#it’s still fucked up either way but now it’s much more interesting

[scuderiahoney]

Born To Run // ii.

cowboy!Max Verstappen x reader // part ii. of ii

find part i here!

Summary: Everyone, including Max, says he’s too much for you. You find yourself determined to prove them all wrong. Your summer on the ranch is set to be one to remember. 6.1k

Warnings: sexual content (minors do not interact, 18+ PLEASE!), alcohol/ intoxication, strong use of language, implied unspecified age gap, public sex, oral sex fem receiving, and max is a little mean (oops). if you would like further clarifications on the warnings PLEASE send me a message!

Most of the crew are off at the bar for the night, so when you meet Max down at the river, there’s nobody else around to notice or bother you. Just you, and him, and the setting sun, the gurgle of the creek, the cold water wrapping around your ankles as you stand there, looking for rocks on the bottom of it.

You’re trying to distract yourself, is what you’re doing. The summer heat is ebbing away as the sun sets, which leaves you no excuse for the way you can feel your whole body burning. Maybe Max was just being friendly, inviting you down here. Maybe he expected there to be more people. But he has a bottle of wine-though it’s still unopened, sitting in the river to try and keep it chilled- and he’s laid out a blanket on the bank, and… you just don’t know, is the whole thing. You don’t want to assume what his intentions are.

Max teases you from the bank, though you know his eyes are watching your every move. “Your posture is awful.”

You roll your eyes and don’t bother looking up at him. “My posture is fine, thank you. I’m looking for rocks.”

“I know,” he says.

Now you look up- he’s leaning back on the blanket, propped up on his elbows, hat low over his brow. The hat ticks up and down with his line of sight, sweeping down to your ankles and then back up, slowly, like he’s drinking every detail in. You swallow. He grins and pulls a corkscrew from his pocket.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning you with two fingers, and your heart is in your throat. “Grab the wine?”

You wander over, handing him the bottle and reaching down to dry your feet with a towel. He watches the whole time, fiddling with the corkscrew, drying the glass bottle on his shirt. You can feel your fingers starting to shake, can feel the anticipation coursing through your body. You stay standing at the edge of the blanket, hands on your hips, looking down at him. He whistles lowly, again, and you feel your face grow hot, trying to fight the grin that threatens your lips.

“Are you going to sit?” He asks, finally directing his attention to the bottle of wine, to getting it open.

The cork falls to the blanket next to him. You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what exactly you should do here. Sit down too far from him, and you might ruin the mood. Sit down too close, and you might be too eager. He’s so hard to read, it drives you nuts.

You let out a huff and step onto the blanket, walking towards him. He takes interest and pushes himself up on his hands, and when you settle yourself in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, he sighs almost dreamily, and his eyes fall half shut. You run your hands over the skirt of your dress to smooth it out over your lap and his, and he hands you the bottle of wine.

You take a sip- it’s warm and sugary. He clicks his tongue when you repeat the motion.

“Not too much,” he says, quietly, voice mingling with the crickets making their debut for the night.

You scowl at him. “What’s the point? Take it slow? Can’t handle your alcohol, Maxie?”

He gives you an amused grin, eyes crinkling with it, but there’s some sort of electric current running beneath it. You’re buzzing already. You wonder if he’d shock you if you reached out and touched him. If he’d light you on fire the way you feel like you're on the edge of. Does he feel it too?

“I don’t want you to get drunk,” he says.

It takes you a moment, and then the ground drops out from under you. I’m not fucking you while you’re drunk. You take one last sip, a small one, and hand the bottle back to him. He takes a drink with one hand, and his other falls to your hip, squeezing softly. You bite back a whimper.

“Please, Max,” you say, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Max sighs, takes another sip of wine, then sighs again, dragging a hand across his chin. “You’re insatiable.”

You hum in agreement, resting your hands on his shoulders, wriggling just a bit in his lap. “Please?”

“Fuck, honey,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. You giggle.

“I need you, Max,” you say, just to watch his cheeks grow red. Just to watch him struggle with the feeling. “Make me feel good? Pretty please-“

He reaches up and puts his hand over your mouth to muffle your words. You giggle against his grip and watch as he rolls his eyes. He shifts under you, pressing one thigh between your legs, and your laughter gets caught in your chest.

“Y’think you’re funny, huh?” He mutters, and your heart begins to go wild. “Think you can get whatever you want if you ask nicely?”

You shrug, reaching up to run your finger along the brim of his hat. “Mhm. It works on the city boys.”

Max’s eyes go dark at that statement. “Is that right?”

You nod. His hand falls to your knee, and your breath hitches. He smirks, dragging his hand up the outside of your thigh, rucking the skirt of your dress halfway up your leg in the process. His hand draws a trail farther up- over your navel, skimming your ribs, touching at the exposed skin of your shoulder. By the time he cups your face in his hand, you’re vibrating with anticipation. He brushes a thumb over your cheek, and you close your eyes, letting the sparks wash over your skin.

“Need you, Max,” you say, again, steadier this time.

“You deserve better,” he says, for the millionth time.

You purse your lips. “What, you think ‘cause I’m a city girl that I can’t take-“

He squeezes your cheeks together with his hand. Dumbfounded, you look up at him, heart hammering at your ribcage.

“I think you’re a city girl with a big attitude,” he says, leaning closer. You squirm just a bit underneath his gaze. “And that you’d better know what you’re asking for.”

He releases his grip on your face. You blink at him for a few seconds, take in the rosy flush of his cheeks, the way his brows are furrowed, the way his breaths come quick and heavy. And then you grin, wide and bright and, hopefully, oh so tempting.

“I know full well,” you say, rolling your eyes dismissively. “I’ve heard all these stories about you, about how you’re too much cowboy for me, and you know what I think?”

“What.” He says, flat and unwavering.

“That maybe I’m too much for you,” you say, fluttering your lashes at him. “Maybe you’re nervous. Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know what they’re getting into.”

And that seems to strike just the right nerve. That gets him fired up beneath his skin, that sends him over the edge he was teetering on. He grabs you by the waist, hauls you close, and takes. Max kisses in a frenzy, you know this from stolen moments behind barns and buildings, but this is on another level. It’s hot and heavy almost immediately, the way he bullies his tongue into your mouth, the way he bites at your lips, the way he cups one hand around the back of your neck to keep you right there. You arch your into him, writhing and keening at his every touch, at the way his hand slips up to your ribcage, searing into your skin. He’s barely done anything and-

“Look at you,” he says, voice teetering between awe and condescension. “You’re so desperate.”

Your first urge is to say I’m not, petulantly, which would only prove his point. You could point out that he’s desperate, too, but you don’t think it would really make a difference. Instead, you reach up and grab his hat from off his head, setting it down carefully on the blanket next to you, and he watches with eagle eyes. Cowboys and their stupid hats. You distract him from it by rolling your hips against his, the fabric of your skirt bunched up around your waist. His eyes flutter closed when you run your hand through his messy hair.

“Fuck me,” you plead. You’re getting a little tired of asking, and you’re past the point of asking nicely. “Max, please, just-“

He nearly shoves you off his lap, and for a moment you almost panic, until he’s rolling you down onto the blanket and following you down, hovering over you. When he kisses you, this time, it’s to shut you up. It’s harsh and all consuming and you can barely keep up, feeling feverish.

He reaches down with the hand not supporting himself and grabs at your skirt, the soft fabric shoved up and up so carelessly. You fumble with it, trying to yank the dress over your head, but he stops you, grabbing your hands.

“Leave it on,” he says, and you writhe underneath him just at the tone he uses.

“You don’t wanna see me?” You whine, and he groans softly, lips touching yours.

“Wanna make a mess of you and your pretty little dress,” he says, and your eyelids flutter at the words. “You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

You nod fervently. When you look up at him, he’s grinning.

It doesn’t take long from there. You scramble to unbutton his shirt, and he lets you, lets it hang open, lets you run your hands up and down his torso while he kisses you senseless. His skin is feverishly hot under your palms. The sun is down, now, the sky inky blue, stars just starting to peek out behind his head, through the trees. He kisses you until your lips are raw, until you’re writhing and whining underneath him, until he’s got your dress bunched around your hips and he’s toying with your underwear. Soft pink, with a bow. He groans when he pulls away for a moment and looks down.

Then he slides lower on the blanket and settles himself between your legs, and you start to fall apart.

“You don’t have to,” you hear yourself say, as much as you really do want him to. “I don’t- you can just-“

He blinks up at you with a clouded gaze. His chest is heaving, lips parted, one finger hooked in the waistband of your panties. You wonder if he can see well enough to tell how wet you are, or if he’ll only figure it out when he touches you. You’re trembling with anticipation. He eyes you, the way you wait with bated breath.

“Do you want me to?” He asks, voice low. You close your eyes, and he reaches up to squeeze your cheeks, waiting until you open them again. “Use your words. Do you want my mouth on you?”

“You don’t have to,” you repeat.

“Not what I asked,” he says.

“I mean. You can. I… like it,” you say. He nods. “But you won’t get anything out of it, and, like, you don’t-“

“Oh, honey,” he says, like he feels bad for you, like he pities you. “Shit, and they say country girls are naive.”

You blink down at him as he gets settled again. “What?”

“Won’t get anything out of it,” he mocks, and your face grows hot again. “S’that what the city boys tell you?”

You whine. He starts to tug your panties down your hips. When he hooks his arms around your legs and buries his face between them, it’s all you can do to keep from screaming. Your first thought, as he does it, is that maybe he really is too much for you. Before you can have another thought, they all float away, and you melt into the blanket and the ground beneath it.

He takes you apart, methodically, messily. He twists his tongue around your clit, he hums against you until you writhe beneath him, he’s messy and loud about it, so into it, so much more into it than any guy you’ve ever been with. You risk a glance down at him and nearly sob at the way he’s got his eyes squeezed closed, blush sitting high on his cheeks, strands of hair falling across his forehead. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but it only adds to the sensation. When he moves lower, tongue lapping at your entrance, his nose nudges against your clit, and your hands fly away from the blanket- one to your own mouth, to muffle your whimpers, the other to his hair, to hold on.

He pulls away slightly, gasping for air. When you look down at him, his lips and chin are slick and shiny in the moonlight. You bite the palm of your own hand. He’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He unwinds one arm from around your leg, lets it fall to the blanket, and when you feel him press his thumb to your clit, you know you’re doomed.

One of his fingers circles your entrance, slipping just the tip inside. You whine, again, and he groans. He leans his head against your thigh, stubble sending pin pricks up your spine.

“You’re so tight,” he says, incredulously. “So wet. So good for me, yeah?”

You nod frantically. He blinks up at you, wide eyed, almost innocent, though he’s anything but. His hand is gripping bruises into your thigh while he fingers you open with the other, and he looks so proud of the way you’re already falling apart.

“You’re close already, huh?” He asks. You don’t bother trying to lie or fight it, you just nod again. He nods back. “Then be a good girl, take your hand off your mouth,” he says, waiting until you do to continue. “And come for me.”

He disappears between your legs again, and within seconds, it surges up, white hot and fuzzy and seizing up every muscle in your body. You see more stars than there are in the sky, your back arches off the ground, and you tug his hair, harshly. It only seems to spur him on- he takes you through it with his mouth and his fingers until you’re kicking your legs and trying to scramble away from him. When he pulls away, out of breath, face soaked, your heart is racing. He leans back and sits up, on his knees between yours, and he sticks his finger in his mouth and sucks. You hide your face in your hands and whine.

“Pretty, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and you shudder. “Knew you’d taste like honey, honey.”

He waits a few moments, for what feels like forever, to do anything. He just hovers there, watching as the aftershocks wrack your body. You suck in air like you’ve been starved of it, letting the feeling ripple through you, wondering how much he’s going to ruin you if this is only the foreplay. You can hear him taking slow, steady breaths- on purpose, like he’s trying to calm himself down, too.

When you peek out from behind your fingers, he’s grinning, staring right at your chest. His gaze flickers up to yours when he sees you move, and the grin goes wider. He’s so satisfied, so smug, like he knows exactly what he’s done to you. You’re already aching for him.

“Are you gonna fuck me now?” You ask, trying to sound steady. Your voice wavers, though, and you’re still half out of breath.

Max laughs, and you whimper, fighting the urge to kick your legs. He leans over you, and you feel all encompassed, covered up. He’s grinning wide and bright. His hand slides up your thigh, and this time he sinks two fingers into you. You cry out again, pleasure spiderwebbing through your whole body.

“Brat,” he says, voice clipped. “I really thought that’d adjust your attitude, but you need more, huh?”

“Yeah, I need more,” you say, reaching up to press your hand to the back of his neck. “Or are you too scared you’re gonna come too quick?”

You choke on your words when he crooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot that has you seeing white and leaves you breathless. The sound that leaves your mouth is almost unrecognizable to you.

Then it really gets frantic. His other hand fumbles- he’s reaching in his pockets, you realize. The metallic packet he pulls out glints in the moonlight, and you gasp eagerly. Your hands fly to his belt buckle, the metal cold beneath your fingers, and he hisses when your fingers brush against him, where he’s so hard it must be painful. You make quick work of the buckle, and the button on his jeans, and the zipper, and then you shove your hand down them, wrapping your fingers around his bulge. His head drops, chin to his chest, and now he’s the one having trouble breathing. He slips his fingers out of you, and you’re too entranced with the look on his face to even care.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, dropping the condom on the blanket next to you and using his free hand to work his jeans and underwear down his hips. “Fuck. Need-“

You wrap your hand around him, his skin hot and velvety between your fingers, and he hisses. He’s wet and messy, precum soaking the tip, and your mouth waters. You shove yourself upwards, mouth open, and-

“No,” he says, reaching for your head and pushing backwards slightly. You pout, and he groans. “I wanna, trust me, but- fuck, want to get inside you first, okay? Just- behave, for once in your life. Lay back and let me-“

You do lay back, but you also reach for the condom. His shoulders heave as you take the foil in your fingers and tear it open. When you roll it onto him, he lets out a shuddery sigh. He’s big- you can barely get your hand all the way around him. He’s going to break you, you think, in the best way. You need him desperately.

He leans over you again as you trace a finger up the vein on the underside of his cock. “You’re sure you want this?”

You nod, and he cups the side of your face in his hand, the softest touch he’s ever given you. “Yeah,” you say, quiet enough for only him to hear. “So bad. Are you sure?”

He lets his eyes fall closed as he takes his cock in his hand, his knuckles bumping against yours. He leans down to kiss you, and there’s a sweetness to it. Like the calm before the storm, like the wind blowing waves in the grass. You breathe him in.

“Oh, honey,” he says against your lips. “I’ve been sure since the day I first saw you.”

He slides into you in one long, swift stroke of his hips, and you hold onto the blanket for dear life. He’s big, but the stretch feels so good, so full. He has his hands on either side of your head, and he kisses you through it, swallows your whimpers as he waits. You reach up, wrap your arms around his neck, and arch your hips up against his. He gets the idea.

He’s not in a rush, now, it seems. Things are much less hurried. He rocks his hips into yours, grinding deep with each thrust, making you see stars every time. He pulls his lips from yours and trails them down your jaw, just to bury his face in your neck. When he groans, loudly, it vibrates your whole body, and you shiver beneath him. You’re melting, you think.

“Is that good, honey? S’this what you wanted?” He asks, pressing the words into your skin. You whine and arch your back. “Come on, city girl, where are your big words, huh?”

You can’t find them, is the thing. You can’t do anything except cry out from beneath him as he hits that spot, over and over again. You feel him deep, you feel him everywhere, in every muscle and bone and nerve of your body. He leans down closer, his nose bumping against yours.

“Max,” you gasp out, when he nips at your jaw.

“So good, honey,” he groans against your skin.

Your nails scrape down his back, sure to leave marks. You hope you leave marks, that his friends tease him for it, that he wears them proudly. As if he’s heard you, he ducks his head to your collarbone and sucks harshly. Then he’s tugging at the neckline of your dress, pulling it down until he can see your chest, too, letting out a guttural groan at the sight. The whole time, he keeps up the rhythm- long, slow, deep. His hand gropes at your chest. You reach up, fist your hand in his hair, and tug his lips back to yours.

That’s how you come the second time- with his mouth muffling your wails, one hand tugging at strands of blond hair, your other hand slamming against the blanket beneath you. He works his hips the whole time, he takes you through it, his own groans slipping past his lips and into yours. He doesn’t stop. You’re not sure why you expected any different.

“Oh,” you say against his lips. “Oh, Max- I-“

“There she is,” he says, voice taking on a softer edge. “That’s a good girl. That’s it, honey. Fucked that attitude right out of you, huh?”

All you can do is nod frantically and let yourself finally crumble completely under his hands. He’s silhouetted against the night sky, but you can see his eyes, his smile, the way his shoulders heave. His thrusts grow frantic, and the arm he’s using to hold himself up starts to shake.

He kisses you when he comes, hips jerking, and you follow him over the edge. You’re sure you leave bruises with the way you hold onto him. You think his handprint is burned into your ribcage. He’s loud about it, moaning into your mouth, gasping for air when he finally pulls away.

“Fuck,” he mutters into the open air.

He pulls out, and you whine. Then he promptly collapses on top of you.

“Oof,” you groan, and he makes a non-committal noise. “Did I wear you out?”

He sighs. “Does the back talk ever stop?”

You shrug and card your fingers through his sweaty hair. “You like it.”

He hums, his face pressed into your neck. “Do not.”

You roll your eyes up at the sky. He takes your silence, his fingers dancing against your bare skin. Your dress is still bunched around your middle, chest and legs bare to the night. He’s not much better- shirt haphazardly hanging off his shoulders, his jeans shoved halfway down his thighs.

“We should get cleaned up,” he says. “Rinse off the… sweat.”

You whine. “I don’t wanna go back to the house yet.”

He laughs into your skin. “Honey, the creek is right there.”

You swallow. The water is cold, and it’s dark, and there are fish in there. There are rocks and sticks and any number of things to step on. You don’t mind the creek when it’s daylight, when you can see what you’re touching-

“Oh come on, city girl,” he says, and you groan. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“It’s dark,” you reply, and he laughs again. “Don’t be mean to me.”

He pushes himself off your chest. You fight the urge to whine about it, to wrap your arms around him and pull him back into you. He kneels between your legs, grinning, and you sigh happily. He’s a sight to behold, all lean muscle and broad shoulders.

“Come on,” he says again, reaching for your hand. “I’ll protect you.”

He strips out of his clothes fully and leaves them on the bank next to your dress. The water is frigid, but when he wraps his arms around you and holds you close, it’s not so bad. He runs his hands along your body, under the surface, and you wrap your arms and legs around him so you don’t have to touch the bottom. You’re sure he knows- he laughs when you do it- but he doesn’t call you out. He just kisses you, the water lapping at your shoulders, stars reflecting off the surface.

There’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t feel so romantic. That this will come back to bite you, that soon, you’ll wish you never had this. This moment, on a blanket on the banks of the river, stars above your heads in the dark of the night. I don’t come back, he’d said. This can’t mean anything. You can’t get attached. So, to cut the seriousness of it all, you break the kiss and the silence.

“You know,” you say. “I’m not even from the city. I just go to school there.”

Max laughs, his hand squeezing at your side. “If you’d told me that, this would’ve happened a lot sooner.”

…..

He tries to keep you from getting too close, tries to keep you out, but he always melts in the moments after sex, lets his guard down, lets you in. He tells you about his family, about how he never wants to go home but misses his sister, about all the places he’s been and where he wants to go.

In exchange, you tell him stories about the city, about classes and people and parties and how it all feels so silly when you lay under the wide expanse of stars, no light pollution to sully them. You tell him about the guys back at your college who would never hold a candle against him, though you don’t tell him that part. No need to boost his ego.

He points out constellations and teaches you how to navigate without a map, how to follow the stars, and you soak it all in. He teaches you what plants you could eat and which ones would kill you, he saves you from the poison ivy that riddles the ranch, and you spend countless hours together, any second you can steal away. You’ve never felt more free with anyone else in your life.

Sometimes, he pulls away. He gets withdrawn. He’s trying to protect you, he says- himself, too, probably. You remind him, time and time again, that you know he doesn’t stick around. You try to pretend it doesn’t stab you in the stomach to say it every time. No matter how much he pulls away, without fail, a few days later he finds you, pulls you into his chest, and kisses you senseless. You let him come back every time, because you’re not sure you could ever really resist him.

Your favorite night of the summer is the one where you meet him down by the bunkhouse and he steals you away for a whole night. You tell your aunt and uncle you’re going camping with Maddy, and you’re sure they don’t believe you but they don’t ask questions, either. You get in Max’s truck and he drives until you hit a state park. He has a tent, and a tiny air mattress, and a sleeping bag for the two of you to share. You make a fire and eat s’mores while you’re sitting in his lap, and for one night, it feels real. The air mattress is the closest thing to a bed that you’ve ever shared with him. He smells like campfire and tastes like marshmallows and he fucks you like he loves you, and if you stop to think about it it’ll break your heart. You know why he suggested this, why he’s doing this. It’s August. The end of the summer is breathing down your neck, the same way he does when he curls around you as he falls asleep, his lips against your skin.

A week later, you pack up your car with all your clothes, your boots, and one of Max’s flannels. He’d wrapped you up in it one night when you shivered, laying next to him in the bed of his truck, and you never gave it back. He’d never asked. Now you’re off to college, and when you come back next summer, he’ll be gone.

You think you’ll keep it forever, just as proof that he really did exist, that for one summer, you got to have him. You’d tell him he changed your life, but you’re sure he doesn’t want to hear it.

He watches you load your last bag into your car, leaning against the fence, chewing on his lower lip. When you close the trunk, he meanders over, his hat in his hands. You turn and lean against your car, hands on your hips.

“So,” you say, giving him a once over. “Guess this is goodbye, cowboy.”

He lets out a huff. “Don’t get all emotional on me now, honey.”

You blink. “I’m not.”

You’re lying, but he doesn’t need to know that. If he notices, he doesn’t call you out on it.

He’s thumbing at the brim of his hat, holding it in front of his stomach. He shifts on his feet, and you cock your head at him. You’ve never seen him so unsure of himself. It makes your heart clench in your chest. When he reaches out and places his hat on top of your head, you swear your heart nearly stops.

He’s smiling, now. “Looks better on you.”

You reach up to touch it, the brim low on your forehead. “I disagree.”

When you try to take it off, he pushes it back down on your head. “Keep it.”

“Max…”

“Every good country girl needs a hat,” he says, and you grin widely. He matches the expression.

You dig your hand into your pockets and come out with a piece of paper, folded nicely. He glances at your hands and bites his lip. You waver, for just a moment, but you need to do this. For your sake. You reach out and press it into his hand.

