s that familiar smirk tugging at his lips, the one that makes your heart skip a beat.

You push off the doorframe and walk over, hands in your pockets, pretending to study the car (like you gave a damn) as if you understand half of what he’s doing. 

“Just admiring the view,” you reply with a grin, leaning against the workbench. “You sure know how to make fixing a car look… good.”

Toji snorts, wiping the grease from his hands onto a rag before tossing it aside. “Yeah? Well, don’t get used to it. Not many people get a free show.”

You roll your eyes at his usual bravado but can’t deny that there’s something captivating about him. He straightens up, towering over you with that smug grin still firmly in place. “What, you just came here to stare?”

You shrug, deciding to play along. “Maybe. Can’t blame me, right? You’re good at what you do.”

His smirk widens, and he steps closer, towering over you now. There’s an intensity in his gaze, but it’s softened by the playful glint in his eyes. “You saying I should charge for it?”

You laugh, lightly shoving him. “Please, you’d drive everyone away with that attitude.”

He chuckles, leaning back against the car, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Probably. But you’re still here, so I must be doing something right.”

You look up at him, biting back a smile. “Guess I’m the lucky one, huh?”

Toji’s eyes narrow playfully, but there’s a warmth in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Damn right.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the garage filling the space once again. 

After a moment, you speak again, your voice softer. “Need any help?”

Toji glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You offering?”

You shrug, moving closer to inspect the tools scattered on the workbench. “Maybe. I’m not exactly a mechanic, but I can hold a wrench.”

He snorts, amused, and hands you a tool.

“Don’t hurt yourself. That’s my job.”

You take it, rolling your eyes at his comment. But as you stand next to him, following his instructions and working together on the car, there’s a quiet contentment in the air. 

You grip the wrench, watching Toji’s hands as he guides yours to the right bolt. His touch is firm, steady, sparking a heat between your thighs. His body is so close to yours that you felt the warmth radiating off him. 

You try to focus on the task at hand, but with Toji standing over you, the subtle scent of engine oil mixed with his cologne makes your heart race, and it's hard to concentrate.

"Like this?" You ask, adjusting the wrench in your hand, trying to distract yourself from your dirty thoughts.

Toji’s lips twitch into a smirk as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Tighten it, don’t baby it, baby." 

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. You give the wrench another turn, putting more effort into it this time.

"There. Happy?" You ask, looking up at him.

Toji’s gaze flickers down to meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you seems to thicken. 

His eyes darken, a hint of something playful yet dangerous lurking in them.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans in even closer, so close you can feel the brush of his arm against yours.

"Not bad," he murmurs, his voice low. His big arms reached over you and tightened the bolt even more, just showing off his strength. "Maybe you’re not as useless around here as I thought."

You narrow your eyes at him, though there’s no real annoyance in your expression. "Oh, please. I’m the best help you’ve ever had."

Toji’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Big words for someone who didn’t even know where the wrench was five minutes ago."

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, he reaches past you to grab another tool, his arm brushing against your side. 

He doesn’t move away, staying so close that your shoulders are practically touching. It’s deliberate—you can tell by the smug look on his face.

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t back down. Instead, you let your own smile grow, deciding to meet his teasing head-on.

"Maybe I don’t know cars, but I know you like showing off. How long did it take you to fix that last engine again? Two hours?"

Toji lets out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying your banter. "Two hours, and it was perfect. Don’t forget that part."

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. "Perfect, huh? Or just barely passable?"

He narrows his eyes at you, though there’s a playful edge in his gaze.

"Careful. You’re gonna talk yourself out of a favour if you keep that up."

"Oh? What favour?" you ask, leaning against the car now, your arms crossed, fully enjoying the back-and-forth.

Toji leans down, bringing his face closer to yours, his grin shifting into something more dangerous, more tempting. "The one where I let you stick around here. Don’t think I’ll keep you around for free."

Your breath hitches slightly, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you match his energy, pushing back without missing a beat.

"Oh, so you’re saying I have to work to earn my keep? What’s the price, then? More wrench-holding?"

He chuckles again, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through the air between you. 

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the teasing fades into something heavier, something that lingers in the charged space between your bodies. 

He’s close enough now that you can see the flecks of green in his eyes, close enough that you can feel the warmth rolling off him.

"Nah," Toji says, his voice dropping an octave, turning more serious but still holding that playful tone.

"I’ve got enough wrenches. I’m thinkin’ of something a little more… personal."

You can feel your pulse quicken, but you don’t look away. "Oh? Like what?"

He leans in, just barely brushing his lips against your ear.

"Guess you’ll just have to stick around to find out."

For a second, the world seems to slow down, your senses overwhelmed by the proximity of him, the way his voice sends shivers down your spine. 

But before you can say anything, Toji pulls back, the smirk returning to his face as he casually grabs another tool and turns back to the car, as if nothing just happened.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Toji always knows exactly how to push your buttons, how to get under your skin in a way that leaves you wanting more.

“Tease,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head with a smile.

Toji glances over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“I’m not teasing this time, I’m just busy. Like I said, stick around...”

His voice was low, almost serious, but that playful gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. 

He gives you a wink, and something about the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine.

You open your mouth to reply, but words seem to get stuck in your throat. The way he’s looking at you right now—like you’re the only thing in the room worth paying attention to—makes your pulse quicken. 

The air between you feels heavy, charged with an energy you can’t quite name.

Toji watches your reaction closely, his grin fading into something softer, more intense. He drops the tool he was holding onto the workbench and turns fully toward you, wiping his hands on the rag before tossing it aside.

“You really think I’m just messin’ with you?”

Your breath catches as he steps closer, closing the already small distance between you. His presence is overwhelming—tall, broad, and carrying that rough, irresistible confidence he always seems to have. 

But this time, there’s something else in the way he looks at you, something different. His teasing smirk is gone, replaced by a look that makes your heart race.

“Toji…” you start, but you’re not even sure what you want to say.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your chin, tilting your face up so that you’re forced to meet his eyes. The touch is surprisingly gentle, almost tender.

“I’m serious,” he says quietly, his voice low and rough around the edges. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you look at me, the way you linger around here like you’re waitin’ for something to happen.”

Your cheeks burn at his words, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment or anticipation.

Maybe both.

But before you can respond, Toji’s hand slips from your chin, moving to rest against the side of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“I’ve been holding back,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, like he’s been keeping this confession locked away for too long.

The dark, dangerous edge in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. His grip on you tightens slightly, a subtle indication of just how much control he’s been forcing himself to maintain.

You’re painfully aware of how close he is now—his broad frame nearly eclipsing yours, his body radiating a heat that makes it harder to breathe. The faint scents of oil and metal lingers in the air, mixing with something distinctly him. It’s intoxicating.

“M’didn’t wanna push too far, but... maybe I’ve been waitin' for you to give me the green light.” His words hang in the air, a challenge wrapped in velvet. It’s like a line drawn in the sand, daring you to cross it.

Your heart pounds, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Every inch of you is hyper-aware of Toji—the way his hand lingers on your neck, the way his gaze seems to devour you. You want this. God, you want this.

“What if I gave you that green light right now?” The words leave your lips before you can fully process them, but there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing.

For a fleeting moment, Toji’s pupils dilate, his eyes narrowing with something primal, something dangerous. The smirk that spreads across his face is no longer playful—it’s predatory.

“Then I wouldn’t waste any more time.”

Before you can draw another breath, his mouth crashes down on yours, and it’s like a dam breaking—everything he’s been holding back unleashed in one searing, possessive kiss.

His hands move from your throat to your waist, pulling you against him so fiercely that your feet nearly leave the ground.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses you. His lips are demanding, rough, as if he’s staking a claim.

You can feel the pent-up tension in every movement—the way his teeth graze your lower lip, the way his hands grip your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his hold.

Your hands move instinctively to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, pulling him even closer.

You match his intensity, giving in to the heat that’s been simmering between you both for far too long. Every brush of his lips, every press of his body against yours ignites a fire low in your belly, making you ache for more.

Toji pulls back for just a moment, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours as he catches his breath. His eyes, hooded and dark, search yours as if looking for any trace of hesitation. But there is none.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” His voice is low, rumbling with barely restrained need.

Your answer comes not in words but in the way you tug him back to you, pressing your lips to his once more, harder this time, as if you’re trying to tell him with your body what your words can’t quite express.

Toji groans softly, the sound vibrating against your mouth as his hands begin to explore, sliding under the hem of your shirt.

His touch is scorching, sending jolts of electricity through your skin. 

There’s an urgency now, a desperation in the way his hands roam your body, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. 

Your back hits the cold metal of his car behind you, the chill momentarily cutting through the heat between you, but it only seems to heighten the tension. 

Toji’s hands are firm on your waist, holding you in place against the cool surface, his body pressed against yours in a way that has your pulse racing.

He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes smouldering with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. The darkness in his gaze has only grown deeper, and when he speaks, his voice is rough, husky, full of raw need.

“I’ve been patient,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your jeans. “But you don’t want me to hold back anymore, do you?”

The way he says it, the low growl in his voice, sends a wave of heat straight to your throbbing pussy. 

You can only manage a small shake of your head, your throat too tight to form any words.

His lips twist into a smirk, something predatory glinting in his eyes as he steps back just enough to grab you by the waist and hoist you effortlessly onto the hood of the car behind you. 

He quickly unbuttoned your jeans, sliding them off your legs, letting his hands roam your skin.

The cold metal beneath you contrasts sharply with the warmth of his body as he steps between your legs, spreading them open with a firm grip on your thighs.

“You’ve been teasing me, y’know that?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous as his hands trace the outline of your hips, fingers brushing the edge of your panties.

“You comin’ in here wearing these tight jeans, given’ me those looks.”

Before you can respond, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and, with one sharp tug, the fabric tears apart in his hands. 

The sound of it—quick and final—echoes in the small garage, and the cool air hits your skin, making you gasp.

Toji’s eyes darken as he looks down at you, his gaze hungry and unrestrained. He licks his lips, the smirk from earlier gone, replaced with something far more serious.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your inner thighs, rough fingers brushing the sensitive skin as he leans down, bringing his face closer to your dripping cunt. His breath ghosts over your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Such a pretty sight.”

He pauses for a second, his thumb brushing dangerously close to your center, teasing, but not yet giving you the touch you desperately need. You squeeze your eyes shut, your head falling back with pleasure.  

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he lets his thumb slide over your slick folds, testing your reaction, watching the way your body responds under his touch. The anticipation, the raw hunger in his gaze, it’s all too much, and you let out a desperate moan. 

Your breath hitches as Toji's thumb slides teasingly through your folds, his touch both rough and deliberate.

You try to bite back the groan threatening to escape your lips, but the way his eyes flicker up to meet yours tells you he notices everything.

“Don’t hold back now,” he rasps, his voice gravelly, sending shivers down your spine.

“I wanna hear every pretty sound you make.”

Before you can react, he dips his head between your thighs, and the warmth of his breath against your sensitive skin makes your body tremble. His hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you in place, as his tongue traces a slow, agonizing path over your slick heat.

Your gasp echoes through the garage, head falling back against the hood of his car as pleasure surges through you. 

You feel Toji’s lips curl into a smirk against you, clearly enjoying the way your body reacts to his touch. 

He doesn’t hold back—his tongue flicks, swirls, and sucks, each movement precise and calculated, as though he’s savouring every moment of this.

“Fuck, Toji—” you gasp, your hands instinctively flying to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as the heat builds inside you.

Toji growls in response, the vibrations of his voice against your pussy sending waves of pleasure through you, making your thighs shake. 

He dives in deeper, his mouth working relentlessly, tasting every inch of you, each flick of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

The sensation is overwhelming—his lips, his tongue, the way his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open for him, like you’re his to devour. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once. Every brush of his mouth over your clit sends electricity shooting through your body, and leaves you whining for more.

Your hips buck instinctively, seeking more, needing more of the pleasure he’s giving you.

Toji chuckles, dark and amused, his voice muffled as he continues to work you with his mouth. “So needy,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet against your heated skin. “I like that.”

It’s like he knows exactly how to unravel you, like he’s been waiting for this moment, studying you, learning your body, just so he could do this—just so he could make you fall apart beneath him.

“Toji—m' gonna cum,” you choke out, your voice barely a whisper, but he knows what you need. 

He speeds up, his mouth and fingers working in tandem, the relentless pace driving you higher and higher, until the world falls away and all that’s left is him, his touch, and the pleasure that crashes over you in waves.

You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, your thighs clamping around his head as your body shakes with the intensity of it. 

But Toji doesn't let up, continuing to lap at you, drawing out your pleasure until you're trembling from the aftershocks.

Finally, he pulls back, his lips and chin glistening as he looks up at you with a satisfied grin, eyes dark with lust. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, standing back up, towering over you once again.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he rasps, his voice a low growl that sends another wave of heat through your body.

Before you can catch your breath, his large hand slides behind your neck, gripping it firmly, but not harshly. 

He lifts you from your position on the car, pulling you up until you’re sitting in front of him, your legs dangling off the edge of the hood. His hand lingers at your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse, feeling the rapid beat of your heart.

Your body is still humming with the afterglow of your orgasm, but when you glance down and see Toji’s other hand move to the waistband of his pants, your breath hitches again. 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he unbuttons them slowly, deliberately, the tension between you thickening once more.

Toji's eyes gleamed with that dark hunger as his grip on your neck tightened just a fraction, enough to remind you who was in control. His free hand moved to the back of your thigh, pulling you forward on the car until you could feel the heat of him between your legs.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice low and rough as his hand caressed the curve of your hip, dragging you closer to him.

“So pretty, all spread out for me.”

Your breath caught as you felt the tip of him brush against your entrance, your entire body already aching for him, needing more. You leaned into his grip on your neck, your pulse racing beneath his fingers as you whispered,

“Please, Toji…”

He chuckled darkly at the desperation in your voice, his grin widening as he pressed himself just a little harder against you, teasing you.

“Please what, baby? You gotta use your words.”

You squirmed under his grip, your body screaming for more contact, for him to stop teasing.

“God Toji—I want y’to fuck me,” you said in frustration, your voice barely audible as your body begged for him.

