#well. making something up or getting it wrong. one of those

[alchemistc]

Yet another post-8x17 fic because I can't help myself

stories of a dead man

Buck stares at the text for a good ten minutes, trying to come up with something to respond with.

Tommy - Tommy knows him. Can somehow discern tone from the way he writes his texts, makes leaps that would seem wild coming from anyone else but he's never wrong and Buck had - God Buck had taken advantage of that so fucking often. Had been so desperately happy not to have to over-explain himself, to just be, and be known, and... and he hates that he hadn't made the effort back, that he made it all about hims-

Doing okay, thanks.

And then:

How about you?

Tommy bubbles him immediately.

The bubbles disappear.

The bubbles reappear, and settle there for a long, long moment.

Then nothing, for an amount of minutes he's not counting off in his head, he swears.

He's considering tossing his phone across the room in a fit of pique when it vibrates with an incoming call.

He stares. He stares some more. He stares a little bit longer and then swipes before Tommy loses interest and decides Buck isn't worth the time he's taking.

"Hey, Tommy," he says, and hopes it sounds normal.

"Evan. Hi."

"Hi."

Tommy laughs.

Buck had always taken special pleasure in hearing that laugh, rich and wry and sometimes, when Buck caught him off guard, just a little giggly. It was a badge of honor to get the belly laugh. This is soft, quiet, short, but it's still - Buck feels a swell of something in his chest. Tries to tamp it down because they - they're not -

"So tell me how you're actually doing," Tommy says, and the swell travels up into his throat, and tears immediately spring to his eyes because he fucking tried - he tried not to make it a thing and - and it's kind of not fair that Tommy could just, like, glean from six words that Buck was lying.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Three separate punctuation marks, Buckley? C'mon."

The laugh that bubbles up makes the tears dip out of the corner of his eyes, and he doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to feel this, doesn't want to burden yet another person with all the feelings he's been throwing around.

"Evan," Tommy says, like it's important, like it means something, and that - well that's just not fair.

"Tommy," he manages to choke out, and then it's time for the waterworks, apparently.

He says some things, through the tears. If someone asked him to recite it back, he couldn't tell you a fucking word, but he knows he says things, because Tommy's there on the other end of the line with his hums and his quiet reassurances, and Buck - he could recite each of those back without a problem, even the little 'tch' noises he makes when Buck says something he doesn't like. He gets one for apologizing, another when he tries to talk about Eddie and can't make it through the explanation, one for the bitten off half-compliment to Gerrard for being a decent human being most of the time. He gets an amused snort when he tells Tommy about googling confession in his Jeep outside Bobby's church, and absolute silence when he admits that he's not - that he can't - that he doesn't have this. That no one needs him.

When he catches his breath, Tommy's quiet on the other end of the line.

"What - Evan, what do you need from me?"

To not have set in motion the worst fucking eight months of Buck's life, for one.

That's not - that's not entirely fair. He'd jumped the gun, hadn't he? Made it all about his own wants without ever checking in with Tommy so of course - of course he'd run. And then when he'd tried again Buck had lost his temper so spectacularly that -

"No one will talk about him," Buck says, once he's had a second to think about it, and Tommy sighs, low and quiet and Buck thinks - yeah. That's a stupid ask. Tommy lost him too.

"I ever tell you about the time he tried to teach me how to prep a turkey?" Tommy asks, and Buck sinks against the wall, tips his head between his knees, and doesn't bother to wipe away the tears as Tommy leads him through a story he's never heard before about a man he'll never have new stories for again.

[forever-rogue]

Salty

AN | Hello, as you all know Joel is alive and well and there are shenanigans afoot in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Language 

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You loved Joel.

Joel loved you (you hoped anyway) and Ellie.

Ellie hated you.

After just over half a year in Jackson, you had finally put two and two together. All those little things you’d thought were accidents or odd coincidences weren't that at all.

Everything came down to one Ellie Williams. And that led to you making a decision you immediately hated.

“I don’t think we… should spend time together anymore.” The lump in your throat was thick, and you focused your attention on the vegetables you were tending, refusing to look at the man. You’d rehearsed this very moment in your head about two hundred times, and still, it wasn’t going to plan. Sigh.

The man next to you was silent for a few beats, trying to decide if you were being serious. When you didn’t say anything further but he heard your sniffle, he realized this wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh? And just how did you reach that conclusion, darlin’?”

“I just… I dunno, Joel. It just seems like the right thing to do.” You shrugged, adding the carrots you'd unearthed into the basket between the two of you. “I don’t… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I’m… interested.”

A heavy silence fell over you; you tried to continue working, but Joel remained dumbfounded, watching your every move.

“Okay,” he eventually said, causing you to relax slightly. “I’ll do as you ask and respect your wishes and all that. You gonna tell me what changed suddenly?”

“Nothing,” you lied. You’d thought about telling him the truth but highly doubted he’d believe you. He’d never think his baby girl would do something so downright vicious. “It’s just… what I want.”

“Alright.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, capturing your attention. “I’ll leave you to it. I think you can handle it from here, right? I wouldn’t want to get the wrong idea.”

“Joel—” His name came out as a huff, but before you could get any further, he had already walked away.

You watched after him until he was out of your sight before hastily wiping at the tears rolling down your cheeks. This hurt even worse than you had anticipated. Ellie would probably leave you alone now that you weren’t pursuing her dad or trying to take him away from her.

“I guess it’s just you and me again.” You pulled a few more carrots out of the dirt and tossed them to the side. You were going to need a new hobby to occupy your mind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time something strange had happened, you had been baking a cake for Joel's birthday. You were in the restaurant kitchen, having talked Seth into letting you use the space to keep your plans secret.

You were almost done mixing the dry ingredients when you couldn’t find the sugar.

“Where is it…” You looked through cabinets, sure you’d seen the container at some point. Without sugar, you definitely weren’t going to finish this cake.

“Looking for this?” There was a smile on Ellie’s face as she set an unlabeled bag down next to your bowl. You relaxed and nodded. “Sorry, I was using it earlier. Totally forgot to put it back.”

“No worries at all,” you said, grabbing the measuring cup and adding the sugar to your bowl. “I was starting to worry I’d imagined it.”

“Hmm.” Ellie watched you work in silence for a few minutes. “What’s this for?”

“I’m making a cake… for Joel.” Your face warmed as a flash of annoyance shot across hers. She was well aware of what you were doing, having overheard you talking to Tommy. “I figured it’d be something nice for him.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” she smiled. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” you agreed.

Unfortunately, fortune seemed determined to make a fool of you.

You’d stopped at Joel’s house to deliver the cake, wanting to make it casual.

“Happy birthday,” you sang, holding up the cake with an eager look. Your heart beat nervously as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

“It’s amazing,” he whispered, heart constricting at the sweet gesture. It had been a long time since someone had baked him a birthday cake. “C’mon in. We can cut right into it.”

“Oh,” you smiled shyly, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re always welcome here,” he said, firm but still soft. “And I insist.”

“Okay.” You followed him inside, setting the cake on the table. Joel grabbed a couple of forks, plates, and a knife. “Is Ellie here? Should we cut some for her?”

“She’s off at Dina’s,” he shook his head. “It’s just us.”

“Well here, let me.” You cut into the cake, placing large slices on each plate. You sat down across from him, pushing a plate toward him. “Happy birthday, Joel.”

“It certainly is now.” You tried not to freak out as you took a bite. Joel did the same.

As soon as you started chewing, you realized it tasted… terrible. Gritty and salty. Anything but sweet and decadent. You reluctantly swallowed and cast a forlorn look at Joel, who was clearly trying to school his expression.

“This is disgusting,” you said, horrified. “I—I must’ve added salt instead of sugar. Fuck. I should’ve paid more attention, but I thought… Ellie handed me the sugar.”

“It’s…” Joel, bless his heart, tried to make it seem better than it was.

“Terrible,” you insisted, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry. I ruined it all.”

“It’s not… the worst thing ever.”

“Joel.”

“It’s pretty bad,” he admitted with a grimace, “but it’s the thought. Even if that’s cliché.”

“Well,” you sighed with a grimace, “maybe next time will be better.”

Joel reached across the table and placed his hand on top of yours. His touch made your stomach flip. “It’s okay, really. Thank you for this.”

“Happy birthday,” you whispered. Your face was warm, and you swore you saw a light blush on his cheeks.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you were sure that you had bad luck. Everyone has bad luck sometimes, right?

It was spring, finally warm enough not to require multiple layers. There was a barbecue going on, and Joel had asked if you wanted to go with him. He hadn’t said it was a date—but he hadn’t not.

You’d put on a sundress, feeling prettier than you had in a long time.

But as you walked to Joel’s house, something slippery on the porch made you slide off and into a lingering patch of mud.

A scream escaped your lips. You weren’t hurt—just covered in mud from head to toe. Your shoes had fallen off. Tears of frustration fell down your face, which only smeared the muck.

“Are you okay?” Joel ran outside, worried. When he saw what had happened, he had to fight a smile. He was glad you weren’t hurt—but it was a little funny. You let out a frustrated huff. He stepped off the porch and held out his hand. “Oh, darlin’.”

Just as you reached for him, he slipped and landed next to you. His surprised face made you giggle. Reaching over to wipe a spot off his cheek, you shook your head.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled. “I’d say we make a fine pair.”

“Unfortunately, I think we’ll have to clean up and change before we do anything,” you teased. Joel looked at you with nothing short of fondness. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he said, leaning in. You leaned in too. “I’m just thinking I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

“Oh?” You were ready to finally close the gap when the front door burst open.

“Hey!” Ellie’s voice made you both jump apart. “What happened?”

“Slipped and fell,” you both said in unison.

“You should be more careful,” she said directly to you, brown eyes hard. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen.”

Then she turned and went back inside. A shiver ran down your spine.

“C’mon.” Joel got to his feet and helped you up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Something inside your stomach twisted. Something was going on.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The third time you were sure that none of the things that had been happening were accidental.

Joel had asked you on a date—made it very clear it was a date. Even though it was just Joel, you were full of butterflies.

You settled on an outfit and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Everything needed to be perfect.

Until… you tried to leave the bathroom and couldn’t. You jiggled the knob, convinced it was stuck, but after a few seconds of no success, you realized you were locked in.

You exhaled sharply, trying not to panic. This wasn’t an accident—but you weren’t in real danger either.

You banged on the door. “Ellie! Let me out! Please let me out!”

No response. But you thought you heard creaking down the hall. She wasn’t coming back.

You sat on the toilet, head in your hands. This was the worst. All you had wanted was a date with Joel. You couldn’t even have that.

Eventually, you pried open the bathroom window, grateful you lived in a one-story house. You squeezed out and fell a few feet onto the hard ground with a small oof.

Brushing yourself off, you made your way to Joel’s house, ready to set things straight.

Only one light was on. He wasn’t home. Your heart sank.

You knocked loudly. “Ellie!”

After a moment, the door flew open. She stood there, surprised. You laughed bitterly. “Surprised to see me?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Cut the shit,” you snapped, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. “Why have you been doing this to me? And don’t even try to lie—I know it’s been you.”

“I…” She didn’t even bother to lie. “Stay away from Joel. He doesn’t need you. We’re fine without you.”

“Is that what this is about? Me and Joel? Why does it—”

“He doesn’t need you,” she hissed. “Stay away from my dad.”

The door slammed in your face.

You stood there, stunned.

After a few moments, you trudged home, your heart heavy, when you heard your name being called. You turned to see Joel catching up.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. “What happened? I waited for over an hour, then went to check if you’d gone to—”

“I was locked in my bathroom.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. Joel stared at you, waiting for a punchline. But then he saw your expression—serious.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to stand you up. I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“How did you…”

“Weird accident.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, stopping and gently grabbing your wrist. You turned to face him, fighting back tears. He touched your cheek.

“Things have been a little… off lately.”

“Guess I’m just having a spot of bad luck,” you shrugged, refusing to say the real reason. As angry as you were with Ellie, you understood. Joel was her stability—and in her mind, you were a threat.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Did you still want to grab dinner?”

“Actually, I kind of just want to go home.” You hated the way hope faded from his face.

“I’ll see you around, Joel. Have a good night.”

“Good night.” He gave your hand a squeeze but watched you walk away, his heart heavy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Two weeks passed.

You caught glimpses of Joel, but that was it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

You missed him.

One night, as you were getting ready for bed, a knock came at your door. You almost ignored it—but you knew better. No one in Jackson would let you live it down.

With a sigh, you trudged to the door, already annoyed.

“What?” you asked before even looking—only to find Joel standing there, a bemused smile on his face.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“I think we should talk.” You swallowed thickly. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah.” You stepped aside and led him into the living room. You sat across the couch from him. “What’s up?”

“Ellie told me what happened,” he said. Your shock was evident. “She explained what she did.”

“Oh.”

“She said she hated seeing me so miserable all the time,” he continued, and you realized you weren’t the only one hurting. “She said she felt some remorse.”

“I don’t… I do blame her—because she did those things. But I can understand where she’s coming from.” You shrugged. “She’s trying to protect you. You’re her family. She doesn’t want to lose you. It’s her way of showing love. I can’t fault her for that.”

“I know,” he said. “She told me everything. But it doesn’t make what she did right. You could’ve been seriously hurt. I told her that no matter what happened between us, my love for her wouldn’t change.”

“Of course not.”

“But tell me… were you really ready to never speak to me again?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t be happy about it.” Your face flushed and you couldn’t meet his eyes. “But if that was best for everyone…”

“Do you really think that would’ve been best?”

“Well… no. Now it seems trivial.” You met his honeyed gaze—reverent, gentle. “I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He scooted closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You still want me to stay away?”

“I’m kind of thinking I want you to finally kiss me.”

You didn’t know where the boldness came from, but it had been long enough.

“Is that so?”

“It is—”

Joel kissed you gently, cutting you off. It caught you off guard—but it was perfect.

“Yeah?” His hand was on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.

“Again?” Your soft request made him chuckle. “Please?”

And he didn’t waste any time.

He kissed you again.

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . YOU DON’T HATE ME

WARNINGS : STEP SIBLING TROPE. SMUT. DRY HUMPING. SPITTING KINK. BITING. LIGHT SLAPPING. TITTY SUCKING. KINDA MEAN!MATT. (pls tell me if i forgot anything).

god you hated him—hated the way he was so charming and perfect and so fucking hot.

your mom thought that this family trip would bring everyone together, but it really didn’t. you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to pick a fight with matt every chance you got, your arguing and bickering beginning to get on your moms nerves.

“can’t you two get along for one day?” she asked you mid argument, stopping whatever insult you were going to throw at him next. your head whipped in her direction, and you just crossed your arms. “well i would if he wasn’t such an ass all the time.” you snapped.

your mom glared at you, “language.” you quickly mumbled an apology. “you two go find something to do, and i want you guys to get along by the end of it.” both you and matt gave her matching glares of your own at her words.

“fine.” you grumbled, turning your back to matt as you walked off toward your shared room—which was the cherry on top of it all. you had to sleep in the same bed as his every night this trip. having to stop yourself from tracing lines along his chest while he slept—he was too tempting.

the air between you had always been…tense. ever since your parents got married, matt had made it his full-time job to pick on you—cold looks, snide comments, backhanded compliments. but he never left you alone. and no matter how much you claimed to hate him, part of you waited for the attention. craved it even. especially late at night, when the house was quiet and the only thing separating your bodies was the thinnest sheet imaginable.

matt didn’t follow you as you made your way to the room, deciding to peel off and go do his own thing, ignoring your mothers request to spend some time together. you didn’t see him again until later that night after everyone was already in bed—your pajamas were on and the blankets were pulled high over your body.

you weren’t asleep yet, you couldn’t be—not with matt’s body radiating with heat as he climbed under the blankets with you. you couldn’t help the way your body shuttered with how close he was to you.

“you’re taking up the whole damn bed.” matt muttered from behind you as if he knew you weren’t actually asleep, his voice irritated. you rolled your eyes, back still turned to him. “then sleep on the floor, tough guy.”

he laughed, and you could feel it down your spine. “right. like I’d let your bratty little ass win that easy.” and you shifted under the covers, accidentally moving to brush your bare leg against his. “watch it,” he snapped. you rolled your eyes, “you’re so dramatic,” you whispered under your breath.

he moved suddenly—rolling over, pressing his chest against your back, one heavy arm wrapping around your waist. your breath caught at the contact, your body wiggling slightly in his grasp.

“i swear to God.” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, “you just love to piss me off, don’t you? always doin’ shit to rile me up on purpose.” your thighs clenched at his words—he wasn’t wrong.

“and yet you love pretending you don’t like it.” you snipped back.

he hummed, his hand moving to slowly slip under your shirt without hesitation, fingers splaying across your stomach. your brain started to short circuit, whatever snarky words you had disappearing. his touch already having you go limp for him—he’s never touched you like this before. “you walk around in those tiny shorts all week,” he growled. “picking fights with me. you knew what you were doing.”

you gasped when he pulled your hips back against him—his hard cock grinding slowly into your ass. his hand moved up to your throat under your shirt, gently gripping, just enough pressure to make your eyes roll back—your body tingling. you could feel the way your panties became soaked, the fabric sticking to your wet folds.

“you’re not gonna say a word.” he whispered, biting your earlobe. “not unless you want mom to hear her perfect little girl fucking in the guest room.” you whimpered, his words making the heat between your legs more prominent as he began rocking into you, dry humping through the thin layers of clothes. his mouth came down to meet your shoulder—teeth scraping before he bit down—leaving a mark behind on your skin when he pulled away.

“matt.” you breathed heavily, your find already fogging. a sharp sudden slap to your thigh made you cry out softly, your body jerking.

“did I say you could talk?” he spat against your ear, letting his tongue run along the lobe before nipping it. you couldn’t help but to moan into the pillow, writhing as his hand slid to your chest and cupped one of your tits, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened. slowly he shifted himself, grabbing you and moving you onto your back before slotting himself over you and between your legs.

his mouth followed soon after—tugging your shirt up, lips closing over your tit, tongue licking lazily at your nipple before he sucked hard. letting his teeth nip at your now sensitive bud—the pain making you moan. it was messy and obscene, and you never wanted it to stop.

when he pulled back, spit dripped from his mouth as he stared down at you. his hips began to grind down, rubbing against your clit through the fabric of your panties. you sucked in a sharp breath, your hands coming up to grip at his shirt.

matt smirked, letting a hand come up to grab your face. “c’mon, open up for me sweetheart. you can do that yeah?” he muttered. you obeyed, dazed, your lips parting.

slowly he spat into your mouth, letting the saliva drop into your mouth before he came down and connected his lips to yours. it was heated and desperate, your mouth opening wider to let him in as his teeth nipped your lips, making you bleed slightly.

when he pulled away, his eyes were dark—lust pooled in his orbs. “be a good girl and swallow it.” he demanded.

you did—your eyes locked on his the whole time. you were both breathing heavy now, his hand now tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so he could kiss you again, roughly.

“i hate you,” you breathed.

“yeah?” he mocked, rocking against you faster now, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. “let’s see how true that really is, cause i think this pussy says otherwise.”

a/n : ik this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but i had to (never written something like this before either). creds to whoever has created stepbrother!matt <3

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 18

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, angst Wordcount: 4.3K A/C: hey everybody! this will be the last part of the before london section - think of it as book 1. thank you everyone who’s read all of this and been supporting me, i appreciate you endlessly! please send me your thoughts on the chapter or live reactions because i LOVE those so much <333 also thank you for being so patient with me, if you didn’t know my charger broke so i had to write this chapter on my phone lmao. i’m gonna take a teeny break from so it goes to write something else and then get back to it :) i love you guys, thank you for everything <3 i’ve really poured my blood and sweat into this series

-

Before London

Her world comes crashing down. I can tell because she’s clutching to me as if the past three weeks never happened, hyperventilating. Her face is pressed into my shoulder, my hands holding her like no time ever passed. It took the world ending for her to come back to me. I just wish it didn’t take that much.

“Breathe Izzie,” I comfort her, my own panic subsiding to comfort the girl in my arms. Seeing her fall apart made me want to hold it together. Like I wanted to be the strong one for her.

“Remember, in and out with me,” I whisper, my chest expanding against her as I inhale slowly. She copies me, her breathing more ragged and shaky. Eventually, I feel her calm down. Good. There wasn’t much time to waste.

Pulling back I’m shocked to see how horrified she looks. There’s a tingling on my skin from where she pressed against me. She buries her face into her hands, sighing. “What am I going to do?” She murmurs.

“Hey, not you. We,” I remind her, watching the video one more time before putting my phone down. There was no way to twist this. It’s clearly me and Izara - and according to the comments, everyone else figured it out too.

Yoooooo knew they were together since may nooooo my wife paige come home Omg! Paige is gay?

Izzie is pacing in a small circle, heels clicking against the concrete floor. She’s freaking out. I had never seen her like this - Izzie always had solutions to everyone’s problems. She always knew what to do. It wasn’t easy seeing her this way. I had to figure this out for her sake.

”What are you doing?” She asks teary eyed as I lift my phone to my ear, shushing her gently. I listen to the rhythmic slow beep until a familiar voice answers. My PR agent.

”Hey, sorry to call you outta nowhere. I’m in a bit of a situation.”

”What are you doing?” She whispers, her voice trembling. I simply raise my hand, silencing her. I would never do that normally, but in this situation she allows it.

In a hushed voice I explain the situation to my PR agent while Izzie paces around me, hands thrown over her head. I couldn’t even let myself feel ecstatic over getting her to talk to me again. It was all because this was more serious than I could comprehend.

”What did she say?” Iz asks before I’ve even had the chance to fully hang up.

Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze. ”She said we gotta assume everyone here has seen it,” I say. Her face twists and her eyes begin to well up. ”Everybody except Linda. We gotta make sure no one tells her.”

”There’s no point she’s probably already seen it,” Iz sighs.

”Linda? On social media in the middle of a work day? Ion think so.”

The girl thinks, looking at the low ceilings of the hallways for a while. ”I guess but what about when she gets home.”

”Ok maybe I’m wrong but Linda doesn’t seem like the type to scroll on TikTok or stan Twitter,” I chuckle hoping to earn at least a smile from her. I don’t.

”I don’t know Paige,” she says. Hearing my name from her lips feels ecstatic. Like I could’ve died right then. ”It’s risky.”

”It’s the only chance you got,” I whisper. I wish it wasn’t true. And I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for all this. I had been in a mood that day. I should’ve been more clear-headed, less drunk, more sensible. What were we thinking kissing out in the open like that?

”My PR team is gonna get that video down. Even if others are posting it, they’ll make sure we don’t end up on TMZ or something,” I comfort the girl. But she’s barely listening.

”But what about all the people that are reposting that shit?”

”All we can do is report and hope for the best Iz.”

Goosebumps rise on her skin when I say her name. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s nearly hyperventilating again.

”Fuck. Holy fuck,” she whispers more to herself, turning her back on me and pushing her dark waves back anxiously. 

”Iz,” I mumble, touching her arm cautiously. She pulls back, turning to me.

”This is all your fault you know,” she says harshly, her voice trembling. ”You were a mess that day. I was just trying to calm you down.”

”Bro,” I chuckle dryly, shaking my head. She hates when I call her that. I’m immediately defensive, the guilt underneath gnawing at me. ”Now maybe I misremember but I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

”Because you were acting like a bloody lunatic!” She shouts. I hush her, praying to God no one heard the way it echoes around the desolate halls. Izara quiets down, burying her face into her hands again. What are we doing? I know she’s fighting me because she’s completely freaked out.

”We gotta stop screaming and make a plan,” I tell her calmly. She stands there quietly defiant until she realises I’m right. ”I’ll talk to my people, you talk to the media team.”

”What if they don’t listen?” She asks me, a hint of vulnerability shining through her exterior.

”Why wouldn’t they?” I reply, placing a hand on her shoulder. She lets me, despite still avoiding my gaze.

”Everybody loves you Iz, and I mean that. Never heard anyone say a bad thing about you.” It’s true. Every word. She had people on her side so easily.

Finally her green eyes stop scanning the room, landing on mine. They’re still the same, even behind the glossiness of a few tears. Reminiscent of Connecticut. Of the overwhelming vibrancy that I sometimes missed here in Dallas. The feeling when you glanced outside in the summer and your eyes were met with such intense greenery of the trees and the grass that you couldn’t bear to look away. What made it even more beautiful was knowing in only a few months it would all be gone, the view turning from orange to yellow as everything that lived dies, reminding you that everything that was alive and flourishing is there only for a fleeting moment until the pure white cover of snow buries everything that’s dead underneath it. That’s what her eyes were - that short moment, a little piece of home.

”Hey,” I whisper softly. ”Don’t give up just yet.”

Izzie nods slowly, looking straight at me. ”Okay.”

-

“Hey, Rike,” I call as I jog over, my mind stuck on how Izara’s holding up.

I had been circling around College Park for what felt like hours - though it hadn’t even been 40 minutes. Izzie had taken a cab to the office to explain our situation to the marketing team, and anyone we hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t heard of her ever since she left, which was making me nervous, on top of the uncomfortable bubbling in my stomach. 

”I was just looking for you,” Arike replies as her eyes widen.

”Me too. Hey uh, to ask but,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head.  I hated asking for favors. ”Could you talk to the team-”

”Already done,” she says. ”And the practice player, coaching staff too.”