“It’s my address,” you say. He opens his mouth, but you shake your head. “For if you ever want to write. You don’t have to. I’m not expecting you to. But. You have it, if you ever need it.”

He closes his mouth and nods. He tucks the paper in his pocket, and then he reaches out, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you, solidly, slow and steady and sweet. Like honey.

When you drive away, he’s standing in the yard, hands in his pockets. His hat sits on the dashboard for the whole journey, a constant reminder of what you left behind.

…..

The first letter comes a month later. It’s not a love letter, not an outpouring of emotion. You had never expected it to be- that wouldn’t be Max. But it’s a letter, all the same, and that’s enough. He tells you he’s been thinking of you, and that says more than you’d ever hoped for. He gives you a return address, too- he’s moved on, at some other ranch for the winter. You read over your reply a million times before you send it, and you wait and wait and wait for his reply with bated breath.

The second letter comes, and you breathe a sigh of relief. It becomes a weekly routine- his letters always seem to show up on Fridays. You sit down, read them, and then pen your response. Sometimes, he doesn’t say much- just that work is good, or slow, or tough. Sometimes he writes about the funny things that happen. He sends a picture, one week- it’s him, bottle feeding a newborn calf, an unexpected winter baby. You pin the picture to your corkboard.

You write to him about your classes, about your friends, about the bars and the parties and the city. You tell him you know he’d hate it there. He tells you maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with you. You don’t tell him, but you hate to think of him in the city, trapped in a too small apartment, wandering narrow streets. He belongs out in the open, under the wide expanse of blue sky. Honestly, the longer you stay in the city, the more you hate it, too.

You try not to let it all go to your heart. You know it won’t work- he doesn’t stick around, he’s a nomad, and you won’t change that about him. You would never ask him to change. You write the letters out by hand, and sometimes, you spray the paper with your perfume before you seal the envelope. You wonder if he notices until he writes about reading your words and swearing he could feel you in the room with him.

Four weeks before your graduation, he says he’s moving on to the next ranch for the summer, and that he’ll write with his new return address soon.

The letters stop, and they don’t start back up again.

You’d always known this could happen- he’s probably busy with work. He’s got things to do, more important things than worrying about writing to you. So you walk the stage at graduation, and when you pack up your apartment, you place the flannel, hat, and photo of him in a box, carefully. Just because it ends doesn’t mean you can’t hold on. You wonder where he is, now, if he headed off to the far west coast like he said he wanted to, or if he ended up closer to home. You wonder if his sister will visit him like he’d been hoping. You try not to wonder if he’s met a girl, but you do it anyways. Maybe he found a pretty cowgirl, one who fits him better than you ever could.

You put your stuff in your car and turn on the radio. Springsteen. Born to Run. The road blurs with your tears, and you wipe them away hastily.

You’re headed to your aunt and uncle’s for one more summer. You haven’t secured a job yet, and the sun and warmth have you aching to be back at the ranch. They greet you with hugs when you pull up, help you unpack your stuff, and your aunt doesn’t ask any questions when you hang Max’s hat on a hook near the bed. You wonder if Maddy’s back this year, if they’re planning on going to the bar tonight, if drinking will take away the bitter edge of it all. You’re here, but it feels different this year. Something’s missing. You hope the feeling goes away soon.

You pull the curtains open to look out over the pastures. The cowboys are out, roping cattle, the grass rolling in waves. A stupid thought crosses your mind- that maybe, one of them knows where Max is, that maybe they’d give you his address- but you shove it down quickly. If he wants to be gone, you have to let him be gone. He warned you. If he wants to get in touch, he knows where to find you.

You push the glass windowpane up to let the warm summer air wash over you. It’ll be dinnertime, soon, Friday night dinner with all the staff. Biscuits and burgers and fresh fruit galore. There will be weeds to tend to in the garden tomorrow, and the bar will still be the same as always. It’s just another summer like all the rest. The cowboys are already heading in for the evening. There’s one of them, out on his own, who moves like he’s one with his horse. It reminds you of… you blink, watching as he throws his head back and laughs. Your heart skips a beat. Without even thinking, you turn and run. Down the stairs, through the house, and out the back door in your bare feet. The long grass whips against your legs. You must be seeing things, but- you need to know. You have to go see for yourself.

They’re moving the cattle towards the barn, but he hangs back, face tilted up towards the sun. When he turns his head, you feel your heart lurch in your chest. He breaks away, directs his horse towards you. When he gets within ten feet of the fence, he slips off the saddle. You can’t bring yourself to move or say anything or even breathe. You must be dreaming.

“Hey, city girl,” Max calls out.

His grin lights you on fire all over again. Suddenly, you feel like you can breathe. It’s Max, it really is- your Max. He’s here.

“You came back,” you say.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” He hums, reaching up to take his hat off his head.

“But you don’t come back,” you say, fighting the urge to bite your lip, or scream, or cry, or jump the fence and tackle him.

He shrugs and blinks at you, blue eyes sparkling under the hot midday sun. “Must’ve been something in the air here. Something called me back.”

“Something?” You ask, putting on a brave face. “Or someone?”

Max laughs, the same as he did almost a year ago from the back of the horse, the day you first laid eyes on him. Then he looks around, nods, and puts one hand on the fence, his hat hanging at his side in his other. He leans close and presses his forehead to yours, and you gasp and close your eyes.

“Come on, honey,” he says, brushing his lips against your cheek. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

…..

a/n: this is now the smuttiest thing i have ever written. will be unavailable for 3-5 businsss days thank you for reading!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5 @c-losur3 @casperlikej @the-navistar-carol @everyonesluvah @jsjcue @si1ver06 @nicole01-23 @arieslost

[signanothername]

if it's not too much, can i ask how you headcanon the murder time trio? since they're not exactly "canon" to any of the stories from their respective original artists, it's interesting to see how different people interpret them :)) tbh, i do feel like, from nightmare's pov, having more personal henchmen seems... risky in a way, as that means exposing killer to other outside influences that he can't fully control. like, what if killer starts to have ideas (organizing a henchmen union for example lol) - new people are interesting, something new for sure? does nightmare have to provide for these new henchmen now too?? so many factors to consider! unless these henchmen are more part-time than full-time lol.

i also think that, individually, the murder time trio might not get along with each other at all. they are (or were?) all sanses, but they have developed different moralities that canonically can clash with each other. the only way i think they can work well together is if they don't know each other's backstories. they function well with a wet blanket of mysteries, and i headcanon that's how nightmare is able to control them. he has all the cards, and he can play their emotions well, either to make them get along with each other, or to sow distrust among each other as well.

ANON I LOVE HOW YOU THINK

To me personally, i take my interpretation by looking at each of the Trio individually with their stories and then try and string together how they’d act around each other

Killer just honestly wouldn’t care about the others’ stories or past or anything like that, so when it comes to Murder or Horror, Killer he has no problem with them and would get along with them pretty well

Aside him being an absolute bitch to them at times, Killer wouldn’t hold much hostility towards them, and any harsh or offensive comments he makes towards them would only be because he felt like it, Killer has no reason for doing what he does, he just does it cause he can

However, Killer is definitely the type to value his privacy, and any questions or comments that might disrespect said privacy, would definitely escalate to Killer fighting whoever pressed him about matters they don’t understand or have the right to know, he simply doesn’t like to be pushed around, and he’s one with a lot of secrets, and he wouldn’t let Horror or Murder get their nonexistent noses into his business, like know how people always portray Nightmare to always be like “my room is off limits”?? Take that and actually apply it to Killer, Killer’s room, belongings (especially his weapons), and thoughts/personal life are all off limits

Ironically, Killer doesn’t hold that same respect of privacy when it comes to the other two, he’d definitely and especially not respect their personal spaces and would probably be super touchy with them, Murder and Horror hate to be touched but Killer does it anyway (Murder and Horror don’t realize Killer does that not just to be annoying but because he’s reassuring himself that they’re real, that they are indeed in front of him and not just another figment of his fucked up mind, not that he’d ever tell them that tho)

Murder on the other hand, definitely hates being on Nightmare’s team, he has no interest in serving Nightmare, he only cares about his own AU, so i can see him be the quiet loner who just doesn’t engage much with Killer or Horror

However, I can still see Murder feeling ok with Horror, but definitely not liking Killer in the slightest, cause while Murder is deluded to think that he killed everyone in his AU cause he “had to” to get his LV higher to be able to Kill the human and supposedly save everyone from resets, to him, Killer only had done the same thing but only for fun, that Killer is no better than the human, so I can see Murder treading carefully around Killer and just overall being cautious around him, especially with the amount of Determination Killer holds, it’s much greater than his and that fact downright disgusts him, cause how many times has Killer killed those in his AU to have his very soul deformed like that, not that Murder would be outwardly hostile towards Killer, but mucv like Killer, simply passive aggressive

I feel like Murder is the one that would always pry into Killer’s “off limits” area, he’s not curious or interested, he just simply hates Killer for being a monster with many faces (Can Murder even call him a monster when his soul doesn’t represent that of a monster?)

But i feel like Murder would be in for a surprise as he talks with his Papyrus only for Killer to say something along the lines of “it seems I’m not the only one who sees my Papyrus”

I can actually see Papyrus be the only point in which Murder and Killer actually agree about something

I feel like Horror is on the same boat as Murder but to a much smaller scale, so he’s fine with Murder but would break Killer’s skull if he could, he’s still a lot less hostile towards Killer than Murder tho, he’d just engage with Killer as he’d engage with everyone else, but Killer definitely gets on his nerves with his very nonchalant yet passive aggressive attitude

I would lie if I said I don’t think Horror would feel a bit disgusted by both Killer and Murder for murdering their Papyruses, cause how could they? Papyrus is the only one they were tasked to take care of and they just Kill him off? And I can see Horror actually commenting on it, only to get a comment back from Killer about how he’s not any better than them, how he literally fed his Papyrus human meat, Horror is baffled by how on earth did Killer even manage to know that, only for Killer to be his usual secretive self and simply states that he has “his ways”

I can still see Horror forming a good friendship with Murder tho, and even forming some sorta alliance where him and Murder go “you scratch my back, i scratch yours”, very beneficial when you’re working under Nightmare

Killer is unfortunately on his own tho, especially with the fact Nightmare seems to have his eye on him 24/7, Horror and Murder try and stay away as to not end up catching Nightmare’s interest too, they don’t know why Killer seems to catch Nightmare’s fancy, but they’re glad they haven’t met the same fate and they’re not about to change that by getting closer to Killer, not only that, but I feel like Horror and Murder would definitely see Killer as the “pet” to Nightmare, his favorite “toy”, and with how Killer’s the closest to Nightmare, what’s to stop Killer from spelling their secrets or thoughts for Nightmare’s ears to hear??

It makes Killer a bit if an outcast, but Killer doesn’t really care

Not only that, I feel like Killer would definitely creep Horror and Murder out by his vast knowledge in the Metaverse and Players, and while Killer doesn’t make such creepy comments about how none of them have any true free will often, they still get to the other two to an extent

I can still see the Trio becoming friends still, but not in the same sense that is the star sanses are friends, more like the Trio are the kinda friends to try and kill each other as a form of showing affection, they’re always really mean to each other, and are definitely a bit distant, but they’re also in the same shitty circumstances under the same shitty roof under the same shitty boss, and none of them would admit it, but all of them find a bit of solace in each other’s company, cause it always means they’re not alone whenever Nightmare breaks their bones, even if the two who survived Nightmare’s wrath would only make fun of the poor bitch who faced it head on

I can also see them finding common grounds in surprising places

Horror is actually surprised to know that Killer doesn’t eat, that Killer has a problem with food just like he does

Murder is actually extremely surprised Killer seems to hate the human (at least to an extent) like he does

Killer is a bit relieved to know he isn’t the only one to killed everyone in his AU, that he isn’t the only one to gained Determination cause of it (even if he’s more severely affected by it)

The three are all relieved (not that any of them would admit it) they’re not the only one with fucked up mental health

As for Nightmare, I feel like he’d definitely have some sorta plan before he actually hires anybody, Killer isn’t hard to contain, just keep him at stage 2 and crush any hope he may have of any fantasy of him finding a better life for himself and he’d stay in line

Horror? Just threaten him with killing his brother, problem solved, he wouldn’t dare get out of line

Murder is the one i feel would be hardest for Nightmare to control, in fact, i fully believe Murder is always trying to run away to find his way back home, and so i feel like Nightmare would put Killer on babysitting duty, Killer is tasked with always watching Murder and making sure he stays in line, and while Nightmare never explicitly states it, Murder is fully aware that Killer’s watching him

It complicates things for Murder and i can imagine him actually succeeding in getting away a few times, only for Killer to find him and bring him back kicking to Nightmare’s feet

I actually like to think Nightmare’s lenient to an extent when it comes to the Murder Trio visiting their homes as long as they get back immediately once they finish whatever business they wanted taken care of, and it doesn’t get in the way of their missions, hell he’d even let them go for days at a time (Murder, however, is always dragged back by Killer, and it makes Nightmare think of how much of an ungrateful bastard Murder is)

Here’s the twist tho, Nightmare doesn’t allow them to go home out of the goodness of his heart, Nightmare simply allows it as a bit of a fancy manipulation tactic in which it would make it seem like he isn’t “too bad” (he’s so damn bad) and it would just give Horror and Murder less of a reason to plan any sort of treason against him (Killer’s too unfeeling in stage 2 to care enough to form an alliance) not that Nightmare’s worried about it, he’s more than capable to put them in their places had they dared, he simply doesn’t want to deal with such hassle when it can be easily prevented (i mean he really isn’t in the mood to find another Horror and Murder)

That however, doesn’t make any of the Trio any less expendable to Nightmare, especially Horror and Murder, Nightmare tries to always keep the same Killer around cause he just isn’t in the mood to condition whatever new Killer he gets to play by his rules again, but he definitely had a few different Killers over the years

Murder as well, he definitely was replaced with another Murder so many times (he’s the one who gets replaced the most)

I like to think Horror is the only one who never got replaced by another version of himself, cause Horror always tries his damn hardest to stay in line and keep on Nightmare’s good side, and whenever he goes on missions he’s always so very careful about how much damage he takes as to not be deemed useless by Nightmare, all motivated by his love and fear of leaving his brother behind by himself had Nightmare decided to kill him

It’s always surreal for Horror to see the Murder he formed a good friendship with to be killed off by Nightmare like he never mattered, only for Horror to be introduced to another Murder in the next morning like the presence of the previous Murder meant nothing at all, and it’s even more surreal for him to introduce himself to a new Killer or a new Murder like he never met them before, all back to square one

Killer might’ve served Nightmare the longest cause he was the first to be recruited, but Horror had always been the one to actually last the longest

[lemon-natalia]

Nona the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 16

and there’s another new chapter image, this time some kind of building with a turret. could maybe be the mysterious tower being mentioned in the message?

i’m glad Angel is at least trying to protect the kids in the school from getting involved or hurt, even if she can’t protect them from everything going on as a whole 

also i have such a bad feeling about how this whole broadcast is going to go, especially with how high tensions have been, the RB’s causing even more violence and fear. between this and Camilla not coming to pick Nona up at all, i'm also very concerned for her

is it gonna be John himself giving this broadcast i wonder. very curious as to how Nona would react to seeing him, or if she would recognise him at all

like most of these kids, my favourite animal is also Noodle 

and very concerned for Nona and Hot Sauce planning to go to this broadcast, it really doesn’t seem like its gonna end well

more speculation about the mysterious Angel, who is definitely some form of important figure given she’s being dropped off and has security, that could also mean she’s in some form of custody/under watch like Pyrrha, Cam and Nona are by BoE. and if she’s so important, why is she teaching at a school?

‘Who had taught her that [...] This isn’t the Hokey Pokey’ okayy some very interesting stuff going on here. on one hand the whole thing about going all in seems very like Gideon and Gideon’s tone of voice … but the whole Hokey Pokey thing also sounds kinda like John to me, if Nona is Alecto or somehow connected to her, then that could be something John said in the past?

‘she aged fifteen years, no longer a child among that throng of people’ everything about Hot Sauce just breaks my heart honestly  

okay so the Houses are trying to get the planet to sign some kind of contract. but it being reliant on every single person not violating the conditions is hardly fair or realistic, which may very well be the point 

ok who on earth is this person. their really pale skin made me think Ianthe, but they have brown hair, and the eyes, blue with brown bits are very reminiscent of Lyctors??

IANTHE NABERIUS??? what the fuck is going on genuinely 

‘Her Most Serene Highness, Crown Prince Kiriona Gaia, heir to the First House, the Emperor’s only daughter’ !!!!!! WHAT. what the hell. ok so theres a whole lot of revelations here. the girl with skull facepaint that Nona’s been dreaming of is Gideon. Gideon, or at least her body, is out of BoE custody and has been picked up by the Emperor’s forces. also this is such a small thing to note, but she’s wearing the same type of creepy finger bone crown that John does, which is … disturbing

Gideon just sitting there, saying absolutely nothing is not at all like her. given how HtN ended it is very ambiguous if she’s even alive or not. either this is just straight up her dead body in a Cohort uniform or something is very strange with her rn. cmon this does NOT count as Gideon returning 😭😭

awww Nona trying to help Hot Sauce breathe and be there for her like Camilla does for her, and looking out for her the way Hot Sauce does for the other kids, is so sweet 

on a not so sweet note, Hot Sauce has very much noticed that Nona cut her hand but is still fine, which is not good at all. i don’t know how much she’s realised, but so far Hot Sauce has been very observant, and i feel like its only a matter of time before she figures out there’s something necromantic up with Nona

speaking of Nona’s building, why exactly is is referred to as ‘The Building’ and everyone seems to be wary of it? i’m guessing because it’s somehow controlled by/used by BoE to house people they need to keep track of? 

the driver’s speech cuts off when saying ‘Aim-’ so its ambiguous if they were going to say something else or continue saying her full name … although honestly the only similar character name i can think of right now is Aiglamene? which i highly doubt. and i am also very curious as to who on earth this mysterious driver is 

also Nona has mentioned about her ‘tantrums’ and being on the verge of one a couple of times now in a way that feels very ominous

and oh shit Pyrrha is missing? it could have something to do with whatever sketchy stuff she was doing at the burnings? or possibly the broadcast, its not good that she’s disappeared as soon as House forces show up

[callixton]

passion could be good if it was gay and i don’t really remember my reasoning anymore but i do stand by it

[catboybrain]

sniffles sadly. every day im so sad that fnaf didnt go with placing vanny into aftons role.... god forbid women do anything ! ! !

[love-killed-the-superstar]

i need more of jiro in tlr2 because i think it would be good for uno to have a role model to show him how uncool it is to constantly pick on your brother

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, childhood bestfriends to lovers, tlou'verse, jackson era, mild hurt/comfort

word count: 4.9k

summary: When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.

warnings: okay so technically not cheating because your boyfriend literally gambled you buuut if that's not your thing I totally get it, piv, dirty talk, choking, spitting, size kink, soft!joel & feral!joel, he likes hearing how big he is, affectionate whore calling™, a hint of analplay, oral (receiving and giving)

a/n: another joel fic inspired by p.orn, we love to see it

a special thank you to @nothoughtsjustmeds for the beta! 💕

Joel was never that into gambling. 

Back before everything had gone to shit, that had always been more Tommy’s forte than his own. Joel doesn’t remember the amount of times he’d had to bail his brother out, either by protecting him while putting himself in the middle or by giving him loans he’d never ever see again. Joel hadn’t minded. Tommy was his baby brother after all. As long as he was safe Joel was happy—annoyed, for sure, but happy. 

He was surprised when he learned that Jackson had a pretty heavy gambling scene and that Tommy wasn’t a part of it. He didn’t know why that was, because even on the nights where he had to go bail him out and bring him home all bloodied and bruised, Tommy just made the same mistakes. Not even Sarah’s worried expression, while she peered from between the wooden stair railing, deterred him from it. 

Guess it was different when your own kid was on the way. 

However, despite his lack of interest in gambling, he found himself betting away what little he had for someone else—someone he thought he would never see again. But honestly, he wasn’t half bad at it so he didn’t mind it that much. His only complaint was when he had to get messy hunting down those who didn’t pay up. 

One by one the men around the table folded, only leaving Joel and Liam. A huge stack of weaponry lies in the middle of the table, Liam’s eyes constantly flit between the stack and Joel. They stare at each other long and hard. Joel knows that he’s going to win. He usually did with these face-offs. 

Liam folds. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of Joel’s lips. There’s nothing better than to take what someone he absolutely detests wants. 

“Let’s go again,” Liam grunts, his forehead shining with sweat. 

Joel raises an eyebrow, “You don’t have anythin’ else to bet on.” 

“Come on now, Miller,” Liam leans back into his chair. “There must be something that you want.” 

Joel’s eyes bore into his long enough for the man to grow uncomfortable and nervous. Only then did he speak. 

“You still have that pretty girlfriend?” 

Someone Joel didn’t bother learning the name of pipes up from his right, “I thought we were only betting huntin’ supplies this time.” 

“Come on, let the man try to win his rifle back.” Joel grins. 

“Fuck you, Miller.” 

“Careful now,” he slowly places his elbows on the old table, his weight on it enough to let out a threatening creak. He cocks his head to the side, his smile small but still there. “My kindness wears thin.” 

Liam’s an addict. And of course, he says yes. 

“You fucking gambled me away?!” your voice is shaking, body trembling all over as you pace back and forth in front of the couch Liam was nestled on top of. At least he has the decency to look guilty. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Liam? I’m your girlfriend, not some kind of deer hide you can put on the table.” 

“Look I said I was sorry alright?” He stands up fast enough to make you flinch. He holds you by the shoulders, thumbs moving in a soothing manner. “Won’t happen again, I promise.” 

You scoff, “We both know that’s a lie.” You lift your chin up in defiance. “I won’t do it. I have free will. You can’t make me.” 

That makes Liam sweat. You can’t blame him, you’ve heard of Joel’s. . . outbursts. But honestly, that’s the least of your worries. You’re mostly confused as to why Joel asked for you specifically. You’re positive that he’d been avoiding you ever since he came into Jackson, only talking to you a handful of times. Why now? And why like this?

“Baby,” Liam whines, snapping you away from your thoughts. “You have to. He’s crazy, he’ll kill me.” 

“You should’ve thought of that before.” 

“Please. All you’d have to do is entertain him for the night, make him happy.” 

“So to be his plaything? Is that what you want?” 

“Maybe he’ll ask you to cook him dinner, hell if I know.” 

“Sure,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure he’ll just want something to eat.” 

You give him one more look before slipping away from his gentle hold. Your heartbeat is slow, hours spreading across every beat, making your chest feel heavy and lightheaded.