“Good girl.” His voice was a low, approving growl as he finally lined himself up with you, his voice sent another wave of heat to your aching pussy. Without another word, he pulled you forward, thrusting into you in one swift motion.

The sudden stretch had you gasping, eyes wide as your walls adjusted to his size, the feeling of him filling you completely was overwhelming.

Toji groaned, his grip on your neck tightening as he stilled inside you, savouring the feeling for just a moment. You grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes locked on yours as each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body.

Your hands instinctively reached for him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as you clung to him, every nerve in your body on fire. Toji’s lips curled into a smug grin at the way you responded to him, the way your body seemed to melt under his touch.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He rasped, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in closer while maintaining his rough pace. His grip on your neck shifted to pull your head back slightly. 

“Tell me how good it feels.”

“It’s so good,” you moaned, your voice trembling as he began to pick up the pace, the force of his thrusts making the car creak beneath you. 

Every movement pushed you higher, the pressure building inside you all over again as Toji took you apart piece by piece.

Toji’s pace became relentless, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, and your body was a live wire, every nerve tingling under his touch. The pressure inside you built impossibly fast, the pleasure coiling tight in your core, threatening to snap.

“Toji—" you whimpered, barely able to form words as he drove into you, your body quivering beneath him. 

Hot tears pricked at your eyes from the overstimulation you felt—never ever had anyone fucked you like this.

He groaned at the sound of your voice, his lips brushing against your ear.

"That’s it, pretty girl. Cum f’me," he rasped, his hand tightening around your neck just enough to send a thrill through you.

The roughness of his voice, the commanding way he held you—it pushed you over the edge. 

Your body tensed, the world spinning as your orgasm ripped through you with a force that left you gasping, your walls clenching tightly around him as wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your veins.

You cried out his name followed by a pornographic moan, legs trembling, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode the intensity of it, your whole body shaking as the pleasure overtook you. 

Toji’s hand slipped from your neck, sliding down to your waist as he kept moving, working you through the aftershocks as your body convulsed beneath him.

“There you go,” he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction, his hips slowing as he watched the way you writhed under him, completely lost in the ecstasy he’d given you.

Panting and spent, your body collapsed back against the car, your chest heaving as the last waves of your orgasm rolled through you.

Toji’s eyes gleamed with pride as he pulled out, his hands still possessively resting on your hips.

"You look so damn pretty when you cum," he murmured, leaning down to press a rough kiss against your lips, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

You were utterly spent, trembling in the aftermath, but as Toji’s lips curled into that familiar smirk, you knew...

He wasn’t done with you yet.

[alltheirdamn]

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Part II

Summary: Joel just can't leave you alone, and you hate it. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, mentions of guns/violence, smoking, explicit language, sexual tension, brat taming, mild dubious elements, spanking, slapping, choking, rough unprotected piv sex, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, squirting, facial/cum eating, joel doesn't really take no for an answer, lots of angst A/N: I just couldn't get enough of these two. all my love to @lotusbxtch and @mermaidgirl30 for squealing over the filth every single day with me. ride that cowboy girlies, it's worth it ;) Part I

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Your fingers were wet from the condensation rolling off your glass of sweet tea, the steady stream of droplets splattering against your bare thighs. The day had been exhausting; the cattle were abnormally restless and decided to drift too far out in the fields. Hours riding Mac left your legs sore, and honestly, you just wanted to smoke your Marlboros and sip on your tea. With your boots kicked up on the porch railing and a cigarette between your lips, you were blissfully content. 

That is, until your peace and quiet were shattered.

Dirt kicked up in the distance, and the steady rhythmic hum of an engine grew louder as it drifted closer to your house. You groaned in frustration, already knowing who to expect. Dear God, was Joel Miller relentless. You reached behind your porch chair, fingers curling around the shotgun propped up against the wood. You warned him. 

His beat-up Red Chevy stopped beside your home, and you tracked his movements as he opened the door. Lifting the gun to your eye level, you aimed the barrel toward his truck. Your finger hovered over the trigger, steady and calm. Joel stepped out of the driver's seat, adjusting his belt buckle against his stomach. You wouldn’t kill him; you weren’t that mean, although it was tempting. 

One quick pull of the trigger and you sent a warning shot into the side door of his truck, rupturing the metal with a resounding bang. Joel ducked down, letting out a startled grunt before turning his head to inspect the damage. Whipping head toward you, Joel stared you down with narrowed eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he huffed. “That how y’welcome all your visitors?”

“Only the ones who piss me off!” You shouted.

Joel ran a hand down his scruff, swaying in place as if deciding whether to approach you. Do it, you thought. He made one cautious step, and you rewarded him with another cock of your shotgun, the barrel loaded and ready to fire. 

“Take it easy, darlin’. I only wanted to come talk,” Joel cautioned, his hands raised in defeat.

“S’nothin’ to fuckin’ talk about, Miller,” you said, your eye squinting down the barrel line.

Each step of his cowboy boots crunched the earth below, slow steps progressing forward. Joel walked to the edge of the porch; his shoulders hiked to his ears and arms still raised as if he were approaching a wild bull. Serves him right to be scared of you. You may have let him get the best of you the first time around, but you wouldn’t let that happen again.

“Can y’put the damn gun down, darlin’?” He barked.

“Can y’take your ass back to your side of the pasture?” You tossed back.

The closer he got, the clearer his features became; the scruffy graying beard with small bare patches against his jawline, the worry lines deeply etched into his tan skin, and those damn brown eyes that plagued your thoughts night and day. You still thought about how soft they were when he looked at you before he left the stables, a kindness that flickered through the amber specks and filtered out that rage. It was truly unfair that such an insufferable man could be so damn handsome. 

Joel’s boots knocked against the first step of the stairs, and your grip tightened around the shotgun. His eyes tracked your fingers as they flexed around the metal, your knuckles tense.

“I ain’t take you for the murderin’ type,” he said cooley.

“Reckon you don’t know much ‘bout me to be assumin’ that. Who knows, maybe I got myself a pile of bodies lyin’ in the grass behind my house.”

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as he advanced another step, still testing the waters with you. You rocked back in your chair, propping the heel of your boot on the railing for stability. 

“Wanna show me all them dead bodies then, darlin’? Prove that you’re not all bark and no bite?” He smirked.

You angled the shotgun past the side of his head and sent a shot flying out into the yard. Joel flinched hard enough to knock himself into the stair railing, his weight jostling the porch. With a coy grin, you lowered the gun an inch and shrugged your shoulders.

“Can’t show ya’ if you’re dead,” you grinned.

Joel lunged at you, ripping the gun from your hand and tossing it feet away from you. He gripped the back of your chair and drew his face closer, his pupils dilating the longer he glared at you. Rolling your tongue across your teeth, you raised your hand to his neck, drifting it up the scruff under his jaw. A shallow breath exhaled from his lips, and he stared at you in anticipation. Oh, he thought you were going to kiss him? Cute.

With a quick snap of your wrist, you smacked your hand across his cheek before shoving him out of your face. Joel barely moved an inch, your hands smacking into solid muscle that wouldn’t budge. All that softness in his eyes was displaced with an unmistakable sense of rage, his friendliness shattering away as his cheek flushed from the impact. 

“Now y’done pissed me off, you fuckin’ brat,” Joel snarled.

His hand shot out to your throat, yanking you from your porch chair and to your feet. His grip was hardly as tight as last time but still forceful enough to render you powerless. Your eyes flickered toward the gun across the porch, so far out of reach and unattainable. You should have shot him when you had the chance. 

“Be a good girl and invite me in,” Joel ordered, nodding toward your front door. 

You wagged your head back and forth, your lips curled up and ready to spew venom. Joel only brought your face closer, his upper lip twitching under his mustache. 

“Do it. Now. Or I swear to God, I’ll make last time look like a goddamn walk in the park.”

“Surprised y’got any sex drive left in you, old man,” you gasped, his fingers tightening around your neck. 

“Christ, you fuckin’ infuriate me,” Joel grumbled.

He used his grip on your neck to propel your feet backward, guiding you toward your front door and over the threshold. The heel of your boot snagged on the lip of the door, sending you flailing back, only for him to grab you by the waist and yank you forward into his sturdy frame.

Even with his hand wrapped around your throat, Joel had never looked more gorgeous than he did at that moment. Swimming through the rage inside his eyes was a hint of worry, as if he genuinely thought you’d stumble to the ground. The reaction time of his arm circling your waist and the small exhale of breath off his lips, a quiet I got you in his own way. 

The moment dwindled as fast as it came, a flickering flame extinguished somewhere between the threshold and the entryway of your tiny farm home. Joel reverted to his aggressive tendencies, manhandling you onto your worn-down floral sofa. The springs beneath the cushions squeaked under the weight of your bodies as he pinned you down, his face a breath apart from yours. 

“You ready to play nice, darlin’? Or am I gonna have to ruin that pussy again just to shut you up?” He questioned. 

Your hands grazed over his torso, tracing the outline of his soft stomach and over the buttons traveling up toward the collar of his shirt. You watched Joel’s eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment, only to fly wide open as you sunk your nails into the hair at the nape of his neck. You tugged hard on his salt and pepper hair, enough so that his neck strained back. 

“Get the fuck off me, Joel,” you seethed, the words snarling out between your teeth. 

“We both know that ain’t fuckin’ happenin’.”

Joel wrangled you over and onto your stomach, his hand still firmly clasped around your throat. He quickly caged your legs in between his muscular thighs, molding your body into the sofa cushions. Half your face was smothered into the dingy couch, your hair tossed in streaks over your eyes and clouding your vision. With his free hand, Joel cupped the curve of your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh that peaked out beneath the cut-off of the denim. 

“Y’still got my handprints branded into your ass, darlin?” Joel asked.

He didn’t care to know the answer as he smacked his hand down, the bite of his skin against the fabric sending electric jolts of pain up your spine. Truth was, the bruises he left were still there—yellow, horrid welts that were a ceaseless reminder of last time. You wouldn’t ever admit it, but sometimes you found yourself in the mirror tracing the outline of his fingerprints, fantasizing about his hands on your body. 

“Answer me,” Joel commanded.

“Fuck you,” you said, your voice muffled into the couch.

“Always gotta have an attitude, don’t you?”

Joel’s hand connected with your ass again, this time hard enough to elicit a small whimper from your lips. You could deny it all you wanted, but it was making you unbearably wet. You squirmed under his grip, finding some sort of relief within the friction of your shorts. Joel caught onto your movements and chuckled at your lost efforts.

“Got you all riled up, huh? This sweet lil’ pussy need takin’ care of?”

He cupped your sex through your jeans, the roughness of his hand spurring you on even more—stupid body for responding the way it did to this man. Joel pressed his fingers against the seam of the denim, finding your swollen clit hidden beneath. You exhaled loudly, your body sagging further into the cushions as he rubbed rough circles over the aching bundle of nerves.

“Right there, darlin’? That feel good for you?” Joel taunted. 

“Mhmm,” you whined.

“You wanna cum for me?” 

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, holding back the plea for release. Joel knew what he was doing; he knew you wouldn’t beg. You were too stubborn and too defiant to ever beg for it. At least, not again. But his fingers worked faster—harder—keeping you on the edge of ecstasy the longer you stayed silent.

“C’mon,” he urged. “Ask nicely, and I’ll let you cum.”

You turned your head into the sofa, burying your face into the cushions as you let out a frustrated cry. Fuck this man. Fuck his ability to turn you pliant and easy. Your body bucked against his hand as he worked at you in tantalizing movements, the friction of his palm against your sex becoming dizzying. 

“Please,” you muttered, your voice muffled and quiet.

Joel’s hand unwound from your neck, taking its place within the tresses of your hair. A swift tug back, and your eyes strained to meet his as he loomed over you. 

“I didn’t hear you,” he growled.

You swallowed thickly, trying to form another plea, but you couldn’t make a sound. Joel tugged on your hair harder, enough to make you cry at the pain. Your nails dug into the couch, and you managed a small please through a strangled moan.

“Too bad, darlin’. Bratty lil sluts don’t get to cum. I just wanted to hear y’beg for it.”

He released his grip on your head, shoving you back down. You groaned in frustration as his hand vanished from between your legs. The couch shifted beneath you as Joel rose to his feet, wandering around your living room and into your kitchen. 

“Where’s your smokes?” He asked, rifling through the drawers as if he owned the place.

You lifted yourself, stretching your neck and detangling your hair with your fingers. Your clit painfully throbbed against your panties, your core still fluttering from the phantom orgasm that never came. Joel continued his search, slamming drawers shut and opening cupboards without a care in the world as if he didn’t just have you pinned down and begging for release. The temptation to run out and grab your gun was thrumming inside your veins; just one shot and you’d be free of him. Joel glanced up at the exact moment you shot to your feet, gunning for the door. 

“Don’t even think about it, darlin’,” Joel warned.

“You expect me to let you roam ‘round my house uninvited?” You questioned. 

“I expect you to be a good host and find me a damn cigarette,” he snapped. 

“Well, they’re on my porch. So, if you’ll let me leave for a damn second, I can bring you one.”

Joel leaned against the kitchen counter, considering you with eyes narrowed. You folded your arms over your chest and stared at him, both of you in a silent showdown. With a lift of his chin, he motioned for you to go ahead and retrieve them. Disappearing out onto the porch, you scooped up your pack of reds and lighter, lingering an extra moment as you considered the gun lying on the ground.

“I’m waitin’!” He called from inside.

“Christ, I fuckin’ hate you,” you said, walking back into the house.

Joel had made himself all too comfortable on your couch, his legs spread open and arm lazily draped over the back cushion. You immediately noticed the bulge in his jeans, a telltale sign that he was just as worked up as you were. Tough fucking luck. If he wouldn’t get you off, you wouldn’t help him either. 

“Y’ hate me, huh?” Joel asked, his lips curving into a smug grin.

You didn’t respond as you smacked the bottom of the cigarette carton against your palm. Joel flicked his fingers, urging you closer, yet you stayed planted to the ground. 

“Gonna give me one of those, darlin’?”

“Why should I?” You huffed. “Y’come into my home uninvited and act like you own the damn place. Actin’ all demandin’ and rude.”