I always knew Arike had my back. But not like this. She had truly become my sister, and this was proof.

”They all love you two. No one’s gonna say shit,” she comforts me, patting my shoulder. 

”Thanks bro,” I smile, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe we could pull this off. No one’s gonna tell.

”Course,” she shrugs easily. ”You know I got you. You’re family, both of y’all.”

-

My heart’s pounding in my chest, each beat like something trying to claw itself out of me. slamming my sternum painfully. Deep breaths, slow down, I remind myself, imagining the weight of Paige pressed against me. It felt almost good enough to make me forget about everything, almost.

I tie my hair up clumsily, my waves overstimulating me. The office seems eerily desolate, having me walk around for a while until I run into Ava, her blonde hair recognisable anywhere.

”Ava,” I sigh, relieved, hurrying to her. I wish I hadn’t worn heels today, my feet already aching. I hadn’t anticipated all this running around.

”Zari! I thought you were in College Park-”

”Can we sit down? Please?” I ask abruptly, interrupting her. She’s surprised by the seriousness in my voice and it shows in her face.

”Of course, what’s up?”

I lead us into an empty office room, pulling out a chair for her. I’m far too nervous to sit down myself.

”Have you seen it?” I ask carefully, looking at the carpeted floor. I can’t believe I was in this situation. Of all people. The sensible, careful Izara. I swear I’ll never be careless again.

There’s a confused look on Ava’s freckled face. ”Seen what?”

Shit. Sighing I dig my phone out of my purse, my ears burning with embarrassment. I look for shock or surprise but to my confusion, Ava watches the video, expressionless.

”Caleb owes me 20 bucks,” she chuckles, handing the phone back.

”Huh?”

She giggles. ”We had a bet, I knew there was something going on with y’all.”

Of course. Like it was ever really a secret. I feel so stupid. Who was I kidding thinking we could keep this on the low.

”Right well,” I mumble, my cheeks turning hot. ”Well it’s everywhere. And I really, really can not let this get to-”

”- Linda,”  Ava finishes my sentence, picking up on my concern.

”Yeah,” I nod. ”I just, I know it doesn’t make it better but it’s not just messing around. I really care about her and I know I’m asking for a lot but-”

”Zari. I’m not telling nobody,” she comforts me. ”And I’ll make sure no one else does. If it’s up to me Linda will never see that, okay?”

I nod, relieved. 

”I’ll also make sure those posts of the video get taken down okay?” Ava smiles, wrapping an arm around me and patting my back. She’s the one managing the algorithms and viewership so her help will be everything.

”Oh my goodness you’re shaking,” she comforts me. I notice the trembling of my legs that are indeed weak, barely holding me upright.

”It’s pretty stressful,” I chuckle coldly, my eyes burning as I hold back tears. Suddenly, the sound of my phone vibrating against the table makes me jump. It’s Paige.

“Hey,” I answer. The rumbling of traffic comes through before her voice.

“Hey, I’m driving over. All good at College Park.”

“Here too,” I say, smiling bye to Ava as she leaves me to talk with the blond. “Just gotta wait for the PR team to get out of their meeting.”

“You tell Trey yet?” She asks. Oh shit. Trey. 

“I haven’t seen him,” I admit. A moment of silence falls upon us.

“I’mma be there in like 10 minutes okay?”

“Paige,” I start, feeling a throbbing ache in my shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t need to come here.”

The line goes silent, the quiet hum of the road and traffic coming through. 

“You don’t want me to?”

Reaching over to my neck I massage the tension but it doesn’t go away. Is that really what I want? Why is it so hard to figure it out?

“No, I need you here,” I finally accept. Despite the tension and the mess between us it was clear that I needed her. That her presence made everything better. That’s just what Paige is like. She brings the sun with her wherever she goes.

-

I’m picking at my skin when the blonde emerges into the empty office lobby, holding two cups. She looks surprisingly serene considering - though it wasn’t her job that was on the line.

“What’s this?” I ask as she hands one of the cups to me. It feels warm against my skin.

“Coffee, black,” she says absentmindedly, taking a seat in the chair next to mine, taking a sip of the frappucino she got for herself.

I do the same, feeling the warm bitter taste fill my mouth. It’s just how I liked it. My heart throbs. Mind overflowing with the memories of our little habit. Of Paige getting up half an hour earlier than she needed just to go pick up some coffee for me on the way to work.

”Better?” Paige asks, sprawled comfortably next to me. I can feel the heat of her thigh tingling against mine but I can’t be bothered to move, or to pretend like I didn’t need her. I felt myself fantasizing about some reality where Linda would understand. Where me and the blonde could just be together. No complications, no excuses, no goddamn hiding. It would be so much easier to let myself fall in love with her in a reality like that.

”Much better,” I mumble. ”Thanks.”

”It’s just a coffee Iz,” she murmurs, shrugging it off.

”No,” I shake my head. ”You don’t have to be doing this. You could easily just leave me to handle it myself. But you didn’t.”

My eyes meet hers, blue and vibrant like the ocean. 

She shakes her head, brows furrowing gently. ”I wouldn’t do that,” she whispers. ”It’s half my fault… Okay a lil more than a half.”

She chuckles a little looking at her feet. ”For what it’s worth I am sorry for that night.”

Paige looks regretful, playing with her bracelet. 

”Me too.”

A throbbing ache runs along my spine to my shoulderblades, the tightness making it hard to breathe. Absent-mindedly my hand shoots to my neck, pressing and rubbing. Paige glances at me.

”Your shoulders again?” She asks. Honestly the only time in my life they hadn’t bothered me was probably when Paige would give me daily massages. Something about her got me to finally relax.

”Again,” I chuckle awkwardly. Without hesitation Paige’s warm and familiar hands replace mine, massaging the knot out of my shoulderblade. My body melts, the tension easing in my face and neck.

”Thank you,” I hum, letting my eyelids close. Pretending just for a moment that we were us again.

”That’s funny,” Paige says smiling, ”You sound more British again.”

I smile too, her fingers now pressing down on the nape of my neck. ”I suppose. It’s probably because I haven’t been around you.”

Sounds of steps stop us, Paige pulling away as two people from marketing walk by, smiling at us knowingly as they greet us. Sighing, I lean back in the chair and rub my forehead.

”It’s like everyone’s watching us,” I mumble quietly.

”Guess I’m used to it,” Paige replies. She’s right, it’s only new to me. Somehow she’s been handling this since high school.

”Did you um, get the chocolate?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her black shorts.

”Yeah,” I hum, thinking of the note attached to it. I felt completely stuck between two roads, not sure which one to take. On the other hand nothing about us made sense. But still I wanted her more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to want anyone like I want her. 

It was like my entire life had been split into two - the time before Paige and the time after. Everything before felt irrelevant. She had come into my life with a crash, when I most needed her but didn’t know I did. She had irrevocably changed me. I don’t know how I could go back to before.

”It was amazing, I can’t believe you remembered,” I continue.

”Course I did,” she huffs, leaning her head on the wall behind us, cracking her knuckles. Terror washes over me. I realise how badly I need our plan to work. Because if it doesn’t I’ll lose her forever.

Paige opens her mouth before closing it, and opening it again.

”I meant what I said, y’know.”

I lift my gaze from my crossed ankles to her, to find her already looking over. She seems hesitant, gathering courage.

”In that note,” she adds, cheeks red. ”I’m not going anywhere.”

I can feel it in the way my heart throbs, the way my eyes burn, the way my eyes are glued on her angular face, the way my slender fingers slide between her’s like a habit I could never break and the way her touch send shivers up my spine - I love her. I do.

Paige’s breathing is shallow, glancing downward to our hands that are locked together. Neither of us have to say it. We both feel it.

The moment I wish would go on forever is cruelly interrupted by the buzzing emerging from the pocket of her shorts. With one hand she digs the phone out, reading the screen grip remaining on mine.

”Shit, I got practice,” she whispers, as to not disrupt the moment. Her voice is hoarse and vulnerable. I wanted to listen to it forever.

”Okay,” I hum, standing up with her. ”I’ll wait for Trey here.”

Paige looks at me once more before enveloping me into her arms, nose buried into my hair and inhaling unashamedly. I do it too, allowing myself to breathe her in. Sandalwood and musk and deodorant.

”It’s all gonna be okay,” she whispers. And I believe her.

Paige kisses my forehead before pulling back, letting go of my hand. Her touch leaves my skin burning. Even before she goes, I already miss her.

”I’ll call you Paige,” I hum softly.

”Okay. I’ll see you later Iz.”

And she walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I’m nearly nodding off in my chair, head lulling back as my eyelids grow heavy. I glance at my phone once more. No text, no call. Just the sent receipt under the tens of texts I had sent Trey. Our one missing link to get this all to be over.

Standing up, I roam around the office, finding Caleb and Ava editing a video for Youtube.

”Hey, have you seen Trey?” I ask, rubbing my face tiredly.

”You lost me 20 bucks,” Caleb jokes, having bet against me and Paige being romantically involved. Ava chuckles.

”It’s not on her if you’re completely blind.”

I wish I had it in me to find this as fun as they did, but I just wanted to finish this and go home.

”Trey? You seen him?” I ask again, ignoring their jokes.

”I think he’s upstairs,” Caleb answers. ”Some sorta meeting.”

Finally. ”Thank you.”

In a rush, I hurry to the elevator, impatiently spamming the button to the upper floor. 

“C’mon,” I mutter to myself, ready to get this over with.

Finally the doors slide open. Stepping out into the new floor, I begin to hurry along the corridors when from around a corner Trey emerges, his face buried into his phone nearly bumping into me.

“Trey!” I say with relief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He looks uneasy, avoiding my gaze. Much like he had ever since I rejected him.

“You know I’ve been texting you too,” I huff lightheartedly, poking his phone.

“I saw,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically low and quiet. I chase his gaze, finally catching his brown eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” I say more seriously. Trey bites down on his lower lip, shutting his eyelids and rubbing his face.

“I’m in a hurry okay?”

“It won’t take long,” I tell him, placing a hand on his forearm so he won’t walk away.

“Zari, I gotta go,” he spits, pushing past me. Wow, I knew I hurt him when I rejected his kiss but I didn’t realise his ego was that fragile.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed now. “Trey, it's been weeks. Let it go.”

He turns, growing irritated. “Nah, I’m sick of you and your little mind games.”

“Mind games?!” I hiss condescendingly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You been toying with me and Paige ever since you moved here!”

He knows? I glance around before shushing him, praying to God nobody heard. Of course he knows.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” I whisper angrily.

“I saw your little video.”

Shit. Heart throbbing in my chest I swallow, wanting to crawl into my skin and disappear. Kissing my teeth I look down trying to find the words.

“Look, Trey-“

“Save it. Can’t wait for you to be back in London.”

Hold on. “What?”

I take a step closer to Trey, who’s looking at me heavy lidded.

“You broke the rules Izara,” he says with a low voice.

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. No fucking way. Of course. My stomach drops. My pulse thunders in my ears.

“You told her,” I whisper, waves of anger washing over me. It took a lot for me to be enraged - but right now I was livid. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, nearly drawing bloos.

Trey looks uneasy, eyes flickering away from me. “Rules are rules Izara.”

Tears fill my eyes, welling up by my bottom lashes. I should’ve listened to everyone who hated Trey. Because they were right. He’s disgusting. I truly hate him.

“Don’t act like you care about rules. You did this because you couldn’t handle the fact that I do not have feelings for you,” I hiss, pointing a finger at him. “You’re disgusting.”

The ringing of my phone breaks off my voice, like a bad omen. Trey grins. I want to kill him.

“Must be Linda,” he says before turning and disappearing into the elevator.

My hands shake as I grab my phone - the screen lit up, proving Trey right.

-

Paige,

Remember that roadtrip we took? Driving with no plan or destination with the windows down, being stuck in that gross hotel, the storm, the night we spent together? I think about that all the time. With anyone else I would’ve been terrified. I’m no good without a plan (Lord knows). But with you I never cared about a plan. You’re so sure, so certain, so comfortable and steady it made it safe to feel out of control sometimes. That’s a gift I’ll carry with me forever. I never had that with anyone.

I never thought this is how my time in Dallas would turn out. Deep inside I want to blame someone. I want to blame Trey, and maybe when you hear about what happened you will too. But we shouldn’t. Because there’s no one to blame but me. I’ve been smart all my life. I should’ve been smarter. But something about you makes it impossible to be smart.

Still, despite everything that happened I don’t regret any of it. This summer has been the best of my life. Getting to know you has been the greatest blessing. I’d never say it to your face, but you’ve taught me more about myself than anyone.  I’ve never been loved so well, and I’ll never forget that. But my past is still haunting me. It’s just not our time.

I’m sorry it turned out this way. I know you’ll find someone and make her the happiest girl in the world, like you did me. And I’ll always regret not doing more to make us work. For not telling you how I love you. And I’ll have to live with that.

I hope you find your person who can love you how you deserve. Just know there are no hard feelings with you and me. I think no matter what it wasn’t meant to work. I don’t belong in Texas… but then again does anyone?

I’m sorry. I told you I’m not good at goodbyes.

Yours, Izzie

Reading through the letter one more time, I fold it in half and slide it into Paige’s apartment through the mail slot. For a moment I lean my forehead against the wood panels on the door, as if it’s Paige. But it’s not. And I’ll never lean my forehead on her again. I’ll never look into the blue of her eyes, I’ll never taste her lips.

A tear falls down my cheeks as the elevator takes me to the ground floor for one last time. I bite down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling, watching the driver lift my bags into the trunk. 

The cab drives through Dallas, through the neighbourhoods that had once been unfamiliar. Now I know the streets and the weather and the drive-thru barbeque place that has the best ribs. But London was calling me home. There was nothing left for me here anymore.

My heart aches, thinking about the disappointment in Linda’s voice, telling me she had no chance but to let me go. That she expected more of me. 

But the ache is nothing compared to what I feel when I think about Paige. My sweet, funny American girl. Her laughter echoes in my head, and I let her linger. My nails dig into my seat, like they did into Paige’s skin. 

I wouldn’t forget the summer I spent with Paige Bueckers until the day I die, that I know for certain. She would haunt me for the rest of my life, pieces of her existing in every person I meet. But no one will ever measure up, no one will ever be her. And maybe in another life we’ll grow old and grey together. And that’s the only thought comforting me as the clouds part, the plane circling above Thames, the London Eye and Buckingham Palace when we approach Heathrow.

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@pb524830@bueckersfive@lupinqs@sierrale8ne@d3arapril@lovegalor333@avvwritesstufff@rosemariiaa@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges-1vur@slut4uconnwbb@xxloveralways14@bueckersbitch@janaelalfysblunt@omg-imtumbling@angryflowerwitch@ohbueckers @enchantingesme @ohmybueckers @potatobears-world @st4yyyy @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @paigebaby5 @gayflygirl @saverdelrey @xoxosierralane @katemartinsfuturewife @nicebellee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @cowboybueckers

[lavenderchqn]

✧・| green with 'envy'

— anemo men trying out the "you're the most jealous person I know" trend with their partner. for some it feels like more than a trend.

content warnings: comedy, hurt/comfort; serious and unserious jealousy talks; a panic attack (I am so sorry Venti mains, all you do is suffer because of me); implied self-doubt/low self-esteem in some; mentions of overthinking; playful teasing;

this set of scenarios has been requested by anon!

[note.] — cover art created by @sssA_km on twitter for hoyofair 2024! and a personal writer note - from this point onwards, all scenarios created for anemo males as a group will include ifa! give it up for our first tall man.

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

Abort the mission, abort I repeat! When he joked about you being jealous, getting it spun onto his… oversights… was not what he had in mind. Oh heavens above, somebody please save him! 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Aether says as he enters the room. It’s heavy, the atmosphere. His usually bright golden eyes have seemingly dulled. His arms are crossed. Nothing in his behaviour indicates he’s joking. And thus, you take it as a confrontation. 

You sigh. If being labelled as the jealous one is what it takes to finally access some of Aether’s behaviour, then so be it. At least you’ll hopefully be on the same page. “What makes you think that?” You ask. There’s no reason for you to turn this into a screaming match.

The blond stutters. It’s like Aether hadn’t expected your reply to be, well, that. He blinks a few times, trying to process your counter-question… and how to proceed. After a second of thinking, he replies again. “Your tendencies to cling whenever somebody else is speaking. Or how you drag me away when somebody’s asking for help.” Ouch. That’s cold. Unnaturally cold for him.

You nod. “Love, you realise I’m doing it to, I dunno perhaps, help?” You know, you’re not the only one who’s noticed the lack of decorum people show around your partner. How they ask for his assistance in the simplest tasks. And well, how he never seems to find it in himself to deny them. “People are getting overbearing, trampling over you because you never deny.” 

It’s groundbreaking. World shattering. Aether is at a loss for words. Is it really true? He stands, still as a statue, when the severity of your words seeps in. “W-Wait, so—“ He starts, stumbling over his words. “My quote ‘jealousy’ is me trying to help you out from being taken advantage of, Love.” There’s not an ounce of matter in your body where it seems like you’re unserious. Not to mention… how you’re right. 

You get up, coming close. With the gentlest of notions, you pull Aether into a hug. “It’s okay, you know.” You whisper, rubbing comforting circles into his back. “You can work on boundaries.” Your jealousy was just a defence mechanism. Not for you, but to protect him. And, until he’s able to defend himself, you’ll be there in his place. Even if it makes you seem like the clingy and overbearing partner. Who may or may not be an asshole at times. 

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

He doesn’t mean to send you into a panic. Unfortunately, his words dig deep. Not because you’re unhealthily possessive in his eyes. It’s because he can see the things that are hidden. Those things you’re not fully ready to tackle right in the moment. 

“You’re the most jealous person I know…” Venti says nonchalantly. He throws it how one would a compliment. But the tone, the words. This isn’t a joke. This feels like an interrogation about to be laced with poison. 

A pin drops. You feel like the mere sentence has knocked all the air out of your lungs. It’s getting hard to breathe. You feel like you’re about to pass out any second now. 

“Love?” He asks. Unfortunately, his words don’t seem to reach you. You’re as still as a statue… Oh god, are you breathing? “Baby? Baby!” Something has gone utterly wrong. You were not supposed to react this way! You were supposed to play into the joke, not take it to heart. Not to mention have a panic attack. 

“Okay… okay…” Venti’s reaction is immediate. He helps you to the ground, holding your hands so you won’t hurt yourself. Even if he didn’t think you’d have a panic attack over his comment, that’s the situation. He has to make it better. “Love, can you hear me?” 

You don’t. You can barely hear anything over your heart pounding. There are too many thoughts running rampant. Will Venti scream? Shout? Leave you over that? Tears continue falling down your cheeks.

“Try— Try and follow my breathing, okay?” He says, linking your hands together. He takes a deep breath, hoping you’ll follow. Your body does, even if you’re still unresponsive. It takes trial and error, sobs rippling through your chest. 

“…sorry—“ You breathe out, leaning forward. You feel exposed. In your subconscious, you feel Venti uncovered something he wouldn’t like. “Don’t apologise, please,” He’s still not convinced. He doesn’t want to assume. “Can I?” He asks, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. He doesn’t need to. You know. Venti is asking if he can give you a reassuring kiss. You shake your head. It’s a little too early for that. “That’s okay,” 

It takes a moment for you to feel like you’ve become one with your body again. Even longer when you feel able to speak about what happened. 

“Do you ever ask why I get this way…?” You begin. “Maybe it’s because -y’know what, never mind…” And it’s gone. But Venti doesn’t push further. Because he knows. He knows that some deeper feelings are buried in your mind. Those that require addressing, but not perhaps now. 

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎

He gets the worst timing. Not to mention, how he doesn’t even reply when you enquire. In the end, Xiao makes you think… you’re actually the most jealous person he does know. And what’s about to come is an interrogation. 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Xiao says, handing you another plate. It’s an odd timing — right in the middle of doing dishes? Really? Well, in his defence, he didn’t even want to participate in this whole… joke. Venti’s nagging and Heizou’s retelling of his story ultimately pushed him towards it. 

“You’re right, I am. Especially when you look like that, Xiao,” You say, drying a glass and standing on your tippy toes to place it on the back shelf. That- That was not what he expected your reaction to be. You seem to have caught on, stopping to look at him. “Xiao?” 

He’s silent, looking at you in confusion. You come up close, slowly taking a plate from his hands to ensure it doesn’t end up on the floor. “You meant it as a joke, right?” You ask. “I, uh—“ 

“Okay…” You tut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Let’s finish cleaning up, okay? Then we can discuss it seriously.” Your voice is lower, meeker. Like you came to the wrong conclusion due to his lack of response. A time machine to go back these few minutes, please. 

The rest of the chore session is spent in silence. Uncomfortable one, to be precise. With glasses of water on the table, you’re finally ready to talk. Communication is the key to maintaining a healthy relationship. If Xiao thinks you’re jealous, you’re open to tackling it. No matter how worried it makes you feel. 

“Ssoo…” You begin, taking a nervous look at your partner. He looks equally anxious, if not more. Heavens above, was it that bad? If Xiao was so worried about bringing it up, it had to be serious. “What makes you feel like I’m jealous?” You ask, gulping. 

“I, uh, don’t think you are.” “Wait, what?” You blink a few times to make sure you’ve heard him right. “I don’t consider you to be jealous.” “Sorry, I uh? Do you want me to be more jealous then?” Xiao sees the puzzled look on your face. You do your best to solve the riddle you're getting from his words. Jealous, but not really? Should you be jealous? 

“It’s a trend—.” Xiao takes a sip of his water. “Wanted to see how you’d act... or something,” 

“Oh, you silly goose!” 

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔

He knows you like the back of his hand. There are many ticks he can do to finally push you to your limit. But what if you actually do act upon his words… If he wants you to be jealous, then why not return the favour tenfold? 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Ah. Heizou’s at his annoying behaviour once again. Recently, he’s been doing everything to push your buttons. A compliment to a random coworker here, a brief hug there. Doing everything he could to make you jealous. 

“Oh?” Your voice is higher and clearly amused. Well, if Heizou oh-so wishes, you can play right into the trend. “You know other people?” You ask, dropping down an octave. Your voice almost robotic. You’ve turned around to face him, eyes ice cold. Exactly how the trend goes, yet precisely against the picture Heizou has been painting in his mind. 

For weeks, he wondered. Would you puff your cheeks in annoyance? Would you cling to try and assert dominance? Or maybe, just maybe, you’d leave marks in visible spots. That’d be pretty hot. Alas, here you were being… actually jealous. And not in a cute way.

“What?” He hums, shocked. “No, no, of course I don’t, Darlin’” He has this one smile across his face. The dumb one. The one he likes to plaster on whenever he eats your food when you’ve told him not to. 

“Maybe I’m right in being jealous,” You sigh. Wandering from window to window, you blabber — loud enough for Heizou to hear. “My partner does nothing to stop the unwanted attention… You know what,” You stop for a second, looking directly at him. “Maybe I should take after his behaviour.” You smile. Hugs, compliments, and perhaps a date? If he’s acting like he’s single, so should you.  

“Absolutely not.” His voice gruff, as he grabs you by the shoulders. “My darling is not for sharing, you know.” His olive eyes looking straight through you, searching for any signs of your act being a joke. It had to be. 

“Oh, but Heizou,” You roll your eyes. “If you want me to be jealous, it’s only fair you get jealous too~” 

He drags you closer. With one arm dropped to your waist, he bends forward, cradling you in a graceful arc. All so he can whisper huskily into your ear. “I won’t repeat myself… Darling,” Let’s just say Heizou has bitten off more than he could chew. 

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀

From the beginning he makes it sound like he’s joking. He doesn’t consider you jealous one bit, but there’s nothing wrong in having a little laugh. Besides, once and if a situation of your jealous nature truly arises — he’ll be there to provide you with the truth. 

“Ah, you’re the most jealous person I know, Beloved,” Kazuha’s voice is light as he embraces you from behind. His words — with a heavy meaning behind them, don't carry the same tone. Turning around, you notice a gentle smile across his face. Like your jealousy is a mere word of endearment.

“Is that so?” You ask, returning to your previous task, albeit moving slightly to allow your partner to nestle his head close to your neck. Kazuha only hums in return, his hair tickling you softly as he places a small kiss. “Well, with a partner like that, I’d be silly not to make sure the world knows.” 

Oh? Your words have definitely piqued his interest. He hugs you a little bit tighter, waiting for what your thought process seems to be. “What makes you say that, Dearest?” 

“Oh, you know,” You turn the two of you around, a glass of water in your hand. There’s a struggle in getting to the couch — given you’re basically moving two bodies at once. Kazuha and his cat mentalities… thinking he can just hang on you. “Love, give me a hand, c’mon,” “Okay, okay, whatever my Muse says.” 

Once you safely make it to the couch and Kazuha makes himself comfortable with his head in your lap, everything in his gaze is asking you to continue. Therefore, and once you’ve covered the two of you with a blanket, you resume your thought. “You’re dashing and others want a piece of you for themselves, Kazu. Can’t allow them that,” 

You lean forward, gently grabbing his cheek in between your teeth. To demonstrate your point. Kazuha chuckles in response but cannot deny he’s enjoying himself. Especially when you kiss him across his face, lest a mark forms. “That’s what you think, Muse?” He asks, turning his attention to your hands. 

