#honda count your fucking days
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the commentator said he believes that marquez is still the fastest man on earth in the worst motorbike ever
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GRADUATION GIFT
Pairing - Lenny Miller x fem!reader
Summary - You despise your mother and are awaiting the day you can finally be free from her. However, she’s met her so called soulmate who can’t seem to take his eyes off of you.
Warnings - noncon, implying of drugging, brief infidelity, p in v, parental issues, spanking, daddy kink, breeding kink.
Word count - 2k+
Notes - On a roll right now. Definitely wrote this during the course of 6 alcoholic beverages so I apologise.
The Honda Civic rolled up your driveway, you breathed out, your head swayed gently, bloodstream full of alcohol. There was no other way to celebrate graduating high school than by getting plastered at a house party. Despite your intoxicated state, you couldn’t help but to dread the sight of your home. You should have left early with your friends and crashed at theirs.
Only a couple of more months. Until you’re free from your egocentric, victimizing, alcoholic mother. The woman you despise, the creature that drove your father away from your life. You hated her more than everything. She had cheated on your dad for years and when he finally broke she blamed him for everything.
He fell in love with another and got her pregnant. Your father chose them over you and your overbearing mother. The sad reality was that you couldn’t blame him. But you’ll never understand why he didn’t take you with him.
You stumbled inside, not really caring if your ruckus woke anyone up. A fresh bottle of water was pulled from the fridge as you sculled down as much as your stomach would allow you. As you walked back into the hallway, your direction pointed to the staircase, you heard a clear of the throat.
When your eyes landed on him, you lightly gasped. He sat on the cream chesterfield armchair, his legs spread wide open. Minus the jacket, he was still in his suit from yesterday. It was past two in the morning, why the fuck was your so-called step-dad awake? Those blue orbs stared your exposed skin up and down as his hand combed through his wavy brunette hair. You tugged down at your mini dress to cover yourself, but it was pointless.
Behind his charm, Lenny was creepy. You had picked up on that instantly by the way he stared at you when you accidentally opened the door for him. It was their first date and your mother had plenty of those. However, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you, even when your mother rushed to the door.
When your mother announced they were going on a second date, you were surprised. Now those, she didn’t have many of. The shocked expression that plastered your face was unhideable when she announced that they were officially together. She even had the audacity to tell you to call him dad. Because he would like that.
You fell victim to his lingering eyes during all of your brief encounters. There weren't enough excuses to get out of the house whenever he was over. Lenny spoke to you confidently and condescendingly. To which he didn’t fail to drop a carnal comment in each conversation which went unnoticed by your mother if she was in attendance.
You felt like your mother, making it all about yourself. But you wouldn’t dare to say anything, what else would it be besides you trying to pray horrible things upon her. They were perfect for each other, they were both fucked and the sooner you were out the better.
“Lenny, you’re up late” you shuddered, standing awkwardly as his hawk eyes stalked you.
There was a glass of whiskey in his hand as he swayed the liquid carelessly. You focused your sight on the glass, waiting for it to spill onto the carpet.
“You had upset your mother extremely” he said, his tone dripping of disappointment.
The moment in discussion was earlier yesterday during your graduation ceremony. She didn’t even want to be in attendance. But Lenny convinced her otherwise to go, with him accompanying her to the event, she was already a few mimosas in despite it being a midday ceremony. Afterwards, she didn’t suggest, she ordered that you’d go out for a family dinner to celebrate.
When you stated that you had other plans, it ended up being a cat fight on the ride home between you and your mother. You didn’t notice Lenny’s knuckles turn white around the steering wheel as he stayed quiet between your shouting match.
“Well, it’s my life” you shrugged your shoulders at him.
Who did he think he was anyways? You didn’t give a fuck that he was a retired CIA agent. If anything, he should fucking arrest your mum for being a failure in life.
Lenny didn’t take his eyes off of you as he finished his drink. He breathed in, dramatically raising his chest as he stood up. Your throat tightened as he stepped towards you, you stepped back just as quick.
“Well” he mocked your tone. “You know what I think?” He asked, his jaw clenched.
“What?” you squeaked as he placed the tumbler on the coffee table and headed straight towards you.
Your body pressed back into the plaster wall as he trapped you in with both forearms resting on the wall right next to either side of your face. He breathed deeply as he considered his choice of words.
“I think your father failed at discipling you as a child. Left you to be nothing more than a fucking brat leeching off of her mother’s funds” he hissed, his lower body flexed up against yours.