Joel let out a low whistle, rolling his neck back and forth. You continued smacking the carton, your lips set in a firm line.

“What’s rude is tryna kill someone who only came to talk. So, come here and sit.”

“And if I don’t wanna?”

“For one goddamn minute, can y’just not be so fuckin’ stubborn?” Joel huffed.

“Fine.”

You strode toward the couch, aiming to sit beside Joel, only to have him wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his lap. Your thighs pressed against his as you settled into his body, the rugged muscles of his legs flexing beneath you. You were too close to him, too aware of the way his eyes sparkled with rich amber flecks in this nearness. Joel studied you without an ounce of anger as if none of what had happened between you ever existed. It made it terribly hard to continue hating him when he looked at you that way.

“Y’gonna be a good girl and give me a smoke now?” Joel asked.

Rolling your eyes, you removed a cigarette from the carton, offering it to him. Joel only shrugged, parting his lips ever so slightly to invite it into his awaiting mouth. Your fingers brushed against the scruff of his jaw as you placed it between his lips, his mouth quirked up in satisfaction. 

“You trust me with a light?” You questioned.

Joel squeezed your waist softly, his other arm still thrown across the couch. You twirled the lighter between your fingers, your thumb rolling over the sparkwheel haphazardly. One good flick of the lighter, and you could send him up in flames—burn your whole house down with him inside, and you’d finally be at peace. He was a ceaseless man with little regard for you or your damn peace, and you were growing tired of entertaining him.

“Light it,” he ordered, the cigarette hanging between his teeth.

You sparked the flame, letting the heat of it ripple over your skin as you brought it to the butt of the cig. The tip ignited with a flicker of embers, the cherry end burning bright as Joel took a long drag. He lifted his hand from the couch—still keeping one firm on your body—and situated the cigarette between two fingers.

“Wanna tell me where y’learned to shoot like that?” He asked, his head tilted to the side.

“My parents. They taught me everything I know,” you admitted.

“Everythin’ aside from manners,” Joel countered.

“Shut up,” you snapped. “I ain’t gonna sit here and let you speak of my parents like that.”

You didn’t like talking about them; the reminder of their absence was sometimes too much to bear. You had so many responsibilities thrown onto your shoulders when they died, and although you took those responsibilities willingly, it didn’t quell the grief still lingering. You didn’t have your parents anymore, but you had their land to care for and their wishes to uphold. 

Joel took a sharp inhale from the cigarette, letting the smoke plume between your faces. The stench of smoke was something comforting to you, always had been, but coming from his mouth, it pissed you off. 

“Hey, now,” he said softly. “Was only kiddin’, darlin’. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

“Your entire presence strikes a fuckin’ nerve, Joel. Why are y’even here?”

“Like I said, I came here to talk.”

You pulled the cigarette from his lips, taking it to your own and inhaling a long drag. Joel arched a brow, watching as you hollowed your cheeks around it, the flicker of the butt burning brightly in his face. 

“Then talk,” you hissed, tilting your head to exhale the smoke.

You leaned back, discarding some of the ashes against the tray on your coffee table. Joel’s hand urged you back to his chest, pinning you closer than you wished to be. You adjusted yourself on his lap, absentmindedly, shifting your body over his hardened cock. Joel choked on a breath, his fingers digging into your waist. Oh. Funny how you had all the power now. 

“Talk,” you repeated, grinding your body down against his again.

“I know what you’re doin’,” Joel grumbled.

“Y’gonna talk or what, Miller? I’m waitin’.”

Joel cursed under his breath, grabbing the cigarette from your fingers and returning it to his lips. His eyes never left yours as he drew in a breath, letting the smoke linger inside his mouth a second too long before exhaling. The smoke billowed around your face, and you scrunched your nose in annoyance. 

“I wanna negotiate,” Joel offered.

“No.”

It was a quick response, one without a second thought. You wouldn’t even entertain the idea of negotiations. Why? Because there was nothing to fucking negotiate. This land was yours, passed down through generations, and would remain that way. No amount of bitching and moaning from Joel would make you reconsider. 

“Y’didn’t even let me finish,” Joel remarked. 

“I don’t need to listen to you. I ain’t negotiating my land.”

You reached for the cigarette again, yet Joel suspended it in the air and out of reach. You glared at him, trying to grab his hand to drag it toward you. Joel’s strength outweighed yours, and he had you beat every time you tried aiming for it again. Shoving at his chest, you moved to swing a leg over his lap and climb off, but he dragged you right back to his chest. His hand roamed up your side, curving along your hip and over the swell of your breast. Cupping your face with one large hang, Joel squeezed your cheeks together and forced your lips to part. 

You struggled against his grip, your eyes full of rage as you watched him take another drag of the cigarette. With your mouth partially open, he leaned close and blew the smoke over your lips and into your mouth. The fragrant odor of the smoke licked up your nose as you inhaled, your lips inches away from his. You didn’t like it. You didn’t want him close. Joel’s eyes bounced between your eyes and lips, the temptation of drawing you closer palpable in his body language. The nicotine buzzed inside your head, and you pulled away from his face right at the same moment he leaned closer. 

“Don’t,” you warned, smoke exhaling from your lips. 

Joel dropped his hand from your face, a clear shift in his mood arising as you watched his eyes flicker with disappointment. It was all over his face: the furrow between his brows, the downturn of his lips… He wanted to kiss you. You wouldn’t let him, though; that was too much. If he wanted to manhandle you and fuck you however he pleased, that was fine. You welcomed it, actually, because you knew one taste of his mouth, and you’d be ruined. You didn’t want intimacy with Joel, not when your family’s land was hanging in the balance. He’d reel you in with false pretenses and have you aching for more, only to tear it all away.

He cursed under his breath as he pressed his body to yours, leaning forward to discard the cigarette into the ashtray. The bulge beneath his jeans prodded your sex at this angle, eliciting a ripple of pleasure up your spine. A small gasp bubbled out of you as Joel readjusted himself beneath you. 

“You don’t wanna talk?” Joel asked, raising his voice. “Fine. Better not say a damn word unless it’s my name while I fuck you.”

In a millisecond, Joel had you pinned down to the couch again, your hair splayed around you and your breath whooshing from your lungs. His fingers worked at the zipper of your jeans, yanking them down your legs and discarding them over his shoulder. Propping a knee onto the couch, Joel undid his belt buckle and freed his cock from the confines of his jeans. Precum glistened on the tip, and he stroked himself slowly as he pulled your legs apart, molding you into the position he desired. 

“Only wanna hear y’scream my name. Y’understand that?” He growled. 

Joel coated the head of his cock with the slick covering your folds, pushing himself in with one deep thrust. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as your body adjusted to his size. This angle was so much different than last time, and you could feel every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your fluttering walls. You focused on your breathing while he plunged deeper, breaking you open and fucking into you with hard thrusts. 

Caressing the back of your knee, Joel drew your leg up and over his shoulder, bending you in half until he was spearing into your core. 

“Look at me,” he ordered. 

You shook your head, whimpering at the sensation of his cock splitting you in half. Searing pain bloomed across your face as Joel’s hand connected with your cheek. Your eyes shot open, tears welling on your waterline, the sting of the pain churning into a wave of pleasure through your core. You forgot how addictive his touch could be when he was angry. His pupils swallowed the entirety of his eyes, a dark, endless abyss staring straight back at you.

“Do. You. Understand?” He grunted between thrusts.

You didn’t respond, a tear slipping down your cheek. The phantom touch of his fingers on your skin lingered still, and your clit throbbed with a sudden flurry of arousal. Joel’s hand wrapped around your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He leaned down, pressing his weight into you as his face neared yours. A trail of spit fell off his tongue and crashed into the back of your throat, and you flinched away from Joel as he pressed harder. 

“Swallow, brat.”

You struggled to swallow it; your throat constricted as his grip around your jaw tightened. He plowed into you, drilling your core with violent strokes until a gargled wail left your mouth. His spit slid down your throat, and he hummed in approval. 

“Good girl.”

He stretched your other leg up and over his shoulder, your ass lifting off the couch. You wanted to beg him to stop, yet nothing would leave your lips. Not even a sound as the noise of his hips slapping against yours filled the air. The thrum of your heartbeat vibrated through your chest, the pressure inside your stomach growing stronger as you propelled closer to the edge of your orgasm. Every muscle in your body grew taut, your clit aching to be touched…aching for relief from the violent flames lapping at your spine. So close. It was so close you craved for more. 

Maybe you didn’t want him to stop. 

“If you ain’t gonna listen to me in a normal conversation, then you’re gonna listen now,” he gritted. 

You flexed your jaw under his hand, trying to shy away from his piercing stare. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to listen… didn’t want anything but the opportunity to seek release. You could handle the pain—you welcomed it. The harder he fucked you, the less you had to think. And if you kept thinking, you’d drown in the consequences of your doubt. Keep him angry, you thought. Keep him the enemy. You couldn’t let him be anything more. 

“I don’t want your land,” Joel punched out through clenched teeth. “Keep it. I don’t give a shit.”

The buzzing inside your skin dulled out at his words. It was so hard to focus on what he was saying when your mind was melting from the inside out, his cock driving into you with brutal speed. He didn’t want…

“What?” You choked out.

Joel’s hand clamped down on your mouth, muffling your words as he bottomed out and kept himself seated inside you. The rhythm of his thrusts stopped, and he let his hips press into yours as he stared down at your tearful face. You were so fucking full of him you couldn’t breathe.

“Listen,” he snapped. 

You muffled out his name, the sound slipping through the space between his fingers. He only pressed harder, your body folded in half beneath his weight. You clenched around his cock, rocking your hips slightly to quell the need curling inside your stomach.

“I ain’t gonna take your land from you, ‘kay? All I’m askin’ for is permission to come ‘round without you tryna kill me.”

No. The word was lost inside the palm of his hand. You wanted your land, and you wanted Joel gone. You didn’t trust him when he said he didn’t want your land. How could you trust him when he had you pinned to the sofa? 

“This is what’s gonna happen,” Joel offered, snaking a free hand down between your legs. “You’re gonna agree with me and let me come and go as I please. Then maybe I’ll let you cum.” 

Calloused fingers circled your clit, forcing a cry from your mouth. Tantalizing, slow draws over your sensitive bud pulled desperate sounds out of you, each one of them stifled against his warm hand. Joel worked himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out to the tip and driving right back into you. You couldn’t fend off the orgasm bubbling under the surface, the nerves inside you lighting on fire. 

“Please!” You screamed between his fingers.

Joel’s lips twisted into a sneer, beads of sweat rolling down his temples as he pressed his fingers harder against your clit. Your eyes glossed over with fresh tears as you fought off the impending release rolling through your body.

“Say it.”

Your back arched off the couch as you chased the strokes of Joel’s fingers. Circling and circling… You were so close to the threshold of ecstasy, and you knew he’d tear it away from you if you didn’t relent. 

Joel ripped his hand from your mouth, tangling in the hair at the crown of your head. He forced your eyes down to where your bodies connected, your focus on his cock as it disappeared inside you. 

“Y’wanna cum on my cock, darlin’?” Joel taunted. 

“Fuck! Please, Joel!” You gasped.

With your chin tucked into your chest, your legs dangling over his shoulders, and his cock spearing into your core… you couldn’t hold back your orgasm any longer. 

“Say it!” Joel commanded.

“Okay!” You sobbed. “Just let me cum, Joel! Please!”

Joel assaulted you with a repetition of thrusts, each stronger than the last, until your orgasm exploded through your body. His name tore from your lips as your back curved off the couch and your legs squeezed around his neck. He kept his thumb circling your clit, your orgasm never ceasing to end as the inferno burned inside your core. Wet, hot arousal gushed out of you, splattering onto Joel’s navel and staining his denim shirt. His eyes flicked up to yours, a wicked grin splitting his face. 

“Look at the mess you’re makin’. Just drenchin’ my fuckin’ cock.”

“Joel!” You whined, squirming against his hand.

“Nuh uh, darlin’. Wanna see how messy y’can get. Keep goin’.”

He released his grip on your hair, forcing your head to fall against the arm of the sofa. Shuffling his knees forward, Joel continued his brutal thrusts until your arousal sprayed around his cock and dripped down the seam of your ass. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs as you alternated between screaming his name and begging him to stop. 

“Since y’wanted to cum so goddamn bad, you’re gonna keep takin’ my fuckin’ cock ‘til you ruin this damn couch,” Joel grunted. 

You were crying… hard. Your mind was on the precipice of hysteria as waves of your orgasm bolted through your veins. Lewd sounds of his body slapping against your wetness echoed through the room, the cushion beneath you soaked from your arousal. You attempted to claw yourself backward and away from Joel, but his grip was violent, and he only yanked you closer. 

“I can’t—I can’t anymore!” you sobbed. “Please, Joel…please.”

“Gimmie one more,” he demanded. 

You shook your head in protest, your sobs hiccuping inside your chest. Your core was too fucked out, your clit was painfully sensitive, and you were sitting in a pool of your arousal. How did Joel manage to turn the events of the day around in his favor? You had control at the start—you had the gun— but now he had you folded in half and strewn out in a heap of tears. 

“I can’t!” You wailed. “Too much—too much…”

“Poor thing,” Joel taunted. “Always beggin’ for it but can’t take it.”

You writhed beneath him, your body twisting and bending to alleviate the painful sensations rolling through your nerve endings. This was it; this was how you died. Drunk on pleasure and torn apart by the man you wanted to hate. 

Another orgasm tore through your body, consuming you from the inside out. Your scream pierced through the air, and you collapsed into the cushions, soaked with sweat and tears. Joel made a strangled noise above you as your sex clamped down around his cock, no doubt pulsating harder than it had the last several orgasms. His cock slipped from inside you, leaving you hollow and aching to be filled again. Your body craved the fullness, yet you sagged with relief knowing he stopped.

“C’mere,” Joel grunted. 

He slung your legs off his shoulders and yanked you down the couch by your ankle. Positioned over your face, Joel stroked his cock above you, his fingers glistening from the arousal that stuck to his velvety skin. 

“Open that fuckin’ mouth, darlin',” Joel urged. 