“People have eyes, of course, they’d want to steal you…” 

The room soon turns into silence. You’re enjoying your glass of water while Kazuha enjoys being treated like a cat — having your fingers play with his hair and all. Unfortunately, there’s an irrational thought bubbling in your chest. Honestly, it’s been there ever since he made the comment. “Kazuha?” “What can I do for you, Dearest?” 

“You’d tell me if I was unhealthily jealous, right?”

“Of course.” 

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑

What a hypocrite he is. If anything, you should be the one to call out his jealousy… since you’ve gotten yours from being in a relationship with him. Oh well, at least by participating in the trend he’s inflating his already big ego. 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Wanderer states as he notices your sour expression. In truth, you aren’t even sour. That’d be an overreaction. Still, you cannot help but roll your eyes at the stack of chocolates and love letters he brought home. It’s like he gets you jealous on purpose to try and get the higher ground… Heavens, the lack of self-awareness on his part.

“Sorry?” You tilt your head, eyebrow raised. “I’m the jealous one?” The tone of your voice is baffled. Hell, you look around and point at yourself. You do your best not to snort. After all, you have to uphold your posture and make him out to be the buffoon here. 

“Who else?” He rolls his eyes. “As far as I know, chairs don’t get in relationships.” Okay that was a stupid joke. Your cover gets blown off as a smug smile graces your lips. You look your partner up and down as you think of what to say next.  

“I think you need a mirror, Love.” You comment, laughing a little. “If anybody is jealous in this relationship, it’s you.” “Oh, please,” He retaliates, turning his head upwards without breaking eye contact. The glint in those blue pupils begging for you to take the challenge. Oh, how amused he is. It’s game on. 

“Mind I remind you of…” You pause, putting a finger to your lips. “Of how you almost strangled the guy who praised my outfit the other day.” The ball is now in his court. “Duh? I’m the only one who’s to compliment your outfits.” He doesn’t forget to mention how he chose it. Taking pride in being complimented for something you didn’t achieve? How childish.

“The barista asking for my number.” “Looked shady, also, ew.” “The girl who helped me to get up after—“ “You shouldn’t have fallen, idiot.” 

It does go back and forth for a while. It’s like for every example, there's a retaliation. Well, he is being delusional in thinking those don’t constitute jealousy. 

“—Miss Miko gifting me the flowers.” For the first time since you’ve started, there’s silence. Oh, you must’ve cut deep. Okay, okay, maybe it was a low blow… Yae Miko and all...

“Good one.” Wanderer smirks. Man, that was quite fun. He'll be sure to repeat it sometime.

𝐈𝐅𝐀

He feels guilty even wanting to attempt it. His motivation is to be useful to others, so making your means of affection out to be something toxic grinds his gears. Will be apologising for the stupid joke for at least a week straight. 

“Bro, you’re the most jealous person I know… you know?” Ifa’s voice is full of uncertainty when it echoes through the room. It’s like he’s unsure if the matter should even be brought to light… Like it’s serious. 

You, on the other hand, are absolutely floored. You open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say. Sure, there were some comments about Ifa being married to the saurians instead of you. Did those constitute you being labelled the jealous one? You always try your best to not be controlling, at least you think. Your weight shifts from one leg to the other and you feel your lips trembling. 

“D-Do you really think that?” You ask, tilting your head forward — as a mechanism to not let him see how your eyes fill with tears. Some of the locks make it between your fingers, twirled nervously. “I’m s… sorry, I’ll do bett—er. Promise,” The words are being thrown out haphazardly, hoping any of them land. You’d rather not… have Ifa break up with you right there. 

You brace for impact. The slew of accusations, the painful stabs into your heart. It makes your head spin. Instead, you’re met with the broad chest of your partner. His arms wrap around you as Ifa pulls you into the biggest hug possible. “God, I’m so sorry,” He lets out. Stupid, idiotic, imbecile, he mutters name-calling himself. “It was a stupid joke. I didn’t mean it at all, Bro.” 

You look up at him. Ifa’s jaw is clenched as he rubs your back. “Really?” You ask, still unsure. He wouldn’t be bringing up it if he didn’t mean it… right? “Yeah, I was joking. Didn’t mean a word. Sorry.” He doesn’t peek at you, embarrassed he even attempted to participate in the trend. So stupid, so immature. Of course, you’d be worried. Jokes are only good when both parties laugh. If he could, he’d bash his head against the wall. You deserve better than his antics. 

“I really don’t feel like you’re jealous, okay, Bro,” He says, for the last time today, as kisses you on your head. “I won’t tell you that unless I really mean it.” Ifa holds his pinky up, waiting for your acceptance with bated breath. Only when you link your finger with him, does he feel the calm wash over his body. 

date of posting — may 11th 2025

[cowboybeepboop]

Rescued

"Um, I...I need to clean up."

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 2k

Summary: part two of my Bob smut 🥴

Warnings: unprotected sex, needy Bob, slight angst, idk

a/n: I’m obsessed with writing about him 😣 I need Lewis Pullman like a teenager needs their vape 😩 as always send any requests you might have my way! I’d love to get some more done 😛

Part one :

A couple days have passed since you and Bob shared your intimate moment together, and you’ve been avoiding him like hell. You knew that you shouldn’t have gone that far with him, he needed a friend and you felt like you took advantage of his loneliness.

Rubbing a hand over your tired eyes you stand in the kitchen, you haven’t been sleeping or eating much, avoiding the whole team is one of the most impossible tasks you’ve ever had. The clock reads 3:30 am, a small mess of dishes are left in the sink and the trash is overfilled.

“Fuck.” You run a hand through your messy hair, quietly beginning to do the dishes, a chore that’s been neglected recently.

Bob quietly creeps into the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes fixed on your form as you work on the dishes. He can see the tension in your shoulders, the heavy bags under your eyes, the way you avoid looking at him. It’s not hard for him to guess what’s going on.

He hesitates for a moment, watching you as you try to ignore him. He stands there for a few minutes, debating with himself, before finally deciding to say something. "You...you look tired."

“Oh, Bob.” You breathe out, part of you has been craving his company, craving the sound of his voice and then the other part of you feels immeasurable guilt for pushing the boundaries of your friendship. “How come you’re up so late tonight?” Pushing down your thoughts and feelings you try to pretend that nothing is wrong.

Bob can sense the shift in your demeanor, the way you're trying to act normal. He takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes fixed on you, searching for any signs of what's truly going on.

"I couldn't sleep." he murmurs softly, his gaze roaming over your exhausted form. "Just felt...restless."

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anyway I can help?” Keeping your eyes focused on the sink you don’t even notice Bob creeping toward you, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Bob stands right behind you now, close enough that you can feel his body heat radiating through his thin t-shirt, his hands still fiddling with the material. He stares down at your back, his voice soft yet slightly hoarse, "Well...there is one thing..."

The feeling of him so close sends a comforting tingle down your spine, his cologne, deodorant, shampoo, all of it is filling your senses and putting you at complete ease. “Yeah? What’s that Bob?”

Bob takes a step closer, his chest now pressed up against your back, his breath warm on your neck. He places one of his hands on your hip, lightly applying the barest amount of pressure to turn you towards him.

"I could use some...company," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Bob can sense your hesitation, your guilt, and he's not having it. He steps even closer to you, his body practically pressed against yours now, his fingers gently gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"No," he murmurs roughly, his eyes locked onto yours, "Don't you push me away."

“What happened before, that was a mistake.” You know he’s better off pushed away from you, he needs friends, a *family*, not you, not this. “I should’ve never pushed those boundaries with you, it was a mistake,” You turn to face the dishes again, letting the warm water run over your hands.

His expression falters, a pang of pain shooting through his chest at your words. That's it? A mistake. Like that night was nothing, like he was some kind of fool to let his walls down around you.

Bob feels his mind wandering, thinking of all the negative things about himself, what things could make you act like this. He can’t think straight, he’s hurt, but more than anything he craves you. His arms find their way around your waist, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “Please Y/N, don’t do this to me…” he whispers.

You lean back into his embrace, head falling over his shoulder a small moan escaping from your lips at the feeling of his breath against your skin. “Oh Bob,” his hands slide up your shirt, wandering your skin, his touch needy and desperate.

He can't help himself, his body craving your touch, his hands roaming over your skin, like he's trying to memorize the feel of you. He trails kisses along the column of your neck, murmuring against your skin, "You...you don't regret it, do you? Being with me like that."

His hands cup your breasts, as he pushes your body forward, bending you over the counter. “No, not at all.. I don’t regret anything with-“ you lose track of your thoughts, the feeling of his erection pressed against you sending your mind reeling. “With you..” you murmur, soft pants and moans leaving your lips as his hands continue their wandering.

Bob's hands continue their trail over your body, his touch becoming more and more desperate with every passing moment, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. "Good, that's...that's good." he murmurs against your skin, his lips never leaving you as they press soft kisses along your neck.

His fingers fiddle with the button of your pants, slowly popping them open to reveal the fabric of your underwear, his mouth moving to your ear, your name a breathy whisper, "Please, tell me you still want me. That I'm...enough."

“God.. you’re so much more than enough,” you moan, hands moving to help remove your underwear. “You’re all I need,” your cunt aches for his touch, body shaking with every move he makes.

"Please…let me make you feel good. Let me keep you. Let me show you...what you do to me," Bob murmurs gently in your ear, his words sending another shiver down your back. "Please, don't push me away," he whispers, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. "I'll...I'll show you."

As the fabric of your underwear slides down your legs, Bob's need for you overpowers his timidity. His hands, though gentle, are insistent as they explore the curves of your ass, gripping each cheek firmly. He leans in, his face buried in your hair as he whispers, "You're so beautiful."

His desperation manifests in the way his thumbs trace the line where your thigh meets your pelvis, his fingertips brushing against the wetness of your arousal. Despite his tentative touch, there's an urgency in his voice, a raw hunger that wasn't present before.

His breath hitches as he finally dips a digit into your folds, teasing and testing, as if seeking reassurance that you still crave him. The tender intimacy of the moment is palpable, his touch a silent plea for you to not deny him.

Bob's finger circles your clit with a gentle yet urgent stroking motion, his thumb pressing down firmly on the sensitive nub as he watches your reaction in the window over the sink. The sight of your face contorted in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut and mouth parted in a silent gasp, fuels his desire even more. He's desperate to erase any doubt between you, to prove that what happened wasn't just a fleeting moment of weakness.

His other hand snakes around to the front, his thumb brushing over your clit as two of his fingers slip inside your wet, eager pussy. You're so wet for him, and the feel of your tightness around his fingers is almost too much. He can't believe he ever doubted your feelings for him.

His strokes become more deliberate, his touch more confident, as he watches your body respond to his every move. The sound of your moans fills the quiet kitchen, mixing with the faint splashing of the faucet and the occasional clink of a dish. He feels your muscles tighten around his fingers, and he knows you're close.

His thumb presses harder, his fingers pumping faster, as he watches you climb closer to the edge. And when you finally do, your body arches back into him, your hand flying to cover your mouth to muffle the sounds of your orgasm, he feels a sense of triumph and relief wash over him. For this moment, at least, you're his, and he's yours.

Bob's need for you is palpable as he guides you away from the sink, turning off the faucet with his elbow, not once breaking the connection between his body and yours. He lifts you onto the kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his waist as he steps between them. He's still fully dressed, but you can feel his erection straining against the fabric of his shorts, his hands trembling with anticipation.

With a gentle but firm grip, he lifts your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, his eyes drinking in the sight of your bare breasts. He lowers his mouth to one of your nipples, sucking and biting gently, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive peak. You arch into him, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer as he gives your other nipple the same treatment.

The sound of fabric ripping fills the room as he impatiently pulls down his shorts, revealing his thick, hard cock. He lines it up with your dripping wet pussy, and with one swift, needy thrust, he's inside you. His hips rock against yours in a rhythm that's both gentle and rough, the kind of desperate claiming that leaves no doubt about his feelings for you. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he fucks you, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear.

Your body responds instantly to his touch, your pussy clenching around him, drawing him deeper. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, making it impossible to ignore the connection that's been building between you since that night. The kitchen counter digs into your back, but you don't care, the pain only heightening your pleasure as he fucks you harder, faster, his cock sliding in and out of you with an urgency that speaks of his need for you.

He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice hoarse with desire, his breath hot and panting against your skin. His hand moves between your legs, his thumb finding your clit once again, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You're so close, your entire body tightening around him, your nails digging into his back as you hold on for dear life.

And when you finally cum, it's with a loud cry that echoes through the empty house, your pussy spasming around his cock, milking him until he follows you over the edge, his own orgasm shaking him to his core. He collapses against you, his body weight pressing you into the cold countertop, his cock still buried deep inside you as he gasps for air.

Bob's body shakes against yours, his breaths ragged and labored, both his hands resting on your hips. He's still nestled between your legs, his head resting on your shoulder, his lips pressed against your neck. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything, he just stays there, his body completely enveloping yours.

Slowly, his body starts to relax, his breathing begins to even out. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. There's a vulnerability there, a hint of fear that everything that just happened was just some fever dream. "Please don't pull away from me." he whispers softly,

“I won’t.. not anymore, I promise.” You cover his face with kisses, gentle and sweet.

Bob relaxes into your touch, savoring the feeling of your lips on his skin. His grip on your hips loosens as he straightens up, his body no longer pressing you into the countertop. He glances down, a hint of embarrassment on his face as he realizes he's still inside you, his cock slowly softening.

He blushes as he looks down at where your bodies are still connected, his voice a soft whisper, "Um, I...I need to clean up."

[softsuo]

when their s/o gets jealous

⊱ you try to keep it at bay, but green-passing someone getting perhaps a bit too close to your boyfriend isn't your thing ; sakura, suo, kaji

⊱ request: "Imagine sakura, suo and kaji with an s/o that gets jealous and a bit possessive over them. Like not in a toxic, obsessive way but if they see their bfs getting hit on, best believe the s/o's gonna cling a bit more than they usually do and hold on to them until their jealousy simmers down 🙏😝😝"

⊱ w.c: 1.2k (total); 0.4k (average)

⊱ genre: fluff-ish

⊱ warnings: none

⊱ a/n: had too much writing this omg, thank you for requesting <3

sakura haruka

you try to keep it at bay, truly. few things make you happier than seeing people appreciate sakura after all, it warms your heart to extents beyond human comprehension. there is still a limit though.

it hadn’t even been a fight, only sakura helping two girls clearly bothered by some, quote unquote, punks with mere half-threats. it’s part of his duty, right? and it’s also part of his duty to make citizens feel safe, right? so it only makes sense for him to respond when the two come up to thank him, right? and it only makes sense for them to shamelessly act like you’re literally not even there, right? no. no, it doesn’t, and while you can’t blame him and his nature, it admittedly stresses you out when sakura doesn’t know how to respond through more than flustered stutters.

you like to follow the principle of being the bigger person. this time, you find yourself being the bigger problem instead.

“haruka,” you call out, fully going against your so-called principle once you wrap your arms around him from behind. you’re quick to feel his entire body shiver against your own, and if he already wasn’t flustered, you’re sure he is now. maybe you feel a bit bad for doing this to him in broad daylight, but you make a mental note to just apologize a little later. “nirei and suo are waiting for us.”

“what the he— since when do you call me h—” sakura makes an attempt to turn around, though interrupts himself upon processing the smallest of a pout you struggle with suppressing into his back. it’s just a guess, one he’s not certain of at all, but he does know better than to take any risks; clearing his throat, he turns back to the two girls, awkwardly rubbing his burning neck as he explains there’s somewhere you’re supposed to be right now and have to leave.

thus, that’s how you stay there until they’re both out of sight and sakura, still dusted in pink, finally puts his guess out there, “the hell are you being jealous for?”

“the hell are you getting shy around girls for?”

“oh, shut up!”

“and you speak up!”

suo hayato

it’s not like you’re angry or embarrassed or something along those lines, yet your face is damn near burning as you keep it buried into suo’s chest. you’re lying flush against him, legs tangled together, stretched over the sofa. you should feel comfortable. you don’t, and you’re not telling him why.

“i’m sorry, my love,” he apologizes, although he’s quite sure he can’t recall anything particularly wrong throughout the day you spent outside. “so can you please look at me already?”

as if stubborn were your middle name, you shake your head, but mutter anyway, “it’s not your fault.”

“so something is wrong?”

“... i don’t want to talk about it.”

“by chance, are you—”

“suo, no.”

a silence fills the room. only briefly, before suo lets out a light sigh. a hand reaches to gently, barely, caress the back of your head, the touch making your fist subconsciously loosen its grip on his shirt. “you know,” he begins, and your shoulders relax — partly from the soothing tint lacing his voice, partly because there’s no use trying to get around someone so naturally observant. “there’s nothing you have to be jealous of.”

“i know there’s nothing i have to be jealous of,” you retort, nudging his knee with your own. “but that doesn’t mean i have a thing for watching others hit on you like that.”

suo truly tries to hold it back as well as he can, but upon feeling his lips curve against the top of your head, you can easily tell he’s on the verge of laughing. though, it doesn’t make him take your thoughts any less seriously: “is there anything i can do to help you feel better?”

you’re ready to reject the offer — he had been quick to dismiss the previous events after all, clarifying that he already was with someone so he really isn’t at fault — yet you remain quiet, like you’re thinking.

in the end, you opt to wrap your arms around his torso, legs tangling even more chaotically with his. tilting your neck a bit, you allow yourself to rest into the crook of his neck, and the sigh you let out finally makes him laugh. in response, you soon find yourself held impossibly closer as his hands meet at your lower back. there’s a nod, a pair of lips feathering your forehead accompanied by a soft hum, “okay, let’s stay like this then.”

kaji ren

everyone and their mother knows about furin, so it comes rather naturally that they’d know kaji as well. lovely. great. you mean it whenever you think that too! it’s something you often take pride in.

although it can be an issue at times too.

when you exit the school building, you immediately notice the little crowd that’s gathered by the end of its grounds, right next to the gate. albeit somewhat curious on what’s going on, you’re more interested in going home, hence thinking you wouldn’t spare the minor fuss more than a glance or two—until you find out what’s actually going on.

there he stands, just a few meters away from fellow classmates and other students you don’t really know; without a single care for the surroundings, or maybe even awareness, kaji is leaning back against the brick wall, occupied by whatever social media he’s browsing, headphones on. due to his lack of response in curious whispers, gasps of awe and giddy giggles, you quickly assume that the sound of them all is muted behind his music. not that it helps the icky feeling growing inside you.

sure, you like to think you know where the reactions are coming from, and you’re humble enough to not assume each one of them know who you are — although some definitely do — but it’s gnawing on you, that little sense of jealousy you frankly don’t want to admit.

you really do not want to admit it. yet it’s undoubtedly the cause of you just slightly picking up your pace the moment some of the students move to approach him; by the time kaji’s attention is finally torn apart, you’re already ahead of them, safe to say giving him a startle as you soon nearly crash into him.

“i told you, you don’t have to pick me up every time,” you sigh, pulling him closer by the arm you squeeze close to yourself. do you mean it? yes. are you also trying to prove a point? yes? no? maybe so. nonetheless, you repeat the reminder once he tugs the headphones down to his neck, pausing his playlist.

kaji blinks at you a few times and if you didn’t know better, you could almost believe he’s the human embodiment of disinterest. his eyes dart aside though, noting the crowd that’s yet to leave—for better or for worse, you realize the pieces fall into place as soon as he lets out a deep breath.

“whatever,” he mutters and frees his arms from your hold, yet showing no hesitation when he securely grabs your hand in his own. “let’s go, coffee shop’s not waiting for your jealousy.”

[moriitis]

𝔘𝔫𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰.

🗡⊱ Knight!Toby Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary ⊱ When taking some time to pray in the chapel, Toby has other plans that make you question your faith.

WC ⊱ 6.7k.

Warning(s) ⊱ 18+, unsafe sex, AUs, explicit, dubious consent elements, mentions of murder, strangulation, sex, head, eating out, bruising, swearing, mentions of death, questions of faith, heavy talk of religion, questioning of faith, religion, orgasm, light asphyxiation, biting, kissing, fluids, in public, sexual content, vaginal, sexual inexperience, sexual overstimulation, denying of an orgasm, edging, virginity, taking of virginity, purity, losing your purity.

Art credit ⊱ pahatao (ig)

The church, a place of calm, peace, serenity and yet Toby couldn't understand why. Perhaps this was why he was always the odd one out, the pagan, the non-believer. Why should he? After everything he had gone through, everything he had fought, the men who had died in his arms? There was no afterlife, no God or Maker, there was just death and nothingness. So, when he found you praying in the church, he couldn't understand as to why you believed in this bullshit. Was it for approval, for guilt of a deadly sin you kept hidden from him? Though as his curiosity nipped at him, eager for some kind of answer, he didn't want to disturb your peace because you looked so beautiful under that stained glass. The colours danced on your pale skin, etching every frame, casting shadows along each bosom on your chest. Dare he look, not in a church, it's just seeing you on your knees in such a way ignited something within him. Toby couldn't deny himself of you, he couldn't deny those feelings of longing, you were too perfect and if there were a God - if he did pray - then he prayed each day and night to not give into his temptations. The urges, the feelings - the king would have his damned head. Still, the idea of seeing your virgin skin, of having your legs wrapped around his frame, of feeling the plumpness of your tits flush against his chest - fuck, he was getting hard.

Shuffling from one foot to another, the knight lowered his chin so that it met his chest, glancing at his growing cock as he exchanged another glance up from under his lashes toward you. The chapel was so eerily quiet, so much so that he could hear his own blood rushing and have mercy, it was not rushing to his head. You were quietly uttering soft prayers, though he couldn't make out much of what was being said. Perhaps you were hoping to be rid of the current plague that tormented your townsfolk or to rid the lingering fear of war. Whatever it was, he couldn't find himself caring because right now, he wanted nothing more than to bury his cock within you, holding you sharply against these chapel walls and taking your virginity before God himself. It must be an ego thing because the thought made Toby shiver; the idea of ruining you so that no other man dared to touch you. Toby knew there were something wrong with him, not because taking the life of another man makes him shiver in ecstasy, but because he knows that his cock is perfect for you - you just don't know it yet.

With a stifled groan, he lifted his head back up and shot a cautious glance toward the wooden doors of the church. It was too early in the morning for any other people to join for the mass and though the risk excited him more, he had to play this dangerous game safe. You were a princess, destined for the throne, for marriage for fucks sake! What was he thinking? Well, it certainly wasn't with his head, but his cock. Before he could rest his eyes for a moment, letting his mind wander, the sudden uttering of your prayers ceased and he raised a brow in interest. You were looking over toward him and he wasn't sure if he were reading too deep into it; but you wanted to say something. Not wanting to delay, he quickly stepped over toward the wooden pew.

"My Lady," he spoke softly, his voice bouncing back at him as it echoed in the empty hall of the chapel. "Is there something you need?" Though before he could throw out a hand for you, you simply turned back away, your gaze meeting with the cross that sat atop a stone slab before the two of you. The cross was mighty in size and it loomed over the frame of you two, the significance not meaning much to the knight but the shadow weighing heavy on you.

"I want you to pray with me, will you?" you asked, voice so soft and gentle Toby could've melted right there and then. Almost as soft as butter, god, something he wanted in his mouth. Your question stunned him for a moment, his brows twisting from concern, confusion and then raising in a questioning manner. You knew his stance on religion, he made that very prominent with the amount of times he interrupted the mass, the amount of scoffs he gave whenever the mention of 'God' came up in a conversation. Toby knew you knew and now a part of him questioned whether you were trying to get under his skin, not that you could anyway. Of course, it wasn't a personal attack, it's just you were so riddled in anxiety that the thought of not getting an extra prayer here or there sent a crushing feeling of nausea to swim throughout your very being. A part of you just hoping that perhaps if you made Toby of all people to drop to his knees and utter a prayer, which followed with an 'amen', perhaps God will be a little more forgiving in the future of your Kingdom. Honestly, you were hopeful that he would do it until he suddenly barked a soft scoff from under his breath. Toby was careful to tiptoe around your feelings when it came to religion, he knew how much this meant to you and how little he was being a pagan himself.

"I don't pray," he grumbled from under his breath, following your gaze momentarily toward before turning back to your frame. You looked so pretty on your knees before him; it was hard to not reach out and gently caress your cheek. "You should know this, Lady, you of all people," there was a tone of ridicule to his voice, not wanting to start a pointless argument and ruin your precious peace. Your sudden hopefulness vanished and a frown crossed your features for a moment, finding your gaze lowering to find the right words before glancing back up at him.

Deep down, there was no denying your feelings toward your personal knight, the secret training in-arms he gave you beneath the castle, down in the dungeon, where his hands would graze along your curves or rest on your hips or perhaps the feeling you felt when he looked at you a certain way. Like that night with the ball, where he stood just staring at you the entire night, like a predator hungry for its pray. A part of you began to wonder if you were reading it wrong, that perhaps you were just falling hopelessly in love with this brunette and that he was just here on duty - but surely he felt it too? Because why is he looking at you like this? Your brow creased and quickly, you disrupted your thoughts with a gentle shake of your head.

"What if I tell you, as your Lady, that you have to."