“Fine,” you cave, wrapping yourself with your shaking arms. “But after this, I’m done, Liam. I’m so tired of bailing you out.” 

“You can’t leave, where would you go?” 

The soft tone he used while begging you to spread your legs for Joel quickly turns into a tone with sharp, dagger-like edges. You don’t say anything. Don’t answer him or agree with him. You’re lost in a broken world. 

And now, amongst all the things you’ve been through, you have to see the pity in your childhood best friend’s eyes. 

You don’t want to be here. You don’t. It’s embarrassing. 

Your boyfriend is in the other room, brooding on his couch, examining his life choices. You’re not doing any better. Your robe loose over your shoulders, the chill of the bedroom settling over your skin. It’s especially embarrassing because it’s Joel for crying out loud. You’ve known each other since you were kids causing mischief all around the neighborhood. You still remember the time you fell and scraped your knee, how he kissed it better and placed a pink bandaid over it because it was your favorite color. 

Why the hell had he asked for you? To humiliate you? Well, he definitely succeeded. 

The door opens and you jolt. His presence is large in the room, making you shudder despite yourself. Your pulse quickens. You shouldn’t be afraid of him yet here you are, trembling like a newborn doe. He closes the door with a gentle click, the wood creaking and solidifying your fate. 

You haven’t known him for years. Even before the outbreak had torn the world apart. You had moved away two years prior and after everything went down you never expected to see him again. When he showed up in Jackson you barely recognized him. He looked rugged, more salt than pepper in his beard, his eyes drained of life. He had scars that ran deep and he had found a kid along the way. You were surprised but relieved to see he still had a big heart. 

You were ashamed the first time you two sat down after years. Everyone knew of Liam’s gambling problem, he couldn’t help it, and you knew that Joel knew. You hated the idea of him pitying you, of him seeing the world weighing down on you. You’ve heard from around that Joel also started to place bets. Nothing too big though, unlike your boyfriend who would bet on almost anything in the house. You knew those bets could turn out violent and people feared Joel. Even in a safe utopia like Jackson, the kind of man he’d become traveled from ear to ear, striking fear. And when someone that owed him money ended up with a bloody nose and broken jaw. . . no one dared to deny him of anything. 

And it seemed like you were no exception. 

Joel stands in front of you, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, exposing sinewy muscle. He stands close. Close enough that you feel his breath on your lips. Your eyelids flutter before you avert them, tears stinging the corners. 

You drop the robe, the old fabric pooling at your ankles. You’re left in a decent enough-looking bra and somewhat matching underwear. 

“Not interested,” Your entire body goes taut, eyes wide. You hear the blood rush in your ears. Joel moves past you and takes a seat on the bed, crossing his arms over the expanse of his broad chest. You stare at him and a thick knot forms in your throat. He gives you a brief look before explaining. “I only wanted to teach your boyfriend a lesson. He’s reckless. One of these days he’s gonna be in real debt to me and, darlin’, I don’t want you gettin’ caught in the middle.” 

Your heart drops. You don’t know what you’ve been expecting but it certainly isn’t this. Tears blurring your vision, you quickly bend over and scoop up your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. Somewhere along memory lane, you forgot to remind yourself that Joel was your first; first crush, first love, first kiss, first time. But it just hadn’t worked out. You had stayed close friends until you moved away, he had Sarah, you had a promising career. You were planning on getting back to him. It just never came to be. Liam didn’t know you knew Joel, only Tommy knew about the connection you two had, mainly because he was there. 

And now you had Liam—Boyfriend who calls you names because he hates everything, Liam. Shitty boyfriend, Liam. Boyfriend who put you up as a prize, Liam. 

It’s just too much. All of it. Your heart can’t handle how unfair it all is. The pity Joel shows you, the way Liam treats you. He loves you, you know that much, but he just doesn’t care enough to treat you right or tend to you when he’s so broken himself. He doesn’t understand that you would take care of him just as much. 

And now you’re just a shell. A shell of your former self. 

The first salty tear slips from your lashes, it’s followed by another and then another. 

You manage to reach the end of the bed on shaky legs, collapsing, you cover your face, heaving silently into your palms. You don’t want Liam to hear you cry, deep down you want him to think Joel is fucking you this very instant. You want him to feel guilt, or at least a sliver of the way you feel. 

There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your brain doesn’t even register that Joel is pulling you into his chest, wrapping solid arms around your shaking frame. He holds the back of your neck, squeezing tenderly just like he did when your mom yelled at you and he wanted to calm you down. 

“Why are you cryin’?” he mumbles. “I told you I’m not gonna do anythin’ to you. Or to him. I just wanted him to think before he put you in any danger. What if it wasn’t me there? Not everyone is as they seem in this town.” 

After all this time Joel Miller is still looking out for you. 

“It’s not that,” you answer, between sniffled and muffled hiccups. “I’m embarrassed and so fucking tired. I don’t want you thinking I’m some damsel in distress, even though me crying isn’t really helping,” you take a deep breath and peel yourself unwillingly from his chest. “I don’t feel good about myself. I never do with him. I just feel like shit with some more shit thrown over. And well. . . now I know that you don’t want me either. It’s just too much. But I’ll be okay, thank you for looking out after me even though I’m a mess.” 

He suddenly grips your chin and pulls you close enough that your noses almost touch, “What the hell makes you think that I don’t want you?” 

“You. . .” with a sigh, you look away. “You didn’t want to fuck me.” 

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

Squeezing your chin, he forces your gaze back to him. His lips are parted, pupils wide enough to hide the chocolate brown of his eyes. He seems just as surprised as you feel. Arousal pools between your legs, heat dripping down the curve of your spine. You press your thighs together and swallow. 

Joel’s hand moves up to your cheek and cups it gently, thumb toying with the corner of your lip, “I just never thought you’d be interested if I’m bein’ honest. Especially not after. . . everything I’ve done.” 

“You’ve done what you’ve had to do to survive,” you kiss the curve of his palm and he shifts, coming even closer. “I always wanted to come back to you, you know? You’re my first love, Joel Miller. Deep down I always wanted you to be the last.” 

Joel was never an emotional guy. He always had trouble expressing what he thought and felt, thinking he always had to hide behind large invisible walls. The outbreak had put a magnifying glass over that quality of his. You can only tell that your words affected him by how the crease between his brows softens and his cheeks gain a subtle red hue. 

He only grunts as he forcefully brings your hand to his crotch, his cock hard and throbbing under your palm. His lips skim down your neck, kissing where your pulse beats frantically. Joel grinds into your palm, “You still want to fuck with your boyfriend waiting in the living room?” 

“God, yes.” 

You stand up and he parts his legs for you, allowing you to take your rightful place between them. Looking up, his fingers dance up your shoulders, pushing off the robe so it once again pools at your feet. The fabric of your bra has worn away with time, meaning that your nipples meet no resistance as they stiffen under his gaze. Joel licks his lips and brings both thumbs to the peaks, rubbing them until they’re fully hard. 

Then he suddenly shoves you closer to him, your aching nipple met with his wanting mouth. He sucks through the fabric. Saliva darkens the color. He sucks and moans each individual nipple until both are hard like diamonds and only then do you find yourself on the bed, his mouth still on you, starving for more. Your back forms the perfect arch, the sheets feeling like silk against your skin despite them being years old—almost rotten.

He drags his lips down your body, rough facial hair tickling your skin, your hips helplessly stutters into the air. Two large hands pin your hips down. You can’t help the noises that tumble from your lips. For the first time, you’re feeling whole. He lays soft kisses against your inner thighs and finally, he reaches where you want him most. 

Joel sucks your clit through the fabric and your body jerks, seeking the heat of his mouth against your bare cunt instead. He smiles, digging his blunt nails into your flesh. 

“Patience,” he licks a stripe down your clothed folds. “I want you to be loud, sweetheart. Make noise for me. If you want me to fuck you, that’s my price—your sounds.” 

Liam never liked the sounds you made. Unless you were mimicking porn and whispering how close you were, which was a very rare occasion. 

Joel slides his hands up to the softness of your stomach, squeezing gently. Like you might fade away at any given second. He kisses the lips of your pussy and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Doesn’t it feel good,” he begins, his southern drawl more prominent as his voice grows deeper. “To have that prick in the next room listenin’ to me fuck you, riddled with guilt because he bet on his pretty girlfriend?” 

It does feel good. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“‘Course I do,” his brows furrow, eyes finding yours. “Prettiest girl I’ve known since the first day my dick got hard.” 

The words send a tingle up your spine but Joel doesn’t allow you to linger on them for long. He slides your underwear to the side. The fabric sticky with slick, he immediately presses his lips deep into your cunt, tongue swirling around your entrance and teasing it by pushing in the tip. You cry out and grip his head, your legs pressing against his ears. Your heart hammers within the confinements of your ribcage. 

“Gonna ruin you,” he groans, licking himself deeper and rutting the bed. Your eyes roll back, your body melting with every fat stroke of his tongue. 

Joel takes you apart slowly. His jaw moves, head lazily going from left to right. You feel so wet, soaked, from both his mouth and your slick. It’s almost like he goes slower the more soaked you are. He draws various shapes around your throbbing clit. You're left withering under him, shaking, begging, and moaning his name loud enough that the entirety of Jackson could probably hear. The wet smack of his mouth is followed by loud slurps and groans, and your stomach coils tight. 

After all these years, Joel Miller had certainly learned a few new tricks. He wasn’t that same teenager anymore, though, neither were you. He feels different, yet he also feels the same. Like a familiar wind stroking your skin. 

“So damn wet and sweet like honey, fuck.” 

He moves away and you nearly cry out of frustration, fingers burrowing into the old sheets. You only move when you hear the deafening sound of a belt buckle coming loose. Joel’s pants drop to his ankles, cock painfully hard and slightly curving to the side. Your mouth waters, “No underwear?” 

“Got too lazy to wash’em last Sunday,” he lazily strokes himself. Today is Tuesday. He’s been going commando all this time. More saliva fills your mouth, you don’t know why but the thought excites you and he seems to notice. “You always did get turned on by the weirdest things,” he mutters. “Now get on your knees, sweetheart. Been waitin’ a long time to feel those lips again.” 

You pout, “Forearms are sexy, ask anyone.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, his dark gaze makes you clench around nothing. He ignores your comment entirely.  “Don’t make me say it again.” 

You sink to your knees immediately after that. 

He’s so much thicker than you remember. The bulbous head a beautiful shade of red, shiny beads of precome gathered at the slit. You notice the vein meandering down the underside of his cock and you trace it with the tip of your tongue. The blood pumps harder in response, his length twitches and smears the shiny pearls against your cheek. 

You moan as you finally take him between your lips. The corners of your mouth sting from how wide you need to open to accommodate him. You manage to take him half way in, swirling your tongue, you hollow out your cheeks. 

“That’s it—That’s it, fuck—suck me harder, sweetheart, please—” his hips rock forward, his cock filling your mouth until the head is hitting the back of your throat. You choke on him and his head falls at the way your throat constricts around the width of him. He then pulls out, prompting you to look up. His hair is a mess, lips swollen and parted. “Use your spit, need you to wet my cock good if you want me to fit darlin’. I ain’t that teenager anymore.” 

You kiss the soft crease between his balls, rolling them with your tongue. You’re delighted to witness how he shudders at the soft caress of your lips, “I can see that.” 

“Get on with it then.” 

Joel sounds almost annoyed—no, not annoyed, but eager, desperate—to have your mouth wrapped around him with Liam in the other room. You don’t want to make him wait so you slowly allow a thin line of saliva to drip from between your lips. His thighs tense when it touches the head of his cock. 

“Is his dick as big as mine?” he asks, jaw locked, words bouncing off of clenched teeth. 

“No,” you gasp, dragging your lips down the length of him while staring at him through heavy lashes. “No, it’s not as big as yours.”

Suddenly you’re lifted to your feet, your body nothing but a ragdoll as he pushes you to the bed, the old mattress creaking with protest at the added weight.  

“Play with that fuckin’ pussy for me, I want to see it.” He wraps a hand around his weeping cock, his strokes hard and calculated. Your breasts tingle as you push a hand between your thighs, he clicks his tongue in disapproval, approaching the end of the bed. “Spread your legs wide, honey.” 

As soon as you open your legs and spread your folds for him to see how soaked you are, he’s quick to climb up the bed. Turning you to your side, he gets right behind you. Joel wets his own fingers, sucking on them with a loud groan before replacing yours with his own. He rubs your clit with precise movements, each stroke hitting the mark and making you see bright, dazzling stars. Your body moves on its own. Heat pools between your legs, your hips grinding back to feel the heft of him on your ass. 

“Joel, please,” you whimper. “Please, fuck me, please—” 

His lips touch your cheek and he breathes heavily, his chest heaving and rattling with every exhale. You feel the head of his cock slowly sinking into you, stretching you wide as his lips decorate your sweaty skin with fleeting kisses. 

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ well, honey,” your eyes roll back, a mild pain blossoming from where you two connect. He brushes his fingers over your clit, the sharp pleasure shortening your breath. “That’s it. That’s my girl takin’ my big cock so well. So good. So good for me.” 

Your jaw drops as you take him inch by inch. He continuously plays with your clit, kissing you and whispering words of praise while his tongue plays with your earlobe. You feel like mush. Like dough that only he can mold. Your lashes grow wet with tears, your heart beating so wild that you swear he can hear it as well. Joel slightly pulls back his hips and pushes back in, your breath catches in your throat, and soon enough he begins fucking you with shallow thrusts. 

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he mutters into your ear. You nod helplessly, your body burning from the inside out. “Tell me, louder, come on,” a smack echoes in the small room, and pain blossoms over your ass cheek. “Come on, louder.” 

“Yes!” you cry out. In a weak attempt to meet his thrusts, you roll your hips. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I’ve never stopped thinking about it—never stopped thinking about you.” 

“Is this pussy mine?” 

“Yes, it’s fucking yours.” 

Your voice must’ve come out too much like a whisper because Joel’s pace quickens. He fucks you hard, deep, hammering into you until you’re struggling for air. He wraps thick fingers around your neck, squeezing until there’s pressure building under your eyes, your lungs burning. 

He loosens his grip around your throat, “I wanna hear it, come on now, don’t make me beg for it. Tell me, is it mine?” 

“Yours! It’s fucking yours!” 

Suddenly Joel is underneath you and you’re on top, his hips relentless as he snaps his hips up into you. It feels even better now. The way his cock massages your walls shooting crackles of electricity up your spine. He holds your ass with both hands and spreads you for his liking. 

You moan his name and when you look down, seeing him staring at your face, a sudden gush of embarrassment overwhelms you and with a small whimper, you cover his eyes with both your hands. Joel grits his teeth at that. He fucks you harder, the vicious way he presses inside making you gasp and drop your hands so you can brace yourself by flattening your palms over his chest. His eyes flash with anger. 

“Why the fuck—” he growls, “would you cover my eyes?” 

“I–I got embarrassed—” you squeeze your eyes shut and open them back again. You push down your hips, taking him to the hilt as a form of apology, but he doesn’t seem to accept it and holds you still. Your head falls back with his every thrust. 

“If you ever pull that stunt again, I’ll take you over my knee,” he rasps, ignoring the way your pussy clenches at his words. 

His finger teases your asshole and beads of sweat gather at your tailbone. Joel’s grin is dangerous, something you’d run away from rather than run towards. But you can’t help it. A wanton moan rattles your throat, your pussy clenching hard around his cock. He presses forward, burying his finger down to the first knuckle. You shudder over and over, your body building tension and releasing it simultaneously. 

“You like that, wildflower?” he groans, thrusting his finger in and out while snapping his hips up. “You enjoy it when I play with your tight little asshole?” 

“Fuck, fuck—Joel—yes, yes I do.” 

His other hand snakes around the back of your neck and yanks you down. His damp lips touch your ear, “Gonna fuck this hole one day, pretty thing. . . gonna fuck it so hard you’re not gonna be able to stand for weeks.” 

Before you can catch your breath, you’re being hauled towards the closed door, the emptiness you feel sudden and cold. He pulls your hips up, presses your cheek against the barely standing wood. Your hard nipples graze against the surface, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine. Again, Joel thrusts forward, filling you to the brim. The mild pain tingles within your lower abdomen and you melt against him, eyes rolling back as you wiggle your ass for him. 

With every rock of his hips, your body hits the door with a thud and you’re sure Liam can hear every forceful fuck, “Tell him how fuckin’ bigger I am than him—I wanna fuckin’ hear, it come on.” 

“He’s so much bigger than you!” you groan, bracing your palm against the door. “You hear me, Liam? Never had a bigger cock in my life, I’m soaked.” 

Liam’s muffled voice follows through, “Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? You fucking whore!” 

You know it shouldn’t, but his words still jar you. 

“I’ll fuckin’ break his hands for that, don’t you worry darlin’,” Joel mutters into your skin, his words marking you as something untouchable. “And I’ll make it fuckin’ hurt.” He then kisses your shoulder and shouts towards the door, slamming especially hard this time so the thud of you hitting the door echoes. “You’re the one who gambled her like some kind of prize you dickhead. Don’t blame her for feelin’ good about it!” 

“You could never satisfy me,” you say barely above a whisper, like you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to feel good about this. About finally having him all to yourself. 

“That’s it, tell him,” Joel growls, pushing his cock even deeper. You swear that if you looked down at your stomach, you’d see a bulge, as impossible as that sounds. “Tell him.” 

You desperately grab at Joel’s forearms, feeling the sinewy muscle tense. Your slick drips down his length and wets the inside of your thighs. With a loud moan you repeat your words and it feels delightful. 

You only smile when you hear the outer door close shut. Liam is gone. 

“Yes yes yes,” Joel murmurs into your neck, ramming into you harder. “That’s it, come on my cock, sweetheart, please—I wanna feel it—” 

Your breath catches in your throat, body seizing, “B—Bed,” you manage to choke out. 

If he pulled out, you’re not aware. His body is a constant presence against your back, lips always latched on to a patch of skin, tasting the salt. Joel lays you down gently and pushes your legs high enough that it grazes your forehead with every desperate snap of his hips. 

“Is this what you want?” he groans, the wet noises of him fucking into the tight fist of your cunt bouncing off the walls. 

“Yes, Joel— this is what I want.” 

“My whore,” he leans over and grinds into you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, sucks on your tongue. The back of your thighs ache with protest but you whimper into the kiss anyway. Breaking the kiss, Joel breathes into you, “My good sweet little whore,” and another kiss. 

Your eyes roll back, “So deep,” you groan, breaking the kiss. 

“Deeper deeper deeper,” Joel mocks you by mimicking your dazed tone with his drawl. He slowly pushes in, holding himself there, he halts your breath. “How’s that, wildflower? Deep enough for you?” 

“Oh god, Joel—” you choke. You fist the sheets, your cunt fluttering and throbbing. He doesn’t move, he flexes his cock and the pressure of that is enough to break you. 

Joel wasn’t expecting it, this much your muddled brain is able to realize from the shocked groan he lets out. His lips find purchase on your forehead, kissing and mumbling praise as your entire body clenches and releases, your pussy gushing around him. You feel the trickles of fresh wetness ripping out of you and all you can do is take it when Joel resumes his thrusts, fucking you through your messy orgasm. 

Despite your insistent begging of wanting him to come inside, Joel pulls out, coming undone instantly as he does so. He rubs himself over your mound, thick ropes of come spurting across your stomach and even the underside of your right breast. He releases your legs and they fall limply to his sides. 

Joel kisses you long and deep, his weight comforting above your trembling body. When he finally pulls away, he lets out a low chuckle and brushes your noses together. 

“I think he left, sweetheart.” 

“Good,” you mumble and press a quick kiss to his flushed lips. “All I want is you.” 

Liam’s not your boyfriend anymore. 

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Author's Note: I had a comment left on my post HERE. The person who commented brought up this scenario of Simon being dared to kiss you and you think that he won't, but he actually does and sparks end up flying. So, of course, I had to write it because... I mean... Come on... (lol). And here it is.

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader, Soap

Summary: During a game of Truth or Dare, your lieutenant is dared into giving you a kiss, but something about the way he has been acting lately may mean this is going to be more than a quick ordeal. And the way you have been feeling towards him won't be helping.

Word Count: 4k

Part 2: READ HERE

The night has started innocently enough: you and your fellow officers sit around together in the rec, blowing off a little steam after another successful mission. Some nice, simple fun of playing cards and shooting the shit like you usually do when leaving the base to go down to the bar isn’t an option. Everyone happens to be here tonight, including that brooding, mask-faced lieutenant that you can’t seem to keep your mind from drifting to as he stands against the wall behind you. 

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you’ve noticed that the lieutenant’s presence has become more and more common lately, especially when you’re around. He keeps mostly to himself, staying on the edge of the fun by just watching, yet you swear that if you are stealthy enough from out of the corner of your eye you can catch his gaze lingering in your direction. 

Whether it’s just a trick of your mind or the truth, either way it makes your pulse race. And tonight is no exception.

All has been pretty calm so far, nothing too rowdy or out of hand. At least, it was until now as the night has waned on and inhibitions have fallen. What was once an innocent bit of fun has turned a bit more risque as Soap decides that cards aren’t enough to keep everyone entertained. What game is it he always seems to pick when everyone is more loose? One where the consequences always end up interesting: Truth or Dare.  

Several rounds have passed already where the truths have consistently gotten more honest and the dares even more spicy. No one is ready to call it quits just yet, but there is one person that hasn’t had a turn after all this time and that just won’t do, not if the Scottish sergeant has anything to say about it. Taking matters into his own hands, Soap turns his attention to the big man standing with his arms crossed, watching quietly. 

“Oy, Lt. Come on, you’re already ‘ere. Ya gotta join us,” Johnny says through the raucous laughter to drag the silent lieutenant into the merriment. “Or are ya chicken, hmm?”

As much as you want Lt. Riley to join in, you would rather him stick around and something like this could get him to walk out; you don’t want that to happen. “Fucking can it, Johnny,” you say as you strike him in the bicep with your fist. “You’re talking out of your ass, alright? Knock it off.”

To everyone’s surprise and yours, after a momentary pause, Lt. Riley steps up closer to the table with his arms still crossed. “ ‘s fine,” he dismisses your concern. “But, one round is all you’re gonna fuckin’ get from me, sergeant, so better make it count.”

Johnny nods his head in agreement, actually caught off guard that he is even able to get this far with the ever stoic and cold-shouldered officer. It all seems a bit too easy, but Soap isn’t going to pass up an opportunity like this to get the lieutenant involved. He’s gotta make this good whatever it is that gets chosen and so he pauses a minute to think of an idea for either scenario before speaking up. “Alright Lt, ye know how it goes. Truth or dare?”