Your head was so hazy you hardly registered his words. Parting your lips, you whined softly and stared at him…waiting. Joel’s eyes connected with yours, that deep furrow in his brow more prominent than before. Rage still sparked behind his eyes, but in your delirium, you saw more. You saw right past his facade, just as he saw right past yours. Whatever terror etched itself into your features, it caught his attention, but he was painting your lips and face with his release before he could decipher it. Hot ropes of cum spattered against your lips, the salty taste covering your tongue as it trailed into your mouth. Remnants of his release coated your chin and neck, warm reminders of his futile efforts at staking his claim.

He hadn’t claimed you, no matter how hard he fucked you. You wouldn’t let him claim you. And you most certainly wouldn’t let him claim your land. 

Joel slid his finger through the mess along your neck, scooping his cum onto the pad of his finger and dragging it across your lips. 

“So fuckin’ pretty all covered in my cum,” he praised.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, though your words meant shit, as you rolled your tongue over your bottom lip.

Joel gave you a soft grin, smoothing down your hair and cleaning the mess off your face with one hand. The same hand that had inflicted pain just moments ago, the hand that brought you to release more times than you could physically endure. 

But now the touch was soft—caring, even. And that frightened you more than the violence he showed when he was provoked. It was this side of Joel that made you scared, and you wanted to run as far from it as you could. 

“Let’s get you up, darlin’,” Joel said, hoisting you by the shoulders until you sat under his shadow. 

He massaged your legs as you swung them over the couch, attempting to relieve the tension within your muscles. You shrunk away, standing on unbalanced limbs, and distanced yourself from his wandering hands.

“I need a shower,” you decided. “Y’can see yourself out.”

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you.”

“Well, I’m done fuckin’ talking!” You argued. 

You spun on your heel, your hands clenched at your sides. Joel’s eyes stayed focused on you as he worked at stuffing his cock back into his jeans. Half-naked before him, you felt a million times smaller than you had when he arrived. 

“Why are you so hateful?” He questioned, rising to his feet.

Your lips curled up, a slew of spiteful words dancing on the tip of your tongue. But Joel wasn’t finished. 

“This is your land,” he said, stepping closer. “I ain’t gonna argue that anymore ‘cause it’s a lost cause. And I ain’t tryna steal it from you. I can promise you that.” Another step closer. “So, why do y’hate the idea of me comin’ around?”

“Because I hate you,” you responded. 

“You hate me, huh? Is that how y’feel ‘bout me when I’m pullin’ orgasms from your body? ‘Cause I think you fuckin’ love it. You love bein’ fucked by me. You get me all riled up ‘cause y’know what’s comin’ for you.”

“I hate you,” you repeated.

Joel lifted his hand to your face, cupping your cheek with a featherlike touch. You wanted to shy away, but you were too tired to move.

“I don’t think y’hate me at all, darlin’,” he whispered. 

He leaned closer, placing a kiss on your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding off another round of tears brimming over the surface. Pushing your hands against his chest, you shoved Joel away, your body staggering back with the force of your action.

“Get the hell outta my house,” you cried, no longer keeping the tears at bay. 

Joel stared at you with a pained expression, his eyes searching through your glassy eyes for the falter within your words. He didn’t budge; he didn’t move an inch. You shoved at his chest again, but it was no use as he wrangled you into his arms and lifted your chin to meet his eyes.

“When are you gonna quit fightin’ me?” He asked softly. 

It was a sincere question; you saw it swimming behind the rich chocolate of his irises. Pleading. Begging. He wanted the truth, but you wouldn’t give in. You couldn’t.

“I’ll quit fightin’ when y’learn to leave me alone.”

“What if I don’t wanna?”

He was a breath away from your lips, the rich scent of farmland wafting off his skin as it mixed with the smell of sex. It was intoxicating being this close—close enough to wonder what his lips would feel like on yours. While your body ached for him in one way, your heart ached differently. It was an ache you wanted to keep fighting because the moment you lost that battle, you’d lose everything. 

“I don’t want you comin’ here anymore, Joel.”

“Why?” he pressed. 

Silence blanketed over you, weighing down the words lodged in your throat. The rapid beating of your heart matched his as he kept you tight to his chest. You were suffocated by the emotions you couldn’t say, and you were slowly sinking further down. 

You struggled against the arm that bound around your waist, helplessly trying to break free of his hold. He finally relented in defeat, letting you shuffle back until there was a healthy gap between your bodies. Running a hand down the scruff on his chin, Joel gave you a simple nod and retreated toward the front door. 

“Until you can give me a reason, I’m gonna keep comin’ back.”

He left without a glance over his shoulder, the room around you shrinking in size without his presence looming over you. Searching for your shorts, you quickly dressed and hid behind the window curtains as you watched his truck rumble to life and speed down the dirt roads. There was no goodbye between you, and you knew there wouldn’t be. Joel wasn’t giving up, no matter how hard you pushed him away, and eventually, he’d win. 

And you hated knowing the truth. 

**

Behind the billowing dirt trail of his truck, Joel watched as your house faded from view. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel as he thought about the way he left. He was doing this for fun; at least, that’s what it felt like at the start. Getting on your nerves, pissing you off, seeing you completely unraveled underneath his hands, Joel loved it. He loved the thrill of having you tamed down and quiet, compliant to anything he asked and did. 

Then he had you pinned underneath him, and he saw the fear in your eyes. You weren’t scared of him. You were scared of the emotions electrifying between the both of you. Then you pulled away from him, denying him any affection, and he fucking hated it. 

He couldn’t understand why you got under his skin the way you did, nor why he cared so much. It wasn’t supposed to end up this way, yet Joel wanted to keep tearing down your walls. He wanted to hear you tell him the truth.

He wasn’t going to stop until he got it.

[lyjen]

Last Shift | Part one | Evan “Buck” Buckley

Summary: It’s (Y/n)’s last shift before maternity leave when she’s sent to pick up supplies at a medical store, only to be caught in a robbery. Buck, growing frantic after not hearing from her, is called to the scene with the 118 team, unaware she’s among the injured.

TW: gun violence, medical trauma, seizure, hostage situation.

9-1-1 Masterlist | Next chapter >>

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The smell of bacon and eggs filled the small apartment of Buck and (Y/n) as Buck stood at the stove, waiting for the bacon to get crispy. The sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the countertops. He was in his element, cooking for (Y/n) before their shifts, stealing and enjoying the little moments of peace before the chaos of the day.

But the sound of the Bacon sizzling in the pan was interrupted by a thump, followed by a grunt and some muffled cursing.

Buck paused for a second, holding the spatula in his hand, hovering over the pan. He furrowed his brows, listening to the sounds that came from deeper in the apartment.

Another grunt sounded through the apartment, then a frustrated sigh and a very muttered “Oh, come on.”

He raised a brow, as he listened to the struggling (Y/n) and decided to turn off the burner. "(Y/n)?" he called as he made his way through the hall, but he didn’t receive a response from her. That was suspicious.

He made his way toward the bedroom, as he approached, he heard more and more struggling sounds, combined with some curse words, he was pretty sure she was talking to herself. The sound of something softly hitting the floor filled the air now.

When he finally managed to reach the bedroom, he leaned with his shoulder against the doorway, crossing his arms as he took in the scene before him. (Y/n) who was very pregnant and stubborn, was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to put on her shoes. And failing.

Her belly made it nearly impossible to bend forward enough to tie them, she was doing this sort of awkward side-lean, foot propped up, fingers barely brushing the laces of her lightweight training shoes. Every time she got close to tying them, her bump got in the way.

Buck bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Her nose scrunched in determination. She let out another soft grunt, wiggling her fingers toward the laces like that would somehow bring them closer. Her tongue peeked out at the corner of her mouth, her “concentration face.”

God, he thought she was adorable.

She huffed again, dropping her foot with an annoyed sigh. “Stupid shoes.” she said defeated as she let out a very dramatic sigh and flopped onto her back, arms spread out in defeat. And that was the moment when Buck finally broke.

"You know," he finally spoke, his voice filled with amusement, "they say admitting you need help is the first step." he said. Making (Y/n) let out a soft yelp in surprise, her head snapping up to see him standing there with a very amused smirk. “How long have you been standing there?!” she asked him.

He grinned. "Long enough to witness the greatest battle between a woman and her sneakers." he said. She groaned, covering her face with her hands as she remained lying with her back on the bed. “This is so embarrassing.” she whined.

Buck chuckled, pushing himself off the doorframe and making his way over. He knelt in front of her, gently nudging her knee. "Alright, Superwoman, let me help before you hurt yourself." he said as he held out his hands to her, trying to help her sit back up.

She laid her hands in his as he helped her sit back up again. Her cheeks flushed because of embarrassment. She grumbled something under her breath but lifted her foot, and stared at Buck who kneeled in front of her. With practiced ease, he took her foot in his hands, slipping the shoe on properly and tying the laces, even double-knotting them because he knew she hated when they came undone.

"I could’ve done it, you know." she broke the small silence.

"Mmhmm." He glanced up at her with a teasing grin. "You sure you don’t wanna try again? Looked like you were real close." he asked her as he stopped mid-action. She playfully nudged his shoulder with her other socked foot, making him laugh.

Once he was done, he looked up at her with a soft smile, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of her knee. "There. Ready for battle, soldier." he said, as he patted his hand on her knee, rubbing his thumb softly over her knee.

(Y/n) sighed dramatically. "You're never gonna let me live this down, are you?" she asked him with puppy eyes, with a spark of hope that he might just forget about this. Buck grinned. "Not a chance."

He stood up again, holding out his hands once more, silently telling her to put her hands into his again. She placed her hands into his, and he pulled her to her feet with ease. “Now come on, let’s get you some breakfast before you start challenging your jacket next.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, giving him a soft, playful push. Buck chuckled, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles before resting it against her belly for a moment. “Alright, come on, trouble. Let’s feed you and the little bean before you start getting cranky.” he then said.

(Y/n) scoffed. “I do not get cranky.” she said. Buck raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Should I remind you about the great pickle incident of last week?” he asked. She gasped, lightly smacking his arm. “That was one time! And you ate the last one on purpose!”

He just grinned, slipping an arm around her waist as he guided her toward the kitchen. “Mmhmm. Come on, let’s go.”

Buck guided (Y/n) into the kitchen, his arm still wrapped around her waist as he helped her lower herself into a chair. She sighed dramatically, resting a hand on her belly as she got comfortable.

"You're such a good house husband," she teased as she watched him move back to the stove. Buck scoffed, turning over the last pieces of bacon. "House husband? Excuse you, I also save lives for a living." he said.

(Y/n) smirked at his reaction. "Mmm, sure, but I think cooking me breakfast is way more heroic." she said dreamy. He turned, with the spatula in his hand, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? So running into burning buildings is nothing compared to making you eggs?"

She grinned. "Absolutely." Buck just shook his head with a laugh, grabbing a plate and loading it up with eggs and bacon. He set it in front of her before sitting down with his own.

(Y/n) didn’t waste any time. She picked up a piece of bacon, took a bite, and instantly moaned. "Oh my God." She covered her mouth, eyes closing as she chewed. "Buck, this is so good." she said. Buck grinned at her reaction, clearly pleased with himself. "Told you I was the full package, firefighter, chef, soon-to-be baby whisperer."

Before she could respond, she suddenly felt a little thump against her belly. (Y/n) stilled, placing her hand over the spot, waiting. Another tiny kick. She smiled softly, glancing over at Buck. “You like Daddy’s cooking, huh?” she said as she switched looks between Buck and back to her belly.

Buck immediately dropped his fork and turned to her, eyes lighting up like Christmas. “Wait, really?” he asked. She nodded with a smile on her face. She grabbed his hand and placed it against her belly. They waited in silence. Then a little nudge, right against his palm.

Buck let out a breathless laugh. "Whoa." He rubbed slow circles over her bump, grinning. "Hey there, little bean. You're already taking after your mom, huh? Bossing me around before you're even born." he said as he glanced up at (Y/n).

(Y/n) chuckled at his words, rolling her eyes. “You're just lucky we both love food.”

They went back to eating, sharing little smiles and soft touches. But after a few minutes of silence, (Y/n) caught Buck staring at her, she raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Buck shrugged, chewing a piece of bacon. "Nothing."

(Y/n) narrowed her eyes. "Buck." she said with this warning tone, telling him she knew he was holding something back. His lips twitched, but then he sighed, setting his fork down. "I don't know… I just like this."

She softened, tilting her head. "Like what?" she asked as she took another bite of her food. He gestured between them. "You. Me. Breakfast. Our little bean kicking in there…" he placed a hand on her belly again, smiling. "It's nice." He said as he brushed his thumb up and down over her belly.

(Y/n) exhaled softly, lacing her fingers with his. "Yeah… it is." She said as she looked down to her belly, both of their hands resting on it, and glanced back to Buck.

They stayed like that for a moment, just soaking in the quiet, before Buck glanced at the clock and sighed. "Alright, we should probably get going. Don't want you being late on your last shift." he said as he stood up from his chair.

(Y/n) groaned, as she looked at the clock for a second. "Ugh, fine." she whined as she sent the clock an annoyed look, while in the meantime Buck collected the dishes and placed them in the sink. They’d deal with that later.

She pushed her chair back and went to stand up, but Buck was already there, helping her up like the world's most attentive boyfriend. She gave him a look. “You do know I can still walk, right?” she asked him as he helped her on her feet.

Buck smirked, his hands resting on her hips. “Yeah, but you waddle now. It’s cuter.” He said as he quickly pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.

(Y/n) gasped, smacking his arm. “I do not waddle!” she said, as she watched Buck laughing, dodging another playful swat as he grabbed their jackets. “Come on, Waddles, let’s go.” He said as he held her jacket open for her.

“Buck!”

______

The bright led lights of the hospital cast a cool glow over the bustling hallways as (Y/n) navigated through the chaos, phone pressed between her shoulder and ear. Her free hand instinctively rested on her belly as she weaved around gurneys, dodged IV stands, and nodded politely at fellow nurses who rushed past her.

Her mind was overwhelmed, patients needing care, interns looking for guidance, the dull ache in her lower back from standing too long. But for just a moment, she wanted an escape from reality. And there was only one person who could give her that.