There was a tension in the air, a tension that was palpable and Toby shifted, feeling what you felt too and it was obvious by the look in his eye. Being commanded around was usual for him, but there was something in your sentence that ignited a flame within him, a flame that desperately wanted to be fuelled by more. Raising a challenging eyebrow, a soft smirk crept at the corner of his lip and he sighed, a sigh of defeat. Everything in his being was screaming at him to disobey this one order, to remain stood - mostly because it gave him a good angle of your cleavage that was becoming increasingly hard to not look at.

"I do not pray," there was a sternness in his voice and honestly, his disobedience shocked you. It wasn't often Toby rebelled, he was good at what he did and mercy, you knew this because of the vows he took when he pledged himself to you! Frankly, you were speechless, unsure on how to approach this and hesitantly, you glanced at him up and down.

Of course, you had power, a power that he did not possess and nothing would stop you from threatening him, banishing him from the kingdom! However, as if he had read your mind, Toby stepped forward and he was close. Closer than he had ever been before, so close that you could feel the warmth radiate off his skin. You were, and you hated to admit it, you were intimidated. This man towered over you, you could feel his breath tickle the hairs on the back of your neck, you could feel his stare and instinctively, you glanced down. You cowered, like a dog, with your tail between your legs and you wanted to step back, feeling your body already move before his gloved hand suddenly came onto your wrist. His grip was hard and unforgiving, leaving a gentle sting on the tenderness of your skin as you wiggled against his grip, feeling your heart race and a sickening twist in your stomach.

"Toby-" You spoke through gritted teeth, a warning as you craned your head up to glance at him, brows so furrowed that it hurt. He'd never touched you in this way before, he'd never made you feel unsafe and yet now; you were trembling. A part of you were unsure as to why. Perhaps it were because of the rumours that surrounded him, perhaps because it were the mere thought of knowing that he had killed men with his own hands? Maybe because deep down, you knew your odds of overpowering him were little to none. It seemed your warning only ignited something within him though, something that his gut was screaming at him to not do and before he could withdraw his hand, his other came toward your cleavage and promptly pulled down the clothing to reveal your breasts. There was little care in the action, little to non decency and he knew that doing something like this would kill him. The cold air hit your tits and in response, your nipples immediately began to perk, the attention, the confusion and the suddenness of it made you gasp. You felt.. betrayed, exposed and as much as you wanted to cover yourself, you didn't.

You knew Toby knew. You knew he knew how you felt. He knew that you knew that he watches you undress in front of your window while he watches outside while on his patrol. He knows because you do it in front of the window on purpose, he knows you do it to tease and lure him in because coincidentally, it's always on the same time he has to stride past. So, when you hesitated to cover yourself, it was more of an invitation.

His gloved hand moved to cup your breast, folding the size and feeling it in the palm of his hand. There was a sense of pride in the way he touched you, a smug smirk that just wanted to tug at the corner of his lips. The feeling of having you right where he wanted you, the idea of knowing how wrong this was and just how right it felt. Toby thrilled in the idea of a priest walking in, seeing you naked before him and before God.

"Tut, tut, tut," he shook his head in rhythm to his disapproval, scolding you as if you had a choice in the matter. "What would you s-ss-ss-- stupid God think now?" he revelled in your embarrassment, relished in the way you squirmed underneath his thumb as he toyed with your nipple playfully. His gaze exchanged between your flustered face and the cross that stood in the chapel, watching over your sinned acts, judging you heavily and the weight of it baring heavily on your shoulders. There was so much you wanted to do, to say; but you couldn't. Fuck, you just couldn't because the amount of times you finger fucked your clit at the idea of giving yourself to Toby, the idea of letting him taking your purity. It was blasphemy, it was enough to get him publicly hung.

Words of encouragement and disapproval lingered on your tongue, mind tearing between the two and the idea of your knees suddenly buckling beneath you becoming a heavy burden. So, you only whimpered, your whimper echoing in the empty chapel, allowing you to hear how pathetic you sounded. His other hand, that once held you hostage, now moved up your spine. Caressing the curve of your buttocks, appreciating the length of your spine before letting his fingers enclose around the back of your neck. Such a small, pretty neck, so petite. His whole palm and length of his fingers stretched with ease around your neck. So precious, so delightful and Toby couldn't contain his thoughts. Without much thought, he leant forward and let the roughness of his lips attack your neck. With your already trembling knees, you stumbled back and collided with the cold, stone wall behind you. Which allowed Toby to pin you right where he wanted you, right where he fantasised of taking you. His lips, though rough, danced gracefully along your neck. Nipping and licking you with a hunger he couldn't contain much longer, you were so sweet, so inviting and fuck, did he want you to warm his cock.

"Do you know-" his tongue grazed over your skin, warming it for just a moment before letting the cold send shivers along your skin, prickling at the mere touch alone. "Verdammt-" he was a stuttering, spluttering mess, his thoughts nothing but a haze of lust. It was only a moment his lips paid your neck attention before he leant down, allowing his tongue to run a slick, wet pattern down to your other nipple - giving it the attention it deserved. His tongue wet the bud clean, running circles around it and letting his teeth graze it in a way that made your hips squirm before pulling away to utter against your flesh. "Do you even know how bad I've w-wanted you-?" he uttered, words and look dangerous as he slowly dropped to his knees. "Meine kleine maus.." Those words, the way he whispered his mother tongue, a language you had yet to understand, it sent you into a spiral. A spiral that made you desperately rub your thighs together, your clit aching for attention as you rested the back of your skull against the stone, mouth agape as you gasped unsteady breaths. You wanted to protest, you wanted to push him away, repent your sins, but now he was on his knees, his hands removing themselves off your bosom and slowly to the hem of your dress, all the while keeping his eyes interlocked with your own.

"Lord have mercy.." you uttered, a sweet whisper of ecstasy, a whisper that encouraged him. Toby chuckled, it was so deep and hoarse that you could barely recognise it as his own. His unforgiving hands moved further, revealing your soft skin from beneath the dress, revealing your legs and thighs. The knight crept his head forward, his lips ghosting your inner leg as he sucked in your scent, as his nose tickled your legs and his lips left sloppy, messy kisses in his wake. You could feel him grinning against your skin.

"There is no God here," Toby uttered against your skin. "And here I th-thought I was the dirty s-sinner," he jest, stifling a little chuckle as his hands moved around your thighs and up to your buttocks. Taking in the warmth of each cheek, he gave them a squeeze, hard enough to bruise and embarrassingly, your hips bucked in an eagerness you couldn't control. Every day, Toby bent a knee to you, his hand on his heart, his gaze on you dangerous and strong from underneath his lashes, devoting his life to you but now, here? This was an entirely different meaning.

His kisses trailed up your inner thigh, higher and higher until he met the lining of your underwear; his fingers tickling around to pull the fabric aside and it was there he buried his nose deep in your pubic hair.

Honestly, you were stunned as he inhaled your scent, an animalistic groan escaping from his lips as his tongue darted out to wet his mouth. Despite the serenity the church provided, the sudden tension around the two of you changed. The air becoming thick and you could barely focus with your heart practically being in your mouth. There was so much you wanted to say - you wanted to do; but you were frozen at the event that was suddenly unfolding before you. This took the meaning of your own personal knight to a whole other level and what made it worst is that Toby knew you so well, so well in a way that you couldn't admit. Like he had taken the time to analyse your every move, emotion; he knows you inside and out - well, just about inside. With your mind being nothing but a dizzy haze of confusion and lust, you broke the eye contact for a mere moment to glance over at the cross before you. For all you know, Toby could be right; maybe there was no God and Toby was the devil all along - uttering sweet nothings in your ear.

Before you could ponder any further, a warmth began to wet your lips and clit and immediately you gasped. The man knelt before you lapping hungrily at your cunt, groaning and grunting soft noises of approval at how rich you tasted; at how hard you made him. He could've sworn, if there were some God, then he put all his power into making you and your pussy divine, because in all the whores he'd spent his coin on - you were heavenly. Was it your purity? Your virginity that made you so sweet that he practically sunk deeper, his shoulders dropping in delight as his tongue worked on focusing on your clit; giving you the attention any future queen deserved. You couldn't contain yourself, your cunt becoming nothing but a bundle of excited nerves and without haste, your hand and fingers entangled in the brown mess of hair on his head. Your cunt was unbearably sensitive, so much so that the urge to pull his head away was crossing your mind but his tongue flicked and lapped in a way that made you melt against the wall. His tongue moved in precision, with experiance as he continued to seep every stifled groan and whine from you, drinking it in like a fine wine that had been well preserved for years. Toby couldn't fathom how good you tasted, how good you were, a part of him seriously beginning to question whether this just be another one of his dreams. No, he was here, he was here and he was sucking on your clit so well that you could practically see stars.

His fingers twitched against your skin, eager to indulge a finger within your walls though hesitant to save the purity for his cock instead. He'd simply have to comply with your taste for now, with how wet and slick you already were, with how his saliva mixed perfectly with your own juices. This was better than anything he had done, this was better than taking a mans life. Toby's experiance with women were demonstrated well, especially with how well his tongue seemingly knew you already. He knew how to get your hips buckling, he knew how to steal that one moan that you were so desperately hiding from within the depths of your chest. With a hungry groan, he began to suckle softly on the plumpness of your clit, letting his lips envelope the flesh perfectly before releasing it with a little 'pop!' that echoed throughout the chapel. As each second ticked by, Toby explored every depth and crease of your cunt, leaving nothing dry and leaving your cunt nothing but an eager mess, throbbing and leaving it desperate to be touched. As much as his body was screaming at him to make you cum, he fought the urge and continued to play with you until you were nothing but a little trembling, whiny mess in the chapel of the church. Wie eine arme kleine maus.

The warmth of his tongue travelled in circles around your clit, suckling on it a moment before focusing his attention down your slit and lapping at the juices that were practically seeping out of you like an open wound. Each time his tongue came and grazed by your clit, you could feel your hips buck out in joy, aching for him to suckle away at your mound until you were practically riding his face and coming undone on his tongue. There were many times where he took the joy in your desperation, where there was a glint in his eye each time you pleaded down at him with a look of want. There was something about bringing you close, so close that he could feel your legs tremble, where he could hear your breath catch and he'll quickly abandon your cunt; leaving you to calm from your high. Your body ached for an orgasm you had never received and you were on the verge of seeing stars; he just had to push you or perhaps, he was just waiting for your signal. Something, anything and within a moment, he'd shove his cock into your tight little cunt and fuck you until you were nothing but a limp mess in his arms.

With a shake, one hand removed itself from his locks and slowly trailed down his face. Your fingers took time to appreciate the curve of his cheekbone, to feel the muscle in his temple, to tenderly touch his earlobe before taking his chin in your hands and forcing his head up to look at you. It was a signal, one that said nothing and everything all at the same time and Toby didn't want to waste time. His cock throbbed, fuck, it hurt in the restraints of his own breeches and he couldn't wait any longer than he had done already.

So, he wasted no time, standing and scooping you up in his arms until you were pressed firmly against the cold wall behind you. His own torso kept you pinned, his hands that once appreciatingly soaked in the tenderness of your thighs now digging deep and lifting your legs to expose your cunt further to him. Toby ensured he kept you right where he wanted you, horny and needy; with nowhere to run. He helped aid your legs around his waist, his hips grinding up against your own in desperation. While one of his hands busied itself with retrieving his cock out, he kept his nose buried in the crook of your neck, feeling the line of your collarbone and soaking in your scent as he freed his cock. If he could've; he would've been sweating already. Occasionally, his mouth would open, nipping at your skin and leaving hot, heavy kisses in its wake as he let his hand pump his shaft slowly; teasingly. The head of his cock was already coated in a wet sheen of precum and his fingers lovingly caressed the tip of his cock, coating his gloved fingers in his own juices before smearing it down the shaft of his cock. The motion was enough to make him grunt against your skin, leaving a hot and heavy breath in its wake. It wasn't like he needed to wet his cock for you because he knew how wet you already were, but Toby knew the experiance would be.. far from pleasant at first.

"You can still ss-stop m-me-" he uttered, like a part of him was actually hesitating because he knew how wrong this was. Honestly, you were in too deep to stop him and there was no denying how badly you ached for him. With a soft squeeze of encouragement on his shoulder, you could only whisper - afraid that some priest nearby would catch you both in the act.

"I can repent-" you choked out, your faith still being the top priority on the back of your mind. How, despite it all, despite losing your purity in God's house, nothing would make you lose your lack in faith. You could pray for forgiveness, you could go to the nunnery for some advice and worship until you were clean once more.

Then he chuckled, enough for it to echo once again and he shook his head. Toby didn't understand it, he didn't understand religion at all. Perhaps because these lands were foreign to him or maybe because God had done nothing for him, so why should he do anything in return? It was pathetic, a waste of time and the fact that you were so firm in believing honestly baffled him. It wasn't that he didn't want you to not be happy, no, it's just.. he didn't see the whole point in it all. Here you were, practically naked with your legs spread for him and you were still convinced that this 'Almighty God' would grant you.. what?

"I don't understand you, Hasenfürzchen.." he chuckled, his Germanic accent apparent with each word he spoke. All these names he called you and he had no idea what they meant, whether they were good, bad? You wanted to protest, to question what he had just remarked you as but before you could, he moved his hips and it was there he guided the head of his cock up to your swollen clit. He used the slickness of the wet combined on his cock and on your clit to gently rub soft, little circles on your mound, leaving you in a wiggly, groaning mess. Your hips bucked instinctively, eager for more touch but the sensitivity caused you to quickly withdraw away; your body battling for more but unable to handle it. With one hand giving his shoulder soft little squeezes, the other tangling in the locks of his brown hair - thankful that they had already grown back. Honestly, a part of you wasn't sure what to expect as you felt the head of his cock ghost the lips of your cunt, sending little shivers of bliss starting up your neck and trailing down your spine. Has being pure all these years been worth it? Now you were starting to question what the whole point was.. were you just saving yourself for somebody? Or had Toby just been that someone all along? You hated to think, you hated to let your mind wander but now it just made sense - that perhaps Toby were destined to be in your life, to be your knight. Now, suddenly, you were starting to doubt all traditions.

Despite your racing mind, it seemed his was empty - his body and choices being led by nothing but his cock as he slowly slid into your aching cunt. It was nothing compared to what he had fucked, it was enough to make him choke back a gasp, pressing his forehead against your collarbone as your walls hugged his cock eagerly. Your cunt was worth it all, the vows, being a knight, his patience, fuck right now, it was worth it all. He could barely control himself, your little whines of discomfort being muffled by the ecstasy he found himself in and slowly, his hips began to thrust upward into your own. Soft little beats, testing your worth essentially as he fucked your walls gently. It was a pain you had never felt before, not like a monthly pain, something else, just pure discomfort that made you bite back a soft hiss. Taking you here, now, in these holy walls; it encouraged him more than he could ever know and his kindness he shared for only a moment faded into nothing as he began to helplessly thrust up into you. Filling you all, stretching you out so that no other man could claim you for his own. Your purity, your virginity, gone before you could even protest to stop him - not that you wanted to. No, because now the pain began to mix wonderfully with how well he fucked your walls, his size and length alone hitting areas that had never been touched, leaving you with nothing but a clouded vision of lust.

Skin hit skin as he continued to smack his hips up into your own, your thighs rippling with each thrust as he grunted softly against your skin, revelling in how good you felt, savouring the taste you left on his tongue, appreciating every part of you until he had left nothing untouched.

The sound of wet, 'plap, plap, plap!' echoed throughout the chapel, his cocking becoming wet and sticky with your mess as he continued to bury himself within you. Nothing could disturb his thought process as he kept a secure grip on your thighs, his fingers deep enough to leave soft, subtle bruises on your skin. Toby loved the way his cock fit, he loved the way you took him, how your pussy seemed to grip around him desperately and how he fucked you full. His own lower torso rubbed against your clit, leaving you practically drooling for more as he focused on every part of you like you were some painting.

It was all getting too overwhelming for you though and Toby could sense this, he could see it in your flustered face, he could see how he was tipping you over the edge and his own selfish desires didn't want this to end - not yet. So, his pace slowed for a moment, taking the moment for his cock to slowly and appreciatingly stroke your insides. It sent you into a dizzy spiral and he pulled away from the crook of your neck for a moment to watch you, admiring how well you took him, falling in love hopelessly at how beautiful you looked under the light of the stained glass. It was a moment he never wanted to end and slowly, he helped guide your hips down onto your cock as he began to bounce you softly on his shaft. It felt criminal for this to feel so good, soft little moans of praise escaping your parted lips as you felt each vein of his cock stoke your wall, his tip poking and prodding you in ways that made your lower abdomen twist. Even if he slowed the pace, you were on the verge of reaching the height of your orgasm and Toby acted with haste. He couldn't deny you of an orgasm, even if he wanted the moment to last - so he'll just make you cum. It won't stop him from fucking you until you couldn't walk.

Though just as you felt your back begin to arch, he used his strength to peel you off the wall and it was there, he held you in his arms before stepping out from beside the pews and stepping toward the stone slab within the chapel. The slab that held the cross. You knew what he was doing, you knew what kind of sick, twisted game he was playing at and you could see the glint of mischief in his eye as he sprawled you out onto the slab beneath him, leaning back for a moment to appreciate the view.

"You're beautiful," the knight uttered, moving one hand from your thigh to touch your nipple lovingly, soaking in the way it immediately perked to his attention. His words and the gruffness in his voice fuelled your desire, heightened your senses and as much as you hated to admit it, you were falling so deeply in love with this man. This.. criminal, murderer. Oh, what a sinner you are and how much you found yourself enjoying it. Slowly, his hips began to thrust again, sending your body to jerk with each move as he continued to fuck you relentlessly against the cold slab of stone. Each thrust sent your tits bouncing, his mouth hung agape as he watched with joy at the scene below him. In this moment, you looked nothing like royalty but more like a common whore. Of course, he'd never say that to you and of course, you were not a common whore - you were something else and verdammt you felt amazing.

This time, Toby was unforgiving in his thrusts and the way he fucked you, one hand on your hip as the other slithered to your neck. His cock fucked you with ease, slick with your wet that allowed it to glide with no difficulty. His fingers squeezed gingerly on your neck, restricting your air flow for just a moment before he released, allowing you to gasp for breath. There was something sinister in the touch, something that was more than trying to arouse you.

Your own fingernails dug into the skin of his wrist as he continued to pound into you with relentless mercy, feeling every nerve in your body tingle at the way he fucked you. Your whole body rocked in rhythm to his thrusts and as you felt your mind become nothing but a haze, you reached out in desperation to grab onto anything. The corner of the stone slab, his wrist and finally, your fingers grazed the cross above you. Your fingers wrapped around the wooden shaft of the cross, holding onto it for life. Only, the motion of Toby's unforgiving thrusts made you lose grip and it was there, the wooden cross slipped from your grasp and fell onto the floor with a loud clatter. The noise made him freeze and rightfully, you froze too - the air filled with nothing but soft little gasps of air as Toby took a moment to crane his head over his shoulder. He eyed the wooden door suspiciously and slowly, you leant up on your elbows to peek a view too; heart racing in anxiety as you nibbled on some skin on the bottom of your lip.

It seemed Toby's trained ears caught something you had not because in one quick move, he lifted you and hauled you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his hips as he quickly ushered the both of you away from the slab and into the darkness of a doorway not far. It was right at the back of the church and was prominently the doorway to reach the bell tower, the same bell that always annoyingly woke him up far too early for his liking. The darkness hid you both well as Toby pinned you back to the wall, letting his ears be his eyes for a moment as he clamped a hand firmly over your mouth. You could feel your heart in your throat and his cock throbbed, along with your own cunt at the risk of this all. You daren't admit it, but this whole situation only aroused you more.

Before you could even exchange a questioning glance toward Toby, the doors of the church opened with a creak and your whole body stiffened. This is it, somebody was going to catch the two of you, Toby would be beheaded, hung! You would have to beg for forgiveness, your father might never crown you and now you were panicking in his arms, becoming a sweaty mess as you tried to compose your breathing; which was hard with Toby's hand securely over your mouth. You wanted to reach out and tug the collar of his linen shirt but honestly? You were too frightened.

"Is there anyone here?" A voice called out, sending prickles down your skin as Toby could only grin. This was too fun and he wasn't sure why you were so afraid. It was probably just a priest, then again; at times they made him uncomfortable too. The being hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his soft steps echoing in the church as he approached the slab and bent over with a soft grunt to pick up the cross, placing it back atop the stone with delicacy. There was a beat of silence as the priest glanced around before mumbling something to himself and turning on his heel to leave. You wanted to breath a soft breathe of relief at the sound of him leaving before more footsteps approached. Now Toby's smug grin disappeared, his face twisting into annoyance as a conversation between two priests erupted within the church's walls. Frankly, he had no time for this and the throbbing in his cock was becoming increasingly painful as he took a moment to lean down beside your ear.

"Be quiet, mm?" he whispered, his breath hot and it was there his hips continued to thrust up into you again. He was cautious to be quiet and slow, yet still ensuring he was at a good enough pace to satisfy his hunger as you felt your throat run dry. Just when you thought the whole thing was bad enough, it just about gets worse.

Your fingers wrapped around the linen of his collar as you tugged helplessly on his clothing, trying so hard to squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to deafen yourself from suddenly moaning or gasping out. This was torture, a whole other kind of torture you had not yet discovered and you were falling deeper and deeper in love with the risk of it all. It brought life to your boring, endless days of stitching, cooking and dancing. Despite the shakiness in your legs, you squeezed his hips and pulled him closer, feeling yourself grind up against his torso again for that sweet touch on your aching clit. The conversation that happened mere inches away from the both of you seemed to drown out as you suddenly reached a height you had never felt before, your entire body seizing for a moment as your hips bucked at each shock of your orgasm that rattled your frame. Your cunt squeezed his cock with each vibration of pleasure, making it hard for Toby himself to swallow back his grunts as he nestled one final thrust into your frame. His hot seed spilled within you, his cock twitching in pleasure as you both took a moment to calm from the high. Your whole face felt red, your body sweaty as you lids suddenly become heavy with sleep.

The knight nestled a few final thrusts into your core, relishing in the way your cunt wrapped around him and finally, his body stilled - though keeping you pinned as he sucked in some breaths through the gaps of his teeth. Your pussy was so warm and he hated the idea of having to pull himself out, so he remained buried within you, taking a moment to press his nose back against your collarbone to smell your sweet scent. Was this lavender? Either way, it drove him crazy.

Soon enough, the priests dispersed and left the church, leaving the two of you alone once again. Despite the ache in his scrotum, Toby finally pulled his cock out with a little shiver and slowly, he set you down back onto the floor; though you had to hold onto the wall for support as the tremble in your legs remained. You took a moment to make yourself look half decent, brushing out the creases in your dress, hiding your tits back beneath the wool of your clothing (much to Toby's displeasure.) Of course, Toby did the same, pushing his semi-hard cock back into his breeches before pushing some hair back away from his eyes, almost casually as if he had no idea of the events that had just unfolded between the two of you. The tension and air was thick with awkwardness, a silence becoming deafening between the two of you until he finally shifted out from the shadows of the doorway to step back into the light of the stained glass. Cautiously, you eyed him as he glanced up out the window for a moment before turning to you.

"I'll leave you to repent, My Lady," he motioned a gloved hand to the cross, that was now back on the slab of stone; almost as if it were untouched. "Don't forgot of our.. arrangements later." Then with a curt nod of his head, a little bow with his hand to his heart, he turned and stepped down the hall of the church, passing each pew with a sense of pride in his step.

[lecoindecachou]

Okay, that's a lot of words to say a lot of shit but let me try my hand at this.

First of all, I do not think you understand what "colonizer" means, no matter how smug you're feeling about it. A colony is an extension of state power. America was a British colony. The Levant was colonized by Muhammad (hey, if you wanna say some things today would be considered ethnic cleansing, then I'll use 'colonize' instead of 'conquered.' Seems only fair, right?). West Bank settlers today are absolutely colonizers (and terrorists). But which state power were Jewish refugees and immigrants representing exactly...?

Secondly, what exactly do you think was 'colonized' in 1948, a people or a country? Because if it's a country... which one? There was no Palestinian state in 1948. "Palestine" last existed in 640CE. The province name itself was made up by the Romans as part of their ethnic cleansing of Judea, which was the last time there was an independent country there until modern Israel. Is your dumb ass sitting here trying to claim that the Jews colonized... the Ottoman empire?

If you think what was colonized was a people... Well, again, which people? Israelis are natives too. Among the local populations (aka those who lived in the region before the 19th century) the Druze, Christians, Jews and Bedouin have all made it clear since 1948 that they aren't Palestinian, don't want to live in a Palestinian state, and crucially, Palestine can't make them. Trying to demand they leave or be forced into it, so you can have an Arab-Muslim state in a region that was never totally Arab or Muslim, is completely unreasonable.

(And that's without even mentioning that Mizrahi Jews, who're >60% of all the people living in Israel today, have been ethnically cleansed from everywhere else in the MENA. They were stateless refugees for a while until they were able to get citizenship in Israel. It was their only choice.)

"You do not see the Navajo nation saying “we must establish a Navajo Nation on Navajo land” or Choctaw, Cree, Illini, or hundreds of others native nations. The land back movement is about ceding the idea of unilateral American control over land practices in order to work with the communities that live in the area and many time have heritage working and caring for the land."