Your eyes widened at his words, the fire inside of you was brewing however you couldn’t help but to be intensely frightened by this new, menacing side of him. There were little options that would end up in your benefit. “Mum!” you panicked, sure she was a drunk but her self-importance would never fucking allow this.
Lenny pouted to you sarcastically as you stood frozen, his lips slowly crept to your ear. “Oh, your mother was a crying mess. I had to give her something to help her sleep, she was so overwhelmed. I promised her I’d wait up for you, to make sure you got home safe. Even told her I’d try to talk some sense into you. But between me and you? Sometimes talking doesn’t work, other methods have to be used” he ended up whispering, slowly, suspensefully, seductively.
Your hands shot up to his chest as you tried to push him away. “What the fuck are you going on about” you whimpered pathetically, desperately trying to push him away but he wouldn’t budge.
Lenny looked you dead in the eye. “Daddy needs to teach his baby girl a lesson” he stated with a confident nod.
“Mum!” you shrieked, your voice cracking in the process. You were freaking the hell out by this point as his hands moved down to grip onto your hips.
“It’s pointless, she’ll be out all night. But don’t let that stop you from screaming” he grinned as he yanked you away from the wall by your hips.
The first instinct was to run, but Lenny reacted quickly, his hand wrapped around your hair as he yanked you towards the chesterfield armchair. You sobbed out as he post-hasted you over his knee with him sitting comfortably on the seat.
“You’re such a bad girl. I noticed that the moment I saw you” he brought to light, this wicked smirk on his lips as he pulled up your dress, exposing your bare ass. His fingers traced over your cheap thong as you were whining against him, your body squirming around like a worm. “However, your mother outta be more thankful of you” he voiced, which caused your eyebrows to scrunch. “I never intended on a second date until I saw you” his confession caused you to sob heavily.
It was true, your mother was just going to be a easy fuck. But when he saw you, he knew that he had to have you. From there, his obsession only grew larger by each encounter. You didn’t know how badly he wanted you, needed you. Your bratty behavior only urged his primal needs harder. Your parents failed to control you, only he would be able to put you back in order.
“Lenny- Please!” you squealed out as he harshly smacked your rear.
“Correct my title” he ordered through a snarl.
“Daddy please!” You cried out, completely humiliated as you laid limply over his knee.
“Good girl” he praised as he smacked you again.
Over and over again he spanked you, you’d squirm here and there as you tried to take it like a good girl. Mentally, you were begging for it to be over and done with. The sooner it was done, the quicker you’d be able to pack up and run for the hills.
“I’ve wanted to teach you your place for so long” he groaned, his cock twitching at the redness of your cheeks. You sobbed silently as he admired you. “You know” he spoke softly as his hand gently caressed your burning skin. “Your mother told me how you always blamed her. But in reality, if your father wanted to take you with him, he would have. But clearly you were as much of a burden to him as your mother was” Lenny asserted emotionlessly. He knew nothing.
You thrashed your body underneath his hold. Lenny laughed as you were blubbering out, desperately trying to break free. He forcefully spanked you again to put your distraught movements to a stop.
“Don’t worry, daddy wants to take care of you” he promised you condescendingly as he pulled your body up onto his.
Your arms wrapped around his neck as you shuddered. The tent in his pants pressed up against your covered core and your skin trembled. Lenny kissed your flustered cheek, and then the other. The way he was praising your beauty made you feel sick to your stomach. Your stomach turned when you felt his body shift underneath you as his hands undid his belt.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me, you want this” he groaned as he stroked his hard length, the tip poking at your hidden pussy.
You mewled in response, there was no point in arguing with this barbarian. His fingers pushed your thong to the side to allow his tip to rest at your entrance. The irony was how dripping your cunt was despite how terrified you were.
As his thick cock slowly slid inside of your canal, he grunted at the sensation of you. You whined against his size as you pressed your face into the fabric of the chair. Roughly, Lenny picked up his pace, his fingertips dug deep into the flesh of your thighs.
“So, you wanna run off to college huh? Leave your mother’s home childless?” Lenny gritted his teeth.
“Yes daddy” you confessed shamefully.
Lenny grinned at your easy submission. His hands felt up your skin that he had so desperately wanted. You were moaning around his size, your eyes squeezed shut to hide how they were rolling back.
“You know, I never gave you your graduation present” Lenny smiled innocently. You didn’t know how to take it. “Oh how it would be a shame if her whore of a daughter got herself pregnant” he grunted, roughly holding your hips in place. The realization flashed before your eyes as you tried to push yourself off of him, but he kept you locked up on top of him.