“Hey, baby,” Buck’s familiar voice filtered through the phone, sending a small wave of comfort through her. “How’s my favorite nurse doing?” he asked as he pressed his phone to his ear while he sat on the lip of the open ambulance.

(Y/n) sighed, glancing at the packed nurses’ station as she passed by. “Exhausted, overworked, and in desperate need of a nap. So, you know, the usual.” She answered his question as she let out a small laugh.

She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sounds like a slow day.” he said, making her lips twitch on the other side of the line. “And you? You sound a little out of breath. What are you doing?” She asked.

There was some shuffling on his end before he answered. “Oh, nothing crazy. Just pulled a guy out of a burning apartment.” he answered as he scanned the scene around him.

Part of his crew were running around the scene. The fire was out, but they were wrapping up things on the scene before returning to the firehouse.

She stopped abruptly in her tracks as she realized what he just told her. “Buck.” She sighed, his name left her lips like a warning, as her heart picked up speed. “I’m fine,” he cut in before she could start a discussion. “Hen already checked me over, just a little smoke inhalation, nothing serious.” he reassured her. He could still feel the dry ashes in his lungs.

(Y/n) exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her forehead. She placed her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she placed her other hand on her stomach. “You stress me out, you know that?” she told him as she felt the mini Evan in her belly kicking.

“Good thing you love me,” he teased, and just like that, the tension between them melted away. She smiled softly, grabbing her phone in her hand again as she finally reached the breakroom and leaned against the doorframe. “I… actually don’t know why I called. I guess I just wanted to hear your voice,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, the exhaustion finally creeping in.

There was a pause on his end before he replied, softer this time. “Yeah? That’s funny, ‘cause I was hoping to hear yours, too.” he said, (Y/n) could hear he was smiling at her words. For a moment, everything else faded away around her. The beeping monitors, the distant sound of a patient calling for a nurse, the hurried footsteps. It was just them, his voice as clear as day. As if he was standing right next to her.

(Y/n) let her eyes flutter shut for a second, soaking in his presence through the phone. She let out a sigh, as she could hear Buck’s breathing through the statics of the phone. “Well, don’t get too used to it. You know the deal. I’ll call you on my break.” she said, biting her lip to suppress the smile that was appearing on her face.

“Ugh, rules,” he groaned dramatically through the phone.

It was their thing. Whenever they were both on shift, (Y/n) would call him when she was on break. He would either be at the station or on a call that basically came to an end, that’s when he’d pick up the phone. If she called him when he was on call, of course he couldn’t answer. But he would call her back as soon as he could.

They had a system, and it worked. But at this moment she wasn’t on break. She just wanted to hear his voice, somehow only hearing his voice made her world stop spinning for a moment. But that phone date in her break was still on.

She chuckled. “I love you, Buck…” she sighed, pausing as she pressed her eyes closed. “Be careful..” she added. She didn’t want to be the one who told him to be careful, to come home safely.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard her saying those words. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice, and the obvious worry. A small smile appeared on his face as he looked down to the asphalt. “Love you more... Call me when you’re on break, okay?”

“I will.” she said, as they both said their goodbyes. Her finger had just touched the red button, as she heard her name being called. She pushed herself from leaning against the doorframe and glanced behind her. She placed her phone into her pocket as she found one of the nurses in charge, hurrying towards her, the urgency written all over her face.

"We need you to run to the store," her boss said slightly out of breath when she was finally in range. (Y/n) frowned at the order, it wasn’t much of a request. “The store?” she asked, confused. “Yeah, we’re completely out of sterile saline bags, and supply won’t be restocking until tomorrow.”

Her frown deepened. Sterile saline bags were an essential part of patient care, they were used for IV fluids, wound cleaning, and a dozen other things. But how had they completely run out?

“Are you sure you don’t have anything left?” she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Did anyone check the main supply closet? Or the back storage?” She double checked. She didn’t want to go to the store. She just wanted to stay here. Do her job, and at the end of her shift to go home and rest. But of course, on her last shift, they had some kind of stupid request.

“Yes. We’ve been rationing for hours, but we’re down to the last few bags. The ER is already packed and we can’t afford to run out completely.” her boss told her.

(Y/n) glanced toward the emergency department, where the controlled chaos of the hospital was at its peak. Nurses moved with precision, doctors barked orders, patients groaned in pain, and interns were having almost trouble to keep up.

She sighed, shifting her weight as she rubbed her aching lower back. “Okay, but can’t one of the interns go instead?” Her boss shook her head. “We need every set of hands here. You’re the only one who can step away for a bit.”

(Y/n) bit back another sigh, frustration creeping in. She was already exhausted, on her last shift before maternity leave, and just counting down the hours until she could go home.

But there was no room for refusal. If they really were that low on saline bags, patients would suffer. If she really was their last hope, she needed to do it. She hesitated, Buck’s voice already entering her mind, telling her she shouldn’t do it, they could find someone else. But eventually she nodded. “Fine. I’ll handle it.”

Her boss gave a quick thank you before rushing off, already being pulled into another emergency. (Y/n) went to the locker room to grab her car keys, mumbling to herself, telling herself this would be quick.

In and out.

-

(Y/n) pushed the door of the store open, a soft chime sounding as (Y/n) stepped into the local medical supply store that was five blocks from the hospital. Cool air-conditioning kissed her warm skin, a welcome relief. The faint scent of cleaning supplies and freshly stocked shelves lingered in the air.

She made her way through the front of the store, and locked her eyes on the guidance boards that were hanging above the aisles. She scanned the boards as she slowly walked through the main aisle.

Mobility care? Nope. That wasn’t what she was looking for. Orthopedic support? No. Emergency and first aid? Could be.. but no. Fluids and irrigation? Bingo. This was the aisle she was looking for.

(Y/n) entered the aisle, and started scanning the shelves for sterile saline bags. Her fingers absently rubbing the curve of her belly. “Sterile saline bags..” she whispered to herself as she searched with her eyes.

“Just grab them and go..” she told herself softly, already longing for the moment she could sit down and rest. It wasn’t nothing, she was carrying an entire person inside of her. And let’s just not start about the heat outside.

Her eyes locked onto the right shelf with the product she needed, but there were more sorts and kinds. What the hell was she supposed to choose? Which one did they use back at the hospital? She sighed as she placed her palm against her forehead. Her pregnancy brain wasn’t with her these days.

She groaned in annoyance as she tried to remember which ones they used. Fuck this. She’d just take both, and they’d have to figure out which one to use. She reached for the plastic packages, her fingers brushed the package as suddenly she got pulled back to reality.

“EVERYBODY GET DOWN! NOW!” a male voice yelled through the medical supply store she was in.

(Y/n) froze on the spot.

The deep roar of the man’s voice shook the air. People gasped at the sudden yell, the muffled whimpers of customers and the clatter of something falling off a shelf filled the sudden silence in the store.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, as she immediately lowered herself, crouching down to the floor. Slowly, she pressed her back against one of the shelves, and used one hand to hold the shelf, to try and keep in balance. Her chest rose, and fell in sharp as shallow breaths took over her rhythm as she listened to the intruder.

A gun. He had a gun. (Y/n) heard the click of the safety being clicked off. "Empty the register!" the man barked, his voice dripping with fury.

(Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her other free hand to her belly. Stay calm. Stay quiet. She told herself soundless as she rubbed small circles to try and soothe herself.

The cashier was barely more than a teenager, fumbling at the register, his hands shaking so badly that coins spilled onto the counter. "O-okay, please, just don’t shoot!" she said as she let out a small, terrified sob.

The guy holding the gun was getting impatient. He kept telling the girl behind the counter to “hurry the fuck up.” Clearly, It wasn’t moving quick enough for him, and he was showing it by shooting a bullet through the ceiling.

A gunshot ripped through the store, echoing like a crack of thunder.

(Y/n) held back a cry, her hand clutching the shelf for support as now her other hand moved towards her mouth. The man didn’t need to know that she was in the store. Because she knew that when the cops pulled up, he’d use her. She was fragile, vulnerable, pregnant.

Small pieces of the ceiling cracked and fell down. He had fired into the ceiling, but the message was clear. One wrong move, and the next shot wouldn’t be a warning.

There was a sudden silence in the room. That was interrupted by a buzzing sound.

The phone that was vibrating was hers. Her stomach dropped as fear was creeping in and she hurried to silence her phone. Panickedly she grabbed her phone and clicked the on/off button to make it stop. As quickly as she managed to silence the phone, she glanced at the name.

Buck.

The sound was deafening in the tense quiet of the store. (Y/n) didn’t think. She moved. She had to get out of this damn’ store. She had to hide. She had to do something.

Her body acted before her brain could catch up, her feet carrying her toward the back of the store, towards the employees-only door. If she could just get inside, just get somewhere safe… She reached the door, grabbing at the handle. But as she pushed the handle down, she realized it was locked.

Her breathing hitched as she heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being loaded. "Where do you think you're going?" a male voice asked. The voice was too close.

(Y/n) swallowed hard, as her breath was hitched in her throat. She was too scared to turn around, but she couldn’t just stand here, pretending like she didn’t hear anything. So she turned, pressing her back against the locked door as she directly faced the barrel of the gun.

She stared at the gun that was aimed directly at her. Her body locked up against the door, every instinct screaming at her to run, to fight… But she couldn’t. There was nowhere to go.

The robber tilted his head, his finger resting on the trigger. “You deaf or something?” he sneered. “I asked you a question.”

(Y/n) forced herself to breathe, to stay calm. Panic wouldn’t help her (or the baby) now. “I—I wasn’t going anywhere,” she said, stumbling over her words as she slowly lifted her hands just enough to show she wasn’t a threat. “I didn’t see anything. I—”

“Shut up.” He cut her off, making her flinch at the sudden harsh tone. He stepped closer, the barrel of the gun now just inches away from her chest. “Phone. Give it to me.” he ordered her, as he held out a flat hand and motioned with his fingers.

(Y/n) hesitated for a small second. Buck. If she gave it to him, Buck would keep calling, keep texting, trying to check in. But if she didn’t…

The man stepped forward, pressing the gun just slightly harder against her. She didn’t have a choice.

With trembling fingers, she reached into her scrub pocket and pulled out her phone, holding it out for him to take.

He snatched it from her hand, clicking his tongue as he glanced at the screen. A smirk curled his lips beneath his mask. “Evan Buckley, huh?” He waved the phone slightly. “Boyfriend?” (Y/n)’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t answer.

The man chuckled darkly. “Well, looks like he’s gonna have to wait.” He shoved the phone into his pocket, then jerked his gun toward the front of the store. “Move.” he ordered.

(Y/n) hesitated. He still had the gun dangerously close to her body. What if she made a wrong move? “I said move!” he said louder now, grabbing her upper arm and launching her towards the front of the store.

The sharpness of his voice and the sudden pull on her arm sent a jolt of adrenaline through her body, and she forced her legs to move. The walk toward the front of the store felt endless.

Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her pulse pounding so loud she could barely hear anything else. Her baby shifted inside her, a reminder of just how high the stakes really were. She couldn’t let this escalate. She couldn’t put her baby in danger. She had to survive.

As she stepped into the main area of the store, she saw the other hostages: three terrified customers and the cashier. Their eyes darted to her, their faces pale with fear.

The robber shoved her forward, making her glance over her shoulder. “Sit.” he ordered her. (Y/n) lowered herself carefully onto the cold tile floor, trying to keep her breathing steady. Every instinct in her screamed to protect the baby. But she had to try something.

The other hostages sat nearby, their eyes darting between her and the masked man pacing the front of the store. The cashier, a young woman no older than twenty, was visibly shaking, her breath coming in short gasps. She looked like she might pass out.

(Y/n) forced herself to breathe deeply. Stay calm. Keep him calm. Make no sudden movements. But most important of all: don’t do anything stupid.

The robber was muttering to himself, shoving stacks of cash into his bag with erratic movements. He was jittery and unstable.

Then, movement caught her eye. One of the customers, a man in his forties, was slowly reaching into his pocket. He fished out his phone. He was trying to call for help.

Her stomach twisted at the sight. She wanted to stop the man. But how would she do that without alarming the robber? The robber turned, spotting the movement. His expression snapped into fury. “HEY!” he yelled.

The man barely had time to react before the robber lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” the gunman sounded agressive, shaking the man roughly. The customer stammered, his face draining of color.

(Y/n) could see it, the erratic breathing, the tightening grip on the trigger. He was going to shoot. Her body moved before she could think. “Hey, hey! Stop!” (Y/n) called out, her voice firm but measured. “You don’t have to do this.” she said.

The robber whipped his head toward her, his gun now aimed directly at her again. Her heart stopped. But she didn’t break eye contact. “Let him go,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Look, you have what you came for. You don’t need to hurt anyone.”

His hands twitched. For a moment, he seemed to consider it. Then he shoved the man back to the ground. (Y/n) exhaled, relief flooding through her. But it didn’t last long.

The robber turned back to her, stepping closer. His hands were shaking now, his breathing erratic. Too unstable. Too unpredictable.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” he muttered. “Think you can just talk me down?” he asked as he stood in front of her, looking down at her as she was sitting on the ice cold floor of the store. (Y/n) swallowed, her pulse hammering. “I just don’t want anyone getting hurt.” she said as she placed her hand onto her stomach.

The gunman exhaled sharply, rubbing his free hand over his face. He was spiraling. He was losing control. And then, he looked at her stomach. His gaze flickered, realization dawning. “Shit,” he muttered. “You’re pregnant.” he realized.

(Y/n) didn’t respond. Wasn’t it obvious? Was he that focussed on anything else that he didn’t notice she was pregnant? But the slight stiffening of her posture gave her away.

The man cursed again, his grip tightening on the gun. “This is a goddamn mess,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” he added.

(Y/n) saw the moment he made his decision. She knew it before he even moved. He lifted the gun, and without thinking for a moment, he fired.

Pain exploded through her shoulder. She gasped, the force of the bullet knocking her backwards against the shelves. The pain was blinding, hot, suffocating. The four people around her screamed and cried. But all she could think about was the pain she felt.