Truth is never going to be an option for Lt. Riley, not with the level of secrecy he keeps to at all times when it concerns his life; he knows if he gives Johnny an inch he will take a goddamn mile. So, there is only one other option and though he tries to hide the fidgeting in his hands, he picks it.  

Maybe it’ll be something that’ll help him strike up a conversation with you later. “Dare,” he says. 

The grin that lights up Soap’s face instantly lets the entire table know that he is up to no good and the words that follow are a testament to that fact. You thought you knew Johnny well enough by now, but not even you could have been prepared for what came out of his mouth then. “Alright, I dare ye ta kiss our sassy little sergeant right here,” he says as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze. 

You meet his blue eyes and hold them in stunned silence. Is he fucking serious? As if Lt. Riley would ever go for something so fucking dumb as this. Johnny has to be out of his goddamn mind to put you in this position; it’s like he knows something he shouldn’t. Again your immediate reaction is to sock him in the arm, this time a bit harder to drive home the point that you are done with his bullshit. 

And yet… shockingly… you hear the lieutenant speak up.

“Fine,” Lt. Riley agrees to everyone’s amazement. 

You turn your attention to face him. “Are you sure? Johnny’s just being a dick, you don’t have to listen to him, sir,” you reassure as you shoot a glare that has the Soap nervously shifting in his seat, worrying about what is going to happen to him later for pulling such a ridiculous stunt.

“Said it’s fine,” he repeats, his gruff tone metered. “But I ain’t doin’ it ‘ere though; you’re not gettin’ a free fuckin’ show if that’s what you’re after Mactavish.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll give ya that,” Johnny concedes. Those blue eyes scan the room for a solution. “How about ‘round tha corner there.”

He points to the bend in the wall a few feet away; far enough from the group that they won’t be able to tell what’s happening behind it. Since there are now stipulations that the lieutenant has set, Johnny is going to add his own as well for good measure. “However,” he pipes up, “since it ain’t in front a us here, ya gotta stay in place for 10 minutes. I doubt ye’ll actually do anything, but might as well make ye both have ta awkwardly stand there for a bit. And don’t think yer gonna pull a fast one; I’m gonna be countin’.”

You look back at the lieutenant and he gives a nod. “Fine,” you agree as well. How you are able to keep your voice so steady when you feel that jolt deep in the pit of your stomach is a mystery, but you pull it off just fine.

With the rules set Lt. Riley stares at you as if waiting for you to get up from your seat first before he moves. You do and he immediately follows close behind as you make your way over to the wall just past the corner amidst the sounds of whistles and whoops. With a quick flip of the bird back over your shoulder to the group, you both vanish around the side and come to a stop a few feet from the edge. 

You lean your back up against the wall as he comes to stand in front of you, watching you intensely through the opening in his thin balaclava. As you wait to see who will speak first, you notice a tension in his broad shoulders that hadn’t been there before. This is the first time you both have ever been this close to one another and you can’t overlook the fact that he seems even bigger now that you are standing so near; you can’t help but admire how small you feel next to him.  

The longer he stares at you with those golden eyes, studying your face as if he is deciding something, the more rapid your heartbeat thumps heavy in your chest. He takes a step closer and then another before coming to a stop again. Now there is less than a foot’s distance between your bodies and suddenly there is a shift in the atmosphere around you both, a thick tension that is growing harder to ignore. 

The sounds of laughter filters over to the both of you, breaking you out of the haze of your thoughts. “You know, we don’t have to do anything. If you want me to lie, it’s fine, sir,” you speak before he has a chance to. “Fuck Johnny for putting us in this situation. We can just stand here in silence until we get called back.”

He clears his throat. “Who said anythin’ ‘bout lyin’?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow that you can make out through the mask. “Just don’t wanna, is that it?” 

Something in the way he says the statement catches you off guard. Why does he sound slightly disappointed? Did he want to actually do this? You couldn’t really believe that; no, you must be reading this all wrong. “No, that’s not…” you stumble over your words; why is it getting harder to speak? “I just… didn’t think you’d want to… but… if you do then…”

“Yes or no?” he cuts off your string of stammering.

“Yes,” you confirm. 

Nothing else needs to be said other than that. His hand moves to his face, his fingers finding the bottom edge of his mask, and now you can’t breathe as you wait to see what’s under there. This is the first time you’ll be able to see more than just his eyes and that leaves your mind reeling.

Okay, you prepare yourself, it’s just a kiss, right? Nothing to it; you’ve been kissed before. This will be no different. Just breathe and we’ll get through it.

The mask is wrenched up above his nose so that his mouth is revealed and spread across waiting for you is a subtle, cocky smirk. Your cheeks flush as your eyes are drawn to the facial hair covering his jaw and outlining his lips; short, light brown outgrowth from not having shaved today. It accentuates his strong jaw perfectly and though you try, you can’t look away.

Still focused on his face you miss the warning as a strong hand suddenly finds its way onto your waist as he moves against you. His broad chest is pressed up to yours, you can feel it through the thinner fabric of his shirt, and you can’t tell whether it’s your own pounding heartbeat or his that you feel. That tension is suffocating now that he is this close, the air so thick it feels like you can cut it with a knife. You wait impatiently for the moment to finally break.  

It feels like you are holding your breath when after a few more seconds he finally speaks. “Good,” he says with a bit of breathiness to his voice, “cause I’m no liar.”

Leaning his head down slowly to reach you his lips inch ever closer until you can feel their warm, ghostly presence brush over your mouth causing your eyes to flutter shut as the ecstasy from the anticipation of them making contact overwhelms you. They are there, right there, and you plead with the universe to finally let them touch. You feel him inhale sharply and with that they are crashing against yours. It is with such an automatic, visceral intensity that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Simon had been certain until the second your lips made contact that he could keep himself under control, that this was nothing more than sinless fun, but as he breathes in the hot, moist air from your mouth while he captures it again, he already knows that this is not going to end how he has intended. There is an immediate magnetism that you both cannot pull from and what is supposed to be something quick, turns mind-numbing in an instant.

Time stands still as your lips twine together in that familiar back and forth and what can only be a few short seconds extend out into an eternity. It’s like flicking on a switch how easily you melt into his embrace, like acquainted lovers, like your lips have always meant to be pressed tightly together. 

How can this be the first time you have ever kissed?

The stubble covering the exposed half of his face pricks along your cheeks the more he advances; the skin around your lips and your jaw growing more raw each time he moves, but the way it makes your face burn is far from painful. His breathing has become more strained, muscles tensing as he risks nipping carefully at the skin on your lower lip.

You inhale a sharp breath through your teeth and then it happens: an unconscious reaction to the pleasure surging through your veins like liquid fire. You can’t stop yourself as a sneaky moan creeps up your throat and before you can swallow it back down you hum it into his mouth. 

That low, alluring sound leaves that hulking military officer hungry to hear more. Those large hands of his desperately want to paw at your body, to caress all those silky curves against the coarse skin of his palms, to let his fingertips linger at all that delicately soft flesh for as long as he can. A deep, gnawing ache settles itself in his chest as he takes your lips with more feral aggression; Simon has never craved something more in that moment than to keep you like this entangled with him. 

The longer he goes, the more there is nothing tentative about his movements; he kisses you like he owns you. Lt. Riley steals from you as if your lips are air and he will suffocate without them, his desperation is the kind that feels like this is life or death and he needs you to survive. You are unprepared for the fucking bliss of it all, the raw, unbridled passion that his lips create as the friction abrades the tender skin of your mouth. 

And your thoughts scream for him to keep going.

You match his intensity with your own, kissing him back with everything that you have in you. He opens his mouth slightly and without thinking your tongue moves in and presses against his, trying to shove its way into his mouth. Fuck, he is not prepared for you to be so keen and it throws him off for only a moment before he leans into that passion and comes back with his response.

The lieutenant braces one of his large hands near your hip, pinning you to the wall while his mouth engulfs your own as he slides his tongue in between your teeth to fill the cavity full. It slithers over the surface of your tongue towards the back of your mouth, the taste of you intoxicating so that he cannot get enough. The pleasure is so intense that it severs his connection with reality and everything outside of your joined mouths fades away into background noise. His other hand moves from your waist and is suddenly wrapped around the back of your neck, his thumb holding steadily against your jaw to keep your head securely in his grip so that he can pull you as tight against his face as he can stand. 

Your head is reeling from the potency of those hot, feverish lips that are suck yours into their desperate embrace. Then his knee forcefully pries its way between your thighs and you are sure that you will not come back from this. It’s too much to handle and you’ve lost all control… no, that’s not right. You’ve yielded everything completely to him without even having to think about it and he has taken every single ounce of what he has been given as if it has always been his. 

Leaning up into him, you stand up on the balls of your feet as he guides the movement of your head by tilting it from one side to the other in that natural dance that happens when lips play. You are both insatiable as that carnal need to devour the other makes it impossible to not relinquish yourselves to the ecstasy that overwhelms in that moment. 

Never in your life have you wanted a man to possess you more than you want your superior to right now. Images of him picking you up and slamming your back into the wall, making you encircle his waist with your legs, his cock straining and throbbing between your clothed sex as you plead with him to take you, fill your mind until they make you light-headed. 

Lt. Riley is not faring any better and he has to focus his entire will into keeping his hands engaged so that he can resist the tingling in his fingertips to find the button on your pants and undo them. If you were alone without the threat of interruption, you might already be half undressed by now, but just as that urge reaches its peak and his fingers are moving in, you both hear the words that make your hearts sink.

“Eh, you two,” you hear Soap calling out from a distance, “times up.”

It is torture to pull away from you; Simon is on the verge of combusting from being forced to stop before he is ready.  But he has to or else he might be found out and there is still hesitation to admit that he might actually want more of this. Even after the ecstasy you both had just shared he isn’t sure how far he should let this go and so with a sigh of defeat he releases your lips from his own. 

By the time he lets you go and moves out from between your legs, your stance is unsteady and your mind fuzzy. The sudden lack of pressure against your mouth leaves you feeling empty and you have to stop yourself from whining aloud. As your eyes slowly flutter open you look up into his face and are met with that chocolate brown gaze lingering on you. There is something swimming in the depths of his eyes: a question, a statement, you’re not sure, but he doesn’t say it aloud. The need to say something yourself eats at you, but you close your mouth tight and bite your tongue to keep silent. 

You can’t bring yourself to risk admitting that you don’t want him to stop; what if he doesn’t feel the same? The pressures of putting it all out there at this moment is too much to handle. Instead, you let the moment die away quietly as you breathe deeply through your nose.

“Times up,” Lt. Riley repeats the phrase softly as he situates his balaclava back down under his chin to hide himself from you once again. The others are cheering for your return, giving you no time to collect yourself, so you simply sigh and stride back to the group together.

Heads turn your direction as you reappear back into the main room. “Well?” the heavily accented voice of the bastard that has orchestrated this whole thing questions you both. 

Trying not to stumble back to your seat, you play it off as if you hadn’t just had your soul sucked out through your lips. “Well what?” you return as the lieutenant passes you up and takes his place back behind the group.

Soap’s brow furrows. “Don’t play dumb with us, lass,” he chides. “Was he any good?”  

You cautiously take your seat back where you had been as everyone waits for your answer, trying to give yourself more time to calm your pulse that is still racing like wildfire through your tingling limbs. “It was fine,” you say, hoping you are collected enough to pull off such a bold-faced lie. 

“Oh really?” Johnny asks skeptically as he eyes you up and down to read your body language. Your heart leaps in your chest as you think you’ve been found out, that the bloom in your cheeks is still too noticeable, but he continues like nothing. “I think yer full a shit. Probably didn’t even get a peck, knowin’ LT. I bet ye did nothin’ back there, but stand in silence.”

You snicker at him, carefully adjusting yourself in your seat so you can squeeze your legs together to relieve the throbbing in such a way that it doesn’t draw attention. “Aww... Guess that’s only for us to know and for you to spend all your time worrying about, bitch. It’s gonna eat at you, isn’t it? Gonna lose sleep thinking about me and the lieutenant, hmm?” you pick back, which seems to get him off your case. 

“Ye wanna add anythin’ here?” Soap asks as he turns to the mask officer.

You risk a glance over your shoulder back at your superior, knowing that this could undo all your progress at regaining your composure, and you catch him completely lost in thought, not having heard a word that Soap just said. Quickly he recovers, clearing his throat. “What’re ya on about, Mactavish?” he questions back. 

“I asked if ye had anythin’ to add to her account of events,” Johnny chuckles. “Or are ye too stunned ta speak?”

The lieutenant shoots him a glare before pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Don’t push yer fuckin’ luck, yeah?” he answers it like a threat as he flips open the pack and places a cig in between his fingers.

Soap holds up his hands innocently with palms facing out in agreement not to start any trouble. “Ye must a been terrible, lass,” Soap picks as he turns his attention back to you to keep the jovial atmosphere up. 

You slug him hard enough to make his chair squeak from the force before joining in the others laughter to disguise the heat still burning through your cheeks. Simon takes the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, though you let your eyes follow him one last time. It is a monumental task that he has to perform to actively put one foot in front of the other, to calculatedly focus his breathing to stay calm, and make it out of the door without anyone noticing that his composure is clearly broken. 

Once out of sight he hurriedly steps out into the cool night air and immediately rips up his mask as he lights his cigarette, taking a long, heavy drag off it as he leans up against the brick of the building. The nicotine tingles his throat and he hopes it’ll be enough of a distraction to stop the intense pounding in his chest. Breathing the smoke out in a weighty sigh he adjusts the crotch of his pants as they have suddenly become too tight for his comfort. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath as he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, desperately trying to focus on anything in a vain attempt to calm himself, but he already knows its no use.

The second his eyes are shut all he can think about is that kiss: he can still feel his arm around you, detect the ghost of your lips against his, sense the warmth of your breath in his mouth. He tries to push the delectable sensations from his mind, but they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and he knows it. 

Opening his eyes he stands back up off the wall with a need that compels him, making him move strategically so that he can peek through the door without being seen. Sneakily he stares back into the building, those brown eyes catching the sight of you smiling and laughing, those full lips making his blood pressure rise as he watches them move about as you speak, still red and swollen from being claimed. 

This is a problem, a big fucking problem. Now the only thing that that hardened military man can think about, instead of keeping his distance, is how he can recreate that exact scene with you again.

And maybe, just maybe, take it even further.

[loveyjelly]

Raw Roulette

CW // MDNI, SMUT, foursome, handjobs, blowjobs, piv, creampie, slight mentions of exhibitionism

(I changed the title because i love alliteration)

"Regretting inviting all of us over for dinner?" Rafayel teased, crawling over to you and trailing kisses from your collarbone to your neck. As much as you want to maintain your composure, you give in and let out a whine.

"Doesn't sound like it to me." Zayne smirked, as he kept your back pressed to his chest, both of you sitting up on your bed.

"Are you enjoying this?" Xavier's hand rested on your thigh, sitting on the edge of the bed and occupying the across Rafayel. He pushed the hem of your dress up to move his hands to your inner thigh.

The overwhelming sensation is starting a fire in your lower abdomen. "This wasn't supposed to happen." You sharply inhale, trying so hard to contain yourself. What would they think of you when they find out that you're enjoying being aroused by three men at the same time?

You didn't think that the night would end up with you being surrounded by barely clothed men vying for your attention, vying for you to make them feel good.

"Do you want us to stop?" Zayne's hot breath tickling your ear is getting you more worked up. Your breath hitched and you involuntarily squeezed your legs together, accidentally trapping Xavier's hands between your thighs. He gently moved one of your legs to separate them.

"Yes or no, Love. We need to hear it from you." Xavier's eyes still shined of innocence even in the dark lighting that matched the soon-to-be carnal atmosphere.

"Don't stop" You mumbled, unable to properly get your words out.

"Speak up, Princess." Rafayel took one of your hands and kissed the back of it.

"Please don't stop."

As if their brains synced together, they resumed with what they were doing except now there was nothing holding them back from having their way with you.

Rafayel started licking and sucking on your neck, marking you as if that was the only way he could make it obvious to the other two that he needs you more than they do.

Xavier's hands roamed across your thighs. He couldn't get enough of how they feel against his palm and how you shiver and gasp whenever his fingers would brush over your panties.

Zayne enjoyed when you arch your back from the pleasure since your ass pressed against his bulge every time you did. "Would you even be able to take all of us at the same time?"

"We can't make her too tired, she's going on a date with me tomorrow." Rafayel smirked as he watched the other two pause.

"Wait you said you were going to help me with a mission tomorrow." The grip Xavier had on your thigh tightened as he looked at you with a slight pout.

"And you promised me that we'd have lunch together at the restaurant near the hospital." Zayne's arm starts to snake around your waist, every inch of your back covering his chest.

"I didn't realize I had those plans all at the same date." Trying to explain yourself was a lot harder with the three of them looking at you, expecting you to either choose between them or come up with a compromise.

"I have an idea," Rafayel said. The grin on his face tells them that it was going to be something so outrageous. "Why don't we play Russian roulette with her pussy?"

"Elaborate" Zayne's interest was piqued. He's been waiting for your shared lunch for a few days now, no way was he going to let anyone else have your time but him.

"We take turns fucking her and the last man she cums on gets to have her precious time tomorrow."

"That sounds good to me, I'm surprised you were the one that came up with that idea." Xavier's soft but nonchalant tone made the comment sound more condescending.

"Are you okay with that?" Zayne looked for your approval. He didn't want to do anything that would make you feel uncomfortable.

"Mhmm" You're already at your limit from the anticipation.

"Use your words, Miss" Rafayel coaxed.

"I'm okay with it" You obeyed, barely getting the words out without whimpering.

"You just don't want us to stop touching you, do you?" Xavier moved his hands to the soaked fabric of your panties. "Mmm already so wet for us, maybe we should let you cool down first."

"Yeah, if we keep going then you might cum as soon as you get one of our cocks inside you." Rafayel rubbed one of your arms as his lips tickled your neck while he spoke.

"I won't" You were just being delusional at this point. Having this many hands touching you and the filthy words being thrown around the room was enough to make you spill out.

"We're gonna hold you to that. Now, how do we pick which one goes first." Zayne's hands traveled from your waist up to your tits, earning a gasp from you.

"The last one that got here, should go first" Rafayel grinned at Xavier.

"For just 20 minutes!" He protested. "But I'm fine with that, I know she'll be a good girl and hold it in for me, won't you?" He gently grabbed your face to make you stare at his eyes as if it was to serve as an unspoken promise.

Xavier swiftly removed your underwear and immediately glided his fingers through your folds. Looking up at you again, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked off your slick like it was nectar.

"I can't take it anymore, please just let me have it." Your whole body shivered as Zayne started unzipping your dress, Rafayel helping him raise it above your head.

"Let you have what?" Xavier hasn't taken his eyes off you.

"I haven't heard her be this needy ever, I think I might get addicted to how you sound right now." You couldn't handle how Rafayel kept speaking while his lips are just a hair away from your neck.

Zayne remained quiet. He felt conflicted, you look so divine when your eyes are glazed with pure lust and ecstasy but he hated sharing you with the other two. He hated how they made you feel good too. Hearing you beg for Xavier just made him want to fuck you rough and raw in front of them and let them know that if you ever needed a good fuck, he'll be the one you'd call. Just him and no one else.

"Are you sure you want to skip that part?" Xavier asked. He loves eating you out but if you want him inside already then he can't deny you that. To him, your words are gospels that need to be fulfilled. If you want him to fuck you how you want it, then he's more than glad to do that as long as you don't cum.

Rafayel finally peeled himself off your side and reached something from your nightstand drawer. "I knew you'd have it here, maybe you were expecting this to happen." He handed you the bottle of lube and was stuck at your side again. "Go on, if you want him inside then you're going to have to help him out a little bit." 

Xavier was surprised Rafayel was helping you out when it came to him. He always saw him as a self serving diva or maybe he's doing it just for you.

You tug on the waistband of his boxers and pull them down, revealing his cock already so hard for you. "It's all yours, Princess. Come here." He pulled you away from the other men and positioned you on top of him, your hips hovered over his thighs to give you space for what you needed to do.

Xavier heard Zayne click his tongue and Rafayel sighs. He shifted his focus back to you, watching your hands as they shake while pouring the lube onto your hands.

"Relax, it's just me." His hand enveloped your wrist to stop it from shaking so much.

"We're here too" Rafayel grumbled and Zayne let out a soft chuckle at the comment. You turned your head to face him but Xavier used his free hand to cup your cheek and guide your sight back to him.

"He'll have his turn later. But for now, your attention is all mine." He leaned in and brought his lips to yours to give you a quick kiss for encouragement.

You heard Xavier's sharp inhale once his cock was in your palm. 

"Move your hand." He gently instructed, trying to focus on you despite the coldness of the lube and the warmth of your hand mixing.

The rustling of the sheets brought Xavier's attention to Zayne who is now getting closer to you again. "What? I can't let you two have all the fun" He places his hand flat on your shoulder blade, making you flinch from the sudden change in temperature.

"Don't overheat, Angel. You have a whole night to get through." He snuck up behind and planted a light kiss behind your ear.

"Don't leave me out!" Rafayel was right behind you but you can tell by the tone of his voice that he was pouting. "They might make the whole night all about them if we didn't interfere." He rested his head on your shoulder.

"Don't look at us like that, Xavier. We're just here to offer some...support." Something mischievous flashed in Zayne's eye. "No one said the others should stay back while it's someone's turn."

"Fuck" He muttered, the whole time your hand your hand stayed stroking his cock.

The banter between the three of them helped ease the tension that previously built up in your chest.

"Less nervous now, Love?" Zayne noticed that you weren't as shaky as before, stroking your hair and giving you a small smile.

"I can't wait any longer, can I put it inside?" Xavier got harder the more you stroked him. He felt like he couldn't breathe until you said yes to his plea.

You took your hand off his dick and nodded, preparing for what position he'd fuck you in. It was like you were their personalized and shared fuck doll. 

"I'm so sorry, Princess. I'm gonna have to be a little rough." Xavier was so worked up he couldn't even bother to ask anymore but he knew you'd tell him to stop if you weren't fine with it.

He flipped you over on your hands and knees. The view was a little embarrassing if you were going to be honest. The other two looked at you and you couldn't help but feel small.

"Didn't know you had that in you, Xavier" Rafayel mused. "Aw, little miss has watery eyes. Are you that needy for a good fucking?" He reached for your face and caressed your cheeks using his thumb.

"She deserves one." Xavier's tip was teasing your entrance.

"Xavier, please." You squeaked out.

"Oh, I can't wait until she's begging for me." Zayne grabbed one of your hands and placed your palm on top of his erection. "I'll have to settle with this for now."