“Daddy, no! Please!” You begged, crying like a baby on top of him as he continued to pound his length deep inside of you.
“Yep, a shame it would be. She’d have to stay home. Depend on her new daddy to look after her” he concluded the thought that would soon become your reality.
“Daddy please no, no, no” you continued, but it was all pointless. Lenny had already made up his mind long ago. Lenny gripped onto your cheeks and forced you to look at him.
“Yeah. Gonna fill you up, trap you with my child. Couldn’t fuck a baby into your mother even if I wanted to. You’re at the perfect age for breeding. Got the perfect body and what not. It won’t be hard to convince your mum that you’re just a fucking slut like she is” Lenny smiled to you, his sinsiter expression made him look like a complete different man. “Don’t worry, she won’t stay in the picture for much longer” he consoled, continuing to smack his balls against your outer skin as you felt your orgasm build up rapidly.
But she was the least of your concerns now.
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy x reader#cillian x fem!reader#lenny miller x reader#lenny miller#anna 2019#dark smut#smut
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✩｡°𝄞🚨D-TOWN BABY 𝄞✨°｡✩
╝ •part one | part two ╔
╰₊𓂂➢ pairing: gang affiliated!yoongi x fem!reader
╰₊𓂂➢ genre: hood au, bother’s best friend au, smut, angst
╰₊𓂂➢ warn!ngs: use of the n-word, aave, [mentions of drugs, drug dealing, death, smoking and drinking], negligence due to use of drugs (reader’s mother), reader is heavily black coded, cat-calling, riding, oral (reader receiving), swallowing semen. (let me know if there’s more please!)
╰₊𓂂➢ summary: yoongi is apart of a gang called d-town, the gang your brother just so happens to be apart of.
╰₊𓂂➢ word count: 5,625 words
╰₊𓂂➢ author’s note: the inspiration came from me shouting “D-TOWN NIGGA!” at my sister while watching the Daechwita music video. lmao, i hope y’all enjoy it.
The headlights of your black honda civic shines on the group of men huddled together on the steps of the project building.
Smoking, drinking, talking and laughing loud as hell, and hitting licks.
You huff while turning your car off. Stepping out, your long, fern green skirt flows with the wind. Cleavage hanging out of your bohemian patterned shirt. As you approach the ran down project building you can hear the men on the stairs whistling at you.
You roll your eyes at the gang members who are shouting and cat-calling loud as hell— the whole block could hear.
“Damn Ma, can I get a 360?!” One of them call out. Before you could even flip him off, two familiar voices chime in.
“Chill, nigga.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
They say at the same time. The two voices could easily be distinguished as Trey (your brother) and Yoongi (your brother’s best friend).
Or their street names: Tre D and Agust D. The ‘D’ standing for D-Town. To which you find corny as hell because you all literally live downtown. All these corny ass niggas’ names end with D.
Once you’re right in front of the group of men your brother nods his head at you. That’s just him acknowledging your existence. The two of you have a complicated relationship. It’s only complicated because you don’t like his lifestyle (respectfully) but he won’t stop gang banging.
Nonetheless, you’d still take a bullet for that man. Vice versa.
“Yo, _______.” Yoongi speaks. From the looks of it, you can already tell he’s about to say some stupid shit. He has that sorry ass smirk on his face and keeps glancing around at his little posse. Leaning your weight on to one leg, you simply arch your brow at him.
“You gon’ let me tuck you in?” Your stoic expression remains the same. A few giggles are heard and your brother shakes his head. Trey is more than used to Yoongi making advances at you— he’s been fiend out for damn there 8 years.
Yoongi looks you up and down, adjusting his duffel bag on his shoulder. You smack your teeth and harshly brush past the men blocking your way up the stairs. Prior to entering the building you yell back at the long haired, pale man.
“Tuck your dick!”
SLAM! You slam the door shut, you can hear the distant instigating behind the door as you walk up the stairs to the shared apartment. Mumbling curse words on your way up.
Yoongi’s smirk never leaves, despite the instigation his crew nagged on about. He likes that shit. He loves it. Your hot temper and all of it. He knows that if he wanted to he could shut you right up. But you being mad at him kind of turns him on… so he’ll let you have it.
You’d prefer a nice and quiet, empty pathway to your home when you get off from work. You go through enough stress as it is. Another headache is exactly not what you needed.