She was fighting her vision that was starting to blur. She clutched her shoulder, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through her scrubs as she tried to put pressure onto the wound. Her breathing turned ragged, her head was starting to spin. No. No. Stay awake.

A soft, fluttering movement stirred inside her. Her jaw clenched as she forced herself to hold pressure against the wound, despite the pain.

Somewhere in the haze, she heard the distant wail of sirens. Help was coming.

______

The fire engine rumbled down the road, the smell of smoke still lingering in Buck’s gear as they made their way back to the station. The apartment fire had been brutal, but they’d managed to put it out with no casualties.

Still, Buck barely registered the usual post-call banter from the rest of the crew in the back of the truck. His focus was on his phone, which he had just pulled from his pocket.

A few minutes past her break time.

His thumb hovered over the screen. She always called during break. That was their routine, no matter how crazy their shifts were, they always made time. And if someone couldn’t make it, they would give each other a heads up.

Maybe she was just busy. That’s what she’d said earlier on the phone. The hospital was swamped. Still… she was pregnant. She needed to take that break. It was crucial.

He frowned at her contact for a moment, but decided to hit dial. The line rang once… twice… and then went to voicemail. Buck sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as the recorded message played in his ear. "Hey, it's me. Just checking in. Call me when you can, okay? Love you." He hung up and immediately shot off a text.

Buck: You okay? Just missed your break. Call me when you get a sec.

The worried crease between his brows didn't go unnoticed. "What's up with you?" Chimney asked from across the truck, giving Buck a knowing look. "You’ve got that ‘overthinking everything’ face on again." he added.

Buck huffed a small laugh but didn’t look up "It’s probably nothing." he said. Bobby glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Y/N okay?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. I mean, I think so. She just—" Buck shook his head, staring at his phone screen. "She always calls on break. And she’s late." Hen shot him a sympathetic smile, "Hospitals get busy. Maybe she got held up." she tried to think of an explanation.

"Yeah," Buck muttered, trying to convince himself that was all it was. He was probably seeing things that weren’t there. The others let the conversation drop, but Buck couldn't shake the weird feeling in his gut.

“Station 118, respond to a silent alarm triggered at Medline essentials on 6th Street. LAPD en route, requesting fire and rescue response as a precaution.” The sound of a dispatch caller came through on the radio, making Buck’s ears perk up immediately.

A silent alarm. A possible robbery.

Bobby grabbed his radio. "Copy that, Dispatch. 118 en route." And with those words the sirens blared to life, Chimney glanced at Buck. "Fire and rescue? For a robbery?" Chimney asked.

"It’s protocol," Hen explained. "If there are hostages or injuries, PD calls us in to handle medical care while they clear the scene. Sometimes perps start fires as a distraction too."

Buck barely heard her. Medline essentials. His fingers tightened around his phone. Why did that sound familiar to him?

Eventually the fire engine rolled to a stop, lights flashing against the darkened windows of Medline essentials. The parking lot was swarming with LAPD officers, their weapons raised as SWAT moved in through the entrance. Buck could feel his pulse racing, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the adrenaline or something deeper.

Buck stood with the rest of 118, his jaw tight as he watched the tactical team disappear inside. His phone was still in his hand. No new messages. No calls. The uneasy feeling in his gut only grew.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket as he focussed on the scene in front of him, on the robber being dragged out in cuffs, screaming about how "it wasn’t supposed to go like this."

Bobby’s voice came over their radios “Alright, we’ve got the all-clear. Hen, Chimney, Eddie, you’re up first. See what we’ve got inside. The rest of you, wait for my signal.”

Buck exhaled sharply, flexing his fingers at his sides. He hated waiting. Especially on calls where he couldn’t help most of the time. Hen, Chim, and Eddie grabbed their gear and pushed inside. The crunch of the shattered glass filled Hen’s ears as she entered the scene.

Hen’s eyes scanned the scene. People were crying, a few clutching minor wounds, but her focus snapped to the one figure leaning against the shelves near the counter. The sight made Hen’s stomach drop. “Oh, my God.” she mumbled as she realized who it was.

(Y/n).

She was pale, blood soaked her light blue scrubs, one arm limp at her side as she was trying to keep pressure on the wound with her right arm. It wasn’t as much pressure as she had been applying earlier. But at least she was still awake. Barely.

Eddie’s eyes shot Hen’s way, and followed what she was looking at. “Shit,” Eddie muttered as he also realized who was on scene.

Hen crouched beside (Y/n), her fingers gently pressing against her wrist as she checked her pulse. It was weak and thready. Not good. Her skin was too pale, a thin sheen of sweat covering her forehead. She was going into shock.

(Y/n)'s eyes fluttered. “Hen…” Her voice was hoarse and full of pain.

“Hey, (Y/n), stay with me,” Hen urged, her voice calm but firm. She tried to get (Y/n) to focus on her, but her eyes were starting to drift.

(Y/n) blinked slowly, her breathing coming out in shallow gasps. “Baby… kicked…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hen’s stomach twisted, she glanced at Eddie and Chimney, their faces mirroring her concern. “She’s crashing,” Hen muttered under her breath. “Chim! I need you over here now.”

Chimney was by her side in an instant. The moment he took one look at (Y/n), his face paled. “Shit.” Without hesitation, he knelt beside her and pressed his hands firmly against the wound, applying more pressure.“She’s lost too much blood. We need to move her now.” Hen said as she immediately grabbed her radio.

“Bobby, we have a problem.” she spoke into the radio. Followed by a short pause. Then Bobby’s voice came through, calm but firm. “What kind of problem, Hen?”

She glanced down at (Y/n), her light blue scrubs darkened with blood, her body slumping further against the shelf. Hen clenched her jaw. “I can’t tell you over the radio,” she said quietly. That was all Bobby needed to hear. “Copy. I’m coming in.”

Hen looked up at Eddie and Chimney, their expressions tense. They all knew what this meant, they needed a gurney now. But Buck was outside, and he couldn’t be the one to bring it in.

“Eddie,” Hen said sharply. “Go get the gurney.” she ordered him. Eddie’s brows furrowed at the request. “Hen-” he barely said her name as he got cut off by her. “Go. Now.” Her tone left no room for argument.

With a deep breath, Eddie gave one last glance at (Y/n) before rushing out of the store.

Buck’s brows furrowed as he watched Eddie haul the gurney toward the entrance of the store. Why Eddie? What was going on inside that store?

Why wouldn’t they just radio him to grab it? That’s how it usually went, he was the one who handled the gurney, the one who brought it inside. But this time, they had sent Eddie.

Something was off. It felt like they didn’t want Buck to be on scene.

His heart pounded harder against his ribs. “Eddie!” he called out his name, stepping forward. But Eddie ignored him, but he could clearly hear him. He didn’t even glance his way. Just kept pushing forward like a man on a mission.

Buck moved faster, closing the distance between them. “Hey, what the hell is going on?” His voice rose, frustration creeping in as Eddie continued to avoid him.

Nothing. No answer.

That was when Buck stepped directly in front of the gurney, blocking his path. Eddie let out a sharp breath, stopping just in time to avoid hitting him. “Buck, move.”

Buck’s jaw clenched. “No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.” His blue eyes searched Eddie’s face, desperation creeping in. “What the hell is going on? Why’d they send you out instead of calling me?”

“No, Eddie. Talk to me.” His voice sharpened. “Why wouldn’t Hen radio for me? Who’s hurt?”

Eddie swallowed hard. His gaze flickered toward the store, just for a second. Eddie tightened his grip on the gurney’s handles. He was tense, trying to keep his expression neutral, but Buck knew him too well. Buck’s stomach twisted.

Realization slammed into him like a freight train. His breath hitched.

His voice came out quieter this time, almost a whisper. “Eddie… is it—?” he stumbled over his words. Eddie exhaled through his nose, looking down for a second before finally meeting Buck’s gaze. And that’s when Buck knew.

Eddie’s jaw tensed. “She’s losing too much blood.”

His hands shook as he took a step back, his breath coming in shorter gasps. “No.”

“No. No, Eddie.” Buck’s voice cracked, panic clawing at his chest. He turned toward the store entrance, his vision tunneling. Eddie reached out, grabbing Buck’s arm before he could move. “Buck-”

“She’s in there.” Buck yanked his arm free, his heart racing as he turned and bolted for the store’s entrance.

Hen and Chimney were still focused on (Y/n), trying to keep her stable. But her condition was rapidly deteriorating. Her color was draining from her face, her breathing shallow and erratic. Her body was going into shock.

Hen’s hands were shaking as she was now the one who applied pressure to the wound on her shoulder, but nothing was enough. “We need that gurney, now.” Hen snapped. “Chim, stay with her. I’ll-” But before Hen could finish, the door slammed open.

Buck.

His eyes locked onto (Y/n), and for a split second, everything else seemed to blur out of focus. He made to move toward her, but Bobby, who had just stepped into the store behind him, grabbed his arm.

“Buck! Wait!” Bobby shouted, holding him back with surprising force. “You can’t-” But Buck was too far gone. That was his girl inside. His child. He needed to be there.

“Let go of me!” Buck struggled against Bobby’s grip, his face contorted with panic. “I’m not waiting, Bobby! I need to help her!” Bobby shook his head, his expression hard. “You need to stay out of the way, Buck. We need to focus. Let them do their job.”

But Buck couldn’t hear him. All he could see was (Y/n), her pale face and limp body. She was slipping away.

And then, without warning, Hen’s voice cracked. “She’s seizing!”

Buck’s blood ran cold as he saw (Y/n)’s body convulse violently, her back arching as her limbs jerked uncontrollably. The sight of her in such distress sent waves of horror through him.

“(Y/n)!” Buck screamed, his voice raw with desperation. But her eyes remained closed. There was no response. This couldn’t be happening.

Bobby tried to hold Buck back, but it was useless. Buck’s heart was breaking as he watched her convulse on the floor. “Please, baby, stay with me… please,” he whispered under his breath, choking on his own panic.

Just as the medics worked frantically around her, Buck felt a suffocating weight in his chest. He couldn’t be there. He couldn’t reach her. His voice broke through the chaos again, louder, more desperate. “(Y/n)!”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

9-1-1 Masterlist | Next chapter >>

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, soap x reader, unsolicited nudes, pushy behaviour, implied noncon elements - 1K words, semi-edited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Anxiously sending in an offer for a kitchen appliance you’re in dire need of via an online social media marketplace, only for the seller- JTav87, to reply instantly.

The notification comes when you’re taking a curious peep at his info. His proflile makes him seem nice enough- real 'the cool uncle’ vibes. The page's display picture is a snap of him grinning ear to ear with one of his big paw-like hands at his chest in a thumbs up gesture, the other being obscured behind the lid of an outdoor grill; a family gathering in full swing behind him.

It's all topped off with the stock photo of a beach at sunset as his header, the poorly stretched image sporting a sprawling near-unreadable quote about resilience smack-dab in the middle, gratuitous high contrast vignette filters over everything as a little banner pops up at the bottom of your screen; a message from the seller.

‘I cn do tht.’

you hastily type out a reply in fear of the purchase somehow getting delayed or cancelled.

‘You’re a lifesaver😊I've been searching high and low for one of these!’

Being too friendly was your first mistake, you just wanted to make a good impression- it seemed harmless at the time.

The pickup goes off without too much of a hitch- you meet up as requested in the well-lit parking lot of a generic chain cafe, puffing out cold breaths from behind your jacket and nursing a warm beverage you had managed to grab. Stepping out of a beat up pickup, you come to find that he’s a lot bigger than his pictures would have you assume, not shockingly tall, but his overall aura and bulk make him seem like a giant. His bare arms splay outwards, stretching the fabric of his ill-fitted tee in a gesture that almost had you worried he was going to go in for a hug- thankfully, a firm handshake seems to suffice. 

“Och! Yer’ hands’re baltic!” he exclaims with a blinding smile, rosy tips of his ears and nose being the only tell he was affected by the weather himself as he claps his other hand around yours, rubbing them together to create heat. It's an action that nearly had you spilling the drink in your free hand as you stagger a bit in response to the contact- something he seemed to either not notice, or not mind.

The real kicker was the way he refused to take your money, hemming and hawing about how you should be saving that money for stuff you need- as if the appliance you were purchasing wasn’t that exactly. “A’hm not gonna take yer’ money- a’hm t’fond of ye’.”

whatever that means. 

It's good you didnt pay, evidently. When he had loaded it into your car- having the gall to laugh after you asked if he needed help, mind you- he had forgotten the cord that made the thing work, offering you a lovely little surprise when you finally got home.

On queue, there's a muffled ding from the device in your pocket. 

‘forgt 2 brng cord. srry x’ 

your eyes could have rolled out of your head; suffice to say, you weren't impressed.

‘I really needed this tonight, had baking I needed to do for a party tomorrow 🫤weather’s too bad for me to go out again tonight.’

‘cn drop off at urs if u wnt?’

Had you been in any other situation, this would have been a hard no- sadly however, your stress and desperation leads you into letting the heavyset man worm his way in through your front door as if he owns the place, cord bunched up and hanging out of his back pocket while he kicks the snow from his boots with a saintly smile.

Surprisingly, the drop off is quick- only interrupted by him asking to use your toilet as you're distracted with pulling out baking supplies. Before you know it, he’s back on the icy roads again. You almost wish you had offered him some coffee or tea-

 Almost.

When the morning sun bleeds through your curtains, you pick up your phone to find a notification from JTav87.

‘Hve a grate day x’ 

You frown and ignore the message as you start your day, but it only seems to embolden him into sending you countless more, the tone of the messages becoming increasingly more romantic as time draws on- some of your work friends at the office party even ask you if there was a new beau in your life when you had made the mistake of leaving your phone face up atop the breakroom table while you ate.

The final straw between you, your peace of mind, and the block button comes that night with a handful of alarmingly explicit voice messages in your inbox, promptly followed by a very-much so unprompted video of him shirtless and moaning while he chokes his swollen dick in a vice grip- all done over a familiar bunched up pair of underwear that you know with certainty had been at the top of the hamper in your bathroom. 