Xavier slowly pushed his cock inside you, his movements got more urgent and firm but he still observed your reaction to know if he should continue.

A loud moan escapes your lips as he pushes himself in, making you take it up to the base. He started thrusting in a quick steady rhythm that made you grip the sheets. It had completely slipped your mind that your other hand was holding Zayne's dick.

"Easy there, Angel. Come on, you can please one more man, right?" He slowly guided your hand in an up and down rhythm that intentionally matched Xavier's thrust. He closed his eyes and pretended that he was fucking you already.

"Mind if I use this one?" Rafayel hooked his thumb inside your mouth prompting you to open it wider. "I know you'll take it so well." He scooted closer so you don't have to move, placing your free arm on his thighs for support.

"Ah, that's it. Take it at your own pace, Baby." Rafayel put his hand on the back of your head and enjoyed the sight of you swallowing his whole length. "Fucking impressive, you're so good at this." He praised your skills.

"You're clenching around me already." Xavier huffed.

"My turn." Zayne interrupted and put his hand on top of yours, stopping you from jerking him off. "I need to have this pretty little thing now." 

The three rotated positions. Like clockwork, you immediately had your hands on Rafayel's dick, stroking him at the same pace that Zayne had you do. Xavier had you in the same position as Rafayel but this time he's holding your hand.

"Mmm your mouth feels just as good, Princess." Xavier threw his head back from the immense pleasure. He never felt this good using his own hands. Maybe he can call you for help whenever he needs to masturbate.

You can hear Zayne's groans as he drilled your pussy like his life depended on it. "You're getting wetter. Don't tell me you're getting close."

Your moans are muffled by Xavier's cock, making it harder to tell Zayne that you're seconds away from cuming. You feel Zayne slow down. "Does my Angel want to cum?"

You couldn't answer back, you were too preoccupied. "Look at me" His voice was stern but still had a hint of gentleness behind it.

You took Xavier's dick out of your mouth and turned your head to look back at Zayne. He wished he could pause time right now. You looked so brilliant in your current pose. Your eyes are all watery, lips swollen, a mix drool and precum trickling from the side of your mouth, and two other men panting from the pleasure you gave them.

"I'll let you cum right now if you promise that you'll reschedule our lunch to a date that doesn't include other plans. Do I make myself clear, Angel?" His cock stayed buried deep inside you, it made it so hard to focus on what he was saying.

"I promise" You mumbled.

"Louder"

"I promise, Zayne. Please let me cum" You begged.

"Good girl. Now get ready to be fucked the way you deserve to be fucked." He starts thrusting again, his body remembering the tempo it was following earlier.

"Letting yourself lose just for her, how noble." Rafayel just had to poke fun at Zayne. Too bad he almost couldn't get the words out since he was panting like a dog that just played fetch for an hour.

"My Princess cuming on someone else's cock? I should've just forfeited earlier." Xavier tried to give you a cute pout but failed. Your mouth felt too good to joke around at the moment.

Zayne's cock was repeatedly hitting your sweet spot. You can feel your orgasm building up, coming in waves in your lower abdomen.

"Just let it all out, Angel. I'm close too." He kept the beat of his thrust the same to help you get to your peak.

"Zayne!" You exclaimed as you arch your back from the satisfaction, sending shivers all over your body. Your limbs twitched and you had Xavier and Rafayel help you hold yourself up. He continued going in and out until you felt him grip your hips tight, his warm cum covering every existing inch of your walls.

"Did that feel too good, Baby?" Rafayel grabbed your face and lifted it up to meet his gaze. You nodded. "I can tell, you couldn't even focus on us anymore."

"It's okay, Princess. But now we'll have to be a little selfish." Xavier kissed your shoulder and pinned you down on your back, your head barely on the mattress.

"You ready?" He positioned himself on top of you, slapping his dick against your pussy.

"Ready" You whispered.

He slid his cock inside, pushing out Zayne's cum. "Feels good to be back."

"Don't forget about me" Rafayel's fingers grazed your throat. He gets out of the bed and stands near the top of your head.

Xavier figured out what Rafayel wanted to do. He grabbed your waist and pushed you out of the bed by a few inches.

"Perfect." Rafayel wrapped his hand on your throat and slowly let your mouth and tongue do their thing. He had to get you used to that position first.

Zayne laid down and reached for your hand. "You did so well, Angel." Taking the back of your hand and tenderly kissing it.

Meanwhile, Xavier was barely hanging on by a thread. The sweet sound your moans make alone could've made him cum but fucking you was an option so he took it.

The original game plan has been derailed but none of the boys could complain. The sound of your gasps, whimpers, and moans echoing off the walls were like music to their ears.

You didn't have to move as Rafayel moved his hips and used your throat as a pussy. "No matter what you do you always feel so good." He pushed his cock down the back of your throat and held it there for a few seconds just to hear you gag and gargle spit.

"Oh, does that turn you on more? I felt you clench." Xavier thrusted faster, ready to give you another orgasm.

Zayne loved this lewd side of you. It was like you were their personal fuck toy just for this night. He can't deny that he had fun fucking you in front of other people. You really do bring sides of him he didn't think he had.

You couldn't tell Xavier that you were about to cum. The next best way was to put your hand on his forearm and squeeze it.

"I'm about to cum too, Princess." He said, it's like he read your mind.

"Fuck, me too." Rafayel moaned. "Squeeze his arm if you want all of us to cum with you, Baby."

You squeeze Xavier's hand until your nails dig into his skin.

"She says yes." Xavier and Rafayel shared a smirk.

In just a few seconds, you let go and experience another round of ecstasy. Your senses were almost non-existent after being pounded and choked by multiple cocks.

Xavier and Rafayel let out several loud moans as they slow down their thrust after reaching their peak. Both of them slowly pull out and immediately reach out to you to make sure you're okay.

The content look in your eyes and smile was a good enough answer to their question.

Rafayel scooped you into his arms and placed you in the middle of your bed. "Take all the time you need to rest, okay? You did such an amazing job." He reassured you, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead.

Despite the guys being breathless and tired too, they still went out of their way to make sure you were well taken care of after. They'll also have to figure out how they'll fit into your schedule next week since the game didn't go as planned.

The thoughtful gestures, sweet words of affirmation, and future plans will have to wait because their favorite girl just fell asleep.

(Alexa, play Love Talk by WayV on loop)

(Technicallyyyy Rafayel won)

@queenashen

buy me coffee

[ro-is-struggling]

Self care || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky always seemed interested in your skin care routine, so when one day he arrives tired and drained from a mission, you take the opportunity to show him the importance and benefits of self-care.

Warnings: established relationship, brief mention to Bucky’s past trauma, a fuck ton of fluff, my little knowledge of skin care lol

English is not my first language

Word count: 2200

Notes: this was inspired by a dream I had. I thought it was cute and I couldn't get it out of my head, so I wrote this little thing. If it doesn’t make sense, blame my dumb dreams lol

It was one of the first times you slept over at Bucky's place that you discovered he didn't have a skin care routine. He would look at you cleansing your face from the bathroom door, watching you apply creams and serums with a mixture of admiration and confusion in his expression. And every time you picked up a new product, he would ask you what it was and what did it do. 

It didn't really surprise you, most of the men you had dated tended to use a small number of personal hygiene products and usually the facial skin was only treated with soap and water. And if that was men your age, it was to be expected that Bucky and his over one hundred years of age were not aware of the benefits of skin care.You found his reactions kind of adorable. It wasn't every day that you caught Bucky acting with the naïve curiosity of a child, and you couldn't help but laugh as you answered his endless questions.

"Please tell me you at least wear sunscreen." You said and Bucky remained silent. "Oh my God, Bucky!" you complained, explaining to him how dangerous the sun was for his skin.

"After all I've been through, I don't think a little sun is going to kill me, doll." He laughed, coming up to you to hug you from behind. You wrapped your arms around his, smiling at him in the mirror as he rested his chin on your shoulder. 

The bastard knew how cute he was —looking at you through the mirror with blue eyes full of love—, and he was using it to his advantage to keep you from scolding him. He was probably right, the super soldier serum surely protected him from skin cancer in the same way it protected him from hits and falls that would be fatal to the rest of humanity. But still, it wouldn't hurt him to take care of himself a little every now and then.

"You smell nice." Bucky praised you, inhaling the subtle floral scent the creams had left on your skin. He gave you a kiss on the cheek, his stubble tickling your sensitive face. You laughed and he knew he had won.

"Don't think you're getting out of this so easily." you warned, tilting your head to the side so you could kiss him. "Flattery will get you nowhere!"

From that day on you decided that you would put together a skincare routine for Bucky. Super Soldier serum or not, everyone's skin needed a little help from time to time. And besides, you believed it was something that could benefit Bucky in more ways than just one. It would teach him to take better care of himself and to value the precious 'me time'. And god knew he needed that. So you made a mental note to buy a couple of products for him the next time you went to restock some of your kit and stopped thinking about it for a while.

That was until one day Bucky came home tired from a mission. You didn't quite know what he had to do and he didn't want to tell you much about it either when you asked him. Not knowing tore you apart, but you respected his wishes and didn't press the issue, deciding to help him in a way that wasn't invasive. You started with running him a bath, filling the tub with warm water and using some of your bath salts and lotions to create a more relaxing environment. You insisted on taking care of him, although Bucky didn't put up much resistance, surrendering to the soothing power of your caresses on his hair. Your fingers gently massaged his scalp, coating it with shampoo to remove all the dirt before rinsing it and repeating the process with conditioner.

He still found such intimacy a bit strange. Even though he enjoyed it, he still wasn't completely used to being cared for with the affection you showed him. It had been so long since anyone had treated him with such love and care that he could hardly remember it. But he felt safe in your hands, happy to have you in his life. A light of hope at the end of the dark tunnel of agony that had been his life. That was what you were to him. His second chance to live, to love. So he relaxed under your touch and let your gentle caresses take all the tiredness and worries out of his system.

But your pampering didn't end when Bucky got out of the tub. After he changed into his pajamas and laid down on his side of the bed, you emerged from the bathroom with a small white bag in your hands. You rested it on the nightstand and began pulling out various products he recognized from your skin care routine, arranging them in a nice neat line. 

"Doll... what are you doing?" Bucky asked, looking at the pink cat-ear headband you held in your hands. It was the one you always wore when you did your makeup or skin care routine, a tool you used to keep your hair out of your face while you worked. He always thought you looked adorable when you used it, but he didn't understand why you were directing it at him this time.

"Taking care of you." You replied as if it were obvious, "I want to show you the benefits of having a good skin care routine." Bucky hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in to your soft smile and the sparkle of enthusiasm in your eyes. There was nothing he could say no to if you looked at him that way.

He gave you a slight nod and you took that as a signal to continue. You climbed onto the bed, settling onto his lap with one leg on either side of him, so you could face him and work more comfortably. Bucky put his hands on your hips instinctively, the cold metal of his fingers giving you goose bumps at the unexpected touch. But you didn't move them, you liked his hands there.

"First we have to make sure your hair is out of the way." You announced as you placed the headband on his head, making sure no hair was out of place or near his face. You couldn't help but let out a giggle as you admired Bucky wearing the accessory. The pink, furry cat ears looked so out of place it was ridiculous. The clear feminine energy of the headband clashed against the distinctive masculine look on his expression in a fun and charming way. It made him look adorable if you were honest, especially when he smiled at you. He could definitely pull it off.

"How do I look?" Bucky asked, batting his eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion. 

"Adorable." You replied between giggles, before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

When you broke apart, you began your skin care routine, taking a piece of cotton and your favorite micellar water to cleanse Bucky's skin. He looked at you closely, taking advantage of the position you were in to admire your beauty up close while you concentrated on soaking the cotton ball in the liquid. You were the most beautiful woman in the world, he was sure, and not only that, you were kind and loving too. A wonderful person all around and he still didn't understand how he had managed to get you by his side, but he was happy about it.

"Why do you have to clean my face? I just showered." Bucky mumbled with his eyes closed, feeling your delicate fingers on his chin as you ran wet cotton across his face.

You let out a giggle. "Water is not enough! And regular soap is too harsh on the skin of our face, so you need to use a cleanser or cream that is meant for the face."

"I never heard about that." Bucky frowned, tilting his head slightly to the side in confusion.

"Because you're a guy and guys are used to using one product for everything hygiene related."

“That’s not true!” he tried to defend himself, although he didn't sound very convinced.

You decided to skip a few steps in the routine to keep things simple. The idea was not only to pamper Bucky and help him relax, but also show him that maintaining a skin care routine didn't have to be complicated and could bring him many benefits. So you went straight to the eye cream, taking some with your ring finger and carefully applying it to the bags under his eyes.

"Stay still! You're gonna make me poke your eye if you move like that!"

"It already feels like you're poking my eye!"

"Don't be so dramatic!" You laughed, men really were cry babies. "Just close your eyes and trust me." Bucky grumbled, pouting. You planted a quick kiss on his lips, and that seemed to please him because he kept his eyes closed and stopped moving. Carefully, you spread the eye cream over his dark circles, giving his skin time to absorb the product before proceeding with the last step.

"What is that?" Bucky asked you curiously as you reached for the last tub in the line of products. 

"It's a night cream. You're supposed to use it at night after you wash your face to keep your skin moisturized."

"Isn't that what the other cream did?"

"No, silly! That was just for your under eye area, this helps hydrate the rest of your face. We need to give back all the good things we got rid off when we cleaned your skin of all the dirt and oils clogging your pores."

Bucky made an annoyed face, muttering about how complicated it all sounded. But the truth was, he was enjoying the extra attention you were giving him. He had you all to himself, the warmth of your body enveloping him in a comforting embrace as your fingers gently massaged his face. He couldn't think of a better definition of paradise than that. Just the two of you sharing an intimate moment, far from the horrors of the outside world. He could commit to a skin care routine if it involved at least a third of the pampering you were giving him at that moment.

"You don't need to use much," you continued your explanation, dipping one of your fingertips into the cream before bringing it up to Bucky's face. "Just a little bit here, here, here... and here." You painted a couple of white dots on his cheeks, forehead and chin, kissing the tip of his nose before applying a bit of cream to the area. It was such a cute and intimate act he almost blushed.

The first thing Bucky noticed about the cream was the scent. It had a light rose fragrance that was familiar to him, comforting even. It traveled up his nostrils as you massaged the cream into his face, sparking a warm and fuzzy feeling inside him. It took him a few seconds to understand that it was because that was the same rose scent he recognized on your skin whenever he kissed you, that sweet floral scent he had learned to recognize as home. He finally knew he had your choice in moisturizer to thank for it. 

"You're using your cream on me?"

"Yes, it's the only one I had. The perfume doesn't last long, don't worry. I'll buy you an unscented one tomorrow."

"No, don't! I like this one, it smells like you... it's like having a little piece of you with me all the time."

You didn't expect him to say that, so you weren't prepared for the tingling warmth of love that coursed through your body. The idea that he wanted to keep you close at all times, that he recognized your scent and found comfort and safety in it, made your heart melt with love. Bucky was normally a man of few words, and tended to show his feelings with other things rather than words. Acts of service were his most common way of showing how much he loved you, although he also resorted to spending quality time together whenever you had free time. But every once in a while, he would manage to drop a sentence like that, which in concise words made it clear how much he loved you. Always taking you by surprise, he would drop them at the most casual moments, leaving you completely stupid for a few seconds as you processed his words and wondered what you had done to deserve having someone so wonderful in your life. 

Bucky gave you a shy smile, cheeks turning pink under your gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable. He looked so adorable that you couldn't help but join your lips with his in a slow, loving kiss. He reciprocated immediately, one of his hands leaving your waist to cradle your cheek, pressing you tighter against him and deepening the kiss. 

"I love you," you muttered against his lips, pressing your forehead against his as you gazed into his deep blue eyes.

Bucky smiled, feeling the last bit of stress evaporate from his system thanks to you and your sweetness.  "I love you too."

[frmisnow]

✧˖ ?!— THE ASSHOLE THAT MIGHT MAKE YOU FORGIVE & FORGET. - (NSFW.)

— ‧₊˚ — 🍸: "wanna make you hate being touched by anybody else but me, i'll be so selfish with you ??"

summary. despite your best efforts at avoiding your much-hated hookup boxer, he somehow finds a way to your apartment claiming he's here for your own good benefit, being a total ass- does he even have the ability to change? well, he's determinded to make you forgive & forget... in his own unique ways!

notes. haven't written full blown smut in quite a while aaahhhh also my longest fic up to date??? - this is part two of TWO WHORES IN A ROOM, THEY MIGHT KISS but can be read on it's own.

warnings/includes. (MDNI!!) non idol! jungkook x f! reader, they still kinda hate eachother sry (tiny bit of character development in the middle tho), elements of angst, making out, he's a bit of a dick :/, reader is kind of a therapist (pls don't go around in real life trying to fix ppl!!), tit/nipple play, riding, kook sub tendency towards the end, unprotected sex (she's on the pill tho), not proofread :/

you starred blankly at the text bubble he sent you a minute ago, hell- it was 2 am- you blinked repeatedly, reading it once more:

unknown number (jeon ) : i'm outside your apartment

you've done your absolute best avoiding him at all costs, you couldn't no- you shouldn't at all, never ever form a connection with him and though you'd usually be okay with having a little fling, you didn't want to be associated with him nor did you want to see his face. it was a hate fuck, nothing more, nothing less - but he always knew just how to ruin your plans.

you looked outside the window, actually sighting a figure, a motorcycle close to them as the person lifted it's head shortly from their phone, you quickly typed in a response.

y/n ( reader ) : how do you know my number, how do you know my adress and what makes you think i'll open the door unknown number (jeon ) : i'm cold

the simplicity of the incoming answer, made you roll your eyes, opening the window instantly after reading yelling out to the person: "i'll call the police for stalking"

he instantly yells back, "you don't actually have any intentions of calling the police. you want to see me" with every word stepping a bit closer to your apartment, now practically being next to your door.

"ha," you let out till full blown starting to laugh, "i wanna see you?" the smile from the laugh still plastered of your face, "you really think so?"

"oh i'm sure of it, what else is there to do on a saturday night? i just know you've been thinking bout my big dick all day, i know it makes you sick- but y'know what? i'm here to fix it for you" he looks up to you while delivering his dialogue in a sarcastic tone like he's the savior of the world, his smirk coming back once more.

you skipped down the stairs, opening the door just a few centimeters, enough to see your face, not enough to completly look into your apartment, answering him back now face to face, giving him a rather unimpressed look: "right, you showed up but somehow u're still blabbering 'bout me wanting you here, but whatever go on- tell me i'm the needy cockslut who wants you right now"

his hands reach out to presumably touch your tits as you make the split of the open door a little smaller so his hands won't fit through while he makes a tiny sound of disapproval in the mean time almost like a 'tsk tsk' until he starts talking again:

"you're standing here in your pjs at 2am opening up your door for no other then me and that says just enough"

you stand there silent for just a few seconds till bouncing back on his answer, "don't get it twisted, i wanted to see what you have to say for yourself-"

his smug little smirk on his face grows bigger as you speak, his words dripping with sarcasm as if you're playing right into his hands "oh so you are interested in what i have to say?"

"very much so but so far you've been talking a lot of shit which doesn't necessarly surprise me either"

jungkooks grin still remains maybe even gets bigger, his voice dripping of sarcasm, "oh c'mon you love anything that has a dick for you to suck on, you're not big on words"

you open the door a bit more further, sighing like you're tired: "well quite frankly i don't feel like having your dick in my mouth"

he runs his hands through his hair, few seconds of silence passing when he finally responds now a little more serious: "are you really gonna act like you didn't enjoy the last time we're together?"

you gulp, for the first time avoiding eye contact: "well not everything revolves around sex"

"ah well isn't that cute, trying to play innocent?" his smile suddenly disappears, his brow furrowing as he gives you a serious look, "look at me. right on the eyes"

you look him in the eyes again, voice getting just a bit louder: "you don't get it, you see any pussy and jump straight onto it then leave which would be fine- but i don't want us to be fuck buddies, i don't want us being awkward at work, i don't want to form an attraction beyond sex to you in any way and i won't even risk it- and you? you don't even think about anything, you just think with your dick"

his eyebrow raises as he lets out a chuckle and rolls his eyes, "yeah, yeah i guess i am quite a shitty guy for not wanting anything more than just to dick you down for all eternity"

you rest your head on the wall next to the door in frustration, making a sound close to a sigh again: "you'll leave me in a week, i'll get attached, you'll make fun of me- i don't want that" surprisingly honest and serious.

he stares at you for few seconds longer, you're not making eye contact anymore, still pressed on the wall your head facing downwards. he sighs and his eyes close as he takes a deep breath as if preparing himself for what he's about to say: "you really think that little of me huh?"

you respond calmly though still avoiding his eyes, admitting in all honesty: "you've given me no reason to think more of you"

and for the first time since you've ever seen him, you see jungkook generally hurt, his eyes not settling as he begins to slowly nod like he understood, taking a step back from the door, "i'll leave you alone"

you watch him take a few steps- but you just can't do this. he was right, for the first time in everything he has said so far- he was right: you wanted him. you didn't know if you wanted him beyond sex but you weren't gonna figure this out right now either so you made the spontanous gut decision, you swiftly walked behind him- grabbing his arm, stopping him.

"you can call me a dumb whore- but i've changed my decision, i don't want you to leave"

you can almost see his brain working your words out one by one till he returns to good old self, voice thick of sarcasm, a sly grin making it's way onto his face once more "oh and why's that?"

"can you shut up?"

it's a messy kiss. desperate, longing, needing - telling. his hands not settling, moving all across your body, squeezing and kneading wherever they can in a matter of time you both stumble back into your apartment, lips not breaking apart not even once even as he closes the front door with his foot, deepening the kiss mean while.

you get pushed back onto the couch, your lips still locked together as his hands move under your clothes, taking off each item of your clothing at lightning speed, like he's trying to tear them all apart.

you break away in the mean time to breathe as you basically pant, taking the short time to look down onto yourself, practically naked then look at him who still had way to many clothes on for your liking, "not fair" your words barerly good said as he basically swallowed them by kissing you once more.

he shifts his position again, wrapping his arms around your bare waist, pulling you onto his lap, groaning into the kiss, trying his best to combine keeping you in place with one hand and cupping your face rather violently with the other.

"please," you pull his pants just a bit to get your point across, "not fair" repeating what you already said like a broken toy in addition you pouted which y'know gets u sympathy points usually, you wanted to feel him- it was only fair.

"oh look who's upset?" a grin splarred over his face, tone mocking maybe even belittling, "you'll have to earn it" running his fingers through one of your hair strands till his gaze returns to your eyes.