Stepping foot into the dark apartment, you set your purse down and walk to your room, ready to get in the shower after a long day. The apartment is fairly big compared to the other units. More than enough space for you and your brother. Although, for the past year it’s really just been you occupying the space.
Trey is never home. He’s out and about being Tre D. He stopped coming home about a little over a year ago. It’s just gang related activities after the other, selling drugs, hanging out with D-Town and fucking random girls. Repeat.
It’s reasonable that you gave up on trying to stop him. He’s a grown man now and you can’t sit around all day to inspect your little brother’s everyday life to make sure he’s doing ‘the right thing’. He’s only 2 years younger than you but you always acted as a mother figure. Taking over that role after your mother got sprung out on crack and left you both.
Working your ass off everyday, feeding him and yourself, trying to make sure he’s doing well in school— all a waste of time. Now look. He’s outside of your shared apartment, probably not even going to come up stairs and is making way more money than you.
You regret the day he met those guys. And you regret even more when he dragged Yoongi along with him.
The thought of Yoongi makes you sigh. You pick up your towel to get in the shower, blasting Lauryn Hill as you lather your brown skin with smell-good soap. You manage to decompress in the shower. Tracking wet footprints to your bedroom as you approach the window, you look outside to see if they’re still there.
Yes. Yes they are. Your brother seems to be leaving and you can’t help but notice someone is missing from the gang.
And almost on queue— as if the devil himself set it up… you hear the front door opening. Letting out a groan, you go and peak out of your bedroom door.
“No need to hide, babygirl. Come on out.” Yoongi calls.
You roll your eyes before slamming your door. But like you figured, the door opens right back up and in comes Yoongi. He silently stands in front of the door after he closes it behind him, observing your figure that is semi-hidden behind the white towel you have on. Yoongi already has a little stiffy just by looking at you.
“Stop calling me babygirl you freak, I’m older than you.” You say, responding to the comment he made. He chuckles, walking over to sit on your bed while you apply lotion on your legs. He drops his duffel bag on the ground next to him.
“Yeah, by like a few months.” Looking down at him, you noticed that he’s man spreading, leaning on his arms that are propped up behind him on the bed. Refraining from gulping, you look away.
You don’t respond to him. Instead, you continue on with your nightly routine, pretending that the fine man is not sitting on your bed ready to pounce on you the second you say go. You can hear shuffling behind you as you fix your locs, putting them in the ponytail.
“_______, I got you something.” He says and you reluctantly turn around. This man really doesn’t learn or care to catch a hint. In his hand is a book. A book that you’ve been searching for everywhere and is sold out.
“How…” is all you can mutter out. Out of all of Yoongi’s highly prestigious and unusual gifts he attempts to give you, this has got to be the best one yet. Best, because you actually wanted it. Not that that Birkin Bag was easy to donate— that was a struggle.
“Uh— I saw you were looking for this shit everywhere on your spam.” You furrow your eyebrows.
“Why the hell are you on my spam page?!”
“So I had drove damn there 2 fucking hours to get this shit.” He says, ignoring the previous question.
You love it. You want to snatch the book out of his long slender fingers, throw your bonnet on and start reading immediately. But—
“I can’t take that Yoongi.” The sentence isn’t something that he hasn’t heard before. You tell him every single time he comes up to your apartment trying to hand you something he bought for you. You never take shit from him and if you do, it gets donated almost immediately.
He scoffs. Honestly looking a little pissed off— fed up to be exact. “What do you mean you can’t take it? Didn’t you hear me, _______?” He stands up, book still in hand. “I drove 2 hours for a fucking book!” He exclaims.
It’s not like you’re meaning to be a bitch. You’d just rather not take anything that was bought with drug money. Even the book you’ve been dying to read for months.
“Listen Yoongi—”
“Agust D.” He corrects.
“I’m not calling you that shit!” A smile cracks onto his face. Just a small one. Because, as mentioned before, he loves that shit. But he’s still fed up.
“I can’t take that. It’ll be donated just like the other gifts you attempt to bribe me with.” You say and he sets the book on the bed, stepping closer to you. “I’m not bribing you _______. I just wanna spoil you, just let me do that.”
“No! I don’t want anything you or my brother buy with your fucking D-Town money. You can keep all of that shit!” You roar while waving your arms around. He sighs, running his fingers through his long black hair, letting it fall back in place. “Money is money, _______.”
“I’m not doing this with you, Yoongi.” Arguing with him back and forth is like arguing with a wall. You two could go on and on about the lifestyle he and Trey are choosing to live.