Okay, well first of all I think we all know that if they did say that the US would consider it a declaration of war so yeah maybe they don't say that, you're right. But what you seem to fail to realize is that in this imperfect analogy America is literally the Ottoman Empire before it collapsed. Right now it's strong and impossible to dismantle, but all empires fall eventually and when this one does, are you implying that this wouldn't be the perfect opportunity for Native Americans to quite literally take the land back? Are you genuinely claiming they wouldn't want to? Do you think it would be wrong or immoral for them to seize that opportunity?

Based on your inane comparison to German-Americans, you also seem to be under the impression that Jewish refugees came to the Levant with an army to conquer the place or something, when the reality is that overseas Jews returned to their ancestral land to join existing Jewish communities in the Levant. They bought mostly unwanted land from local Arabs. This refers to malaria-infested swamps and desert.

Others bought Arab land from absentee landlords, who before this allowed Arabs to work the land and live on it i.e they were renting. When a landlord sells a property and there are renters living in it, obviously the tenants have to move out. Arabs complained and rioted, the British decided to block Jewish refugees and immigrants. Arabs committed pogroms against local Jewish communities and Jews kept immigrating illegally, which lately leftists seemed to be in favor of but consistency is not really your forte so who knows. From 1830 to 1948, these repeated massacres aimed to expel the Jews from the Levant, dissuade European refugees from seeking sanctuary there, and thwart the establishment of a "Homeland for the Jewish people" (NOT a state, the idea of an official Israeli state wasn't brought up anywhere in the Balfour Declaration of 1917 and Palestinian Arab leaders were even offered the chance to limit Jewish immigration in the White Paper of 1939 but rejected it) through extreme violence. All that resulted in the formation of Jewish militias to defend their own community, which resulted in Arabs losing.

See, people talk about this conflict being a result of 70 years of 'colonization' without also taking into account the continual Jewish history in the region where they also faced pogrom style group killing and being driven from their home countries throughout the Middle East and Europe. If you think this started in 1948 then you are either ignorant, hypocritical, or both. It was getting dangerous for Jews in the region for decades leading up to the creation of Israel. Much of the Middle East was becoming more dangerous for religious minorities like Jews, Christians, and Baha'i from the late 19th century onwards. There would have been conflicts when the Ottoman Empire inevitably collapsed even if it hadn't been partitioned. It had been decaying for a couple centuries and was called 'the sick man of Europe' for a reason, being propped up by western powers.

I would actually argue that Israel is unique, since it is quite literally the only Jewish state. Jewish indigeneity to the Levant is, like, the one fact that is universally acknowledged to be true so I'm not even going to bother arguing it. As always it is one thing to say that Jewish immigration in the 19th and early 20th century displaced Muslims living in the region and an another thing entirely to just fully outright deny the history of the region, the history of Jewish suffering and the Jewish connection to the land.

At the end of the day, there are only 15 million Jews in the entire world (one billion and a half Muslims, just for comparison) and half of them live in Israel, some by choice, more than half by necessity.

The Likud-led Israeli coalition wants to annex Gaza and expel Palestinians, and Hamas wants Jerusalem and other lands once colonized by Mohammad (sorry, 'conquered') fully in control by Muslims, with Jews either in Dhimmi status or dead. They're both the legitimate governments wielding the instruments of national power, and both fucking suck and should be criticized, but interestingly I don't see leftists protesting Hamas much or at all.

The two-state solution is the ONLY solution that doesn't result in millions of people dead, it is the ONLY solution that doesn't force millions of native people and refugees into exile on either side of the isle, it is the ONLY moral solution.

Believing that Israel has a right to exist as a Jewish state on Jewish land and supporting the Israeli people and their right to live safely in their homes is not the same thing as supporting every action of the Israeli government and/or military. This is not a difficult concept and I certainly don’t need to constantly explain or justify myself to every random anon demanding one who hasn’t figured out yet that the real world operates on a level beyond “This Side = Good vs. That Side = Evil.” It’s not a game or a fandom or a superhero movie. This is real life. It’s messy and complicated and endlessly hard to fathom.

[sturniololuvz]

Can you make one where y/n (sturniolos little sister) is like a few weeks away from giving birth and they are looking after her and helping her (she’s 18)

“Waiting on You”

“Nick, I’m not dying, I’m pregnant,” Y/N huffed, waddling into the kitchen.

“Yeah, and you’re also carrying an entire human,” he said, following behind her with a hand hovering like he was ready to catch her if she stumbled. “That’s close enough.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. Her ankles were swollen, her back ached, and every single T-shirt she owned had been stolen from one of her brothers at this point — but she was trying to stay sane.

Matt was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through baby name books like it was a job. “How do we feel about ‘August’ if it’s a boy? Or ‘Luca’? ‘Luca’ feels cool.”

“I don’t need more names,” she muttered, easing herself onto a stool. “I need a foot massage and, like, nine pillows.”

Chris poked his head in from the living room. “Already got one of those heated foot spa things going in there. Matt, grab the snacks. Nick, stop breathing down her neck like a nurse with control issues.”

“I do not have control issues,” Nick argued.

“You ironed her hospital bag,” Chris deadpanned.

“I wanted her socks to be crease-free! Is that a crime?!”

Y/N laughed — really laughed — for the first time that day. “You guys are insane.”

“Insane for you,” Matt said, handing her a cup of ice water with a bendy straw already in it.

Y/N sipped slowly, her hand resting on her round belly. The baby kicked — a light thump near her ribs — and she stilled.

They all noticed immediately.

“You okay?” Chris asked, voice softening as he crouched beside her.

She nodded, but her eyes welled up. “It’s just… it’s so close now. Like, I’m gonna meet them. And I’m excited, I swear I am. But I’m scared, too. Everything’s about to change.”

Nick knelt on her other side, resting his chin gently on her shoulder. “It already changed. And we’ve been right here through all of it. You’re not doing this alone.”

Matt placed a hand on her back. “You’ve already done the hard part. You chose love. You chose strength. And now… we get to help you bring this tiny human into the world.”

Tears finally spilled down her cheeks.

“Damn hormones,” she sniffled.

“Damn emotions,” Chris whispered, wiping her cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Nick rested a hand on her stomach, smiling when he felt a soft kick. “They’re already so loved, you know that?”

She nodded, a watery smile on her lips. “I know. Because they have the best uncles in the world.”

Chris pressed a kiss to her temple. “And you’ve got three built-in babysitters. We’re gonna fight over diaper duty.”

Matt grinned. “Speak for yourself, bro. I’m in charge of lullabies and being the cool uncle.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “You’ll be the uncle who buys the wrong formula.”

“And you’ll be the one who cries when the baby says ‘Dada’ first and it’s not even your kid.”

Y/N laughed again, clutching her belly.

And in that warm little kitchen, filled with snacks, laughter, and a very stubborn heated foot bath humming in the background, she felt something she hadn’t fully felt in weeks:

Ready.

Not because she had everything figured out.

But because she wasn’t doing it alone.

⸻

[endofthelinegang]

thunder rolls (pt. 1)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  john walker x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ this is part one of a series where you are bucky barnes little sister who has managed to make it this far with him, one little snafu has happened, you happen to have feelings for another super soldier one that your brother does not particularly like.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  cursing.

The rain was the only constant lately. It had fallen in fits all day, soaking the moss-laced walls of the compound, slicking the outer courtyard in a quiet sheen. Now it dripped from the rafters like a metronome—slow and deliberate, echoing down the old ventilation shafts and across the steel-lined halls. The kitchen was dim, the overhead light flickering in that annoying way that meant no one had gotten around to fixing it. You didn’t care. You liked it this way. Quiet. Muted. Just you, the hum of old appliances, and the soft rattle of a cracked window frame near the back wall. You sat curled up on the kitchen counter, hoodie sleeves dragged past your knuckles, knees drawn up to your chest. A mug of green tea that was practically hummingbird water from all the sugar sat cooling beside you, forgotten—its scent barely rising now, the heat long surrendered to the chill that crept into every corner of this place. You didn’t even remember how long you’d been sitting there. The storm outside blurred time, and your mind… Well, your mind wasn’t anywhere near the kitchen.

It was with him. John Walker. And it pissed you off. It had started small—his glances during team debriefs, the way he always managed to end up walking beside you during recon, the casual jokes he threw your way that always made you press your lips together just to hide the smile. The way he had gradually started becoming physically closer to you whenever he could. The way he made sure that if he was up first your water jug was cleaned out and ready to go for the day and the way he didn't deny a damn thing he was doing. But it wasn’t just a charm. It was focused. Respect. Interest—real and raw and hard to ignore. 

And Bucky saw every second of it. He hadn’t said anything at first. Just watched. Stared, actually—like he could will it out of existence. He had taken to standing close to you in silence and even not letting you separate off from him in missions or game night. But when that hadn’t worked, the warnings came.

“He’s not like us.”“He makes fast choices. Big ones. Loud ones. That kind of instinct—it gets people hurt.”“He’s not gonna look out for you like I do.”

You’d listened. You always did when Bucky dropped his voice like that—the gravelly edge that only came out when he was really scared. It wasn’t controlling. It was protective. Fierce. Wounded. Because Bucky knew loss like no one else. And you were the one thing he still had that felt safe. You always had each other, and your relationship was finally back where it started what felt like a million years ago. The two of you were like teens the way you fought, talked, and spent time doing stupid shit together. Bucky gave you what you missed out on with him all those years ago, and you gave that right back to him. But John Walker made you feel seen. And maybe that was just as dangerous. The memory of last night crept in uninvited.

John had offered to walk you back to your quarters—nothing loaded, nothing flirty. He’d just lingered a little longer in the common room after training, towel slung over one shoulder, damp hair curling at the ends, that stupidly earnest expression on his face when he said your name.  And you had hesitated. Just long enough for Bucky to step into the hallway behind you and watch it happen. He hadn’t said anything then. But later, in the shadows outside your room—arms folded, expression carved from granite—he’d looked at you like you’d already done something wrong.

“I’m not saying don’t talk to him. I’m saying don’t trust him with your heart.”

And damn it, he meant it. You scrubbed a hand over your face and sighed, breathing deep. You told yourself this would pass. That the tension, the flutters, the heat in your stomach when John. looked at you would fade if you just ignored it long enough. But then you heard him. 

Boots. Familiar. Unhurried. You didn’t even look up at first. You just let yourself feel it—the way the air shifted when he was close. The heat he carried, the quiet weight of his gaze. He stood proud, not because he really was but because that was one of his many learned behaviors over the years. Same thing with the arms crossed at his chest looking at you confused. 

“Didn’t peg you for the insomniac type,” John said softly. His voice was low, smoother than usual, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. It scraped down your spine in the most inconvenient way.

You turned slightly, eyes catching his silhouette in the doorway. Dark sweats. Fitted black tee. Hair still damp from a shower, pushed back haphazardly. He looked like the kind of tired that still buzzed with energy—body restless, mind quieter. 

“You’re not sleeping either,” you replied, your voice a notch rougher than you intended. You looked back to your tea, the sugar was floating around making little swirly spots but it was definitely freezing cold by now. You couldn’t believe how he was making you feel, you really felt bad about sounding a bit rough towards him, you were judging everything you were doing in his direction like you were in high school and it was embarrassing. 

John stepped into the kitchen walking right behind where you sat on the counter, opened the fridge, and grabbed a water bottle. The soft crack of the cap breaking the silence made you flinch inside, the quick little breath you took in went unnoticed as he cracked open the bottle and took a sip.

“Nope,” he said, leaning against the counter, watching you from the side, “Too much in my head.”

You hummed in agreement, sipping from your now-cold mug. It was so gross but there was no way you were going to spit it back in your cup, you had not even thought about what you had done until the sugar particles were curling around your tongue, “Seems to be going around.”

He didn’t speak for a few seconds. The pause was heavy, weighted with something unsaid. You could feel it on your skin. Truly John would like to have just straight up lied to you to get you off his trail. Maybe even make some comments he could never take back so that he would never have to be in this situation again, luckily you couldn’t read minds. But he had promised to himself before this that he was not going to try and use his usual ways as a means to escape this. 

“He’s got his eye on me,” John said, finally setting his water bottle down between the two of you. “Your brother.” 

You blinked, unsure of what to say, you couldn’t deny the obvious but you also really didn’t wanna talk about what your brother had said about him either,  “He always has his eye on people he doesn’t know that well.”

John tilted his head, while he did not wanna fight with you he knew this was one of the only moments he would get to discuss anything like this with you where the space would not be overly intimate and immediately change the discourse,  “That’s the thing though. I think he knows I’m not trying to screw with you. I think that’s what makes it worse.”

Your chest tightened and your brain became completely fogged. “Because he knows what it looks like when people get close to me.”

“Or what happens when someone like me does.” John really didn’t think before saying that, out of everyone he was the worst sharer, not only that but he was not that seemed to be overly introspective. 

The rain ticked louder. You stared down and to the right where he was not standing, you studied the spots that formed to make the marble pattern on the counter, “So… are you?”

“Getting close?” His voice was quiet. Honest. In fact he pivoted slightly towards you but not enough for you to sense it,  “I’m trying not to.”

Your heart skipped and your stomach felt sick, there was nowhere for this conversation to go but down the rabbit hole that would change a lot at once. “Why?”

John met your eyes, and there was no joke there now, you spun around almost kicking the mug off the counter to do so as he turned and leaned against the opposing counter now directly facing you. “Because I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to be the reason your brother looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you anymore.”

You swallowed hard, this was exactly what you didn’t want to happen. He was being a human, not a soldier, just a human. Walker was looking at you like you were two friends, not two Avengers, not two Thunderbolts* in a kitchen about to admit feelings or do something even dumber. The part of you that wanted to protect Bucky ached. But the part of you that had felt lonely for too long—the part that wanted to be wanted for yourself, not your bloodline, not your past—leaned forward. 

“John…” You breathed out, it was the final breath you would take, the one that was supposed to be deep and unforgiving. You slid down from the counter, bare feet touching cold concrete. He stepped forward, slow. One hand found your jaw, fingers brushing your cheek—so careful, like he expected you to break. You stayed like that for just a second. Now both of your heads were in a fog, there were no more words to be said, anything else would just cause tears. You knew you didn’t have time for that in fact you barely had time for this knowing how everyone in this house was an insomniac. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since day two,” he said, barely more than a breath. “Day one I figured you’d punch me.”

You didn’t flinch. You leaned in and covered his hand with yours making sure he was not going to take it away from you.

“Still might,” you whispered.

And then you kissed him. It was everything you’d held back for weeks. His mouth on yours, urgent but reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you. His hands kept hold of your face, little pieces of your hair were so soft against his hands. Your fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, tugging him closer until your back bumped the counter and you didn’t care anymore. His breath hitched when your lips parted for him. Yours did the same when his fingers suddenly ran through your hair, holding you like you might disappear.

You didn’t know how long it lasted. When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing hard. Your stomach was no longer in knots and for just a second you didn’t think about where you were or why you were awake. In fact you were sleepy, you had just all of a sudden felt calm.

“That,” he whispered, your lips still practically touching, “was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

You smiled, shaky and just closed your eyes to feel the heat of his hands, the softness of his shirt, and the smell of dryer sheets that radiated off of his clean pajamas. “Then we’re both idiots.”

He brushed his thumb across your cheek, gently. “Still worth it.”

You could’ve stayed like that for a while, in fact you were about to offer to take him to your room and lock the door so that this moment could be better cherished. Then—footsteps. Down the hall. Boots. Heavier. Getting faster. Familiar in a very different way. You both froze. Your heart jumped into your throat and you held onto John just a little tighter. John’s eyes flicked toward the hallway, jaw clenching. You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to. You knew it was Bucky. And you knew that everything had just changed and that you would have to let go for now. That your brother was going to need to have some sense of leadership over the situation.

 A low voice detonated from the shadows behind you:

“Am I interrupting your mid-level decision-making, or is this some kind of science experiment?”

You jumped like you'd been caught stealing national secrets and let go of John’s shirt, my god you did not want to. John took one slow step back, his hands dropped to his sides as he now looked to see him. There, leaning against the doorframe with murder in his eyes and disappointment in his soul, was James Buchanan Barnes.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Walker like he was deciding whether to kill him with a punch or a piece of furniture. His jaw was so tightly clenched he looked like he had a sour candy in the side of his mouth. 

“Bucky—” you started, you couldn’t let John talk to him first, in fact it probably was not a good idea to have them talk at all knowing that only one fighter would make it out of that ring. 

He raised a finger without breaking eye contact with John. “Not now.”

“Look, man—” John tried, he really did see your attempt the way you intended and did not wanna fight with him for once. Well he did. He just knew you wouldn’t want them to. 

“Oh, we’re on nickname basis now?” Bucky snapped, sneering as hard and as menacingly  as he could manage. “Man? Are we sharing hoodies too? Braiding friendship bracelets in our downtime?”

John blinked, you were two consenting adults and after all. “It was just a kiss.”

“Cool. Do you want a medal, or should I just go find a shovel now?” Bucky was now quickly advancing towards the two of you.

“I’ll go,” John muttered, giving your forearm a squeeze and walking away not wanting to cause a scene that would hurt you.

“You better go,” Bucky said. “Because I’m at about seven right now, and ten is when I start throwing people.” The second Walker was out of sight, Bucky turned on you with the speed and energy of a very tired dad who just found weed in your sock drawer.

“Outside. Now.” You followed slowly behind him, he yanked the car keys off the ring so harsh that the entire contraption almost came off the wall. The two of you made your way into the garage and sat in his SUV. Bucky drove like the steering wheel had offended him personally—knuckles white, jaw clenched, the occasional mutter under his breath that sounded suspiciously like,

“John Walker… lip-having… Peacemaker body double…”

You were trying so hard not to laugh, you wanted to give your brother some cool off time away from John, but you also knew that he needed to get his feelings out now while they were fresh or he was going to be hell to deal with over the course of the next few days.

“I’m just saying,” you offered, voice innocent and quiet, “you could’ve knocked.”

“It’s the kitchen,” Bucky snapped, his voice booming in the small space. “Not a motel room. Why would I knock?”

You had to fuck with him, you could not resist, if he was going to yell and have a fit you were going to give him something to do it for, “Why would you barge in at the exact moment I was about to climb him like—”

“NOPE.” He slapped the steering wheel, when his metal hand hit it cracked the plastic cover,  “Stop. Talking. Now.”

You leaned your head back against the seat and reached your hand down to pull the lever that reclined it slightly, grinning. “What? You don’t think I have needs, James?”

He groaned and side eyed you with his mouth twisted in disgust. “Don’t say my name like that while we’re talking about your… whatever that was.”

“Kissing. That was kissing.” You looked over and gave him a quick little smile.

“You had your hands wrapped in the bottom of his shirt. That’s not kissing. That’s… premeditated.” He honestly wished at that moment he had just dragged John with him, at least he could dump that body and not feel bad but he could barely even get after you.

You shrugged, letting the silence stretch. Then, a beat later:

“I mean, to be fair, it wasn’t like I was about to drop to my knees or anythi—”

“JESUS CHRIST!” Bucky slammed the brakes, just enough to jolt the car, his hands came up off the steering wheel and over his face not paying any mind to the fact that he had just slammed himself with vibranium. 

You burst out laughing and facing the window. “Bucky! Chill!”

He looked at you like you’d just confessed to a murder, “Don’t say things like that. Don’t think things like that. You are not allowed to say things like that.”

“What, you think I’m still a virgin or something?” You poked his arm and he did not smile, nor did he say a damn word. 

Bucky blinked.

You stared.

His silence was louder than words.

“…You do, don’t you.” You smiled huge and started laughing hysterically. 

“I—I didn’t say that—” Bucky was not happy that you were slowly gaining the upper hand in this conversation that was supposed to be a confrontation. 

“You think I’m still a virgin.” You now had your hands over your stomach gently placed as you settled down your laughter. 

“I didn’t say it!” He scooted his seat back just a bit to stare at your completely, this was a serious conversation to him and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“But you were thinking it.” You grinned.

“I was hoping it.” He scowled. 

You blinked. “Oh my God.”

He rubbed his temples like he was trying to massage the truth out of his brain. “What do you want from me?! You were just a kid like five minutes ago.”

“I’m literally older than Peter Parker.” You referenced the young man who ran around with the group and who had trapped your brother in a web when he was still in high school. 

“Yeah, but Peter still makes Lego sets and watches cartoons. You’re not supposed to be…” He made a vague, distressed hand gesture. “Dropping. On. Your. Knees.”

You blinked innocently. “So you do think I’m not a virgin.”

He froze, betrayed by his own logic he was now looking you up and down searching for any signs of a lie.

“…Wait. You are, right?”

You hesitated for a single millisecond. It was all he needed.His mouth dropped open like you’d just announced your new career in adult film.

“YOU AREN’T?”

Your eyes went wide. “NO—I MEAN YES—I MEAN—I AM!”

He recoiled, clutching the wheel like it could save him, he was hurled over like he was going to start gagging at any second. “Oh my God.”

“I’m totally a virgin! Super virgin! Never even thought about sex, honestly.” You were talking as fast as you could trying to keep him from thinking about all of the lies you had told him over the years that he obviously believed.

“You’re lying.” He didn’t move, he couldn’t. 

“I’m not. I’m, like, the Virgin Mary if she also had a security clearance.” You tried to joke but he was not finding it funny, his head slowly rose up. 

He squinted. “You are lying so hard right now. Your voice goes up an octave when you lie. I used to babysit you. You told me you didn’t break the glass door with a tennis racket while actively holding a tennis racket.”

“I WAS NINE.”

He pointed dramatically. “And you’re still lying!”

You threw your hands up. “What do you want me to say?!”

He jabbed a finger toward the windshield. “You are a virgin until I die. That’s the new rule. Write it down. Tattoo it on your forehead. Until I take my final breath, you are a sweet, innocent, book-reading virgin.”

You nodded, very solemn. “Of course. I’ve never even said the word ‘moan.’ In fact, I’m not sure what it means.” You picked the cleanest word out of all the sex vocabulary you knew.

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

“I don’t know anything. I’m basically a nun. But hotter.” You grabbed onto his arm and shook him a little. 

He groaned. “I need therapy.”

“You tried that, remember the notebook.” You jested letting go of him and looking at your phone as he started the vehicle up again.

“I’m gonna call Sam. I need backup.” He hadn’t spoken to his friends since the Avengers fiasco but this took precedent. 

“He’ll laugh at you.” You scoffed thinking about how badly Sam wanted to kill Bucky for being such a flirt all the time.

“He’ll kill Walker.” Meanwhile Buck was thinking about all of the conversations where he had to talk Sam down from losing his entire shit on Walker. 

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “Bucky. Relax. It’s just one kiss.”

His mouth pressed into a line so thin it almost disappeared. “One kiss,” he repeated flatly.

“One.” You held up a single finger and waved it at him. 

He stared out the windshield, grim. “I should’ve jumped in front of that train instead of falling off of it.”

You let him have his moment as you played on your phone, at some point the radio had even gotten turned on. The car had almost settled into a fragile peace.

Bucky was still brooding, knuckles tight on the steering wheel, muttering the occasional "Disrespectful jawline-having—,” but he hadn’t threatened to kill anyone in at least five minutes.

That was progress. The tension was still thick, though, buzzing just beneath the surface like a live wire. And then—your phone buzzed. Bucky didn’t look. But you did. And the moment a banner fell from the top of your screen, a grin pulled across your lips like the sun rising on pure chaos.

J. Walker:miss you already, sweetheart.next time I’m pulling you into my lap.let your brother walk in on that.

You snorted—snorted. You couldn’t help it. Bucky’s head snapped toward you so fast it was a miracle his neck didn’t crack.

“...What.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold it in. You failed. “Nothing.”

“Don’t say ‘nothing’ like that.” He was offended all over again.

“Like what?” You groaned there was no way he could sense what had just happened, he learned how to use a phone correctly like a year ago.

“Like you just read a text that ruined my life.” That son of a bitch knew how notifications worked and that was enough to make you wanna roll the window down and launch it out. 

You stayed silent, shoulders already shaking.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Who texted you?”

You didn’t answer.

His voice dropped an octave. “Was it him?”

You looked out the window, still grinning. “Who?”

He slammed the heel of his palm against the horn—just a quick angry blare. “DO NOT ‘WHO’ ME. I SWEAR TO GOD—”

You turned the screen toward him, just enough for him to see the contact name.

He read it.

Then blinked.

Then turned toward you like the world had betrayed him.

“NO. FUCKING. WAY. IS THAT JOHN WALKER. RIGHT NOW.”

You burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” he muttered. “He’s texting you while you’re in the car with me. While I’m still actively furious. He has a death wish.”

You opened the message again, reading it aloud with flair. If he was going to be a giant baby some more about this he was going to need a reason. 

“‘Next time I’m pulling you into my lap.’” “Let your brother walk in on that,” you added for dramatic effect.

Bucky let out a sound like a dying lawn mower. “WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS.”

“Probably something in 1943,” you said cheerfully thinking about all the girls he ran around with and all the times you had caught him on top of one or kissing it. 

“THIS IS KARMA. THIS IS COSMIC PUNISHMENT. THIS IS—”

“He called me sweetheart,” you said quietly, meaningfully, it really was sweet, “I will throw up in this car and make you clean it.” You giggled and leaned into the window clicking your phone shut, this was going to be too much fun.