Little is left to the imagination when he snatches up the stolen garment, bringing it to his nose, face just out of frame as his chest expands in response. His audible fist-fucking and jerking hips get more frenzied as he gives one last brutal tug all the way from his base to the head, hand flexing as he aims his shot at his phone, cum coating the counter space directly in view of the camera.

His spent cock bobs and drools, stomach muscles contracting wildly as he leans back into the wall behind him; taking a moment before reaching forward to stop the video, searing the image of his hazy, wolfish grin in your mind.

His free hand gets busy sopping up his mess in your underwear as the screen flashes back to the clip's first frame, offering you the prompt to watch again.

It would later become apparent that blocking could only do so much to seperate you from a mutt like John MacTavish- especially when he's privy to your home address.

[goldfades]

★ DAY JUST FOR US ─── JOE BURROW⁹ [013] SWEET ON YOU

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine

FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | valentines day with joe! (sweet on you edition)

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | nothing but tooth rotting fluff!

The house was quiet—eerily so, almost unfamiliar in its stillness. No tiny footsteps padding across the hardwood, no early morning giggles, no faint sounds of cartoons filtering in from the living room. Just the low hum of the heater and the soft rustling of sheets as you turned over in bed, stretching into the empty space beside you.

Joe was already awake. You could hear him somewhere in the house, the faint clatter of dishes and the subtle creak of cabinet doors opening and closing.

And then, as if right on cue, the scent hit you.

Coffee. Fresh, strong, just how you liked it. And something sweeter—vanilla, cinnamon, maybe a hint of chocolate.

You smiled to yourself, sinking deeper into the pillows before reluctantly sitting up. The soft, golden morning light streamed through the curtains, casting warm patterns over the bed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you had woken up naturally—not to the sound of a baby monitor crackling to life or a toddler calling for you.

You missed Hayes, of course. But God, this was nice.

Pushing the covers off, you padded out of the bedroom, following the scent that was practically pulling you in like a cartoon character floating toward a fresh pie on a windowsill.

And there he was.

Joe stood in the kitchen, completely in his element, wearing sweats and a hoodie, barefoot, hair still mussed from sleep. His brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped a pancake, and next to him on the counter was a tray—two mugs of coffee, fresh fruit, a little vase with a single rose, a ridiculously romantic setup for someone who always insisted he wasn’t ‘good at this stuff.’

You leaned against the doorway, watching him for a moment.

"You look suspiciously domestic right now," you teased, crossing your arms.

Joe turned, caught off guard for a split second before his face split into a grin. "Well, good morning to you too," he said, flipping the pancake one last time before sliding it onto the plate. "Figured I’d let you sleep in. Big romantic gesture and all."

You walked over, wrapping your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "You didn’t have to do all this."

Joe huffed out a laugh. "I kind of did. My son has been hogging you for two years straight—I needed at least one day where I get you all to myself."

You smiled against his hoodie. "Fair point."

Joe turned in your arms, looping his own around your waist, his hands warm against the small of your back. He kissed your forehead, then your temple, then finally your lips—soft, slow, unhurried.

"Happy Valentine’s Day," he murmured.

"Happy Valentine’s Day," you whispered back, fingers curling into his sweatshirt.

And for a moment, it felt like you were in your own little world, wrapped in warmth, in love, in everything that made you two, you.

Joe pulled back slightly, eyeing the tray behind him. "I was gonna bring that to you in bed, you know."

You glanced at the tray, the effort he had put into it, and then back up at him. "How about I take my coffee, and we eat at the table like normal people?"

Joe smirked. "Deal. But only if you promise me one thing."

You raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"

He leaned in, voice dropping slightly. "That you’re not too full for dessert later."

Your stomach flipped, and your cheeks warmed at the implication, but you rolled your eyes, pushing his chest playfully. "You’re ridiculous."

Joe just grinned. "And you love me for it."

And he was right. You really, really did.

--

The morning felt like something out of a dream—slow, sweet, wrapped in warmth and easy laughter. Just the two of you. No tiny hands tugging at your clothes, no early-morning cartoons playing in the background, no chaotic mess of toys scattered across the floor.

Just you and Joe, husband and wife, sitting at the kitchen table, your legs tangled beneath it as you shared a stack of pancakes, sipped on coffee, and indulged in something you hadn’t felt in a while—time.

“I forgot what hot coffee tastes like,” you sighed dramatically, cradling the mug in your hands.

Joe snorted. “See? This is why I planned today. You deserve a break.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes soft. “So do you.”

He shrugged, slicing his fork through a pancake. “I don’t mind the chaos as much as you think. I mean, yeah, Hayes is a maniac sometimes, but I kinda love it.”

You grinned. “Says the man who handed me a half-asleep baby last week and whispered, ‘Please, for the love of God, take him. I need to lay down before I pass out on the floor.’”

Joe laughed, setting his fork down. “Okay, fair, but in my defense, that was after he made me run around the house with him for like an hour straight. And then he made me read ‘Goodnight Moon’ four times in a row before he even thought about sleeping.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “He’s obsessed with you. Full-on daddy’s boy.”

Joe smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, today is about me being obsessed with you.”

His words sent a little shiver down your spine.

It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, with that low, confident drawl that made you feel like the only woman in the world.

You swallowed, setting your coffee down. “So, what exactly do you have planned for today?”

Joe stretched, crossing his arms behind his head. “Well, since my mom has Hayes until tomorrow, I figured we’d do whatever you want. No distractions, no responsibilities, no ‘Mommy, Daddy, look at me!’ Just us.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Anything I want?”

Joe’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Anything.”

Your lips curled into a slow smile. “In that case, I say we start with a bath. A long, hot, uninterrupted bath.”

Joe’s smirk widened. “Sounds like a solid plan. But only if I’m invited.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the table. “Come on, Casanova.”

Joe was already on his feet, grabbing your waist and pulling you close. His hands slid down to your hips, his lips grazing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to today,” he murmured.

And neither did you—not until now.

Because after everything—the sleepless nights, the never-ending chaos, the constant whirlwind of parenting—it was easy to forget this part of your relationship.

But Joe had never forgotten.

And today, he was making sure you didn’t either.

The afternoon passed in a blur of easy conversation, warm touches, and stolen kisses between store aisles. Shopping together wasn’t something you got to do often—not without a tiny pair of hands reaching for everything in sight or a little voice repeatedly asking, “Can we go home now?”

But today, it was just the two of you.

Joe held your hand as you wandered through a boutique downtown, his fingers lazily playing with yours, rubbing circles against your palm. You weren’t even shopping for anything specific, just enjoying the act of browsing, of laughing over ridiculous designer price tags and testing expensive perfumes on your wrists.

At one point, he caught you eyeing a dainty gold bracelet in one of the glass cases, and without hesitation, he flagged down the salesperson. You tried to stop him, playfully swatting at his arm, but he just grinned and said, “Let me spoil my wife.”

And how could you argue with that?

After shopping, you made your way to one of your favorite restaurants, tucked away in the city. It was dimly lit, intimate, the kind of place that made you feel like the rest of the world faded away the second you stepped inside.

Joe let you order whatever you wanted, insisting you get the expensive cocktail you usually turned down and ordering extra appetizers just because.

“This is so much food,” you laughed, eyeing the plates covering the table.

Joe shrugged, cutting into his steak. “Yeah, well, if I’m gonna get my wife alone for the first time in forever, I’m gonna make the most of it.”

You sipped your drink, warmth spreading through your chest—not just from the alcohol, but from him, from the way he always made you feel like you were the most important thing in the world.

By the time you made it home, the sun had long set, and you were curled up on the couch together, presents sitting in front of you on the coffee table.

Joe leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, who’s first?”

You grinned, grabbing the wrapped box in front of you and placing it in his lap. “You.”

His brows lifted, clearly intrigued. He didn’t hesitate to tear off the wrapping, lifting the lid of the box, and as soon as he did, his eyes went wide.

“No way,” he murmured, pulling out the ultra-rare Mike Vrabel jersey, the signature scrawled perfectly across the front. His fingers brushed over the fabric, as if making sure it was real.

You laughed at his stunned expression. “Took a while to find that.”

Joe just shook his head, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “This is insane. Do you know how rare this is?”

You smirked. “Oh, I know.”

He set the jersey aside carefully before reaching for the next box, pulling out the Rolex inside. His mouth parted slightly as he turned it over in his hands, the weight of it settling against his palm.

“Baby,” he breathed, looking up at you.

You shrugged. “You needed a new one.”

He laughed, slipping it onto his wrist, twisting it just right to catch the light. “This is—god, this is incredible.”

You leaned closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You like it?”

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love it.”

You beamed, but before you could say anything else, he grabbed a small envelope from the table and handed it to you.

You raised an eyebrow. “An envelope?”

Joe smirked. “Just open it.”

You did, carefully sliding out the paper inside, eyes scanning over the words. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized what it was—an all-expenses-paid spa weekend, booked just for you.

“Joe…” you whispered, looking up at him.

His smirk softened into something more tender. “Figured you could use a real break. No baby, no responsibilities—just you getting spoiled for a whole weekend.”

Your throat tightened, overwhelmed with gratitude. “You even planned for your mom to take Hayes?”

He nodded. “She and my dad want more time with him anyway. They’re excited.”

You shook your head in awe. “You’re really the best, you know that?”

Joe smiled, reaching for you, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, holding you close.

“You deserve it,” he murmured against your temple.

You closed your eyes, sinking into him, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against yours.

And in that moment, wrapped up in his arms, you knew—this was exactly where you were meant to be.

--

Sunday evening rolled in slow and sweet, the lingering relaxation of your spa weekend still wrapped around you like a warm hug. Your muscles had never felt looser, your mind never clearer, and you had Joe to thank for that. He was grinning like an idiot as you strolled into the house, barefoot and in one of the plush robes he had insisted you bring back because, according to him, "You deserve to be comfy at all times."

You had barely dropped your overnight bag in the bedroom before you felt Joe’s arms snake around your waist from behind, his chin resting against your shoulder.

"Feel good?" he murmured, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to the side of your neck.

You hummed, leaning back into his embrace, your fingers trailing over his arms, feeling the solid warmth of him. "Like a brand-new woman."

"Good," he said, his voice thick with something unreadable, and you could feel his smile against your skin. "Because I have one more surprise for you."

You turned in his arms, immediately skeptical. "Joe..."

His lips twitched, and he took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "I already planned it, and before you say anything—I cleared it with my parents. Hayes is gonna be more than fine. Actually, I think they might be more excited than we are."

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out what he was playing at. "What are you talking about?"

Joe pulled back just enough to grab his phone from the nightstand, tapping a few times before turning the screen to face you.

Your stomach flipped.

Staring back at you was a confirmation email for a week-long trip to Bora Bora—an overwater villa, pristine turquoise waters stretching for miles, the kind of place you had dreamed about visiting for years but never thought you’d actually get to see.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Joe’s smirk widened. "So, what do you think?"

"Are you serious?" you finally managed to breathe out, your heart racing.

"Dead serious," he said, his hands finding your waist again, his fingers pressing into your hips. "I booked it months ago, just wanted to wait for the right time to tell you."

Your mind was spinning. Bora Bora. The dream destination. The place you had casually mentioned a hundred times, always in a wistful, "Maybe someday" way.

"But—Joe, a whole week?" Your voice was laced with both excitement and hesitancy. "What about Hayes? We've never left him for that long."

Joe nodded, as if he had expected that concern. "I know. But he's old enough now, and my parents are already planning a full itinerary of things to do with him. He’s gonna be spoiled rotten. And we haven’t had a real vacation since before he was born, baby."

You swallowed, processing it, weighing it against the part of you that always felt guilty for leaving Hayes. But Joe was right. The closest thing to a vacation you’d had in the last couple of years was a weekend here and there, always with Hayes in tow.

The thought of spending an entire week alone with Joe, uninterrupted, no responsibilities, no late-night wake-ups, no cartoons playing in the background of every conversation—it was tempting.

No, it was needed.

Joe must’ve caught the shift in your expression because his smirk softened into something more knowing, his hands squeezing your waist. "You deserve this, and so do I. Just you and me, away from everything for a little while."

Your lips curled into a slow smile. "Bora Bora, huh?"

Joe leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. "Nothing but us, white sand, crystal-clear water, and a private villa for a whole week," he murmured, his voice warm and full of promise. "Think you can handle that?"

You pretended to think for a second before finally giving in, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I think I can manage."

Joe grinned, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips, one that left no room for doubt.

Bora Bora.

Just the two of you.

It was really happening.

[patrycarro]

TS3 - Rossmere (WIP)

ENG:

(No environmental mods here, just my trusty NVIDIA filters. )

So yeah, this is what I’ve been working on over the past month.

The CAW tool is honestly a bit of a mess in some aspects, but at the same time, it’s incredibly fascinating how much you can create with it. I’ve edited other worlds before, but I had never built one completely from scratch. It’s a massive time sink and takes a lot of effort—but trust me, it’s 100% worth it.

Now, have I mentioned how much I hate terrain sculpting? No? Well, here it goes: I HATE IT. It’s by far the most tedious part of the entire process. But hey, that’s finally done—and now I get to dive into my favorite part: building.

I genuinely thought I’d never get here. 😭

Rossmere is beautiful, isn’t it? I know it’s hard to imagine it bustling with life, skyscrapers towering over the streets, Sims everywhere... when right now it all looks so empty. But I promise you, in my head, it’s already amazing.

Come on, have a little faith—when have I ever let you down?

And yes, just to confirm what you’ve probably already guessed: it’s a city. My main inspiration comes from parts of Los Angeles (mostly), with touches of Brooklyn and Miami here and there. But just to be clear: I’m not trying to recreate any of them. I’m simply taking the elements I love most and blending them into a world that feels uniquely mine.

Since I know you're curious for more details, here’s a little preview:

Currently, the world uses the Sunlit Tides lighting, but the water is too clear and I’m not completely happy with it, so I’ll probably change it. Roaring Heights might be an option—it has the kind of tone I’ve always wanted and suits the style of this city much better.

As always, I’m not using any CC—but I will be using some Store content and a couple of mods. If you’re familiar with my previous builds, you can probably guess which ones I mean. That said, I’m planning to add an amusement park this time around, so I’ll likely bring in a few new mods just for that.