Yoongi walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You don’t pull away. Despite how stubborn you are, you’d never deny Yoongi’s touch whenever you feel him. It’s instant stress relief.
“I’m trying, _______.” He calmly says in your ear. The disembodied voice— so husky yet smooth. It sends shivers down your back and all of the hair on your arms stand tall.
“Try harder then.”
“Why are you like this?” You scrunch your face up. “Like what?!” You can feel him shrug his shoulders behind you.
“Like… stubborn and petty.” Offended, you scoff.
“Stubborn and petty like your mama?” It was a quick little insult— a joke! Everyone says it. Plus, you had to think of a come back quick or else you know Yoongi would’ve known that you knew what he said was partially accurate. But when you feel the tight hold Yoongi had around your waist loosen… you knew you fucked up.
“You know my moms’ is dead.” You immediately twist your body around to face him, your towel nearly unraveling. You quickly catch it. “Omg, I did not mean it like that, for real. I was just saying shit!” You ramble on and on about how you don’t think before speaking and how sorry you are.
Then he laughs. Like actually laugh. Not a corny little smirk or the low chuckle he does when he’s around his boys— not even a light smile. He gave you his infamous, gummy smile, shoulder bouncing laugh. He even threw his head back for a second.
You really couldn’t help but smile. You missed that laugh. Having been reunited with it after so long makes you forget everything said and done. Because that’s the Yoongi you know, the Yoongi you grew up with, the Yoongi you loved. You smile at the taller man still looking at you with that cute gummy smile even after the laughter died down.
“Stop apologizing _______, I was just fucking with you.” You scoff but the smile never fades, even when you playfully punch his shoulder. “That’s not funny!” He nods his head in agreement as if he wasn’t just literally laughing his ass off.
“It was just funny seeing you speak like that. First time in mad long you didn’t have that stick that you love so much up your ass.” Looking up at him, you can’t even be mad at what he just said. Not when all the old feelings were suddenly rushing back in. The ones you fought off years ago.
“Yeah,” you switch your focus onto the ground. “It was nice seeing you laugh like that.” His fingers lightly grip your chin to lift your head back up to look him in the eyes. Your heart is doing backflips but in your head there are a million different alarms going off, screaming ‘abort!’.
“You always make me laugh. Whether I’m laughing around you or at home in my bed, laughing about something that you said. You make me…” He trails off making you furrow your eyebrows a bit.
“Make you what?” He sighs, scratching the back of his head, looking out of the window. You shove his shoulder to get his attention again. “Make you what?!” He looks down at his shoes as if the answer was written on them. They weren’t. You checked.
“You make me… hmmph.” He mumbles and you slap your hands on your naked thighs in frustration. You grip his face in your whole hand to get him to stop looking around the room helplessly, like a mother trying to force feed their child.
“What!” You scream.
“Happy!” He reciprocates the volume, eyes going wide when he finally lets the shit flow free. Your hand slowly drops from his face. “Damn— satisfied?” He sassily asks, rolling his eyes. Too in shock to even say anything, you just stand there with your eyebrows high, looking like a dumbass.
“_______,” he starts, earning you attention. So many thoughts sprint through your mind as you stare up into his sharp brown eyes. It’s really hard to believe that after everything, he still found happiness in you. You can’t recall the last time you felt happy in Yoongi’s presence. The man that you once loved. You and Yoongi never dated, never slept together, never really announced any feelings for each other either. The relationship the two of you had was unspoken. You knew the love was there— he did too, and that was enough.
“I need you to know, that I want you.” He says seriously. Your heart drops at the words. No.
No, not now. Why now?
“I want us, _______.” You could melt underneath his gaze. You feel yourself slowly folding. Ready to submit and give into him— give into your heart that’s been begging to be his for 7 years now. “Tell me you want this too.”
Yes, tell him you want this. Want all of him. Because you do… but you can’t. It’s not the same. This is not the same as it was 7 years ago. Yoongi isn’t the same. You can’t do it.
“I can’t— I don’t… want this.” You try to stand strong but you’re weak. Yoongi always did that to you. “You don’t or you can’t— which one is it?” He says, already knowing the answer. He needs to hear it from you though. You sigh, closing your eyes. “Yoongi—”
“No _______ tell me right now why you can’t just let us be happy?” Yoongi’s frustration is valid. But so is yours. You try to walk away from him, to get away, like those alarms that kept going off in your head a few minutes ago told you to do. But Yoongi isn’t having it. He already laid his heart out there, he just wanted you to take it— for it to be yours. So he grabs your arm. “Don’t walk away from me.” You yank your arm back immediately.