"i thought we were over this," you whined till throwing your head back in frustration, "please, i was so nice"

"nice? you called me a shitty guy, thought little of me and basically called me a womanizer among other things." he puts both of his hands on your knees and spreads your legs apart more so you sit wider on him, "and you really think that 'pretty pretty please' is gonna be enough?"

no matter how good he was of a fucker, you weren't just gonna throw away your morals for him completly so you bluntly responded: "the fact that i'm even on your lap right now after some of the shit you said is pretty damn nice of me"

"fair point" he admits and his hands wander up your body once more, tracing each and every curve of your body, holding you down tightly to stop you from moving "you're not a nice girl. you know what you are?"

you responded instantly before he could say anything, putting a finger on his mouth to pervent more bullshit coming from that pretty mouth of his: "don't call me a whore, i won't tolerate slut shaming anymore when you're just as much of one as me, if not more"

he squeezed your thighs during your little speach, acting like a brat who doesn't give two shits about whatever you're saying, "you know i love it when you try to play this 'respect me' act, acting like you really are not some little whore that just wants to get pounded into a matress till she can't take it anymore"

you rolled your eyes immediately, taking in a deep breath: "everytime i have the feeling like i'm getting somewhere with you, i'm talking you developing your brain from teenage boy age 13 to 14, you piss me of even more- god i fucking hate you"

he leans forward, his body even closer to yours, a cruel smile crossing his face, "oh i love the way you get angry" his hot breath hitting your face and his eyes locked into yours, "it makes you look so helpless"

you get closer to his face, now inches apart to make sure the next few sentences really get to him: "i just want you to know that whatever you'll think after this whole thing, i want you to know that you didn't magically pull me in, i'm not helpless neither are you the only person with good dick in this shitplace, you're an avaible option that can be replaced at any given moment, you are a whore that goes around and gets used, no matter how much you hate that fact or not, it's the damn truth, so start being a fucking man and accept it, suck it up" you say something he'd say to you, a taste of his own medicine if you will.

you see it on his face that you've managed to finally get to him, like he's actually taken aback by something for once. your words seemed to cut him deeply and he just stares at you, his breath shaky and his eyes big, wide doed like you've never seen before.

"okay," you take his hands away from your thighs locking them with yours, face still close to his, holding eye contact, "it's okay, it's okay to have sex, it's okay to want to live a free live but you have to communicate that and stop being a prick, stop using girls, stop blowing your ego up and then maybe we could have something" you whisper it as calmly as she can, squeezing his hands every once in a while like you actually want to help him.

he looked onto the both hands locked together till squeezing your hand back, his voice trembling as he tries to remain calm when speaking, "why are you still being so nice to me?"

"you know you do this thing where i look at you and you say something so good, so rational and it happens every once in a while where i think to myself- this is why i can't leave our whole thing alone cause somewhere just somewhere there still is that one valueable dude, it's just-" you sigh, till burrying your head on his shoulder in frustration, "i'm so stupid, i feel like i'll always come back to you, i don't know if that's good"

he almost automatically wraps his arms around your figure and now is the time where you actually do feel helpless in his arms, god- you were so stupid.

he buries his face in your hair, breathing you in, he didn't want to feel this vulnerable around you- it almost hurt to let his emotions show "oh c'mon- don't say that, please" his voice is shaky and his words carry a clear feeling of hurt.

"i always used to say that i don't believe that people can change, it's funny how you try to make excuses and loopholes for your morals when you actually experience something on your own," you straighten up your posture, removing your head from his shoulder, avoiding his eyes while trying to gather your thoughts.

his voice still carries the same shaky emotion as he speaks "why are you avoiding eye contact?" he burries his head against your chest, rubbing against it like trying to make you look at him, softly beginning to lick the skin.

the more he nibbles and licks on your skin, the more little mumbles against the skin are hearable, "i'll make you forgive me" or "i'll make you forget" - it's like a trance.

his tongue getting to your tits, "look at me, please" he pleads like not having your attention on him even for just a few seconds is a crime sentence - at the same time wrapping his lips around one of your hardened nipples, sucking with just as much passion.

he leaves thick traces of saliva on both ones, an occasional muffeled moan slipping out, "could do this forever, i could die happy with one of- mmh" giving both of them his full diverted attention like he had to make sure the other one doesn't feel left out.

when his head comes up from your chest, his eyes are half-lidded, hair is all over the place, a little bit of saliva in the corner of his mouth yet he instantly cups your face kissing you again and again.

everytime he breaks away just shortly to breathe he whispers something into the air then immediately kisses you, swallowing the words like they were dangerous to fly around unanswered.

"wanna do this forever, have you on my tongue over and over again till my tongue goes numb, till i can't taste or feel anymore"

"wanna have you in every position you can think of, wanna fuck you so much your body only remembers me, my shape, my dick- everything, only me"

"wanna make you hate being touched by anybody else but me, i'll be so selfish with you"

dangerous words.

dangerous words that feel a bit to real.

it's so evident he has long lost any control over himself, those eyes still so doed like he's begging you to give in, fully drop your boundaries, to give into his fantasies. eyes locking with yours to speak up just once more like he's admitting something, voice more quiet:

"fuck it, i'm already way to selfish with you"

your hands find the zipper of his pants right before opening, pausing to say something yourself, "i'm selfish too, i choose what i want in the moment instead of what would be better for me in the longterm" you pressed your lips onto his almost to shut down your own thoughts, the important ones, the conscious ones that were barerly left till breaking off again, "i don't care, not right now"

you can already feel his hard cock rub against your panties through the jeans material, "i'm so hard it hurts" he looked at you so pleadingly like you were the doctor with the medicine to safe his life, like this was a do or die situation, a tiny cheeky pout on his face, "can you fix me?"

you didn't know if he was talking about himself as a whole or his cock but regardless you took his hands in order for him to stand up so it would be easier to remove his pants and boxers doing it all in one swift motion.

making him sit down onto the coach once again, he whined at the feeling of cold air on his bare skin and you not immediately sitting down onto him, you strip down your pretty ruined panties, his eye not knowing where to look as he played with his lip ring, tilting his head like he's tryna get a better view.

his hands reach out practically on their own, yearning to get his hands onto anything yours, "sit down, ride me" jungkooks tone shaky yet he tried his best to hide that (not rly working) as he added a tiny quiet "please" at the end of it, barerly audible to the average ear.

you couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that he was behaving like a child (nothing unusual) but the laugh got cut of by a moan as your pussy practically swallowed his length, his hands instantly quite harshly going to your hips, leading you- maybe even guiding.

"fuck yea-" his voice so awfully strained as his both of your hips moved in sync, his fingernails digging into your soft skin, making you groan.

"missed this pussy so much," he moaned out, throwing his head back onto the coach headboard till he weakly added: "so obssesed with you, i've been wanting this tight- mmh, fuck- ever since-"

he couldn't finish his sentence neither did he look like he could form any coherient thoughts, face scrunched up in pleasure, a bit of sweat on his forehead- and you probably didn't look any better yourself.

your walls clenched around him out of sheer response, you were so wrong- this was such bad decision, it would be so hard to let him go after this, it would-

"gonna cum, fuck- i can't"

his pressed out words cut through your thoughts like a sharp knife, the skin slapping noises suddenly feeling louder then they had been before, your own pussy clenching around him once again.

"can't hold it back, i don-"

he was going to leave marks on your hips for sure, you bet he didn't even realize how hard he had been squeezing the poor skin, occasionally moving to your ass.

you moaned yourself, feeling your own orgasm approaching, jungkooks eyes closed, lips parting slightly like he's on the top stage of ecstasy somewhere over the rainbow as you could feel your own walls getting coated with cum.

your body instantly went weak after, lightly collpasing onto his chest as though he seemed unusually tired he wrapped his arms around your back, stroking the skin and bone structure slowly.

it felt so comforting even your eyes closed, you felt so tired- what time was it again?

"fuck- i forgot the condom" his fingers paused, the shook in his voice audible.

"i'm on the pill, we're good" you closed your eyes again, now the clear goal was to fall asleep.

yet y'know how it was with your plans and jungkook- he cut through them as he lied still for a few minutes till whispering, "i don't hate you by the way" his fingers now again continuing the gentle act on your back even slower then before like a quit lullaby, "not even one bit"

"i know"

[grippingbeskar]

small favours

— joel miller x fem!reader

— warnings: explicit content minors dni, smutttt, dirty talk, very minimal plot sorry not sorry, swearing, needles, mention of injuries/cuts

— a/n: happy tlou release week!! this is set in jackson between the first and second game, i wrote the first part before i saw the show but just imagine with me okay. and it’s literally just bc i saw joel in that denim shirt and went yeah… i wanna fuck him in that. lmao. also dedicated to @everybirdfellsilent because we have been waiting for this show for so long and it’s finally here and oaoxosoxosox. wow.

You hadn’t asked for much.

It was a simple fix, you were sure of it. Yes, you don’t know anything about how to fix hinges, nor do you have any clue about how you broke it in the first place. Either way, it’s just a few screws and a metal piece, so was it really that hard to find five minutes to fix it?

Leading another one of the horses into the stable, you pointedly step over the gate that now lays on the floor, too heavy for you to move it. The horse tramples it, of course, which is why you had asked for someone to come and fix it before the horses were brought back in from patrol. Clearly, no one gave a shit about your question, but you know they’d all be the first to complain if it was their horse that got out through a broken gate.

It was late now, anyways. Too late for you to get anyone out, and even with the safety of Jackson’s walls keeping you blocked off from the outside world, being out at night still freaked you. When you finally got the horse in your hand settled and fed, you promptly sat yourself on the floor of the stable. Without the front gate, it wasn’t safe to leave the horses alone. With your luck, they’d get spooked and run all the way through town, and the last thing you needed was more reason for the people in here to look at you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t liked— you just kept to yourself. This life was hard enough as it is, and you didn’t see the point in making friends when in five years this place would probably be full of strangers. People die every day out here, you knew that too well. You wanted to save yourself the heartache wherever you could.

All that anti social behaviour certainly didn’t win you any favours though— hence the still broken door. You loved it— you were good with horses, having lived in a farm before the outbreak, so you decided to volunteer to help in the stables, but it was hard work sometimes. It kept you busy enough, though, and horses never wanted to make conversation, so… win-win.

There was only one problem with working in here. Truthfully, it wasn’t so much as a problem and more of a chronic condition. At least, that’s the way it felt every time Joel Miller made some kind of appearance. Most people just left the horses tied up out front for you to take care of, but Joel seemed to enjoy the peace the stable provided— that and you never talked much, which seemed to work for him. On the days he’d come back from patrol, the two of you would share a few hushed conversations as you worked and he hid from the rest of Jackson, and then you’d fall into a comfortable silence, sometimes for hours at a time.

Weeks had passed like this, and every single day you got a little bit more interested in who the man really was, other than his clear infatuation with his horse. Right when he came in would be the time you talked the most, after about forty minutes it would get too busy and you’d work until the sun set. But those forty minutes started to stretch a little longer, and he seemed to gain interest in you, too. Maybe you were grasping at straws, but hearing Joel’s low voice rumble a few more words every time he spoke to you was doing wonders for your self esteem, and even you couldn’t deny the way your face warmed when he smiled at you.

“Hey, you still— damn. What happened here?” Joel calls from the gaping hole that is the stable door, and only because it’s his voice calling you do you look up.

“It’s been broken all day. I asked someone to fix it, but…” You shrug, sighing and leaning your head back on the small gate that was the only thing holding the horse behind you from leaping out down the main street. “I guess they had other shit to do. I can’t move it on my own.”

Joel considers you for a second, how your frame is backed against the gate, conveniently placed at the closest point to the open door. Then, he looks back to the door on the ground, and back up to you. He smirks.

“So you were plannin’ on sitting in here all night?” The weight of the day makes your shoulders slump forward, and for the first time you really consider your plan. “You gonna body check a horse when he makes a run for it?”

“Okay, it was a dumb plan. But, it’s that or let them all out and get stuck cleaning up the bar floor or something.” He smiles again, the setting sun behind him washing over his shoulders in a pretty orange colour. A tilt of his head in your direction has you standing up, taking the lead of his horse that he offers to you.

“You take him, I’ll go get my tools. Fix it up before sun down.” Before you can protest or tell him he doesn’t have to, he’s walking off to the right up the hill where his house sits.

You’d always been a bit jealous of the spot his house is. It’s far away enough from everyone that you get some real privacy, but close to the stables if you need a quick exit. He had a porch, too. One you spent a little too much of your time staring at during your work hours, when he spent his off days strumming a guitar right in your line of sight. He was just… peaceful to observe. He brought a calm to you that no one else seemed to be able to do, almost enough that you could forget about the world outside and just exist in that little bubble for a while.

You lead Joel’s horse inside, hearing it trample the door again, and hang up his saddle next to the stable. Joels horse is much like him— quiet unless provoked. You found it out the hard way when you first led it in with a routinely aggressive horse, thinking it’s demeanour would calm him down. The next morning you woke up to two very angry horses and a half bent gate of steel.

“Saved you your favourite spot.” You say to his horse, Old Beardy. You never asked how Joel picked the name, but for some reason it worked so well— at least, he was definitely older than most. “See? He’s right up there.”

The stable at the back was angled just right so that the small window at the height of a horses head pointed directly towards Joel’s porch. Not close enough to see anything other than the outside, but enough that you know it’s there. You don’t come in here often, Joel always taking his own horse in, but when you do you can’t help but notice the instant calming effect it has on Beardy— you might have more in common with this horse than half the people in Jackson.

When you find your way back to the front, Joel’s footsteps are trudging back down the hill. You’ll be fairly useless as anything other than company while he fixes the door, but you can’t seem to stop your heart from racing a million miles a minute as he gets closer and closer. Yes, he makes you forget about everything on the outside, but that’s mainly due to how insane he drives you. All those conversations in the stables and too long looks in town are just all too consuming, and now, when you see him come into sight, you have to put some physical difference between him and you.

“You don’t have to, Joel. Really, I’m sure someone’ll—“

“No, they won’t. Knowin’ the people around here, you’ll be sleepin’ on the floor till next year.” He bends down, and you drop yourself back to the floor and stare in some kind of mesmerised silence as he runs his hands over the broken hinges of the door.

In a few passing thoughts you’d never admit to yourself, you have an obsession with his hands. He was just so…capable. He could do so many things so easily— and some kind of backward wire in your brain fizzled with electricity at the sight of him in his element. He starts fiddling with tools, first starting to remove the broken hinge, muscles flexing as he tears off the old bolts.

“What happened?” He says, the words muffled by the screwdriver in his mouth.

“I have no clue. When I woke up this morning it was blown in. I spent a good hour trying to move it but it’s so—“ With one arm, he pulls it up to stand vertical, a fist wrapping around the edge of the gate. It doesn’t even look like he tried. “—heavy.”

“Come ‘ere and hold it straight.” He says, keeping one arm out in front of him, the other still holding the door up. “I won’t let it fall. Come on.”

“Like this?” You say, staring down at him as you finally reach the door and take a little bit of the weight. He flicks his eyes up, nodding and shifting on his knees to get a better angle on the door.

“Perfect.” He says softly, looking up at you for another split second before clearing his throat and screwing on a new hinge.

“You really didn’t have to do this, but thank-you.” Joel shakes his head, his fingers fiddling with a latch.

“Least I can do. Everyone should be up here helpin’ you anyways.” He stands up, and with only a barrier the width of a gated door, you can feel his body heat keeping you warm when he towers over you. “Keep holding it still.”

“Yeah.” You manage, eyes fluttering closed. “People help, though.”

“Oh, I bet.” He says, sarcasm dripping off his words as he laughs dryly.

“They do! Sometimes… I mean, it’s not their fault. I’m kind of a hermit up here. I don’t really make an effort, so I can’t blame them.” He stops working, his knuckles white over the railing of the gate, and looks to you.

“You’ve trained all these new horses to track better than those guys ever could. They’d die out there without ‘em. Carl doesn’t know his left from right— he got lost eight times last patrol. It’s cause of your horses he got back safe.” Joel’s face is more serious, his eyes sharp but still with a hint of softness that he often looks at you with. “Doesn’t matter if you ain’t makin’ friends. This ain’t middle school, and people should be helpin’ you no matter what. Least of all fixing a door.”

“That’s why I keep you around, Joel.” You smile lightly, his voice getting lower the angrier he gets.

“Good. You tell me next time, and I’ll come round and help. Avoid the whole town all together.” You hum, letting go of the gate as he hauls it up in the air and shuffled backward, setting it against the hinges. “How do you know so much about horses?”

“I lived on a farm, way back when. Besides, they’re easy to navigate once you get to know them.” Joel puts the screwdriver back in his mouth, and you can’t help but stare at him. The small scars on his face, peppered around his cheeks. Some are older, worn and faded, while the one across his nose is new. It’s not even scarred yet, still fresh

“You okay?” He says softly, tilting his head.

“Your face.” His eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head. “Sorry. You… did something happen on patrol? You have a cut—“

“Just a few clickers. Real old, hauled up in a caravan out west. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” The door drops into place, and he swings it out towards him. It sounds less squeaky than it usually did. “Good as new.”

“You should clean it.” You say, worry edging in your voice. “If it was clickers.”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs it off.

“Come on. It’s the least I can do. I have a first aid kit in the back, and then we can call it even.” He relents, locking the door behind him and stepping further into the stables. “Sit. I’ll get the kit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You can hear a small smirk on his voice, and you roll your eyes, turning around to find the kit. “Why you got a first aid kit in here anyways?”

“You’re using it now, aren’t you?” You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how many people come here before going to medical. I started to stock up a little, do what I can. It’s not much, but I can clean it off and do some botched stitches until they see a real doctor.”

“And none of those guys came up to fix the god damn door?” He was getting angry again, and you tried to ignore the shiver that went up your spine when he spoke like that.

He was sitting on a small stool, putting him about waist height. When you stepped closer, shuffling your feet on the floor, he tilted his head up. His open legs invited you closer, nearly drawing you in with a magnetic field he was completely unaware of.

Armed with a cotton ball and disinfectant, your fingers were light enough to breeze along his jaw to hold him in place. He stares up at you, watching your eyes as they flit between the cut on his nose and his wandering gaze. His face is warm when you work up the courage to place your palm on his cheek, thumb gently smoothing over the salt and pepper flecks of his beard. He doesn’t flinch away when you press the cotton ball to his face, swiping across the bridge of his nose.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, feeling the need to keep your voice low.

“No.” He does the same, the heat of his body making you shuffle slightly closer. His hands are in fists on his knees, like he’s straining to keep himself still. “Told you it was fine.”

“And I told you I wanted to help.” When you’re satisfied with the results, you take a fresh cotton pad and dry it up. “You might need stitches. It’s deep.”

“Go on.” He says, and you lean back, eyes wide.

“You want me to stitch your face together?”

“Good practise, and I trust you.” The simple words have your heart slamming against your rib cage, but instead of showing it you kneel in between his legs and search the contents of the kit for a needle.

“If I mess up your face, you knew what you signed up for.” When you find what you’re looking for, you straighten, Joel’s face is right in front of you. It takes you a second to realise just how close he is, and the position isn’t lost on him either. It’s probably the most emotive you’ve seen him, his jaw going tight from how hard he’s biting down.

“It’s already messed up. You’re fine.” He manages, his voice strained.

“Hold still.” Whispering the words, you lean closer and bring the needle to his skin. His eyes close, and it’s when you press the point into his nose that his hands shoot out in front of him, holding your hips gently.

“Sorry. Shit—“

“It’s fine. Are you okay?” He grunts in a way you think is affirming, so you keep threading the needle. You only need one stitch for a spot this small. “Your face isn’t messed up.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not. Messed up.” You feel his thumbs stroke along the bone of your hip just once before he stills again. You tie off the stitch, and his eyes open. “There. You’re pretty again.”

Your breathing was rapid even though you didn’t have a true reason for it, but neither of you moved. His hands— strong and so fucking capable, holding you still on your knees in front of him. His eyes were pools, inviting you in with a gleam of something shiny, and where you were nearly gasping he was calm and collected. In his element, like he was right where he should be.

The whole stable was a dull orange now, the colours dusting through the strands of Joel’s hair. It’s never really sitting right, wind whipping it out of control on patrol, but you have the urge to run your hands through it anyway. You let yourself explore one small piece of him, like he has to you, and your fingertips run back over the shell of his ear, tangling in his hair. He sucks in a short breath, leaning into the hold of your hand.

“Joel.” You say, voice so soft he would of never heard you if you weren’t so close, but you call for him and he leans closer. Your foreheads nearly touch, and his hands tighten their hold on you.

“Thank you, darlin’.” You sigh deeply, unable to keep yourself upright at the nickname. It rings through you, his accent strong and adding an entire other layer to why he’s so easy to fall into. You don’t even really notice how dark it’s gotten— you usually have sprinted home by now. But Joel’s here, and with him this close, you can’t think of anything else. He leans closer, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can I kiss you?” He says, the brush of his lips against yours sending a tidal wave of need from your head to your feet.

“Only if you hurry up.” You answer helplessly, voice cracking, and he smiles against you and finally brings his mouth to yours.

It’s anything but calm. That peaceful energy of the stables is completely shattered and sorted into something electrical and sizzling. He yanks you forward, bodies pressing together as you use the leverage of your hand fisted in his hair to kiss him harder and deeper. It doesn’t take long before his tongue is swiping along your bottom lip, seeking permission.

You let him in— you’d let him do whatever he asked for if he kept pouring himself into you like this. He tasted good, which should be impossible but when you’ve been starved of something for this long it doesn’t matter what he does it’s just that he’s giving it to you. He moves his hands to the small of your back, pressing your hips right in the middle of his open legs, his other hand on the back of your head.

You feel him groan when you press together, the sound waking up parts of you that had been dormant for far too long. It was like he had access to each nerve in your body, and every little sound or touch had them blaring red and sparking.

“Fuck, darlin’. Come closer.” He groans into your mouth before kissing you again. You smile for a moment, not entirely sure how you could get any closer, and then it’s wiped off when he hauls you upward, hooking your legs around his waist on the stool. “Yeah. Right here.”

Your arms cling around his neck, his own searching up and down your body. Your shirt rides up with the movements and you moan every time he grazed along your skin. There’s something equally hard and soft about his hands— rough from years of work but soft with the way they hold you up, how they’re careful not to dip too low or high. You arch your back, giving him wordless permission, and he groans into your mouth again.

At some point you have to breath— both of you gasping for air in the quiet of the darkened stables. He brings his hands to your face, holding you against his forehead so he can look into your eyes. He was smiling too— like actually smiling, not that half smirk you’ve seen so often.

“What are we doin’?” He laughs, kissing you again.