[cosmica-galaxy]

You know how little kids will instantly teleport away when you take your eyes off them for just a second? Well…

Dark Cacao Cookie leaves the Vanilla Kingdom after a meeting only to find the baby hiding and clinging to him with a death grip after hours later. Pure Vanilla Cookie nearly dies of a heart attack upon realizing the baby’s SOMEHOW ended up leaving the Kingdom unnoticed.

The warriors of the Dark Cacao kingdom let out a few long huffs as they drop off the supplies onto the ground of their snow-covered home. Their king, Dark Cacao Cookie, proudly standing in front of them as he takes roll-call of all the warriors that have returned from the Pure Vanilla Kingdom.

He runs down a list of names for those that had volunteered to go to the far off kingdom, going one by one until the list finally draws near the end.

"Caramel Arrow Cookie." "Here, my king!" The Watcher announces. "Crunchy Chip Cookie." "Here with the Cream Wolves, sir!" The Wolf-Rider calls out, raising a proud fist into the air. "Good. Then that is everyone. Make haste to unload the supplies and restock the rations. Those winter storms will be coming soon enough and we must prepare!" Dark Cacao orders, his heavy soul-jam sword raised high into the air to finalize his orders. "Yes sir!!!" Came a chorus of warrior shouts as the small army breaks up and begins to do as they are told. Yet, the king does not move. His eyes scan his citizens with careful consideration and he could see that Crunchy Chip seemed to be having a problem with his wolves. The cookie in question was scratching his head and trying to pull a rather stubborn Cream Wolf away from the ration crates that were sitting upon the sleds, yet it refuses to budge. He approaches. "Crunchy Chip Cookie." The cookie in question nearly jumps out of his dough at being addressed by the king, who draws close to his location. "What is the matter with your Cream Wolf? It seems to be acting very strange lately..." "A-AH. Y-Yes. Well. (Ahem) You see, for some reason, Cream Wolf has been acting weird around the cargo sled ever since we left the Vanilla Kingdom. It keeps putting their head into the sacks and sniffing about." He admits, pointing at the crates and sacks on the sled.

"But I kept checking to see if anything is amiss and I haven't seen, smelled, nor heard anything coming from the crates! But the Cream Wolf just...won't leave the cargo sled alone!" The black and white cookie merely lets out a sigh of defeat. "I just don't understand what is going on! Is something spoiled? Are they looking for treats? Is there something wrong with the food?" "Hmm...how peculiar. Step aside for a moment and let the Cream Wolf investigate while I observe." "Yes sir..." Dark Cacao steps forward and watches the Cream Wolf sniff about the cargo sled. It doesn't stray from a certain area...nor from a certain large crate. It circles it at many angles, but doesn't move away or alter it's investigation. "Open that crate." Dark Cacao orders, in which Crunchy Chip was quick to rip the lid off, revealing multiple fabrics and star jellies on the inside. The Cream Wolf was quick to bury it's head into the cloths and jellies. "Aha! I KNEW you were just after the jellies that Pure Vanilla gave us! What happened to--" "Hehe!" Both Dark Cacao and Crunchy Chip Cookie fall silent in shock the moment a familiar giggle could be heard from within the crate. In fact, the Cream Wolf seemed to become excited and their tail began to wag as it started to...lick something? "Heheh! Found me!!" Came a childish voice from within. Dark Cacao and Crunchy Chip Cookie could only feel shock rock them to their bitter cores when a familiar witch spawn peeks out of the fabrics, the Cream Wolf getting more excited and whimpering in response. The moment the child looked at the two cookies, they smile and give them a little wave. "Hi Cowcow!! Cwunchy!! Woofy!!" "Oh no..." Was all that Dark Cacao could say at that moment once he realized that the witch spawn had stowed away in their supplies. "I need to inform Pure Vanilla on where his child is. I can only imagine how fretful he is currently back at the castle..." Dark Cacao sighed. "Courier Cookie! Write me a letter to Pure Vanilla immediately!" He demands.

"Yes sir!" Came a distant call from a nearby cookie.

[rasberrybabez]

Little Killer

Simon “Ghost” Riley, also known as the infamous serial killer Ghost. You were supposed to be his next victim, but he just can’t break a birdie like you, can he?

But you can definitely break a few of his bones.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Tags: Slight hurt/Caretaking, dom/sub relations, smut (eventually), serial killer Simon so minor gore, blood, dark humor, size difference.

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt. 3 (hopefully! ❤️)

xoxo-Razz.writes

“…ya’ needa be more careful who ya’ bring home, birdie.”

Those words. Those ten, simple little words that almost sound concerned make you drop the box of pasta on the floor.

What have you done?

Simon is already standing, and you are too. Except only one of you is moving. Simon, creeping closer. He’s in no rush, stretching and groaning as he stands from the couch, rolling out sore muscles and a few broken bones, cursing as a bandage pulls at his side.

Then he’s turning towards you.

You should run. Really, definitely, truly run. Because if that man is who you think he is, who you know he is, then you are fucked. Dead.

And you should definitely not be standing, wide eyed and bare footed in a pile of dry penne.

Simon grins.

“Cat gotcha’ tongue, birdie? Look like you’ve seen… a ghost.”

Yep, okay, running now.

You bolt, as fast as you can. Where? No idea, but you’re running for your life. Out of the kitchen, throwing open the door into the hallway, and sprinting. Panting, very close to screaming, but you can’t waste your breath. Into the bedroom, where you can throw open your window. Call the police, just shut the door-

The door flies open and yeah, you scream. Forget saving your breath, you won’t have any when he slits your throat like-

“Calm down, birdie…”

His voice is deep as you run to the window. Simon isn’t running, following you across the small room with heavy footsteps, and a steady pace. No rush, he knows you can’t outrun him. He knows that you can’t get the window open fast enough, because you can’t. Damn thing won’t budge.

You’re panicking, breathing starting to speed up, hyperventilating as your panicked hands pound against the glass. The metal frame starts to budge, and your fists ball up, trying to force it open. Stupid fucking small and tight windows-

Large hands wrap around your wrists, and you’re yanked back.

The scream you let out is warranted.

Simon drags you backwards, your body flailing and screaming in his arms. Struggling, clawing at the thick and meaty arms that hold you, strong fingers now gripping your waist. With that many veins, you just need a few good slice of your nails, right?

Wrong.

He drags you, unaffected by the way you’re fighting, like a doll out of your room. You’re screaming, kicking, clawing and crying, desperately trying to break free. He’s tugging you back to the kitchen, hoisting you up and over his shoulder with a grunt, before tossing you onto the couch.

You yelp in surprise, momentarily shocked by the fact that this man, serial killer and all, previously hit by a car, had the decency and strength to toss you onto the couch.

Well, maybe not decency. And that thought makes you immediately scramble for the edge of the sofa, desperately reaching for something, anything.

Definitely not the hand that grasps yours, pulling you back onto the couch.

“Calm down, bird… yer’ makin a mess of yerself.”

You freeze, eyes snapping up to the man who’s holding your hands in his. Dwarfed by the scarred, thick fingers that enclose yours, gingerly moving you back onto the couch. You’re scared, because what the fuck is this guy playing at? Toying with you before he kills you? Teasing your heart just to make sure you have a heart attack before dying?

He scoffs at the confused and still scared expression on your face.

“Look atcha’ birdie… all flushed n’ cute like that. You’re gonna wear yerself into a tizzy if ya keep it going… take a breath. Can’t have ma’ pretty bird passin out on me.”

You swallow, but do as he says, taking in a shaky breath. There’s something about his voice, too sweet. Too condescending, undercut with that rough demand you don’t dare try and ignore, especially not from a serial killer.

He takes a step forwards, chuckling, running his hand down the side of your face, a breadth away. You still shiver, flinching a little bit. His hand grabs your chin more aggressively, snapping your neck to the side to look at him. No more chuckling, no more smiles no matter how sinister.

His eyes are dark, his glare hardened as he bends down to meet your eyes, lips centimeters apart. And God, they are beautiful lips… soft pink and plush, like the only unblemished part of his flesh. No scars and no marks, imagine how soft it would be if you just-

No, no no? What are you thinking! Serial killer, serial killer, serial killer that wants to kill you-

“Ya know how long I tracked ya down, birdie? Kept tabs on yer car and yer schedule to and from work… had to make sure you were perfect for me… next perfect little lass for my collection…”

He leans down, closer to your ear, lips brushing I to crest and trailing down to your neck. Not quite touching the skin, just teasing the hairs on your neck with that plush lower lip. You shiver, still trembling.

“Then imagine my surprise, little bird… when the lass I’ve been tracking’ turns around and goes and snatches up ma’ mind… can’t think of nothin’ else. Just her pretty lil skirts when she walks home from work… tiny lil top when it’s sunny out… god, birdie… you really messed up my mind, aintcha?”

You can’t breathe. Can’t speak, can’t move. He’s moving closer, the hand not on your chin moving down to your hands, thumb running over your knuckles. You wince, hissing softly at the touch. Your knuckles are bruised, a little bit bloodied from banging on your window. And with the adrenaline from earlier, it didn’t matter until he made you realize.

Made you feel something.

He tsks, and it finally snaps your gaze up. His eyes fall to your knuckles, letting go of your chin and taking your hands in his. You should be running, you should be fighting for your life. Hell, the cops should already be here, but no. Why didn’t you call police?

Why can’t you think straight around this man?

”Gone and hurt yourself birdie… now that won’t do. Can’t have any blood stainin’ those pretty little hands… leave that to me.”

You yelp a little as he tugs you forward by your waist, hands tightening as he picks you up. With a gasp, you’re thrown over his shoulder again, and he’s walking back to your bedroom. You can’t process it, the whole situation. You can’t make sense of it all.

He’s a serial killer. You were, are, for all you know, his next victim.

Then why is he pulling out the emergency kit from your bedside table? Why is he throwing you on the bed and kneeling on the floor in front of you, taking your hands in his?

“Look atcha’… all scared and confused. Like a lil baby deer, all silly lookin’. Don’t worry birdie… we’ll get ya cleaned up nice.”

You whimper as he starts to wrap your hands in bandaids, wiping down the blood with an antiseptic pad and sticking on bandages in silence. You’re trembling, and as soon as he finishes with one hand, he runs a hand over your thigh. He gives you a look, like you’re some disobedient child, but you try to stop shaking anyways.

You swallow, silence stretching over you as your ever racing heart finally starts to slow. You take in his appearance, Simon, studying his concentration on your hand. Like he’s got a one track mind, and all he cares about is fixing his pretty bird’s hands up right.

You don’t know it, but that’s exactly what he wants.

See, he really didn’t want to actually get hit by your car. When he started tracking you, mapping out his next victim, there was something about you that was… different. He normally went for loners, women with no family ties in their life. Early to mid-thirties, on the poorer side, someone nobody would miss, as sick as it is.

But you?

You were younger. Twenties, a pretty little dove compared to Simon. And sure, you were lonely. No family, not really… no boyfriend, no friends. An old flat that cost less than half of his motel rate. And yet, despite it all, you were happy.

A cheery little thing, you were. In and out of your job at the supermarket with a smile, stickers decorating your name badge. Flowers to ever woman on Mother’s Day and carrying bags out to people’s cars when your shift was over twenty minutes ago.

Because damnit, his bird was a better person than he would ever be.

But if Simon can’t fix his soul, adding a nice, pretty clean one to his life might balance it. Simon knows he doesn’t deserve you, hell it probably would’ve been better if he just slit your throat then and there. But he can’t risk tainting that pretty little neck with red. Simon doesn’t deserve you.

But a selfish man takes what he wants anyways.

So he took you. Or, well, you took him. Another reason he justifies keeping you, because technically you’re the one that took him into your house. Offered to feed him and made all his wounds look pretty with those little white bandages, his cuts all cute with the soft pink bandaids you own. He doesn’t care what bandaids he wears, because it was your pretty little fingers that put them on him.

He didn’t want to really get hit. He wanted the same routine, except this time, he’d just take you. Bring you with him and plop you down in his apartment, and hold you there until you started to like him too. Because he’d never force his bird to do something she didn’t want, so he’d just have to show her every reason to want it. Every reason to want him.

“…are you going to kill me?”

Your soft voice snaps Simon out of his trance, his eyes snapping up to you. Soft skin, soft thighs, soft everything about you. Simon was head over heels with his pretty bird, her hair mused and her face a mess of mascara and lip gloss. A wreck, a panicked little wreck like a tiny dove trying to break free.

you weren’t going to be free of him for a while.

“Kill you? Birdie, I any gonna touch a pretty little hair on your head unless ya let me. Doesn’t mean you’re gonna get away from me, I’ll just have ya keep ya until you learn to stay.”

You swallow, hard, and Simon watches the way your throat bobs. Slowly, he rises from his knees, taking a step closer to you, invading your personal space. He tilts your head up, a finger under your chin, and god those eyes… just the look in those eyes makes his cock chub in his pants. Because what would they look like full of tears? Tears of pleasure, the pleasure only he could bring to his baby bird…

“You look so pretty birdie… you like it, don’t you? You like that little feelin’… knowin it’s wrong… but you can’t help it.”

His hand moves up, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ears. He’s already looked around the house, the living room, your room. He’s seen what he needs to, he’s seen the dark romance books that you tuck away into the back corners of your shelves. The worn covers and torn pages, well loved and well read.

He knew from before his hunt started, that his little bird wouldn’t mind it eventually. She’d come around to him, he’d open her eyes to the man he is. Yeah, he’s a dirty soul. A dirty man.

But that’s the only type of man that’ll protect such a perfect, innocent little dove like her.

“Tell me, bird. What are you feeling?”

You swallow again. You shouldn’t be this turned on… Simon knows it, you know it too. The slight hum, the electric buzz between the two of you. The towering man in front of you who could snap your neck with a little twist of his wrist.

A man that for some reason, you were insanely attracted to. Insane, definitely insane.

But you look up at him nonetheless.

“…I-I feel… I feel like I-I shouldn’t want this.”

Simon grins, bending down to lean over you. Slowly, dwarfing your form, he presses you into the bed. His hands move to cage your head against the sheets, your heart spread out like a halo, like wings of a dove behind your head.

“No, Birdie. Ya shouldn’t.”

And with that, his lips crash to yours.

[lunacelia]

luigi helps you feel pleasure while your sex drive is low. NSFW + TW for references to depression

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The room is silent. You’re lying on your side, tucked beneath a blanket, the faint glow of the bedside lamp painting soft shadows across the walls. Everything feels quiet now; not empty, but still, in the way that sometimes happens after a long day of holding too much inside.

Luigi is behind you, steady and warm, one arm draped loosely around your waist. His presence is familiar and grounding, the kind of closeness that doesn’t ask anything of you but offers everything.

He already knows about your depression. Your recent episode; how the days have felt heavy and flat, how your spark has dimmed. He hasn’t pressed for explanations or solutions. Just stayed near, patient and steady, carrying you around on those days you struggled to leave your bed, making sure you ate even when you didn’t want to, walking with you quietly when talking felt like too much.

But tonight, there’s something else you need to say. Something you’ve been carrying in silence.

You shift slightly under the covers. Luigi’s hand moves with you, his thumb rubbing soft, slow circles over your side. “Everything okay, baby? You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he asks gently, his voice low in your ear.

You hesitate, heart beating just a little faster. You’ve tried to explain it to yourself, to reason it away. But it’s still there — that quiet ache of guilt every time you turn away from him at night, the silent shame that settles in your chest when you pretend you're just tired.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” you murmur. “But I didn’t know how to put it into words. I also didn’t want to… to have to say it out loud.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

“I know you’ve noticed we haven’t been… intimate recently. We haven’t had sex properly in almost two weeks. And I know you haven’t pushed me. But I want to be honest with you.”

You feel his hand pause on your waist.

“I haven’t felt like myself — physically, not just mentally. My sex drive has been pretty much non-existent. And when we tried the other night, I didn’t say anything, but it hurt. I’ve felt so dry and disconnected. And I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to say it out loud.”

You blink, your throat tightening. “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want you.”

He exhales softly, and resumes the slow circles by his thumb on your hip. “Hey, baby, look at me.”

His other hand comes to your chin, guiding you to turn your head to face him. Then, you turn your body completely so you’re both face to face, and Luigi begins to stroke your cheek as he speaks. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable telling me earlier. You should never put yourself through pain just for my pleasure, or feel guilty refusing anything. Talk to me, baby.”

You sigh, trying to avoid eye contact, but he gently guides your face again to look at his. “I just kept thinking it would pass. And when it didn’t, I started blaming myself. Like something’s wrong with me. Well, I mean, of course something’s wrong with me, I have depression.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Luigi says, firmly but tenderly. “You’re right, there is something wrong, you’re going through a tough time right now. But you can get better, beautiful — I promise. How you feel isn’t your fault. Your body’s doing its best to cope with everything. And I don’t want you to ever feel ashamed for needing time.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I miss having sex with you, yeah, of course I do. But we can be close in other ways. I love cuddling with you just like this, I love when I know you’re feeling safe in this space with me. That’s what matters most. I need you to feel safe, baby, so don’t hide anything from me.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “I didn’t want to feel broken in front of you.”

“You’re not broken,” he whispers. “You’re brave. You’ve been showing up every day, even when it’s hard. That’s strength.”

You look at him completely; his eyes are soft, expression open and calm.

“I’m here for you. Always,” he says. “Whether it’s days when you’re ready for sex or days when you just need to rest. If your body craves anything, I’ll listen. If it doesn’t, I’ll still stay right here. I love all of you — not just the parts that feel easy.”

And in that moment, something loosens inside you, not a fix, but a soft shift. True comfort.

You reach for his hand and thread your fingers together, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck to inhale his scent. “Thank you, Lu. I love you so much.”

“Of course,” Luigi says, kissing your knuckles. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me. And we’ll take this one step at a time, okay? As long as you promise to speak to me about everything, the good parts and the bad. I need to know how you’re feeling so I know how to take care of you in the ways you need.”

You sigh in content against him; the silence for the next few minutes is soft, understanding. After a while, you shift away from his neck slowly, looking up into his eyes. His orbs meet yours immediately, warm and hazel and beautiful.

You hesitate. Then, quietly, “I think… I wanna try something. But gentle. Just to see if I might be able to feel something again, even if it’s hardly anything. I was thinking about asking you earlier, but I kept feeling so weird about it.”

Luigi nods slowly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Okay, baby. We’ll go slow, just something small. You want me to rub your clit?” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose.

“Yeah, I think that would be a good place to start. I’m too dry for, um… penetration. But it’s nothing to do with you, I promise, Lu.”

“Hey, shh,” he coos, with another kiss to your forehead. “I know. Stop it, sweetheart. You don’t have to explain yourself — I understand. All I want you to do is tell me everything you need, yeah?”

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Uh, there’s lube in the drawer.”

Luigi wordlessly reaches over to the bedside table and takes the small bottle. He uncaps it, before rubbing a little amount of the liquid between his fingers. He gently trails his hand down your stomach, giving you time, his other arm cradling your waist.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, as his hand slips into your panties. He doesn’t do anything for a moment, just rests his hand there, a reminder that he’s with you, not trying to fix you instantly.

Slowly, his slick fingers begin to stroke your clit; small, patient circles that are more about comfort than arousal. You let out a slow breath, your eyes fluttering shut. It doesn’t feel electric or overwhelming like it used to so easily, but it feels tender, reassuring.

His voice, the motion of his fingers, the warmth of his body as you’re curled into him — it all begins to stitch something back together. Just slightly, like sunlight warming something frozen.

You shift slightly, feeling your body open just a little, the soreness and discomfort still there, but not sharp. Just part of the landscape. Luigi keeps his rhythm gentle, eyes between you and your sensitivity, asking without words if everything is okay. You nod, reaching to take his hand, holding it while he touches you so tenderly.

“If we start slowly with touches like this… no matter how little or how much it makes you feel, it’s the start of something, at least. We don’t have to rush anything, baby.”

You nod again, and a tear falls. Not from pain or pleasure, but from being seen. From being loved right in the middle of where it hurts.

After a few moments, Luigi pauses the movement of his fingers momentarily, to shift behind you. He settles against the headboard and gently pulls you to sit between his legs. His arms remain around you, keeping you tucked against his chest like you belong nowhere else. The sheets are loose around your waists, the room quiet beside the rhythm of your breathing.

“I thought this position would be better for you. Just rest your back against my chest, I’ve got you,” he whispers, pressing so many soft kisses to your neck as he continues his soft strokes over your clit. “I can feel you tensing a little. How is this feeling, baby? Tell me.”

“It’s nice,” you sigh contentedly, holding onto his bicep. “It doesn’t feel as good as it should, but it’s better than when I’ve tried by myself recently.”

Luigi smiles against your neck; you feel another quick peck on your skin. “That’s good, but don’t use words like should. This feels like it needs to right now, don’t pit yourself against a standard.”

You nod. “You always know what to say. Thank you for helping me, for talking me through it… You’re so patient.”

“Shh, of course. I just wanna love on you, beautiful girl.” His chin rests against your shoulder, fingers never stopping their soft pattern. “I love you. I’m gonna help you through everything, one step at a time.”

You lean back into him further, eyes half-lidded. “It’s been so weird… not wanting anything. Not feeling anything. You should, I don’t know, jerk off or something, but I know you don’t watch porn…”

Luigi laughs softly against you. “Don’t worry about me. Send me some pretty pictures and maybe I’ll use those.”

You exhale a quiet giggle.

“Seriously, don’t feel guilty. I’m fine.” His arm wraps tighter around your waist. “Just want you to heal.”

You rest, content in the moment, feeling his chest rise and fall. The strokes between your legs continue, steady, light, as if reminding your body it’s still capable of softness, of pleasure. You’re not soaked naturally — that part of you is still adjusting — but the lube helps. So does his touch.

And after a few quiet minutes, something shifts. Nothing dramatic, just a subtle stirring in your lower belly. You press your thighs together slightly, not out of real need, just curiosity.

You tilt your head a little, whispering without turning around. “Lu?”

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is close, lips brushing your ear.

You take a breath, heart a little unsure but hopeful. “Can you try pressing inside? Just one finger. Slow. I don’t know, I’m thinking I could be ready for it.”

He pauses for only a moment, and you feel him smile softly against your shoulder. “Of course. I’ve got you.”

He shifts gently behind you, pulling the blanket down just enough to give himself room to move. His fingers slip away from your clit as he reaches for the lube.

He warms the liquid between his palms before sliding his hand back into your panties, spreading the lube carefully, easing it over your sensitive skin. “Still tender,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “You promise you’re okay, baby?”

“Mhm, yeah, I don’t feel too bad right now.” Your eyes flutter closed as he strokes just along your entrance, not pushing, just testing. His other hand keeps rubbing slow circles over your hip, lips pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder.

“You’re doing so well,” he says softly. “Just let me love you, baby girl.”

When he finally begins to ease his middle finger inside, it’s like he’s moving through silk — slow, careful, never past your comfort. The lube helps of course, but more than that, his presence helps. He listens with his whole body, feeling for every flinch, every breath.

“There we go…” he coos, lips brushing the edge of your ear. “Just one finger, yeah? You’re doing amazing. So warm around me already.”

It doesn’t hurt, not with how slow he moves, how he pauses with every millimeter, waiting for your breath to guide him. You grip his thigh where your hand rests, grounding yourself.

Inside, his finger moves slowly, searching for that familiar place — the spot he knows by heart. He doesn’t go straight there. He explores, patiently, waiting for your breath to hitch, your body to lean toward him.

Then, he curls upward.

And there — a gentle pressure. Only gentle, but it’s there. A glimmer of sensation you’d forgotten. You close your eyes, feeling a warmth you hadn’t expected, more emotional than physical at first, the sheer relief of being reminded that pleasure is still possible.

“That’s it,” Luigi murmurs behind you, his voice melting against your ear. “You feel that, baby?”

You nod, your lips parting slightly. “Yeah… I think I do.”

He keeps his finger curled gently, moving in soft pulses, and after a few strokes, returns his thumb to your clit — resuming those gentle, patient circles. The combination is delicate, like a whisper to your nerves.

“There she is,” he says, barely above a breath. “That sweet spot. Your body remembers.”

Silent tears slip down your cheeks again, quiet and freeing. Luigi doesn’t stop holding you. Doesn’t stop murmuring your name like a promise.

“You’re still yours, you know that?” he whispers. “This part of you — all of you. Depression might try to take it, but it can’t have it. I see you. And I’ve got you forever, my girl.”

Your breath hitches a little as the feeling builds — not like before, when arousal hit fast and easy, but a slow climb out of a fog. The dullness you’ve been living in for weeks has lifted just slightly.

Your body involuntarily shifts to meet his hand. Your thighs part a little more. You’re wetter now — still not soaking, but more than before — and you listen to the soft slide of lube mixing with your natural wetness as he moves.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mhm…” Your voice is a whisper, surprised and relieved. “I’m feeling better.”

There’s a pause. Then you add, almost shyly: “can we try two?”

Luigi stills for a moment, his breath catching — not from lust, but from love. From how much trust you’re offering him right now. He kisses the back of your shoulder. “Yeah. Of course. Let me go slow.”

He eases his finger out, taking a moment to reach for the lube again. The cold of it makes you jump slightly, and he laughs quietly, rubbing your hip. “Sorry, baby. Let me warm it up.”