“I fucking can’t Yoongi! You want me to stand here, laugh, ‘kee-kee’ in your face. Tell you I want you and that I want this just for you to go back to the streets the next second someone calls you.” You’re out of breath from all of the screaming, no doubt the neighbors were gonna report. But you aren’t done.
“D-Town tells you to jump, you ask how high. I ask you to get your life together, to get off of the streets and I’m left with the same answer. I’m not gonna be one of those bitches that hold you down when you decide to get into some dumb shit and I’m damn sure not gonna be the person people have to get in touch with because their fucking boyfriend died doing some fuck shit.” The undertone of your face is red and your hands are shaking. “It’s bad enough my brother is in to deep. I’m not trying to have to worry about someone else.”
Yoongi’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he takes in everything you said. You’ve never been this vulnerable. With anyone. You’ve never said any of this to anyone but you don’t want to keep having the same interactions over and over with him.
“I understand.” Is all he says. And it’s all he has to say. You know he’s not gonna quit the streets until the streets quit him. After all, that’s how it works. But he really did understand and if that’s how you feel he won’t push it.
“Can I just lay with you?” Before you can even protest he raises his hands to clarify. “Just for tonight. Can you please… just do this for me? Let me lay with you.” You sigh, over analyzing the possibility. In the end you conclude it was fine. So you grab your pajamas and change in the bathroom. When you come back in, Yoongi is already laying in the bed. Shirtless and wearing nothing else but the pair of basketball shorts he had in his bag. The book resting on your nightstand.
Your pajamas includes a sage green tank top and a beige pair of cotton shorts. You lie next to him in your bed after cutting the lights off. His body instantly cuddles into yours.
“Yoongi,” you call out. “Your head is on my boobs.” He chuckles into the pair before raising his head to look at you. “You used to always let me lay on your boobs. They’re comfortable.” He says with a faint pout, poking your plushy boobs with his finger, making you flinch.
“Yoo— will you stop poking me!” You say frustratedly. “It tickles.” Yoongi perks up at that. “It tickles, huh?” He sings, continuing to poke you. His fingers pokes at your chest, your sides, your neck. You try to fight him off but your laughter is making you weak. “Stu— stop!” You cry out and he just giggles at your plea. It’s really over once he hovers his body over yours, locking yours in place underneath him.
Your face hurts from laughing so hard, can’t even manage to fight it anymore. The poking eventually stops but the soft giggles and toothy smile on your face doesn’t falter. Yoongi’s eyes sparkle as they bore into yours. He carefully places his hand on your cheek, thumb caressing your lifted cheekbone.
“You’re so pretty, _______.” He observes your features from above and his heart pounds against his chest. The pace aligned with yours. “Sometimes,” he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. “I forget just how pretty you are. So I come to bother you— just to see you. But when I have you this close… you make me want to leave everything else behind just so I can be with you.”
That’s all you really wanted. For Yoongi to leave all the bullshit alone. Maybe then you two could work.
But you know that all of this is just pillow talk. Yoongi would never do that. Not for you. Not for anyone. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Yoongi.” You speak mellowly. He lifts his head out of your neck to look at you again. “I can’t tell you how I feel now?” You roll your eyes. “You can but don’t sit here and lead me on to believing in a lie.”
He doesn’t respond. You feel his lips on your cheek. Eyes widening, you look at him in confusion. “What are you—”
“I’m not lying to you, _______.” He kisses your forehead. “Even with everything that happened, no matter what you say to me— I never told you a lie and I don’t plan to.” He leans in to give you another kiss but pauses. His face just an inch away. Your breath hitches at the close proximity, growing nervous when his eyes focus on your lips.
“Can I kiss you?” He whispers softly against your lips. Your mind isn’t working. There’s no alarms blaring, no weird gut feeling, just you. Underneath him. Without much thought, you mutter a breathy “yes.”
He leans in, his lips molding perfectly with yours. It’s soft and passionate and you’re worried that you just might have a heart attack the way your heart is pacing. Your fingers travel their way through his long strands of hair as you happily taste the minty flavor of his mouth— covering up the taste of cigarettes. When he pulls away to catch his breath, you immediately pull him back down. Now that you got a taste of him, you don’t want to let it go.