“I don’t know, but can we keep going somewhere that doesn’t smell like horse shit?” You whisper and he laughs again. It’s sounds so good— like the sound of the beginning of your favourite song. It makes your heart sing, melting you into the tune. “Please, Joel. I really want…”

“Tell me, baby.” He moves, angles your head with swift moves of his fingers so he can kiss you lower. Under your jaw, and then he drags his mouth down, along your neck, teeth nipping softly… “Fuck knows I wanna hear you say it.”

“You. I really want you.” He hums against your skin, one arm hooking under your ass as he stands easily. You squeal, muffling the sound in the mop of hair on his head. As you walk outside, there’s only a few people still mulling around, and they turn their heads towards you when they hear your soft laughter mixed with Joel’s— two sounds that seem to alarm them more than clickers.

For the first time since you’d been here, you really don’t care if people are looking at you, or what they’re saying. When Joel locks the gate behind you and slides you down his chest to let your feet touch the floor, you are reminded once again of his ability to remove every single thought from your mind except him. Just him, and his hands on your hips, spinning you around and leading you up the hill towards his house. How every so often he’ll bend down, pressing his lips lightly to the back of your neck, and how you can feel his smile on your skin.

He guides you easily, your body on auto pilot to his small gestures, and when you finally rush up the few steps of his porch— one you’ve spent way too much time staring at from afar, you’re both attached to each others face like horny teenagers. He fumbles with the doors lock, jamming keys with aggressive force while his other hand stays soft and sweet on your waist, holding you against him. When the door gives out behind you he never lets you stumble, taking you in his stride with practised precision. You’ve seen the inside of his house, but never the layout, so as he guides you blindly through the hallway, your shut eyes and occupied mouth never see it coming when you fall backwards onto a bed.

“Let me take this off.” He mumbles against your lips, tugging at your shirt and jacket. In a tangle of limbs you both shove at the material, finally hooking it over your head. He presses you flat against the mattress again, hanging over you and running his hands up and down your sides in long, soothing strokes. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Your turn.” The blaze in his eyes dulls slightly at your comment, and he just bends to kiss you again. He links your hands in his own, pulling you away from where they were tugging at his shirt. “Joel.”

“Nothin’ there you wanna see, baby. Just let me look at you.” As sweet as his voice sounds, and as much as you want him to continue, you pull away from his greedy mouth.

“Please take your fucking shirt off.” You say harshly, biting at his bottom lip hard enough for his eyes to open again. He looks over you, taking in the sight of you under him with your arms pinned above your head, back arched towards him. He’s clearly contemplating how difficult it would be to ignore you, smirking a little when he looks up at your hands again.

“Or what? You gonna make me stop?” He kisses under your jaw, his free hand skating along your side, only stopping when his fingers reach the hem of your jeans. When he hears you gasp as his hand disappears under the fabric, he laughs. “Nah, you won’t make me stop. Want it just as bad as I do, don’t you?”

“But I want—“

“Shh, shh. I’ll give you what you want.” His mouth his dizzying— words and movements hot against your skin as his hand bypasses your underwear and drags slow circles against your clit, immediately drawing his name from your lips again. “There you go, darlin’. Feels good?”

“God— yeah, faster. Please.” Your chest was rising and falling so fast, trying to pull the air he was punching out of your lungs with every quick movement of his fingers. He hums at the praise, and you feel him shift above you, sitting up so he could slip one finger inside of you. “Fuck, Joel!”

“I know, baby.” He tilts his head up to kiss you again, tongue matching the fast and unpredictable pace of his hand. You can feel it building— pleasure rippling up your spine and fizzing low in your stomach, and your hands tug under Joel’s unrelenting grip.

He seems to forget he was meant to be holding you, his groans and concentration all focused on the way he was fucking you with his hand, so he lets you go, his hand going to hold your face. It makes you smile under him, but it quickly gets lost when you moan his name again, rolling your hips against him.

Now your hands are free, you have a moment of clarity when your eyes flutter open and see him staring at you; eyes flitting between your face and your chest. You want to have that— to see skin you’ve only thought about in the late hours of the night when you were alone, never admitting it to yourself when you woke the next day. You grab onto the hem of his shirt, ripping the denim up as far as you can, getting your hands on the bare skin of his back.

He doesn’t help you— too obsessed with the way you are writhing and moaning so loud the poeple down the street will know what your doing. Neither of you care about anything else than this, right here, and the fiery hot spark that’s lighting you up inside.

“Shirt, Joel.” You tug at the collar, then card your fingers through his hair and pull. He grumbles something, and then you whimper when his hand leaves you and he sits up on his knees. He was out of breath, towering over you and keeping you caged underneath him as he tore the shirt over his head and threw it behind him. When he leans back down, he doesn’t give you the time to admire him that you’d like, but you take what he gives you. He shoves your own jeans down, shaking them off you in one tug, and your eyes hardly have time to open before you feel the backs of your calves press against the flexing muscles of his bare shoulders.

“Perfect.” He says, speech almost slurred, and the look he gives you reminds you of the one he gave you in the barn. Before you can think enough on it, both of his hands hold your hips down and he gives you one last look before he buried his face in your pussy.

It doesn’t take much to have you screaming his name again, that sweet hot pleasure that was building so quickly comes rushing back with the wet heat of his mouth. He eats you out like he’s fucking hungry for it— pulling borderline shouts from deep in your chest, like something is bashing against your ribcage, only awoken by his complete and utter devotion. His tongue swirls and fingers curl, and you lose sense of direction, clawing at his hair and feeling his groan when you pull him into you.

There’s no where to go, stuck under his weight as he dives into your taste, at his mercy entirely. It was so different to see him undone— a sight you wouldn’t be able to forget next time he came into the stables all soft eyes and short words. No, here he was holding your eye contact, groaning your name as if you were the one doing this to him. He gave you no choice but to hurtle towards the edge of consciousness, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold out under him much longer.

“Joel. Joel— fuck.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently while his fingers curl inside you in a spot that has you seeing stars. “Oh, god—“

He doesn’t say anything when you cum, just groans into your pussy as he guides you through it. He sets pace and intensity, both of which are hard and almost unbearable, and he only drags himself away when you beg him to. Your legs shake, his hands smoothing over your thighs as his mouth presses wet kisses up your skin, over your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth with an overwhelming force.

You hum, tasting the combination of you and him together on his tongue, taking everything he needs to give you. He shuffles up, and you feel his cock pressing hard against your thigh, still straining in his jeans. You let him kiss you lazily, let him explore you this way while your hands busy themselves between your bodies, unzipping his jeans. When your palm brushes over his length still covered by his boxers, he hisses and his eyebrows furrow, like the pleasure is almost painful. You do it again and he shudders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so soft.” He murmurs past your ear when you slip your hand under the waistband. When your fingers wrap around him, you stay true to his word and stay light with your touch, not wanting him to finish just yet. You want to make it good for him— draw it out. Pay him back for everything he gave to you; not just tonight, but every night. “So fucking soft. Sweet.”

“You like that?” You ask innocently, stroking him again. Your thumb brushes over his tip and he shudders again, nearly shivering. “I can be gentle. Want you inside me, though.”

“Whatever you want. Fuck— anything you want to do to me. Please, baby. Not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” A single please was enough to grant him a thousand wishes, but you’ll settle for giving him just one.

He helps rid himself of the rest of his clothes, no insecurity in sight with the lower half of his body. There was no need to be… he was big. It made sense— he was a big guy, but it wasn’t just that. He was just… perfect.

“Eyes on me.” He says, pulling your gaze away from where your bodies are about to meet. “I want to see your face when I…”

He trails off when his tip lines up with your entrance. You bite your lip in anticipation, feeling the soaked pleasure coating him as he finally slides himself further and further. You both sigh, like a weight is being lifted from both of you. As if this was the way you were both meant to be.

He bottoms out, head buried in the crook of your neck as he chokes out your name. You feel full— the weight and stretch holding you to the bed, your arms strung lazily around his neck. Your fingers wander down his spine, keeping that soft lilt to your touch that he seems to thrive under. For all his hardness and strength, it’s the lightest touches that seem to crumble him the most.

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good around me.” Joel never speaks for the fun of it, but he says these things like he needs to. Strained and focused, like it’s a compulsion to tell you how good it feels. “Needed to fuck you for so long. You gonna let me make you feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joel. Please, I need— need you to move.” You whine like a spoilt child, and you are now that you’ve had a taste. He laughs once, a breathless sound, and then pulls out nearly all the way, only to slide back in with that same trained pace.

“Good girl.” He groans, and then picks up the pace.

It’s devastating. It’s the only way to describe it. He fucks you hard and slow, slowly etching himself into parts of your being you aren’t entirely sure he didn’t just create himself. Like he’s forged apart of you just for him, something low and hot, and he hits it with every, perfectly timed thrust. The bed rocks under him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Its creaks and groans are drowned out by his words and both of your moans.

You are incoherent— overcome by pleasure that shocks even the nerves in your fingers and toes, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Joel. He doesn’t fucking shut up— and it’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“So fucking tight around me.”

“God, you feel good.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Gonna fuck you for days.” Is the last one you hear before his groans turn to borderline whimpers, his pace stuttering as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and snap all at once. “Oh, fuck that’s it. Cum again for me. Jesus Christ—“

“Joel.” You can only whisper now— voice so strained that nothing could come out but his name. Your eyes roll back and you feel him fuck into you one or two more times, and then he pulls out and replaces himself with his hand. You ride out your pleasure on his skilled fingers, another wave of heat numbing you when you feel him spill onto your stomach, your back arching off the bed.

The room is suddenly dead quiet, nothing but panting breaths filling the silent house. He is still hanging over you, you can feel both of his forearms next to your head as he leans down to kiss you again. The warmth of his body is lifted just enough for him to use something soft to clean you off, and then he collapses beside you, tugging you onto his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, stopping at your jaw to tilt you up. He kisses you again, the lack of oxygen making you giddy and dizzy, and you break the kiss only because your smiling so wide.

“What’s so funny?” He says, trying to be serious, but even in the dark you can see his matching grin.

“Just happy. Can I be happy?” It’s meant to be light hearted, but you feel him stop for a second, and then he tugs you a little closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be.” He tucks you under his chin, sighing deeply as the rest of your body turns into him and tangles itself with him. “I am.”

You open your eyes a final time, seeing the pitch black dark outside. If it was light, you’d be able to see the stable from here, but it’s black out there. Usually it would make you uneasy, but tucked up under Joel’s safe arms, there’s nothing in the world that could make you feel more at peace.

[hungharrington]

So I um I found an amazing video and now I’m plagued by thoughts of sitting on Steve’s bed, him between your legs with his back to your chest, and giving him the sweetest loveliest softest handjob ever, scratching his tummy hairs and peppering kisses all over his neck

nonnie did i or did i not tell u i was coming back for this ask? and i came back with a hunger -- sort of sub!steve, 1.5k, everything the ask describes, as always MDNI this entire blog is 18+! enjoy <3

Steve doesn’t think anyone has ever asked to take care of him before.

He’s had plenty of partners in bed, sure. He’s rife with enough experience that honestly he thinks it would take a really strange request to throw him off his game. But you had— when you asked, “Can I just take care of you tonight?” 

He hadn’t even been entirely sure what you had meant, pulling back from the steamy make-out with you on his lap— the usual late night rendezvous. 

But still, he gave a slow and earnest nod, a soft ‘sure, honey’ and let you rearrange the two of you til you were leaning back on the headboard and he was leaning back against you. Your thighs on either side of him, your arms looped around his middle. Like a little spoon. Steve secretly adores it. 

“Y’know I can’t exactly do much in this position,” Steve chuckles, pretending to have his reservations, even if he’s already eager to see what you mean by taking care of him. Your arms are around his waist, warm, your fingers tucking up his shirt to begin to work it upwards.

“Mm,” you hum, hoisting it higher and Steve moves forward, letting it get tugged off and over his head. Cool air flushes down his chest. “Dunno if you’re grasping the idea of letting me take care of you if you’re worrying bout that.” 

The shirt flutters to the ground, forgotten, as your hands explore to freshly exposed skin. Steve sighs sweetly as you trace softly across his tummy, nails dragging lightly as your near his thighs. His cock is already perking up. It’s been interested since earlier, you in his lap and your tongue in his mouth, and it doesn’t take many more lingering touches for it to reach proper attention. 

“No one ever taken care of you before, baby?” You ask, lips scraping his ear. Your breath is warm and your voice is low— but the kiss you give beneath his ear is hot and wet. You suckle at the skin, not even a nip of teeth. Desire pools low in Steve’s gut, a simmering heat. 

One of your hands moves over his boxers and gives his bulge a gentle rub, making Steve rumble out a soft moan. Your other hand rubs soothing down his thigh. 

Steve shakes his head to answer no to your question. His eyes fight to stay open, torn between wanting to watching your wandering hands or turning to kiss you but your persistent kisses on his neck give him little choice. He shifts his hips. 

“Not- not like this,” Steve admits, breath a little short already. His tummy tenses when your hand drags back up over it, just a soft scratch of nails. His cock aches harder. He wishes you would touch it, wishes you would reach your hand in, all hot, soft and wet and tug it in that perfectly teasing way he knows you can. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, hips shifting upward again. You smile at his impatience. 

“Can we take these off?” You ask, pinching the ruffled elastic of his boxers. Steve nods fervently, hips shifting up to let you slide them down so he can kick them off. His chest feels warm, flushed beneath the hair and another groan tumbles out when you finally curl your fingers around his cock. “Fuck,” he pants as you pump tantalizing slow. “Fuck, feels so good, honey,” 

A hunger for the feeling grows in his stomach, gnawing for more bliss. Steve lets his head tips back, resting against your shoulder and you take advantage of it in an instant; kisses upon kisses up his neck. It’s messy, lips wet with spit as you scrape your teeth down, right as your rub over the slit of his cock— Steve twitches, a jagged whine pushing past his lips. He pants a little heavier. 

Pausing for a moment, you pull your hand back to your mouth and let yourself drool over it— sticky saliva covering your fingers. This time, when you grip his cock, Steve gasps loudly. Slick, hot, sounds reverberate in the room as you jerk him, hand twisting perfectly. Still slow, still gentle. 

Your mouth find his earlobe, teeth nibbling a little mean, your hand not stopping— and Steve moans a little louder, like he can’t help it. His cock gives a little dribble of precum, tummy all tensed up again. 

“See? S’nice to be taken care of,” You murmur softly. You thumb his slit again, delighting in the spurt his cock gives, then dive down to cup his balls. Your other hand strokes along his thigh lovingly, nails drawing lines as you rake them back up to his v-line. 

Steve shivers, shuddering sweet whines escaping him. He’s so unbearably hard for you- especially as you rub his balls so perfectly, your hand dragging back up his cock and then back down, a mind-melting cycle. It’s so much, it’s not even close to enough, it’s, it’s— 

“Oh god,” Steve whimpers loudly. His eyes have finally crushed closed, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly beside you. His gut is burning with heat, pleasure filling every limb. It feels good. He wants to writhe against you, wants to fuck your fist, wants you to keep teasing him just like you’re doing. 

“Oh god, oh fuck- f-fuck,” His words are getting more pathetic by the minute, barely fully formed, drenched in a whimpering tone. “Please, don’t… don’t tease, no- ah,” 

It’s not even teasing, you just aren’t rubbing him hot and fast like usual. Your movements are slow, doused in adoration — your core feels sticky, burning hot from watching Steve get all worked up in your arms. 

“M’not teasing you,” you say, fondling his balls and rubbing your palm against them in a circular motion, building his lust. Steve’s tense body and punched out breathes contradict your words. He’s so whiny. It’s a pity no one’s ever taken care of him before — though your stomach pinches hotly to know only you get to see him this way. 

“Just taking care of you,” you sigh, grip tightening as you pull it back up his cock, giving the smallest jerk. Steve warbles out a throaty whimper, egged on by your roaming touch along his thighs. He feels molten hot, tummy already all clenched up, his cock just leaking all over your hand. Pleasure buzzes wildly in his body, back starting to arch up. 

“Hone- aw, fuckfuckfuck, yes, just there, please, honey,” he pleads, voice starting to sound wrecked and feeble. God, he sounds pathetic; he only sounds like this when he's been fucking you for a good while. But a few minutes of the right touch? Reduces to a whiny mess in your hands. 

“So pretty,” you whisper and Steve can’t tell if you mean him or his dribbling cock, all pink and twitching in your hand. He can’t even feel the fabric gripped between his own fingers— can’t feel anything except your palm right around the head of his cock, teasing it lightly. It’s torture, it’s perfect, it’s not enough, it’s— 

“Please!” The word bursts out of Steve, desperate, swallowed immediately by a moan. He fights to get his next words out as your hand returns to his heavy balls, caressing them soft and slow again. It’s not fucking enough. His pleas fall out all whimpery, “Take— take care of me, please, wanna cum, I wanna- I wanna—“ 

It’s the magic words. You grip his cock properly, your whole hand curling around him for the first time that night and you set a fast pace- lewd, squelching sounds echo in the bedroom. Steve keens forward, a soft cry coming from him as his pleasure turns into a blaze in his stomach. “Oh my god, oh god- yes, fuck—“ 

Your free hand moves to his tummy, scratching down to thatch of hair at the base of his cock and Steve can’t help it, he cums, hard. He turns his head, hides it in your neck and releases a whimpery sort of wail. His chest heaves as his pretty cock spurts out his hot pearly cum — coating your hand enough to ride him through it, your hand never stopping. 

“That’s it, so good,” You coo at him. Your sweet words carry him through it, your pace slowing as his body starts to twitch back against yours. His cock gives a few final dribbles of cum and you rub your thumb over his slit, spreading it. Steve whimpers loudly. “Mm, there we go.” 

It feels like it takes forever for him to settle back down. Steve feels wrung out, feels spent, feels like he had his brain melted out his ears — like he could just nap against you now and be happy forever. Your soft kiss against his cheek has him opening his eyes, pulling back enough to look at your face. 

“Good?” You ask, though he knows you can tell just how fucking good it was. “Good to be taken care of?” 

Steve nods with a loving hum, a hefty exhale rushing out his lungs and he lets his face huddle back into your neck, eyes slipping shut. He’ll move in a minute- maybe when he can feel his thighs again. 

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — RYOMEN SUKUNA. santa’s little helper.

about. dressing up as slutty santa warrants some unwanted attention, luckily, sukuna is there to play santa’s grumpy little helper. merry christmas.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, meet cute, reader gets harassed/cat-called, reader is wearing a dress, modern!sukuna, fem!reader. it’s still christmas somewhere - enjoy !! (1K).

you meet modern bf!sukuna at a train station on christmas eve.

all your friends have gone home with guys that they fancied from the club, all the ubers in the area are either booked out or have sky high prices just to get you thirty minutes away not to mention the fact that it’s ice cold and your stupid mean girls themed santa outfit keeps riding up.

if you huff hard enough a cloud of smoke appears in place of your breath — like that of a mighty dragon, accumulating in the night air. it entertains you for all but a moment and doesn’t waste enough time for your train to come faster.

it’s not due for another thirteen minutes.

in that time you watch gangs of girls, groups of guys and just about anybody come and go from the station. your platform isn’t packed but it’s not too empty to the point where you feel unsafe.

“hey pretty girl.” ugh. as if your night couldn’t get any worse, a dingy looking stranger appears from nowhere — breathing down your neck, nastily drinking you in as if you’re a free shot at a bar. like you’re easy.

waving your hand away, you focus your gaze on the platform across the track and pray that someone notices your predicament. “no thank you.”

“oh come on gorgeous, give a guy a chance!” they press, crossing all of your boundaries to be in your space. even as you try to walk away, you can still feel the ghost of their sleazy words against the bare and exposed parts of your skin.. “where are you going all dressed like that, with no one to admire you?”

on instinct, you pull down your skirts as if to hide yourself from greedy eyes — storming down the platform. “none of your business!”

“hey now, little miss santa! don’t you wanna know? i’ve got a sleigh you can ride!”

“not interested! i’m all good.”

“why? you got a boyfriend?”

“yeah, i do.” you lie smoothly.

“then where is he?” the stranger mocks and closes in on you — you look around pathetically, waiting for some good passer-by to come and help you.

a heavy hand land’s on the stranger’s shoulder — making them jump in shock. you watch as the hand squeezes down, almost tight enough to break bone. “right here,” says a gravelly, husky voice that instantly fills you with warmth and relief. stepping aside, your hero reveals himself — tall with rippling muscles and spiralling black tattoos, lazy blood red eyes and a snarl that reveals sharp fangs and canines. all topped off my tufts of soft pink hair, which don’t do anything to dim his threatening aura. “you got a problem?”

“n-no! sorry man, i didn’t—“

“fuck off, will ya?” your hero spits out venomously and the stranger nods — practically disappearing into thin air after that. your shoulders sag and tensions dissipate from your body. “you okay…miss?”

tentatively, you give the pink-haired man your name — you owe him that much after he’d more or less saved your skin. “all good, thanks to you…”

“sukuna.” he doesn’t look at you, instead pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lighting one with a flicker of a flame. it’s like he feels you watching him in dismay, and laughs as he takes a drag. it’s kind of sexy, you’ll admit — the way he throws his head back let’s you see the thick lines of black ink extending down his neck. “ticket office is closed and security is shit here. small station. no one’s watching me smoke.”

“right…thanks, sukuna.”

he finally turns to you, deep and blood red eyes drinking you in — almost scrutinising you. you squirm under his gaze, heat prickling at the back of your neck and providing some protection from the cold. “where were you off too?”

“christmas party with some friends.”

“where are they now?”

“sucking face somewhere, and no, they didn’t offer me an Uber before they left.”

sukuna taps the ash from his cigarette and it falls away in the icy breeze. “shit night.”

wringing your fingers, you shrug a little bit. “i guess it could have been worse. so thank you for helping out,” you hum appreciatively. “all i have to do now is wait for this stupid train.”

a beat of silence passes between you both, only broken by your chattering teeth and sukuna’s occasional sniff between puffs of smoke. you hate smokers, but you don’t ask him to stop. not after he’d helped you and is willing to be your human shield until your train comes. anyone else would have left by now.

“i can give you a ride home, if you want?”

you frown… was he, trying to make a move on you?

“if you have a car why are you at a train station.”

sukuna smirks slowly, dropping his cig to the floor and crushing it under his sneaker. you don’t remind him that there’s a law against smoking on the platform. “i’m waiting for my little brother to get home from a trip with his friends. we don’t live too far from here and i offered to pick him up from the station.” he shrugs.

you blink up at him with wide eyes. you’d never imagine a man that looks and carries himself like he does to care so deeply for someone else. you suppose you’re judging a book by his cover.

you’re dressed like slutty santa, so you honestly have no right to do so.