He slicks his fingers, warming them between his palms, then trails one hand back down your thigh as the other guides his fingers again.

He presses his middle finger in first — smooth, familiar now. Then the second comes gently beside it: his ring finger. He waits; you breathe. He pushes only the tiniest bit at first, and you tense just for a second.

“Hey,” he murmurs near your ear, stilling completely. “You’re okay, shh. Gonna take this so slow for you.”

You exhale, your body relaxing into the slow stretch. It’s not easy — the soreness is still there, alongside that depressive tension that lingers in your muscles, in your skin. But with him behind you, holding you so gently, it’s bearable. More than that, you start to feel real pleasure.

The second finger slides deeper. There’s pressure now, more than before, and a pinch that makes your breath catch. You make a small sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

Luigi’s voice comes right after. “Yeah, I know, baby. It’s a stretch. You’re so tight. So sensitive. But you’re taking me so well. So slow, that’s it…”

You nod, breathing deep. He curls both fingers gently, and this time you feel it deep — the press against your g-spot, more distinct, more layered now. Pain and pleasure tangle together, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like your body is waking up.

You whimper, not from discomfort but from the sheer intensity of sensation after so long without it.

“There you go,” Luigi coos. “That’s it, I can feel you, angel. Feel how your body wants this, even if your mind’s not caught up yet. I’ve got you.”

His thumb returns to your clit, barely brushing now, but every movement adds to the growing fullness inside. The way he rubs over you isn’t fast — it’s rhythmic, grounding, like a pulse. Like a whisper from your own body saying, this is what you need.

Then he pauses — not stopping, but slowing even further — and he kisses your temple. “I’d love to make you come,” he murmurs. “I’d love to feel that from you again. But you don’t owe me that, okay?”

You turn your face just enough to look at him. “I know. I just… I wish I could.”

Luigi shakes his head, brushing your hair back. “Shh. You’re giving me so much already. Letting me in like this, feeling something again. I don’t need anything else, baby, listen to me.”

His fingers are still moving, coaxing now — more confident as your body begins to open. The soreness is still there, but now it lives beside a soothing pleasure. Not heavy, but comforting and warm.

He curls again, more firmly, and your hips shift. You feel pressure that might turn into something, and for the first time in a long time, you want it. Even if your body doesn’t let it come today.

Luigi senses it too. “There she is,” he says softly. “That’s my girl.”

You breathe through it, letting the feelings come in waves. Some are pleasurable, some are emotional. But all of them are yours.

And through it all, Luigi holds you. Kisses you. Keeps rubbing you and curling his fingers like the movements are an act of devotion, not seduction.

Eventually, your body begins to settle again. The tension softens. You don’t come, not today, but you feel good. You feel open, present, alive.

When he finally eases his fingers out, he does it like he’s handling something sacred. He grabs a soft cloth nearby and wordlessly wipes you clean before curling you into his arms again.

You turn toward his chest, pressing your face into him. “Thank you.”

He kisses your forehead. “Always. You’re my baby. Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

tags: @luiluvr @velvet-kissesss @multi-culti-girl @annanotherthingg @palmersluvr @lilbadblueeee @fligniuz @briarloves @daydreamingwithluigi @alleviatcd @mangionesdoll @dracula-reborn @bambimangione @contrarianshitstan-blog @iinfinitelimits @straw8berry @amoungusbartholo @loveauriana

[milla-frenchy]

Slasher was already one of my all time favorites and damn, this chapter proved it once again

I love, love, love, what you wrote here. The degradation is absolutely fabulous as usual, but what's behind this? 🤌🤌🤌

And Kitten? God I love her so much 😍😍

He lifts the skirt of the dress and yanks the panties down to your ankles. You lean forward and brace yourself on the sink. He stands up, slides the gun between your legs and the smooth, cool metal of the top of the barrel rubs through your slippery seam. Your hips tilt and he slides it forward one last time, before taking it away. He pats your ass, and says, “Now c’mon, let's go.” Not even the decency to fuck you first. Not even with the gun.

Fuck, he's so hot. And Kitten is so real for this 🤭

You yoink the gun from the back of his pants and he says, “God damnit, be careful with that,” without putting you down.  “You seem pretty sure I won't shoot you,” you observe.  “Course ya won't. Be like a … like a drug addict shootin’ their dealer… nah, shootin’ the drug cooker. Yeah. And he's the only cooker.” He's getting slightly out of breath as he walks. Or maybe it’s the effort of all that thinking.  “What the hell are you talking about?” You ask. “Cock hungry whore ain't gonna kill off the biggest cock she's got.” 

I mean... he's not wrong 😌

When you get to his Mom's house, he warns, “Just don't talk about all your whorin’ around, okay? She won't like it.” He checks his hair in the rear view mirror.   You laugh, “What whoring around?”  “All those skinny dicks in your phone,” he mutters, getting out of the car. “Excuse me?” You ask, still sitting. 

Honestly, I just love him 😁

“Bringing a gun into your mother's house?” you ask as he pulls you along. He freezes, then mumbles, “You're right. Don't want her to think you're a bad influence. Even if ya are.” 

Screaming and crying in the best way 😂😂😂

Her bosom is like a warm pillow. Like a relic of young motherhood, reaching through time, tickling your inner child awake. 

Awwww 🥹🥹🥹

Might as well rip the bandaid off: “Okay… Mama… well, it's nice of you to have me over.” In the back of your mind, you hope Joel doesn't think this is any special effort on your part. It's more like, your job requires manners, and this is your default setting with older folks. 

Kitten I LOVE YOU

“You two seem really close,” you offer. “Just the two of you?”  She raises her eyebrows in amusement and lowers her volume. “Oh, Joel made sure of that .” 

You know Toxy, there's a moment that is stuck in my head, from Stop playing. This one:

As he finishes coming, he makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. Under his weathered face, for a moment he sees a younger, sadder man before his nose twitches into a snarl and he rinses the cum down the sink.

I don't remember if it was the 1st time we had a hint about what happened before, but I LOVE that you're letting us know more about this

He doesn't meet your eyes. He’s looking at the carpet with a defeated scowl, jaw flexing, chest heaving, arms crossed limply over his stomach.  He tries to manage a smile of acknowledgement. You can see the effort, but humiliation prevails.

🥺🥺🥺

He's got this tough, violent shell about him, and now you know there's something else under there. Is he sorry he brought you to dinner, you wonder? You don't want him to be.  “Well, it was nice meeting your mom,” you remark. “Meatloaf was fantastic…. The pie, too.” You cradle the Tupperware stacked in your lap. “You wanna hang out for awhile?” you ask. 

I really love how emotionally smart she is 🖤🖤

“Just pull over Joel,” you repeat. “Ain't in the mood for your games, sweetheart,” he says. You open the glove box, then close it with the gun in your hand.  You point it at him. “Pull over, god damn it,” you tell him. He squints and looks at you up and down before dismissing you with a silent, condescending laugh.  Keeping the gun trained on him, your free hand unbuckles your seatbelt, then slides between your legs. You pull the skirt of the dress all the way up to expose your cunt. “You serious?” He asks. 

She's so hot. I just love them together

Joel shakes his head, keeps driving, and you lift the gun to his temple. “Pull over right now,” you repeat, quieter. “Jesus, FUCK,” he relents, neck vein bulging as he veers toward the shoulder.  It's close to dusk now, on a suburban road, and you're half way out of the seat before the car's in park.

Kitten you queen 😍😍😍

“Somethin’ wrong with you?” he asks. “That’d make two of us,” you answer. You glance at the gun to make sure the safety's still on, then point the barrel at his chest and reach down to grab the massive bulge in his jeans. The largest you could imagine, for a cock that’s not quite hard. And he chubs up quick under the lustful pressure of your palm.  “You're into this shit,” he says. “ Like some kinda kink.”  Ya think?, you manage not to say out loud.

Yeah. "You think, Joel?" 😌😌😌

He lifts you up with one arm, and takes out the gun, putting it aside. Then he slams you all the way down on his cock. “Oh god, yeah,” he pants, “Freak nasty whore ”  You moan and let it ride, clenching around his cock, your walls hugging it tighter each time, with the girth of the gun no longer holding you open.   Your climax wanes and your legs are weak. “Oh fuck,” he pants, “Gonna fill this dirty snatch,”  He sweats and grunts. “Gonna stuff her with my load,” he warns, “Bout to fill this gash right up .”   “Fuck,” he breathes heavier and grunts with each thrust up into you, then slams you down, and with an upward jolt of his hips begins to drain his massive balls. “Fuck,” he sighs as he comes inside. “Fuck, you're crazy,” he says with another rope, warm and sticky, hitting your womb.  “Tryna get knocked up by some psycho killer ya picked up on the side of the road,” he says. “ Fuck, you goddamn freak .” 

I'm not gonna quote the whole fucking part, but DAMN. All of this is SO hot, and his dirty talk is killing me 🥵🥵🥵🥵

Still milking his cock, something possesses you to cradle his face as he slows down. Another burst of warmth in your core, as your face approaches his. He starts to turn his cheek, but your hands become forceful. “C’mere, asshole,”  you demand, grinding into him with his cock pulsing deep inside again. His neck begins to relax, and he sighs with his eyes closed. You hold his face steady and bring your face to his. When your lips meet his are limp and open.  Another warm spurt into your womb, and when you moan against his mouth, he moans back. His lips soften, then cradle yours. Your tongue slips into your mouth, and his pushes into yours. He grabs the back of your head, pulling you into his face as he kisses you, releasing a final burst of hot seed. “Mm,” he grunts into your mouth, hands holding each other’s faces. Glued together, consuming each other in the dark. The passion simmers to something gentler as your loins twitch with aftershocks, becoming over-sensitive. 

And omg I didn't know I needed this but this is so good, so perfect and I love these 2 so much you have no idea 🥹🥹🥹🥹

I love this series so much, and this chapter is AMAZING 🖤🖤🖤

Mama's Boy, 18+

slasher Joel masterlist | problematic playlist | AO3

PAIRING: Slasher!Joel x f!reader LENGTH: 7.2k words and none wasted tbh SUMMARY: Dinner at his mom's house, mostly. WARNINGS: 18+ dark, unsafe PinV, gunplay, degradation, a bit of angst, a whiff of incest, choking-adjacent, dark!reader, major revelations (!), feelings maybe? (god help us), mommy and daddy issues, slasher Joel needs a hug. NOTES: Today is not only mother's day, but also the 2nd anniversary of his first fic. This is packed. @flawssy-227 ty for your activism. And @thesummerpetrichor, I thought of you 🖤. Joel can carry reader.

It's Sunday. He lets himself in. 

“Still in bed? Must’ve been ass up face down pretty late last night, huh? Told ya i'd pick ya up… ”

You squint at him as your eyes adjust. “What are you talking about?” He has something draped over his shoulder.

Too much talking. Not enough fucking. 

He scoffs, “Really? Sunday dinner, slut.” He marches over to your nightstand with a snarl, picks up a folded piece of paper, and tosses it at you like a frisbee. 

Oh yeah. 

You unfold it as if it's the first time you've read it: “pick u up sunday.” There's a sketch of his fat cock and a thinner outline of what's presumably a dong next to it. “p.s. u need a real toy.” 

Well, here he is. Picking you up on Sunday, and he's even kinda cleaned himself up. A plaid shirt and jeans tighter than his work uniform. Looks like a normal guy you could pass in the supermarket, none the wiser that he’d shove a huge tool up your cunt.

He stands by your bed holding up one dress in each hand. Neither of them yours. 

“Now put on somethin’ decent.”  

He throws them onto the bed, then pulls a gun out of the back of his pants.  “What do you think? ” He gestures between them with the gun. 

One of the dresses is simple, clean lines, not far off from something you might normally wear. But it has a brown stain and a frayed edge. It doesn't feel right. 

The other dress is a strawberry plant pattern with short sleeves that puff out. It's faded and outdated, but clean and in decent shape–from what you can tell, at least.

“Got my own clothes,” you tell him.

But he insists, “This ain't the street corner, sugar. You're gonna pick one of these.”

“I'm too tired for this,” you complain, then add, “I dunno what makes you think I wanna go to your mom's house.” 

“Come on, baby…” He looks at the gun. “I don't wanna use this… unless I'm stuffin’ your muff with it later ”

After looking at both the dresses, you can't bear to put on the stained one and choose the strawberry print. You feel unexpectedly cute in what could have been plucked from a mid century catalogue for housewives, although it’s probably from modcloth circa 2015.

Turning around in the mirror, it’s actually really flattering, and there’s something kinda sexy about dressing up like this degenerate's pretty little wife…Yep, you're really doing this. 

Maybe it’s partly out of morbid curiosity, wanting to know where he came from. 

How he…. happened. 

He brings you a pair of your own shoes and puts them down for you to step into. 

“Yeah, that's my girl,” looking over your right shoulder at the bathroom mirror, he grabs your ass, then sticks his hand between your legs from behind, hooking his hand under you to reach your clit. Your feet spread reflexively, giving him more room. Still holding the gun in his right hand, the hand between your legs tents the dress as he strokes you, and your gut begins to swell with need. He spreads his feet and angles himself slightly toward you, getting close enough to press himself against you, letting you feel the warm log in those tight jeans, gun held against his meaty thigh. Your chest heats up and you adjust your tits in the dress, copping a feel of yourself while you’re at it. 

“Good girl ” he mutters. With a glint of affection in his eyes, he says, “You were born to wear this dress, kitten.” Now that he’s got you dripping, his fingers slip into the crotch of your panties and he shoves one, then two, inside. “Mm,” he grinds against you as he stuffs you with his fingers. Then he pulls them out and squats down. He lifts the skirt of the dress and yanks the panties down to your ankles. You lean forward and brace yourself on the sink. He stands up, slides the gun between your legs and the smooth, cool metal of the top of the barrel rubs through your slippery seam. Your hips tilt and he slides it forward one last time, before taking it away.

He pats your ass, and says, “Now c’mon, let's go.”

Not even the decency to fuck you first. Not even with the gun.

You scowl at him in the mirror. 

He asks, “Am I gonna have to drag you, kickin’ and screamin’?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply. 

“Alright,” he agrees, all too happy to oblige. He puts the sticky gun in the back of his pants, bends his knees. and lifts you over his shoulder with a grunt. 

He steps through your open back door and slams it behind him with one hand, his other arm braced over the bare backs of your knees. 

You yoink the gun from the back of his pants and he says, “God damnit, be careful with that,” without putting you down. 

“You seem pretty sure I won't shoot you,” you observe. 

“Course ya won't. Be like a … like a drug addict shootin’ their dealer… nah, shootin’ the drug cooker. Yeah. And he's the only cooker.”

He's getting slightly out of breath as he walks. Or maybe it’s the effort of all that thinking. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You ask.

“Cock hungry whore ain't gonna kill off the biggest cock she's got.” 

You press the edge of the barrel against the small of his back and nudge it into his jeans, then demand, “Put me down.” 

He groans in exasperation, stops, and sets you down in the side yard. 

You almost forget to point the firearm at him. Almost. With the gun raised, you ask, “What’s with the gun anyway? Thought knives were your thing.” 

He shrugs. “Special occasion?”

“Why do you want me to come to dinner so bad?”

“Cause I told her we were comin’, okay? Told her ya liked the casserole.”

For the first time, you notice his hair is a little bit combed. You ask, “What'd you tell her about me?”

“Uh,” He scratches the back of his neck. “She knows we met when I was workin’. Knows I gave ya a ride….knows ya ain't like other girls.” 

“What’s that mean?” You ask, adjusting your grip. 

“I dunno… ” He shrugs, then gets frustrated.  “I ain't brought home a girl home in a long time, okay? And she's gettin’ older, and…” 

When you've lowered the gun, he lunges forward, muttering, “Gimme that,” as he disarms you with ease that makes your heart skip a beat. He grabs you by the arm and marches you to the Volvo. He opens the passenger door and manhandles you into the seat. 

When he gets in the car, he leans over and buckles your seatbelt for you. He smells clean and minty. 

As he puts the car in drive, you ask, “What else did you tell her?”

“Uh…. She knows we ain't been on many dates.”

“Not many?” You ask with a laugh. “You mean none?”

He glances at you twice, suppressing a flattered smile at the implication he perceives. He wets his bottom lip. “That mean ya want to?” 

He holds the gun against his thigh and steers with one hand.

-

-

When you get to his Mom's house, he warns, “Just don't talk about all your whorin’ around, okay? She won't like it.” He checks his hair in the rear view mirror.  

You laugh, “What whoring around?” 

“All those skinny dicks in your phone,” he mutters, getting out of the car.

“Excuse me?” You ask, still sitting. 

“Just tell her about your day job instead,” he says, as if you genuinely don't think or talk about anything other than cock without prompting.

Wait--skinny dicks in your phone? Your train of thought dies when he puts the gun in the back of his pants, and in doing so exposes a few inches of skin, and the tail end of a scar. After he shuts the driver side door, you open yours while he hurries around to help you out. 

“Come on,” His big hand wraps around your inner elbow again. “We're gonna be late.”  He's slightly in front of you 

“Bringing a gun into your mother's house?” you ask as he pulls you along.

He freezes, then mumbles, “You're right. Don't want her to think you're a bad influence. Even if ya are.” 

What a gentleman. 

He goes and puts it in the glovebox, then jogs to catch up with you again. 

-

-

When she opens the door, Joel's mother beams at the sight of her son. She steps outside, frail and slow moving. She's pretty, with silky white hair that looks older than her face. The storm door creaks to a stuttering close behind her.  

At first, it's like you're invisible. He lets go of you, and they embrace. She reaches for the back of his neck and says,  “C'mere, baby,” pulling his face to hers. He kisses her on the cheek, then she kisses him, and then, as they separate, Joel gestures toward you. Her eyes are curious when they meet yours, then her face comes to life as her gaze falls down your body. She puts a hand on her hip as she checks you out, her other hand rising to her mouth for a moment, then resting on her chest, fingers centered in the hollow of her collar bone. 

“Joel,” she half-laughs in flirtatious accusation, then narrates, “Well, there she is…”

“Don't she look nice? ” Joel asks with a subtle smile and blush. 

His mom admires you with an air of disbelief, then goes in for a hug. Her fragrance isn't entirely new to your nostrils, and the sensory recall brings an unsettling tingle to your loins: The night Joel brought the leftovers.

She holds you close, pressing her body all the way against yours without fully relaxing. Firm and in control, and yet , she feels softer than she looks. Her bosom is like a warm pillow. Like a relic of young motherhood, reaching through time, tickling your inner child awake. 

As the hug ends, she gently pinches the puffed sleeves of your dress and says to Joel without looking at him, “Yes, baby. She looks real pretty.”  Then, glancing up from your dress, she tells you with a smile, “Can't promise strawberries, but I do have cherry pie. Come on in.”

“Thank you, ma’am” you nod. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she chuckles, “You can just call me Mama.” 

It sounds like you should know better. Like ���Mama’ is the most obvious option. You glance at Joel, and he nods with a little smile of permission, as if that's what you’re looking for, and he's glad to give it.

Might as well rip the bandaid off: “Okay… Mama… well, it's nice of you to have me over.” In the back of your mind, you hope Joel doesn't think this is any special effort on your part. It's more like, your job requires manners, and this is your default setting with older folks. 

She holds the door open with her body and you have to graze past her. “Smells delicious,” you observe with genuine hunger, having slept through the first two meals of the day.

She straightens her frilled apron with a smile and suggests, “Joel, why don't you give your girl a tour while I finish up?” 

This is a relief - you hadn't been consciously dreading it, but worst case scenario, she would've asked you to help in the kitchen. She seems like that type. 

–

It’s a humble brick ranch. Dimly lit. Everything is out of style, but tidy.  There are a few bedroom doors, but he doesn’t open any of them, and you don’t pry. The paint in the hall is disrupted over a poorly repaired dent in the wall. You try not to look at the stains on the ceiling. 

One of the living room walls has a fireplace, and one wall is lined with pictures. There's a bare corner with nothing but a crochet rug – a rounded  rectangle, with raised crosses. The paint is newer over there. Bubbling and wanting to peel as the wall approaches the perpendicular wall, the one with the fireplace.

Before you can get a good look at anything, Joel steers you outside. In the small backyard, a wooden garden bed has overgrown with weeds. The lawn is nice and trim. “You help out with the yard?” You ask.

“Uh, sometimes,” he answers. “ She's got somebody else too .”

He rocks forward on his feet, arms crossed. 

“So... you gonna fuck me in your boyhood bedroom?” You ask, and he clears his throat with a forced smile, brows knitted.

“What?” you ask. “Why the hell else would you take my panties?” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, allowing himself only a brief glance at you, until he does a double take and admits, “Fuck, you look good.” He seems more distressed by it than anything.

No such luck, you guess, raising your eyebrows at the visible outline against his thigh. Never would've pictured him in jeans. 

He runs his hand through his hair, puffs out his cheeks with an exhale, and adjusts himself with effort before leading you back inside. His boot grazes the side of a metal bowl, sloshing water into dark spots on the cement.

-

-

She pours Joel a glass of milk with dinner, and when you politely decline, Joel says, “One glass won't hurt ya, baby .” Mama seems pleased to bring over the old fashioned bottle of milk. She rests her free arm on the back of your chair, with the fine lines of her cleavage near your eyes as she fills your glass. 

The meatloaf is delicious, with sauce that reminds you of barbecue. The mashed potatoes are over-buttered, but they hit the spot. She smiles to herself, satisfied to watch you eat. 

“So tell me about yourself,” she says. “Do you work?” 

You swallow your food, nod, and tell her which clinic you work at. 

“Oh,” she recognizes the name. “The one over on Main Street?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“That's nice,” she says. “Joel's going to own his own business one day. Do you ever want to own your own practice?” 

“Oh, no, I don't think so,” you answer, then ask Joel, “What kind of business?”

“Joel, I'm surprised you haven't told her,” his Mom says, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial volume to tell you, “He’s too modest.” 

“Ya know, I guess a tow and repair one-stop shop,” Joel says. “Not a lot of guys do both, but I can really take care of ya. Same night, even. Late hours, too.” 

His mom nods. “I always knew he'd be successful,”  she says. “Even in the darker days.” 

Joel tenses and begins to tap his heel. “ How about you, Mama? ” he asks, “ What have you been up to? ”

“Oh, you know, this and that,” she says. “Crossword was a doozie today!” she laughs. “What are you two gonna do this week? Anything special?” 

You shrug and look at Joel. 

He starts, “Uh… ”

His Mom bails him out, “You oughta take her to the drive-in like I said, baby,”  then she asks you, "Would you like that, honey? You like the drive-in? We used to go, it was so nice.”

“Sure, I like movies,” you answer. 

“See, Joel? She likes movies.”

-

Joel finishes his meatloaf relatively quickly, and his mother puts another generous slice on his plate. 

“I don't need any more, Ma,” he says, but she doesn't listen, and he digs into it anyway. By his third slice, he’s pushed back in his chair, adjusting his belt. He pats his tummy and says, “There's nothin’ she makes that ain't good.”

“Only the best for my boy,” she agrees, then asks you, “Ain’t that right?” 

“Of course,” you agree.

“Oh! I saw Randall Junior earlier,” she says. “He came by and did the lawn.”

“Randy,” Joel corrects her. 

“Yeah, Randall’s son.”

“Randy,” Joel repeats. “He ain’t even a Junior, Ma. He’s the third.”

“Well, it was nice to see him,” she reminisces, fiddling with the corner of her placemat. She catches herself, smooths it down, then brings her hands together, fiddling with her left ring finger. “I swear, that boy’s an inch taller every time I see him.” 

“He’s in his thirties,” Joel tells you, drawing a genuine smile to your lips. One that brings a sparkle to his eyes. 

“Well, anyway,” she goes on, “A face like that belongs in the movies,” she chuckles to herself.  “Of course, he’s nowhere near as handsome as my Joel,” she looks at you reassuringly as she says it. Lest you pine after Randy the third . 

A silence stretches on until you say, “Well, this was delicious. I’d love the recipe…” You dab the corners of your mouth and put down your napkin. 

“Oh, it’s not a recipe, honey,” she boasts, “It’s somethin’ ya do from the heart.” After a moment, she adds, “But I can write down the ingredients! Now, how about some cherry pie?” 

She stands up, puts her apron back on, and you help her clear the table. “Go on Joel, we’ve got it,”  Mama tells him, and he goes to sit in the living room.

“Okay,” Mama whispers to herself as she plates the first slice, a generous one. “This one’s for him.” You take it to Joel and he sits up from the couch to accept it with a thank you, reading your face for signs of how things are going. You flash him a small, unrevealing smile.

“Gonna take a piss,” he mumbles, and his eyes ask if that’s okay. “Sure,” you say with a little curtsy, trying not to smirk as you turn and head back to the kitchen.

Mama’s about to plate the other slices of pie when she lifts a finger in the air and says, “Oh, let me write this down before I forget,” then retrieves a notecard and pencil from a drawer. She puts on a pair of glasses and smiles to herself as she jots down the ingredients. You dwell in the threshold of the living room.

She looks up like she’s trying to remember something, then looks down and keeps writing on the notecard. 