The kiss starts getting heated when Yoongi rolls off of you and pulls you on top of him. His hands roam the surface of your back, letting them slip under your tank top. You bite on his bottom lip once you pull away, letting your soft brown hands travel up his abdomen to his solid chest. Your back arches as you leave open mouth kisses against his chest. He takes the opportunity to cup your ass into his hands, occasionally squeezing the fleshy rump.
You slightly shift your hips up against him to lift up. “Fuck,” Yoongi lets out a shaky breath. “Don’t move like that.” You furrow your brows in confusion but you quickly understand when you feel something poking your thigh. In shock, you shift again. A low groan leaves Yoongi’s mouth and he places his hands on both sides of your waist.
You watch as his eyes squeeze shut, the action and the sound he let slip gave you that tingling feeling in your stomach, that familiar sensation fluttering in between your legs. You do it again. Wanting to hear that sound from him again.
“Seriously, you don’t want this to go further than it already has.” True. You don’t, but you’re a little too lust filled to think straight. And the fact that Yoongi is hard as a rock underneath you has you wet. Grinding your clothed sex onto his bulge.
“Yo, I—”
“Shut up.” You say, placing your hands on his chest to support yourself as you grind against him. The lewd sounds that escape from both of your mouths flood the room. Yoongi’s basketball shorts get bunched up in the process, the repeated action dragging the band down, exposing his boxer briefs underneath.
You lift your hips up to pull the shorts down but Yoongi stops you. He sends you a warning look that reads, ‘don’t do this.’
Regardless, you enthusiastically yank them and his boxer briefs down his thighs, letting his dick stand tall against his lower stomach. “_______, you’re confusing me.” He says while you’re busy scrapping to get the clothing from around his ankles, satisfied when they hit the floor. You turn around, looking down at him once again.
“You’re confused? Hm, I thought you were hard.” Speaking sarcastically, you turn your focus onto Yoongi’s member. You grip his length in your hand, brushing your thumb over his sensitive tip making Yoongi twitch.
“A little bit of both honestly. I mean, mostly hard but— woah woah woah, stop!” Yoongi panics once you put your mouth on his dick. He immediately sits up, his back resting against the head board. “I’m not doing this with you.” He says, to which one of your eyebrows flick up.
“Why not?” You scoff. “You don’t seem to have any problem fucking all these other bitches.” Yoongi lets out an unamused laugh, wiping his hands over his face. “You’re not other bitches. You don’t throw yourself on my dick.”
“I just did!” Technically, you did.
Yoongi scoffs, mumbling something under his breath. “It’s not the same thing. You’re invested in this _______ and you know it.” You turn your head away from him, not wanting to hear the truth. “I don’t need you to have another reason to hate me.” Rolling your eyes���
“I don’t hate you.”
“You’re just saying that.” You shake your head, scooting closer to him. “I’m not. I don’t hate you, Yoongi.” You repeat, your fingers go to his hair and you focus on the way his dark hair fall on your skin before looking at him again. “And right now… I’m horny, so.” You sit in front of him, anticipating his response.
“Okay.” He shrugs.
“Okay, what?” He grabs your waist gently, pulling you closer to him. Your lips lock onto his again and this time, the pace quickens. Yoongi’s hands reach for your tank top to pull it over your chest, you lift your arms as he pulls it off, slinging it across the room. Like clockwork, you drag your shorts down as well, tossing them in the corner without a care in the world.
Yoongi’s hands roam all over your body. Taking in the feel of your body being close to his. He retracts from the kiss to drool over your body. His pale hands over your brown skin, the only source of light coming from the window. “What do you want me to do, _______?” He asks, palming your breast in both hands. You bite your lip as you look down at him touching you.
“Can I ride you?” You ask in a whisper and you could’ve swore you felt Yoongi’s dick twitch on your thigh right after the words fell off your tongue. He felt like doing a backflip. An ability he doesn’t have but that’s how you make him feel. It’s just like you to want to ride him— it being your first time even having sex with each other.
“Fuck yes.” You let out a giggle at Yoongi’s expression before leaning over to open the top drawer of your nightstand. His eyes travel with your every movement. “What are you doing?”
“Grabbing a condom.” You popped out. He purses his lips at that. “Guess I’m not the only one you’ve been wrestling in the sheets with.” Looking back at the man with the condom in your hand, the jealous look on his face makes you want to run over to your phone to take a picture. Instead you laugh.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You say, ripping open the packet. “I bought them because they’re a necessity. I’m not fucking anyone— but i’m glad I did buy them.” Yoongi raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “I’d rather not have the neighborhood’s dick in me raw.”