I’ll be using every single expansion pack—no exceptions.

Rossmere will have three ports—none of them will include a houseboat with Sims living in it.

The water level is set above 30, so you’ll be able to place dive lots without any issues. I won’t be including any myself, though—it’s not something I’m personally interested in, and I like leaving that as something special for Isla Paradiso.

Right now, the world contains 140 lots—some of them will be left empty so you can add your own builds. I’ve also put a lot of work into routing to ensure performance stays smooth. I’ll try not to overload the builds for that same reason.

I plan to release both a populated and an unpopulated version, each available in both Spanish and English.

From now on, I’ll be sharing all my progress with you so you can keep me company on this journey. I skipped over the terrain sculpting and layout process because, well… it wasn’t anything worth showing off. And honestly? You would’ve gotten tired of watching me rework it again and again. The final version looks nothing like the first. The idea was always there, and so was the vision—but I’ve refined it a lot over the past few weeks.

To make the wait feel a bit shorter, I’ll be posting the builds I’m making for Rossmere on my Patreon as I complete them.

So stay tuned—some really exciting things are coming your way. 💙

If you have any questions or doubts, feel free to ask me anytime.

xoxo

SPA:

Así que sí, esto es en lo que he estado trabajando el último mes.

La herramienta CAW es un desastre en algunos aspectos, pero también es absolutamente fascinante todo lo que se puede llegar a crear con ella. Ya había editado otros mundos antes, aunque nunca había hecho uno desde cero, y la verdad es que exige muchísimo esfuerzo y tiempo… pero vale completamente la pena.

Ahora bien, ¿os he dicho ya lo mucho que odio modelar el terreno? ¿No? Pues ahí va: LO DETESTO. Sin duda, es la parte más tediosa de todo el proceso. Por suerte, ya está hecho, y ahora empieza mi parte favorita: construir.

Pensé que nunca iba a llegar. 😭

Rossmere es maravillosa, ¿a que sí? Sé que cuesta imaginarla llena de vida, con rascacielos y Sims por todas partes cuando ahora mismo está tan vacía, pero os prometo que en mi cabeza ya es alucinante.

Venga, tened un poco de fe en mí. ¿Cuándo os he decepcionado?

Y aunque probablemente ya lo habíais adivinado, lo confirmo por si acaso: sí, es una ciudad. Me estoy inspirando sobre todo en zonas de Los Ángeles, con toques de Brooklyn y Miami. Pero ojo: no estoy intentando replicarlas, solo tomar lo que más me gusta de cada una y juntarlo en un mundo que encaje con mis gustos y preferencias.

Y como sé que queréis más detalles, os adelanto algunas cositas:

Actualmente, el mundo tiene implementada la iluminación de Sunlit Tides, pero el agua es demasiado clara y no termina de convencerme, así que probablemente la cambie. La de Roaring Heights podría ser una opción: su tono se acerca mucho más a lo que siempre he querido y encaja mejor con el estilo de esta ciudad.

Como siempre, nada de contenido personalizado, aunque sí usaré algunos objetos de la Store y un par de mods. Si me conocéis, ya os imagináis cuáles son, porque los he utilizado en muchas de mis construcciones anteriores. Aun así, como quiero hacer un parque de atracciones, probablemente añada algunos nuevos a la lista.

Voy a utilizar todas las expansiones del juego, sin excepción.

Habrá tres puertos, pero ninguna casa flotante habitada.

He establecido el nivel del agua sobre 30, así que podréis colocar solares para hacer submarinismo sin problema. Yo no incluiré ninguno porque, sinceramente, no es algo que me interese demasiado; me gusta que siga siendo algo exclusivo de Isla Paradiso.

Actualmente, el mundo tiene 140 solares (varios estarán vacíos para que podáis colocar vuestras propias construcciones). He trabajado mucho el tema del enrutamiento para que el rendimiento no se vea afectado, y también intentaré no sobrecargar demasiado los solares por el mismo motivo.

Habrá una versión poblada y otra sin poblar, y ambas estarán disponibles en español e inglés.

A partir de ahora, compartiré con vosotros todos los avances que vaya haciendo, para que me hagáis un poco de compañía en este viaje. Me he ahorrado mostraros el proceso de modelado y distribución porque, sinceramente, no era nada digno de admiración. Y para qué mentir: también porque os habríais cansado de verme cambiarlo todo una y otra vez. La versión final no se parece en nada a la inicial. La idea siempre estuvo ahí, y también la intención, pero la he pulido muchísimo estas semanas.

Y para que la espera se os haga más llevadera, iré subiendo a mi Patreon las construcciones que vaya haciendo para Rossmere según las vaya terminando.

Así que ya sabéis, estad atentos, que se vienen cosas muy chulas. 💙

Y si tenéis alguna pregunta o duda, no os cortéis y preguntadme lo que sea.

¡Un abrazo!

[rottenk1sses]

thinking of corrupting innocent art, maybe he grew up religious and his chastity ring is his most prized possession, but he can't say no to your advances, doesn't say yes either— but he never stays away for too long, anyway comes crawling back wordlessly like a puppy w his tail between his legs

cw : corruption, coercion/elements of dubcon (18+)

pastor’s son!art donaldson who stays in his hometown instead of going off to college; opting to help his father with the church as the months tick by, only fueled by a sense of duty and maybe a bit of religious guilt..

you knew the very instant you set eyes on him that you had to have him.

he always looked like an angel when he was stood behind his dad during services—the yellowed overhead light shining suspiciously brighter on him alone; his neatly groomed golden curls bouncing in front of his forehead with every obedient and devout nod of his head to the words of the verses. pretty, you had thought, pure.

the first time you ever tried to seduce him, the church had already emptied out to give you the perfect opportunity to slide into a pew and call him over to ‘talk’. of course, he was more than happy to do so. he talked with everyone, it was like a second nature to provide comfort to others.

he found you really attractive when he finally got a good look at you, sexy even. but the idea of perceiving you that way had curdled a gross feeling in his gut. it wasn’t right—it wasn’t him—and he knew that. but he still chose to sit down next to you that particular evening and indulge that disturbing part of himself. could it really be so wrong to appreciate one of god's fellow creations?

he knew deep down that god would be ashamed.

you had chatted him up for less than ten minutes (making up a sad story about how awful your life was going) before your hand was sneaking over his thigh, sliding over the dark fabric of his church slacks. he'd frozen completely stiff at the feeling, like he was scared of how he felt about the touch and petrified of the consequences.

art chuckled nervously and looked to your eyes, almost pleading.

“uhm,” he breathed out shakily, pushing your touch gently from his body, refusing your advances, “i don’t, uh.. im not—..”

he hoped that his lack of an actual explanation would be a good-enough one in of itself, but you pushed back anyway despite his protests. draping your leg over his, stroking his blond hair, leaning in to kiss his flushed neck. he was trembling all over. now god was really going to strike him dead.

“shhh,” you whispered, “just let me make you feel good, okay? that would really help me feel better…”

he wanted to say no. he wanted to shoot up from his seat and run away like a scared little pup, protecting the sanctity of his body and mind from whatever sin you were corrupted with, but he didn’t. a deeper, sicker part of him couldn’t. he was disgusted with himself.

an anxiousness started to brew just under his skin, and he felt it filtering through his blood like a petrifying poison. like a mess of flies buzzing around a decaying body that was buried deep in the midst of his morality. he couldn’t move; he couldn’t fight back.

but oh.. it.. it felt good..? and he did want to help you..

he was almost surprised by how quick he'd gotten an erection. it strained up against his zipper before you even got a chance to grope him properly.

and then you did.

and then he felt that awful, putrid, incredible feeling bubbling up from his pelvis; a feeling that he had only allowed himself to indulge in when he was at home, in the dead of night, tucked into the messy covers and rocking his hips into his mattress to chase the temptation.

an innocent loophole.

after all, he’d never physically touched himself there in a sexual manner, let alone with the hand of his that held a finger banded in silver—a symbol of his purity—so it would be alright in the end, right? he had only ever done it to scratch an itch. a forbidden itch, sure, but god wouldn’t want him to suffer like that. a quick bit of relief, and then it was over and done with. always.

but in that particular moment, when he was feeling someone’s touch over his pants for the very first time, he had decided that he wasn’t sure he wanted to indulge. maybe it really was as wrong as he knew it to be. he shook his head.

“wait—“ he gasped, squirming on the wooden pew as his head tipped back slightly, his trembling fingers squeezing the edge of the surface under him, “wait, wait, i— oh—oh-!”

he was letting out noises then that made him sound like an innocent fawn, wailing out in a mix of confusion and pleasure and shame and fear as he felt his cock spasm and flood his underwear with an overwhelming warmth. despite his verbal hesitation, he had pushed his hips up hard into your touch as he orgasmed—grinding against it as the shocks of release stung the finger that wore the ring of silver. he could almost feel the metal burning into his skin amidst all of the overstimulating ecstasy that caused his thighs to quake. guilt radiated through all of his bones; seeping into his marrow.

he had sinned, fully and wholly. he was a sinner.

your touch dirtied him. infected him.

you had made him this way.

he was supposed to be good; a good person, a good son, a good follower.

but you had ruined it. all of it.

he’d never been prone to anger, but right then he had wanted to shout. he wanted to shove you away, get down on his knees, and begin repenting. mumbling pleas and apologies with his hands clasped together and his head hung, bowed in penance. his body weighed down by the heavy stone of his own culpability in the situation; the realization that he hadn’t done enough to refuse your attention.

but, in the end, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny his body the gratification of being so close to you. he was no longer worthy of god’s forgiveness anyways, so he turned his head and looked to your eyes, tears pooling in his own. they dripped down his flushed cheeks as he pulled ragged, greedy gasps of air into his lungs. his chest rattled as he cried. the feeling of the slimy wetness soaking into his underwear had only made the sting of reality more pitiful.

if he had looked like an angel before all of this, he surely was a fallen one now.

“…th-thank you, i'm sorry…” he sobbed softly, “i’m sorry.”

he didn't quite know who he was apologizing to.

it had only felt right.

[strayingawayy]

doodle princess (dad! hyunjin)

it was a lazy afternoon, and the sound of soft brushes against paper filled the cozy room. the sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. hyunjin sat on the floor, his legs crossed beneath him, a canvas of vibrant colors spread out in front of him. his tiny daughter, only a little over a year old, sat in front of him, a small paintbrush in her hand. the little girl giggled as she dabbed the brush into a cup of water, the bristles swaying playfully as she mimicked her father's every move.

hyunjin was in his element. he had always enjoyed painting, but since becoming a parent, he found himself getting lost in more than just his art. his thoughts often wandered to his family, and now, as he painted, they became the subject of his work. he had always doodled, usually sketches of his love for you, lines that captured your smile, your essence, your very being. but now, his art had evolved. no longer were his doodles just of you; they included the tiny miracle he and you had created together.

as hyunjin worked on his newest piece, he couldn’t help but glance at his daughter sitting beside him. her chubby little hands clutched her brush as she carefully made tiny strokes on her own little paper. the sight made his heart swell, a sense of pride that no canvas could quite capture. his daughter was a masterpiece in her own right, and every day he spent with her was like painting his own personal heaven.

"look, sweetheart," he said, his voice tender, "you’re making art just like daddy."

you stood by the door, arms crossed, watching the scene before you. you had always admired hyunjin’s dedication to his art, but seeing him like this, in such a domestic, tender moment, filled your heart with something more. your little girl was a perfect mix of the two of you, with her father’s expressive eyes and your smile.

she babbled to herself, her eyes locked on the colors in front of her, her tiny face scrunched in concentration. her gaze shifted between the painting and hyunjin’s hands, as if trying to decode the magic behind each stroke.

a giggle broke your thoughts. your daughter’s tiny finger pointed excitedly at one of the doodles hyunjin had painted. a rough but endearing image of her. the likeness was undeniable, though a bit abstract, with big eyes and an exaggerated grin.

“na-ri!” she babbled suddenly, pointing directly at the doodle of herself.

hyunjin’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly looked at you, barely able to contain his laughter. “did she… did she just say her name? as her first word at that?”

you blinked, a small chuckle escaping your lips as you approached them. “i think she did. but....why is she saying her own name? usually babies babble ma or da?"

hyunjin’s expression shifted from surprise to a proud, mischievous grin. “she must be taking after her old man, huh?” he said, giving his daughter a teasing look. "so humble, so self-aware. you definitely take after your daddy, little one. you already know how to recognize your own greatness.”

you snorted, unable to hold back the laughter. "oh, so you’re teaching her narcissism already, huh? at least wait until she's older for that."

“she’s a genius," hyunjin said, his voice dripping with pride. "it’s not narcissism if it’s true.”

your daughter giggled, clearly enjoying the attention. she looked at her father with the same gleam in her eyes that you had seen countless times before. it was the gleam of someone who knew they were loved, who knew they were everything.

“you’re so spoiled,” you said, teasing hyunjin now. “i can't believe you’re making our daughter narcissistic already."

hyunjin chuckled, placing his paintbrush down and scooping her into his lap. “she’s just confident. that’s all. but i guess you’re right. i’ll take it easy on her. let’s see if she says da next time.”

but as he held her close, the little girl turned her attention back to the paper, where her name was written in swirling letters beneath her doodled face. she babbled again, sounding almost like she was repeating the syllables. it was clear that she was as in love with her own name as her father was with his art.

you sat down next to them, leaning against hyunjin. “well, at least she has good taste.”

hyunjin rested his head against yours, a playful smile on his face. “she’s my masterpiece. of course, she’d be a little self-absorbed.”

you couldn't stop laughing as you watched them together- father and daughter, both lost in the magic of art and family. you had always known hyunjin was talented, but there was something even more beautiful about his creations now. they weren’t just art; they were a reflection of the love he had for you, for your little girl, and for the life you had built together.

with a loving sigh, you wrapped your arm around him, your daughter still babbling happily in in his lap. as the laughter echoed through the room, you couldn't help but feel that this was the masterpiece you'd always been waiting for- perfect, in every little way.

___

everybody say thank you @hwajin @astraystayyh for indulging with me 🙂‍↕️