You begin to look at the pictures on the wall. Some are of Joel, and he’s straight-faced. Some are of cats. Charmingly, a blurry photo of a black cat has been deemed frame-worthy. It sits within a bigger rectangle, the shadow of where a different frame used to be. There are a few spots like this. There are a few relatively recent photos of Joel and his Mom. None with his father, as far as you can tell. None now, and none then. But when you look closer at the older ones, it’s clear some of them have been trimmed. 

“He hates having his picture made,” Mama startles you from less than a foot away. 

“You two seem really close,” you offer. “Just the two of you?” 

She raises her eyebrows in amusement and lowers her volume. “Oh, Joel made sure of that .” 

A chill in her voice hardens your nipples and dries your mouth. You search her face for more, but her eyes have wandered, and her face has fallen. “Been about thirty years, just the two of us—well, just me for a while…” You follow her eyes to the corner with the crochet rug, and she squeezes your arm.  

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

She eases her grip and manages a little smile. “Yes, dear.” She hands you the notecard.

Her handwriting is beautiful. Captivating. 

You stay there, eyes scanning the photo wall, while she finishes plating your pie and hers. 

One of the frames catches your eye. It’s the first one you’ve really zeroed in on, looking at the faces and not just the context. The picture is faded and yellowed.  

Joel is young and smiling, with a pin-up looking woman hanging all over him.

A rush of begruding jealousy begs the question, who is that?

And then, your stomach turns before the realization sets in. 

It’s a much younger Mama, with dark, loose curls befitting of a centerfold. All dolled up and glowing, with her arm around his middle. And god damn, her tits are swelling up out of her neckline. She looks…. Hot. Your lungs go hollow, then your chest expands with a deep breath. Something's stirring in your gut. Arousal? Attraction?  

Your eyes pan down to her Mary Jane heels, but the swell of her breasts, those bouncy curls… your eyes are pulled back up her body. The dress is cute, and proper. Innocent, even. But the way she wears it… Sweetheart neckline, puffed sleeves… You squint for a closer look, and your breath hitches.  Heat rises to your face, to the tips of your ears. Your heart races. You pull your eyes away, chest burning, and pretend you don't notice anything.  

Something soft brushes your calf and you gasp and jump as you look down to see a black cat thread between your legs. 

“Oh, it’s Daniel!” Mama says. “He must’ve come in behind you. Not allergic, are you? Here’s your pie, honey.” She sets down your plate on the coffee table.

“You good, baby?” Joel asks. 

-

Taking your place on the sofa next to Joel, you sit like a lady, one foot tucked behind the other ankle, minding your lack of panties. The dress is just long enough to cover your knees. 

The three of you finish dessert in silence aside from forks scraping good china and Daniel purring from that rug in the corner. Joel finishes first, and stretches his arm behind you on the sofa. When you finish, you sit back with him, knee brushing his. You will yourself to relax. You will yourself not to ogle his mother in trying to reconcile her fragile frame of today with those curves of yesteryear. 

She looks back and forth at the two of you sitting side by side and smiles. She puts down her plate, crosses her legs toward you, and clasps her hands. A smile rises through her pretty cheekbones as she looks directly at you. 

“Ya know, Joel was top of his class.” 

You raise your eyebrows. 

Joel takes his hand off the back of the sofa and leans forward, forearms on his knees, full belly filling out the plaid against his lap as he wrings his hands.  “Mama.” Joel’s tone is cautionary, but his face is more pleading. He shakes his head ever so slightly. 

Ignoring him, she smiles proudly at you.

You try not to sound as skeptical as you are when you ask, “Really?”

She nods. 

“Mama,” he whispers. 

“Mm-hmm,” she smiles. 

He sits up straight, wipes his hand down his whole face and sits back in defeat. His arm doesn't return behind you. 

She continues, “There were a couple other boys, went in ‘round the same time – took’em three tries to get their GED. Three tries, at least. Not my Joel. He got his on the first try,” she beams. “The warden shook his hand.” 

“Okay,” Joel mutters. 

The Warden. Your heart skips a beat and your face goes cold, but you pray it doesn't show. 

You turn and congratulate him, “That’s great, Joel.”

He doesn't meet your eyes. He’s looking at the carpet with a defeated scowl, jaw flexing, chest heaving, arms crossed limply over his stomach.  He tries to manage a smile of acknowledgement. You can see the effort, but humiliation prevails.

You feel for him and add, “Really, babe.” 

His face softens, but his posture doesn't change. After a moment, without looking up, he mumbles, “Long time ago.” 

“Yeah,” his mother nods. “He's always been a smart boy.” She starts talking about his favorite subjects, and how he could have gotten his bachelor's too, three times over, if the program was worth a damn, and state funding, and blah blah blah, riots, and understaffing, and shanks hidden in law library books, and a few bad apples spoil it for everyone…

Your eyes are on him, tuning her out, best you can, despite your curiosity. You rest your hand on his knee, and he relaxes a little. And then, once your face turns toward his mom again, Joel looks at your face, assessing the damage. 

You want to hear it all– how long he was locked up, how he ended up in juvie. You're afraid you already know that part. 

Daniel purrs loudly from the crochet rug, and you will yourself not to look in that direction. 

Joel's Mom looks at Daniel and gets quiet as her eyes wander up that wall that must've been painted over, God how many times in the past thirty years? She idly caresses her ring finger. 

You squeeze Joel's knee, slide your hand up his jeans a couple inches, and squeeze again. You tap your thumb, and his hand joins yours.

“We oughta get goin’, Ma,” he announces. 

“Oh,” she frowns, slumping in defeat. 

“I'm workin’ tonight, and she's gotta work early.” 

“Okay,” she whispers to herself, stands up, and smooths her dress. 

—---

“It's nice to know there's a good woman looking after my son,” she says as she bids you goodbye with another hug. 

Your heart swells at the praise, you can't help it. Her apparent sincerity weakens your eyes, makes you shake away your own memories and steel yourself as she says goodbye to Joel. 

“Chin up, baby.” She holds Joel's face, makes him look at her. “Give your mama some sugar.” She gives him a smack on the lips. He doesn't kiss back, but he does accept her hug. 

He pulls up his jeans on the way to the car. Almost forgets to open the door for you. 

He doesn't look at you, even when he buckles you in, which you would have done yourself if you hadn’t froze.

He swallows more thickly. His posture is less proud.

For the first few minutes of the drive, you ride in silence. Then you ask, “Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn't I be?” He grumbles. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, tummy tickling with a pang of sympathy for the man. 

“No,” he answers flatly with no hesitation. 

“You don't have to,” you reassure him. 

“I know I don't have to,” He snaps. “God, it's all anybody ever wants to talk about.” 

You watch him scowl at the road, clenching his strong jaw.  His gaze is so dark. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. As if noticing this himself, he stretches one hand out, spreading his fingers before assuming a more relaxed grip.

You wonder… was he born a killer? 

He's got this tough, violent shell about him, and now you know there's something else under there. Is he sorry he brought you to dinner, you wonder? You don't want him to be. 

“Well, it was nice meeting your mom,” you remark. “Meatloaf was fantastic…. The pie, too.” You cradle the Tupperware stacked in your lap. “You wanna hang out for awhile?” you ask. 

“Gotta work,” he answers flatly and swallows with his eyes still on the road. 

“Well, that's too bad.” It really is. 'Cause you're not any less horny than he got you in your bathroom two hours ago. Wetter, if anything, you realize, and warmth blooms in your cheeks. Now the sun is going down. You reach back and put the Tupperware on the back seat, then shamelessly turn toward him. You lean your temple against the headrest and watch him drive. 

He’s hard-working. Complicated. Private. And his mom’s right, he is successful, all things considered.

You wonder where his dad is buried. Whether he was handsome, like Joel. Maybe . But with or without him, Joel got those looks from Mama. 

Joel glances over and shoots you a dark look. A warning.

“You don't gotta play nice,” he says.

“I'm not playing anything,” you protest. 

He lets out a dismissive chuckle.

“Pull over,” you tell him. 

“For what?” He asks.

His meaty thighs are spread, swelling in those tight jeans. He follows your eyes and squints at you, then slides his hand under his belly and adjusts his belt, annoyed. 

“Just pull over Joel,” you repeat.

“Ain't in the mood for your games, sweetheart,” he says.

You open the glove box, then close it with the gun in your hand.  You point it at him. “Pull over, god damn it,” you tell him.

He squints and looks at you up and down before dismissing you with a silent, condescending laugh. 

Keeping the gun trained on him, your free hand unbuckles your seatbelt, then slides between your legs. You pull the skirt of the dress all the way up to expose your cunt.

“You serious?” He asks. 

“Serious as a heart attack,” you confirm. 

And that's not what killed his dad, you think. 

It must've been messy. 

He must've deserved it, by the looks of Joel's back. The way the moonlight skidded over his scars, that night in your bedroom.

Joel shakes his head, keeps driving, and you lift the gun to his temple. “Pull over right now,” you repeat, quieter.

“Jesus, FUCK,” he relents, neck vein bulging as he veers toward the shoulder. 

It's close to dusk now, on a suburban road, and you're half way out of the seat before the car's in park.

Stretching your leg over the center console, you help yourself into his lap, straddling him, still holding the gun. With your free hand, you begin to unbutton his shirt. 

For a moment, all he does is stare at you and breathe heavier. “You're fuckin’ with me,” he tells himself out loud, not wanting to fall for a joke. He has his elbows back and out of the way, one arm on the door, one on the center console, but he’s itching to have you. You can see it in the way his biceps twitch. His stomach rises and falls with heavier breaths under his white tee. 

“I’m not,” you assure him. 

He lets you pick up his hand, and you guide it between your legs so he can feel how wet you are. 

His face darkens, and his hand reflexively grabs your cunt. 

“Somethin’ wrong with you?” he asks.

“That’d make two of us,” you answer.

You glance at the gun to make sure the safety's still on, then point the barrel at his chest and reach down to grab the massive bulge in his jeans. The largest you could imagine, for a cock that’s not quite hard. And he chubs up quick under the lustful pressure of your palm. 

“You're into this shit,” he says. “ Like some kinda kink.” 

Ya think?, you manage not to say out loud.

But you get the subtext: He’s a real person... With a real big cock that swells harder in your palm as you massage him slow with your breasts heaving. He cups your bare ass cheeks. You slide your hand up the front of his jeans, and his hips lift under you, chasing your palm. The heel of your palm presses into his gut as you unbuckle his belt. You rest your wrist on the seat, gun pointed toward the back of the car as your hand continues its work between your bodies.

With his belt buckle out of the way, you grope at his cock through the denim again, then unzip his jeans and rest your hand on the curve of his belly, splaying your fingers out before sliding your hand down into his jeans. As your hand engulfs the mushroom shape of his cockhead, then his swollen shaft, you moan at the girth. “Yeah,” you breathe, “You gonna fuck me in your mother’s dress?” You end the question with a firm grab of his package, and he grunts, nearly breathless, then sighs as you palm his cock hungrily through the cotton of his boxer briefs. 

“Looks really fuckin’ good on you,” he answers with a nod.

Blood’s still rushing to his cock, responding to its need to stiffen up and plug whatever gaping hole appears in front of it. 

“Looks good on her too,” you note. 

“Fuck,” he breathes under your slow but aggressive massage. His eyes pour over your chest and he says, “Looks better on you.” If he’s not lying–and it feels like he’s not–-it’s quite a fucking compliment. His shaft plumps with as much as blood as it can hold, stiff as a rod, fat and juicy, hard as hell, spilling precum in his boxers. 

“Ohh, fuck,” he moans. His hips lift and his abs tense and his belly swells against your forearm. 

You slide your hand up again, and under his waistband. You brace your wrist on his shoulder, pointing the gun toward his neck as your hand slides into his warm boxer briefs to feel the smooth skin of his aching manhood. 

“You wanna put that down?” he asks. 

“No,” You reply, unable to connect your thumb fingers around his girth. 

“Man, when ya need it ya need it, huh?,” he murmurs, eyelids heavy. “Need this cock real bad, don’t ya? ” 

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Need to pack that droolin’ gash,” he says. “ Pack it full. ” 

“Yeah,” you nod and raise yourself a few inches. You get his tip at your entrance, then slide it through your dripping pussy.

"Oh, fuck,” he moans, “God damn sex kitten.. . FUCK, youre hot” 

He breathes audibly, watching you with forced patience as you notch his broad tip at your hole. You start to sink down on him with some difficulty, face scrunching, biting your lip in frustration, eyes watering with need. 

“What's the matter, sweetheart? Forget how to take a cock all the sudden?” 

You lift yourself up and sink down a little more, swallowing the tip. 

“Oh fuck,” he moans. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls you down with an upward thrust, spearing you on his monster girth.

“Yeah…oh, fuck,” he breathes, not quite bottomed out. “Ugghh,” he groans, pulling you down more with an upward thrust to the hilt, fully seated in you at last. 

“God, you're filthy.” He wets his bottom lip, admiring what a mess you’ve become in his lap. “Hot little slut like you…. Oh, you're trouble,” he says. 

You begin to lift yourself, letting most of his meat out of you, tip dragging thick and tight through your walls, your slick beading under the crown and sliding down his shaft. Then you sink back down, splitting yourself open on his girth with a sigh. 

The sky has erupted into shades of pink and purple as it begins to sink past the horizon. 

Electricity runs through your blood. Your skin hums. His neck glistens with goosebumps and the hues of his shirt look brighter in the almost-dark. 

He grabs your hips as you ride him, then moves his big hands to your waist. Each time you slide up his cock, it’s easier to sink back down. Your body’s hungry for more each time. You can feel it pulsing wider around him, welcoming his girth, hungry for more. 

“Yeah,” he encourages you as you find a rhythm. “Like that.”  

You seize one of his wrists to move his hand to your neck.

“You're a real freak, baby,” he taunts you, brushing his thumb against the delicate skin of your neck before carefully positioning it and raising his eyebrows at you. He closes his eyes as you sink down on him again and his girth slides easily through your soft walls. When he opens his eyes, his massive hand gives your neck a little squeeze, and you moan in appreciation. 

“Guess it takes a freak to fuck a guy like you,” you spit back.  

He scowls, and his nose twitches. 

You go on, “Mighta picked the only freak in town who’d fuck you by choice,” you tell him. “Lucky call,” you say. “Lucky you have such a fat fucking cock,” you taunt him and study his face, hopeful for a sign that he could snap.  “What else do you have?” You ask, and it feels almost too cruel. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lot to have… fuck,” you breathe. “Mmm,” fully stuffed by his girth. 

“Quit runnin’ your damn mouth,”  he snaps and grabs the gun by both ends at once, smoothly disarming you with an effortless twist of his hands. He places the barrel against the hollow of your neck and asks, Is “That what ya want, ya dumb slut? Tryna get yourself killed?” 

You freeze, half-way on his cock, getting lost in his eyes. 

“Well God damn, if you're gonna ride it, ride it. I'm gonna lose my goddamn patience” he warns. 

When you don’t sink down fast enough, he gets rougher, putting you in a bruising grip, one arm wrapped around you, tightening like an anaconda. 

He fucks up into you from the bottom, both arms behind you, with the gun held vaguely to your neck.

“Yeah,” you moan. 

He growls, pushes his back against the seat, and his stomach pushes against your front, pushes and rubs as he fucks you harder, rocking the car. 

The windows fog up.

He unzips the back of the dress and tears it down to reveal your breasts. 

He watches them move as you’re bounced on his thick manhood. He snarls and grunts like an animal possessing his prey. 

“I see you,” you whisper, intoxicated by the rhythmic stroke of him up in your guts.

“Fuck you,” he rasps.

“Fuck me ,” you retort,  “Fuck me,” you repeat, “Fuck me, killer,” your cunt spasms with the word. 

“Knew what I was, don’t act fuckin’ surprised.” 

"Fuck," you moan, swallowing up his cock. “I'm -mmm- m’not,” you say. “I'm turned on.”

“You’re sick,” he says, burying his cock in you fully, once again.  

Your nipples harden, you moan, and he looks at you skeptically, even as he feels your walls twitch around his absurd girth. 

“Know that pussy's hungry for something bigger,” he says. 

“Like what?”  you ask and feel the gun leave your neck. 

“Get up.” He checks the safety.

When you rise up, he holds the gun near his dick, making the barrel of it look like a twig. 

“Best I got here,” he says with your gummy walls clinging to his shaft as you let out all but the tip. 

“Think she can take it?” he asks. “Shit, we know she can.” 

You lift all the way up onto your knees, letting his cock fall out. It bounces, bringing a string of slick with it, and stands stiff at attention. 

He works three fingers into you with ease. 

“Gimme your hand,” you ask.

“Hand's fuckin’ busy,” he says, referring to the one holding the gun. 

“No, gimme your whole hand,” you demand greedily, and grab his wrist with his fingers still buried in your cunt. 

“Attagirl,” he says, then works a fourth finger into you.  “Best I can do here, sweetheart,” he winces as he fucks you with four clustered fingers. 

“Fuck this,” he decides, unable to stand his throbbing cock growing ever colder outside your cunt. 

He positions you over his dick and the gun, uses his fingers to spread your pussy around both, then pulls you down. 

“Uh–ughh,” your mouth is agape as you sink down the shaft and barrel, taking them both. 

You’re a quivering mess. 

He holds the handle steady and says, “Good girl.”

You don't go all the way down. The cool barrel slides against one side of your walls. 

“God damn, this hungry pussy,” he pants, cock stiff against the gun.  “God damn, i know she can take more,” he says, frustrated without much more to give you.  

“How do you know?” you ask 

“Cause I've seen ya gapin’ wide open, sweetheart.” 

You moan at his words, pussy quivering around his cock and gun. 

“Wide fuckin’ open,” he repeats. “Ya take my fist… take two dicks…fuck ,” he twitches inside you. “ Took my goddamn wrench…. greedy fuckin’ cunt,” he goes on. 

Then you're seized by a swell in your lower belly…. The pressure that’s been simmering quickly boils over, and you whimper as you come on his cock and the gun. 

“Yeah,” he pants as your walls flutter and your thighs quiver. 

He lifts you up with one arm, and takes out the gun, putting it aside. Then he slams you all the way down on his cock. “Oh god, yeah,” he pants, “Freak nasty whore ” 

You moan and let it ride, clenching around his cock, your walls hugging it tighter each time, with the girth of the gun no longer holding you open.  

Your climax wanes and your legs are weak. “Oh fuck,” he pants, “Gonna fill this dirty snatch,”  He sweats and grunts. “Gonna stuff her with my load,” he warns, “Bout to fill this gash right up .”  

“Fuck,” he breathes heavier and grunts with each thrust up into you, then slams you down, and with an upward jolt of his hips begins to drain his massive balls. “Fuck,” he sighs as he comes inside. “Fuck, you're crazy,” he says with another rope, warm and sticky, hitting your womb. 

“Tryna get knocked up by some psycho killer ya picked up on the side of the road,” he says. “ Fuck, you goddamn freak .” 

Still milking his cock, something possesses you to cradle his face as he slows down. Another burst of warmth in your core, as your face approaches his. He starts to turn his cheek, but your hands become forceful. “C’mere, asshole,”  you demand, grinding into him with his cock pulsing deep inside again. His neck begins to relax, and he sighs with his eyes closed. You hold his face steady and bring your face to his. When your lips meet his are limp and open. 

Another warm spurt into your womb, and when you moan against his mouth, he moans back. His lips soften, then cradle yours. Your tongue slips into your mouth, and his pushes into yours. He grabs the back of your head, pulling you into his face as he kisses you, releasing a final burst of hot seed. “Mm,” he grunts into your mouth, hands holding each other’s faces. Glued together, consuming each other in the dark. The passion simmers to something gentler as your loins twitch with aftershocks, becoming over-sensitive. 

You break away to breathe, gasping for humid air in the fogged-up car. 

He pants, looks up at the ceiling. His neck vein pulses. His skin is clammy looking, dewy with cold sweat, 

“Fuck,” sighs, his chest heaving, “Still got your goddamn tits out.” He admires them, then feeds himself one. He tongues your nipple, and when your cunt squeezes him, he winces, letting it out of his mouth. 

A tractor trailer whizzes by, shaking the whole car. 

“Alright,” he says, and nudges you off his lap. “Now pull yourself together.” 

He takes the gun, wet with your juices, puts it on the dashboard near him. He looks over at you skeptically when you've climbed back over the center console into your seat.

“You better stuff that dress between your legs,” he warns. “Don’t want ya leakin’ all over the goddamn place.”

-

-

-

THANK YOU FOR READING.

Believe it or not, I cut two scenes from this lol so I might put them in a little bonus visit between Joel and his mom soon.

Look, this took me a year and I feel like I've finally done my mental vision justice lol. So, please interact 🧎‍♀️🥺🖤

anon is fine if you're shy!

[narxcisse]

— Dark Choco NSFW alphabet

CW: explicit sexual content, mdni, possible slight angst (depictions of internalized shame, insecurity, and anxiety related to intimacy + references to past negative sexual experiences)

English isn't my native language.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Extremely gentle and very quiet. He’ll silently clean you up, lie beside you, and wrap an arm around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. It takes him time to ask if he did okay, but he deeply craves your reassurance—even if he’ll pretend he doesn’t need it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of himself is his arms. He feels most grounded when holding you close, even if he’s insecure about his strength. His favorite part on you is your waist/hips. He’s fascinated by the softness, the curves, and often finds his hands resting there without realizing.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s embarrassed about it. He usually finishes with a strained groan and immediately goes stiff and awkward, unsure of where to touch or look. He prefers cumming inside if you’re safe/agreeable—it makes him feel close—but always checks for consent.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Sometimes when he wakes from dreams about you, he touches himself without even thinking. He’ll never tell you about those dreams, though—you’re too precious to sully with the kind of thoughts that haunt him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Technically has some experience from his time as a prince, but he hated it, it was mostly out of obligation. It felt cold, transactional, and invasive. Now, he's clumsy, shy, and easily flustered, but he's deeply attuned to your responses and very eager to learn.

F = Favorite position

He prefers missionary or spooning—anything with deep eye contact or where he can wrap himself around you protectively. He likes to feel like he’s sheltering you, especially when his emotions start to spill over.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? Etc)

Almost never goofy. He’s solemn and anxious, and if anything goes wrong (like fumbling with a clasp or misreading a signal), he’ll shut down unless you gently coax him back. However, he finds your laughter disarming in the best way.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc)

Well-kept but rugged. He trims himself mostly out of habit from royal grooming standards, though he’s not obsessive. His body hair is dark and modest—less wild than you’d expect.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Emotionally intense. He treats each moment like it might be the last you’ll want him, so he gives everything in return. He murmurs low apologies, praises, and confessions, often trembling with how hard he’s trying to hold himself together.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does, but with shame and restraint. His fantasies are rarely explicit—he imagines your warmth, your smile, your acceptance more than your body. He finishes quietly, often swallowing guilt with his release.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink, hand-holding, and emotional vulnerability. He thrives on being told he’s doing well, that he’s good, that you want him. Light bondage also intrigues him—he finds comfort in you taking control now and then.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He feels safest in bed, preferably somewhere dimly lit and private. He could be tempted in warm places like a hot spring, but only with absolute trust and zero risk of being seen.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Touch. Soft kisses on his neck, a quiet “I want you,” or even just falling asleep next to you in thin clothing is enough to stir him. The feeling of being wanted, not needed, melts him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything non-consensual, degrading, or overly performative. He despises the idea of being watched or recorded. He also dislikes dirty talk that ventures into humiliation—it triggers his deepest fears.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He prefers giving, nervous but gentle. He takes it seriously, trying to memorize what makes you react. As for receiving: not against it, but is extremely flustered and will grip the sheets like it’s the end of the world. He almost always asks if he can return the favor afterward.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc)

He starts slow and hesitant, building into something steady and deep. The more he trusts you, the more rhythm he gains. He prefers emotional build-up over roughness, though his strength can show if you beg sweetly.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc)

Rare. He gets overwhelmed too easily and prefers taking his time. Still, if you’re both tucked away and the mood strikes—say, on a lazy stormy day—he might indulge in something soft and heated.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Etc)

Not very risky. He worries too much. However, if you’re the one proposing something new, he’ll try it for you—especially if you gently walk him through it and let him stop if needed.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

He can last a fair while if he’s calm, but mentally, he's overstimulated fast. One or two emotionally charged rounds is his limit—then he needs cuddles and silence to decompress.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Doesn’t own any and would blush furiously if shown one. That said, if you introduced toys for your pleasure, he’d watch and assist with equal parts awe and bashfulness.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s not naturally a tease, but once he learns what gets you desperate, he can be coaxed into slow touches, whispering with that low gravelly voice—just to hear you whimper his name.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

Quiet but strained. Grunts, gasps, deep breathy moans when he starts losing control. His voice drops an octave when he’s trying not to beg.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He sometimes prays before touching you—not to any god, but to you. You are his absolution, and he treats your body like sacred ground he is afraid to tread on but desperate to stay in.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His dick isn't thick, but long, and curved slightly upward. His hips and thighs are stronger than they appear—he holds back a lot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Medium-high. He doesn’t act on it unless you initiate, but the craving simmers always. Even just sitting beside you is enough to awaken something in him, though he won’t speak it unless invited.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t sleep easily, even after sex. He stays awake holding you, watching the rise and fall of your chest, and wondering if he deserves the peace he feels with you.