“what’s your brother’s name?”

“yuuji. it’s just us, no parents. that’s why i’m picking him up.” sukuna turns to you, running a hand through his messy pink undercut. “look, i promise i’m not some creep. y’just look cold and i’m not about to let some girl get fucked over by weirdos at this time of night. i won’t touch you, but you can sit in the back with yuuji if it makes you feel better. people usually prefer his stupid face over mine anyways.” he mumbles that last part to himself, but is pleasantly surprised by the cute flutter of laughter that escapes you. “what’s s’funny?”

with a hand resting on your bare stomach, you try to contain yourself. “is it the tattoos or the fact that you have resting bitch face?”

“both.” sukuna sniggers in response, shoving his cold hands deep into his pockets. “so, you takin’ up the offer or what?”

“yeah, thank you…sukuna,” you smile, subtly sliding up beside him for warmth on the chilly platform. “i’d like to meet yuuji for myself, see which brother i prefer.”

“oh fuck you.”

“maybe some other time.”

and even though he’s sure that you’re joking, sukuna detects a glint of honestly in your sparkling eyes as the train finally approaches — it’s yellowing light from inside the carriage only illuminating that spark. you turn your head, trying to spot yuuji while he ponders your words.

sukuna is definitely going to ask for your number after he drops you home. he’ll have to thank that brat of a baby brother yuuji for the opportunity next — without him begging for sukuna to come get him, this would have never happened.

you would have never met.

it’d be a great christmas story to tell the grandkids too. so he’d really have to thank yuuji, even though sukuna would never hear the end of it.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[flamingpudding]

I love your writing so much but I'm here with a crack idea just imagine deage Dan is Klarion.

Dan was able to find out who he is outside of Danny then he was able to change his name Klarion Jackson Fenton/Nightingale he is still a little villain boy also now a mom boy.

Ghost King Danny is his mom young justice was so confused when Klarion you're the best gifts get your mom after not talking to him for a while to also begging them to pretend to be his friend . Justice League dark is panicking in the background about the electric being that just shows up.

Danny in full ghost king attire standing there with a plate of cookies ready to meet his son's new friends.

Thanks so much! I am glad you enjoy my writing!

Also thanks because I absolutely love this Idea/Prompt! Sooooo please enjoy this piece inspired by it! Also I haven't consumed a lot of DC material lately so i am basing this all on my memories. In other words.... I went with Tim's little team here.

Hope that's okay and that this won't disappoint.

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

Dan, who was going by Klarion for some years now, had a massive problem. It was the huge kind of problem build on small bubbles of lies that then turned into this one giant bubble that was about to pop just because of one little question asked by his mom when his sister decided to throw him under the bus to deflect from herself and the fact that she was dating a demon. Don't get him wrong he still loves her, but man did he want to strangle Danielle right now.

"So Klarion, Ellie is right. When will I get to meet your friends you told me so much about?"

It was such an innocent question from his mom. And while his moms titles don't scare him, cause at some point in time they could have been his too, the happy dopey smile like nothing was wrong in the dimensions with little expectations directed at him was the scariest thing his mom could ever direct at him when he had asked THAT question.

So now Klarion was in need of a quick solution. When his mom had asked he had mumbled out a quick: "Next week maybe. We won't be busy with hero stuff then." He had started to form a plan. First of all, he needed to remember what all he had told his mom about his new and redeemed life on Earth 43 he had build for himself with the name Klarion Jackson Fenton-Nightingale.

Which fuck. There was a lot he had told his mom just so he wouldn't worry.

Cause now he also remembers that whenever he had gone out to cause some chaos he had made it seem to his mom like he was going out to bond with his new friend or help them with their hero duty. Well, in a way maybe his chaos causing could be seen as bonding. The ghostly kind, that is. And as for helping with the hero duty... he did give them work, something to do with their hero status. Anyway Klarion tried to remember all possible names he had dropped. Shit why did he also mention to his mom that he was working with heroes to make her proud? He should have name dropped some villains instead but nearly all of them were adults. He knew his mom would have frowned if he had only adult friends and no one around his age.

He was pacing his room in their castle. He need a plan, a good one at that. He knows he name dropped Robin, now Red Robin, Superboy and Impulse on a whim once. Superboy more so cause his mom had been interested in the Alien Heros of the Earth of the dimension he was partially living on now. He had mentioned Robin for the joke of knowing that there is a Dinner in an other Dimension with the same name. And because his Grandfather didn't like the Flash-clan which meant his mom didn't like them too much because of their messing with timelines either, he had mentioned being friends with Impulse on pure spite because of a punishment one day and to see their reactions. So he had to get these three on board anyway, and because for the heck of it he would get Wonder Girl involved too. It was never bad to have a girl in a friends group.

Klarion stopped his pacing. Turning towards his demonic ghost cat companion, kind of what Cujo was to his mom now. "Teekl, I think I have a plan. I will convince these Idiots, that shouldn't be a huge problem. Most of them are normale little flesh sacks." Teekl and him stared for some time at each other and after a moment Klarion huffed turning away with crossed arms. "It's a good plan don't be so sceptical, they are heroes right? They will not refuse my request!"

Well maybe Klarion should have planned this a bit better.

The next day Red Robin blinked at the witch boy up from the ground in the living room of what looked like to be an normal apartment. He had just been in Gotham, working on a case and now he was here? Looking to the left he also noticed that Superboy (the older), Impulse and Wonder Girl were also with him. They all looked stunned he observed and partially disoriented. Additionally they hadn't heard from Klarion since the last time they had foiled his plans on raging chaos upon the earth, that had been weeks ago.

"Kla-"

"I have summoned you heroes here. For the moment it is fruitless to try to leave because of the magic barrier." Okay rude to be cut of but that explained why he suddenly wasn't where he remembered to be last anymore. It was now Superboy who opened his mouth first but before he could even make a sound Klarion decided to speak over them again. "I have presents."

Four young heroes collectively blinked, confused, stunned and weirded out. As the which boy before them waved over to wards a table filled with boxes and packages. "I come in peace today, to proof that I brought these are presents, filled with various goods from different dimensions that should be to the liking of you all. Technologie, accessories, snacks, weapons, as well as clothing styles."

Red Robin shared a glance with his friends, a silent communication but before he once again could say anything Impulse was already by the table going through the stuff. They could here his 'oh's and 'ah's, which inevitably made them curious and they wandered over too. Klarion was not acting hostile at all yet but Red Robin did not trust that so he kept the which boy in clear view the entire time.

"Rob! You gotta see this! That actual futuristic Tech!"

"Look at these snacks."

"These accessories don't look to bad..."

His eye twitched when he noticed Klarion was sporting a smug look. Red Robin had to ask now, because this was not normal for the other. "Okay usually you would have started some big shot chaos plan by now. I don't buy this peace offering act and your way to formal talking. So what is going on?"

The other three, thankfully in Red Robins opinion, finally looked away from the tempting gifts and also turned their attention fully on Klarion. Who's smug smile falter as he let out a sigh and stared at them with what they could only describe as a frustrated look.

"My mom is planning to visit me."

"And?" Impulse asked between munching on three different bags of chips that where on the table.

"And he believes I am friends with you idiots."

They stared slack jawed. Impulse was pinching himself like he couldn't believe what they had just heard. Did one of their Villains, just informed them that their mom believes they were friends? Red Robin was starting to think he might be in a sleep deprived Hallucination.

"Why would she?" Wonder Girl questioned next to which Klarion glared at her with fire in his eyes.

"First of, my mom uses the pronouns he/Him. Be rude to my mom and I will find a way to make your life a permanent hell on earth." Wonder Girl blinked lifting her hands as in a sign of peace. "Second, my mom is under the believe that i work with heroes not against them. I do not have the heart to disappoint him after everything that happened in the past. So I embellished the truth a little."

"A little?" Superboy retorted sarcastically, to which they caught a light blush dusting the which boy's cheeks.

"Look my sister threw me under the bus and my mom wants to meet my friends now! So I need you idiots to play nice with me for when he visits!"

"And we will do that because?" Red Robin crossed his arms, watching their villain sceptically still not really buying this entire act. This was to strange of an behaviour change. Something was up, and he was going to get behind it.

Klarion on the other hand was starting to panic internally. His plan was not as he had hoped. The presents he had specifically gotten from other dimensions with what he believed was their interests did not work to make them simply accept his request. This was the last time he would listen to old man Vlad on how to bribe humans, he wasted his entire week on getting all that stuff. His mom was going to show up soon enough he need to have them act as his friends by then so he could remove the magic barrier. Or else his mom would notices he faked everything.

They left him no choice. He would have to throw his pride away for the sole reason to not disappoint his mom.

All four Young Justice Heroes blinked as Klarion suddenly threw himself on the ground before them into a pleading position.

"Please! I beg you, just for the time my mom is here. Please act like my friends!"

"I didn't think Klarion was a mama's boy...." Impulse whispered to the rest of them in pure disbelief as they stared stunned at the kneeling witch boy.

Cut to the heroes that noticed their teens were missing.....

"Where is he?" Batman growled at the Constantine who was sighing tiredly.

"Look mate, the way you and the other Spandex wearing friends explained it, made it sound like they got summoned by a being of the Infinit Realms." The blond man sighed lighting another cigarette eying the four heroes, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash. Zatanna was behind him pouring over a book about the realms and trying to find a tracking spell to trace it back and to where they could have been summoned.

"Don't you have something like a tracker on your boy?" Batman only growled something under his breath to which the Brite couldn't help to arch and eyebrow. Constantine was going to say something sarcasting as Deadman suddenly appeared a panicked look on him. "The Ghost King has chosen to come to our dimension."

"Say bloody what now?" All attention that had been on the heroes and their problem of missing teenage heroes turned now to Deadman and the news he brought with him. "The ghost, shades and spirits talked, for the king has decided to visit our Dimension. They are in an uproar, no one knows of why our King is on his way."

"Bloody fucking hell!" Constantine cursed. "We are fucking screwed! Isn't that guy a fucking tyrannical eldrich war maniac?!"

Deadman nodded solemnly and Constantine uttered another hearty and colourful 'fuck'. While the heroes present exchanged worried glances, not only were their kids missing but now a, by the sounds of it, highly dangerous being decided to appear in their dimension? Batman couldn't help but think that there had to be a connection to the missing teens and this.

Meanwhile in the Infinite Realms the Ghost King Castle...

Danny smoothed out his fur trimmed cape and adjusted his crown so it was floating nicely and evenly on his head. Today was the day he would get to meet his sons friends. He needed to make a good first impression. That was why he had chosen to take on his Ghost King form for this. With the wave of his hand he made an ice mirror appear before him, checking how he was looking once again. Once satisfied he nodded to himself looking over towards Fright Knight who was holding the plate of cookies he had baked himself. It was the fifth batch, and the only one that didn't turn out burned. He had needed Jazz help for this one to turn out well. It was only proper if he brought some cookies for the kids. Also he would have loved to bring his families fudge but... the last time he had tried making them had turned into a disaster.

"Thanks Frighty. Do you think Klarion's friends will like these? Wait don't answer! If they don't like them I will just get something else to thank them for taking care of my boy." Danny rambled on as he glanced at the plate of cookies in his hands. Why was he so nervous? He was just going to get to meet his little boy's friends. Sure his boy had dropped some stories about them and his adventures with them here and there. But hearing stories and meeting the kids were two different things.

Shaking his head Danny put on his best smile as he summoned a portal to Klarions apartment in the 43th Dimension of Earth. It was time to visit his boy in the place he had made his second home and thank the people that looked after his kid.

[anyroads]

OK you know what, if we're gonna talk about Bake Off then fuck it, let's do this.

It used to be this wholesome, lovely show! We used to watch it for the bakers! And the learning! And the light banter and occasional bit of coy innuendo! What happened?

Channel 4 happened. When they bought the show they made a number of changes, most of them Not Good™️. Not just in the sense of them resulting in a lot of 😬 and 🫠 moments, but in the sense of how they changed the show's purpose, atmosphere, and brand.

Look, I know most people are just like, "whatever, it's just a baking show," and yeah, sure. But it's one of the UK's most successful TV exports, and where it once shifted the tone of reality competition to being wholesome and supportive of contestants, it's since moved towards creating tension at the contestants' cost. So aside from the fact that most people watching it signed up to watch a nice show, it has also shifted the goalposts of what that even means. And that, lovelies and gentlefolk, is some bullshit.

I decided to break my rant analysis into four main parts: theme weeks, the hosts, the judges, and the bakers. Let's get to it!

Theme Weeks:

If you watch Bake Off, you know the show's always had a specific theme for each week. The staples that come up in most seasons are:

cake

biscuit

bread

pudding/dessert

pastry

patisserie

Less common but consistent are things like caramel and chocolate week.

Then there are the fun episodes! When GBBO was on the BBC, this started out with things tea week, tarts, pies, tray bakes, basically little tangents still focused on emphasizing specific baking skills. In Series 6 (still on the BBC) they had their first nation-focused theme week with French week -- fairly innocuous given that a lot of patisserie is French, France and England share much more culture than either cares to admit [Norman Flag dot gif], and it was a nice change from watching Paul make the bakers do recipes that involved boiling things while talking about how wonderful boiled doughs are (are they, Paul? Are they?).

The show kept mixing it up with innocuous themes like advanced dough and alternative ingredients weeks, European cakes, Victorian week, batter week, and botanical week. And while it was frustrating to watch Paul Hollywood mispronounce things like the Hungarian Dobos Torta and lecture bakers on babka when he clearly knew nothing about it (or about Jewish baking in general, go off Past Me), the show's general attitude was that the judges had their own opinions, which were separate from the immutable facts around the chemistry of baking (more on this later) and shouldn't affect how bakers are judged.

After the show moved to Channel 4, the number of themed weeks increased and more of them focused on specific countries. In 6 seasons on the BBC, there were only two country-focused theme weeks, and in 5 seasons on Channel 4 there have been five. And while they've also had themes like vegan baking, roaring 20s, the 1980s, spice week, etc. the show has really started to go hard on exoticizing other cultures in outright disrespectful and racist ways. There's been Italian and Danish week, German, Japanese (it wasn't, it was East Asian week), and now Mexican week (which doesn't touch on interspersed Jewish bakes that didn't get a theme week, like versions of bagels and babka set as technical challenges that were borderline hate crimes and mansplained by a guy who has no idea how to make either and once wrote in a cookbook that challah was traditionally eaten during Passover). Each time the hosts played up the theme with racist bits and jokes that can be used as evidence in court if your case is "why should shows with scripted content have a professional writing staff."

Which touches on other issues the show has now...

The Hosts:

When GBBO was on the BBC, the show was hosted by ✨Mel Giedroyc✨ and ✨Sue Perkins✨. They encouraged the bakers! They'd hold stuff for them sometimes! They were interested in them! If a baker had a breakdown, they would start singing copyrighted material to render the footage unusable! When the show moved to Channel 4, they left, though I'm not unconvinced that Channel 4 offered them impossible to accept contracts to force them out so they could rebrand the show. They replaced them with Sandy Toksvig and Noel Fielding. Sandy was a lovely host in the vein of Mel and Sue, and she and Noel had a relatively sweet rapport, but she left a few seasons ago and was replaced by Matt Lucas.

Noel Fielding is mostly known for his quirky brand of comedy, a sort of British Zooey Deschanel who's goth from the neck up, an upperclass British gay divorcee from the neck down, and basically an early 60s Beatle re: trousers. Matt Lucas has almost definitely never watched a single episode of GBBO and his most redeeming quality is his thinly veiled contempt for Paul Hollywood.

The two treat the baking tent as their personal playground. Far from the supportive attitude of Mel and Sue, they tend to get in the bakers' way during the most stressful moments, especially when they try to do hilarious "comedy" bits (I can't not put that in quotes) like Noel's talking wooden spoon thing, or Matt talking over Noel to do time calls. During theme weeks like Japanese and Mexican week, they do culture-specific bits that are both racist ("just Juan joke" and "is Mexico a real place?") and unsurprising, given that both Matt and Noel did blackface on their respective sketch shows and absolutely could and should have known better because it was already the current fucking century.

All this to say, there's now a separation between the bakers and the hosts, as if they're on different shows. The hosts are doing their own thing and the bakers are doing GBBO. The show has gotten meaner to the bakers, and the hosts aren't there to support them anymore, they're just there to be comic relief. Because when you refocus your show on stressing the bakers the fuck out, you need a forced laugh I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

The Judges:

First of all, a sincere congratulations to Paul Hollywood who managed to squeeze I jUsT cAmE bAcK fRoM mExIcO aNd YeT sTiLL pRoNoUnCe PiCo De GaLLo As 'PiKa De KaLLa' and I aM aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS wHiCh aRe MaDe WiTh DiGeStiVe BiScUiTs AcCoRdiNg tO mE, aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS, just two in a giant pile of astoundingly wrong hot takes, into a short enough time span that they all aired within Liz Truss's term as Prime Minister. A true man of accomplishments.

In the interest of fairness, I need to preface this with a disclaimer that, due to the fact that I've been watching Bake Off for most of its run, I'm biased. Specifically, I can't stand Paul Hollywood's smarmy, classist, egomaniac ass because he's proven time and again he's more interested in looking smart than actually knowing what he's talking about. Since the show moved to Channel 4, they've changed the occasional handshake Paul would give bakers to the HoLlYwOoD hAnDsHaKe™️. It's gone from being an emphasis of someone's skill to a goal, a reward, and one that emphasizes the judges' place above the bakers.

The judges used to function as teachers, imparting their skills and insights to the bakers. When the show was on the BBC, the voiceover leading to a judging would focus on the bakers' work being finished, saying how it will now be evaluated based on their skill and how well they met the brief. The voiceovers now, on Channel 4, focus on the judging (literally saying something along the lines of, "the bakers will now be judged by Prue and Paul"). There is a clear distinction Channel 4's producers have made, to mark that the show is now about whether or not the judges approve, not whether the brief was understood and executed well. On the BBC, it was irrelevant whether the judges liked a particular flavor, as long as the bake was well-made. Now, the bakers are expected to know the judges tastes and cater to them, which is frankly bullshit. A judge doesn't have to like a flavor to know whether or not it was executed well, ie. is it carrying a bake and was it meant to etc.

The judges have been turned into a brand. Cynically, Channel 4 knows that by building them up and focusing the show more on them, they can exploit their image more for profit. In the process, they've become much more biased and their own biases have come out as well. Most recently in the flaming dumpster fire that was Mexican Week, Paul Hollywood tried to intimidate a baker by telling them he had just gotten back from Mexico (which must have been a fruitful learning trip if he couldn't even learn how to pronounce pico de gallo correctly). Where do I even start with this? Here's an amateur baker from England (the show specifically casts middle and lower middle class bakers for the most part??) who likely can't afford trips to Mexico, who lives in a country with incredibly limited access to Mexican cuisine, who is expected not only to understand the cooking and baking traditions of a completely different culture but to do so well enough to play with it and do something creative with it. On top of which, one of the judges is now using his privilege of traveling halfway around the world as some kind of leverage, as if this were a bar that any amateur British baker could clear.

Prue, meanwhile, has openly asserted her biases against cultural flavors and textures, prioritizing her own personal preferences over them, as if they were in any way relevant to the skills and knowledge necessary to execute the tasks she sets to the bakers. She has also been consistently elitist, criticizing bakers for choices they made that were clearly informed by their experiences within income brackets that are too low and foreign for Prue to comprehend. She once had a go at a baker on a Christmas special because his Christmas dinner themed bake didn't have a turkey, even though it was clear from the stories he shared of his own Christmases that his family likely couldn't afford one. "It's not really Christmas dinner without a turkey," Prue said into the camera angrily while sitting on a chair made of live orphans and telling the ghost of Christmas Future to come back when he had another museum gift shop necklace for her to round out her collection.

The show is no longer about which baker has the best skills. It's become about which mortal can appease the gods of Mount Olympus, ie. the judges.

The Bakers:

Remember when the show was about them? Channel 4 doesn't! Because this is a reality competition show, the bakers are chosen both based on their skills, as well as cast-ability. They're cast as characters, distinct from each other, from different areas, age groups, ethnicities. All of them are amateurs. All of them are middle or lower middle class. They've ranged from college students to supermarket cashiers to prison wardens to scientists.

Something I noticed when the show moved to Channel 4 is that the baker who goes home in the first week is always wildly behind the rest in skills. I have no proof of this other than my eyeballs and deductive reasoning skills, but I think that Channel 4 deliberately casts a ringer each season who they think will be an easy send-off in the first week, just to get the audience's feet wet.

Anyway, like I said, this show used to be about the bakers - about them building skills and learning, and having walked into the tent with a self-taught foundation and understanding of the processes and chemical reactions involved in baking. When the show was on the BBC, the end of each round had some (often brief) moments of tension - will they finish in time? Will they get their bakes on the plate before time is up? Did they forget to add sugar to their batter and only remember at the last minute? In the end, they usually managed to finish and we'd all breathe a sigh of relief and think, yeah! You go, Bakers Who I'm Rooting For!

Now, on Channel 4, the end of round drama has been stretched to be so much longer that they've composed extra music for it. The bakers often seem out of their depth, whether because the instructions for the technical challenge are too vague (bake a lemon meringue pie??? As if anyone in the UK under the age of 60 has had one in the last decade???), or because they were expected to bake something that required a more than a basic foundation they weren't told of. Often it seems like they just aren't given enough time, a tactic used by reality competition shows to manipulate contestants into giving the cameras more dramatic content. On top of all this, the hosts get in their way, instead of helping them plate their bakes. As has been pointed out before, when everyone fails the challenge, the real failure lies with whoever set it.

In conclusion:

The show no longer exists to teach the bakers - and the audience - skills or knowledge. It now manipulates contestants for dramatic effect and prioritizes showing conflict over wholesome content. Channel 4 sees the bakers as social media content they can churn out season after season, and don't care about them because in a few months there'll be a new batch to exploit. Meanwhile, the judges are also out of their depth, co-opting recipes from other cultures and butchering them horrendously, while the camera gives them nothing but status as they hold bakers to the expectation that they learn how to make things very much the wrong way. If you saw any of the tweets about Mexican or Japanese week, or read my post on how Paul Hollywood isn't allowed to go near babka ever again, you'll understand.

So what would fix all this? Scrap the current judges and the hosts altogether. Bring back Mel and Sue, and replace the judges with expert bakers who have a love of their craft and want to share it with others. The draw of GBBO used to be its warmth and comfort - if Channel 4 isn't going to start its own version of Master Chef For Bakers, then it needs to stop trying to find a balance of how it can insert that vibe into GBBO. It can't. That's not a thing. Stop trying.