It’s almost comedic the way his jaw drop. “Neighborhood’s dick is cuh-razy!” Slipping the condom on his length, you let out a giggle. Once you’ve got it on all the way you grip his shoulders, lifting your cunt over it. “It’s okay,” you jokingly reassure. “I’ll make sure to give you a good rating.”
“Oh, you got jokes— oh shit.” His demeanor changes once you rub his tip against your wet slit. “Are you—,” He reaches out to drag a finger through your folds. “You’re mad wet.” He states the obvious and when he pulls his finger away, your arousal drags with it. Without a second thought, he lifts his finger to his mouth, sucking on it to taste you. A low moan leaves his mouth. His eyes never leaving yours.
“You ready or did you change your mind?” You shake your head slowly, feeling more aroused than ever. “I’m ready.”
Once again, you maneuver his length through your folds before aligning it at your entrance. You take a deep breath and Yoongi’s hands rub your back. You slowly lower yourself down his length, feeling the pressure of him stretching you out. Your mouth falls agape when his full length is inside of your cunt.
After a few more rounds you get used to it. Yoongi stares at the action of your pussy swallowing his length. Your pussy is so tight around him, he’s afraid he might cum too fast.
He curse in your ear as you begin to ride him faster. “Fuck— you’ve been holding back on me for all these years.” Yoongi moves his hips, helping thrust into you. Your tits jump along with you as you bounce on his cock. So deep, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoes throughout the quiet apartment.
“Ah, Yoongi!” You moan out and Yoongi feels himself growing light headed. “You’re making me go crazy, _______.” He slams into your pussy faster— harder. At this point you weren’t even moving. Yoongi was the one in control of your body.
Especially when he moves you off of him, switching positions to take full control. You lie on your back, abandoned pussy and all. “Yoongi, put it back in.” You beg.
He shushes you before bending down, face in between your legs. His mouth attacks your wet cunt. He flatten his tongue to fully taste your sex. Licking and sucking all of you. His mouth sucks on your clit making you scream out in pleasure while his three fingers abuse your hole. “Yoongi, fuck that feels so good.” He slightly smirks up at you.
“Tell me whose pussy this is.” He says lowly. You could’ve came right then and there just from how sexy he said it. All dominant and territorial. The way he looks— his long dark hair sticking to his face and neck.
“Yuh— oh my god!” You moan out as your legs begin to shake at the overwhelming stimulation of his mouth and fingers.
“Tell me.” He demanded a bit louder.
“Yours Yoongi! It all yours, mm.” His fingers moves faster and you grip the sheets for moral support. “F- Fuck me Yoongi. I want your dick inside me.” It doesn’t take long before he obeys. He lifts up, just before you could orgasm and slides his hard dick inside of you. With Yoongi in control now, the pace is much faster. He lifts one of your legs up, putting it over his shoulder for better access.
Going deeper inside of you, hitting all of the right spots. You pull him down towards your body, your nails digging into his back, creating little crescent moon shaped marks. Chest to chest, Yoongi penetrates your pussy as the two of you share a feverish kiss.
“I’m gonna cum, Yoongi.” You say against his lips, out of breath. He rapidly nods his head. “Cum, mm.” His thrusts slow down, instead he makes sure to go deeper, hitting your spot repeatedly, making your legs shake around him. “Cum for me, _______.”
A few thrusts later and you cream on his dick. He pulls out, slips off the condom and starts stroking his dick. You place your hands over his, moving your mouth towards his tip. When the long drags of warm semen pour out you catch every drop of it. Mouth wide open, tongue out— you swallow his cum. Licking the tip afterwards for good measure.
Yoongi’s heavy breathing fills the room as he collapses on the bed. You get up to throw the used condom out and to collect your pajamas off the floor, walking with a bit of a limp. You toss Yoongi his basketball shorts before cleaning yourself up in the bathroom and changing.
When you come back, you find Yoongi already in his basketball shorts lying on the bed still. “Not gonna dip?” You ask, trying to sound nonchalant. You don’t want him to go but you don’t need him to know that. You were just awfully vulnerable and something similar to regret is already creeping up on you.
“Naw, why would I?” You shrug before laying in bed next to him. Not even being able to position yourself, he makes sure he cuddles into you, your face close as hell to his. “So how was the neighborhood’s dick?” He jokingly asks, laughing after. You lightly punch his chest.
“I’m not finna play with you Yoongi.” Yoongi serves you a feigned pout. “Awe, you regretting it already?” You don’t say anything because you really don’t know if you are. You don’t regret the sex because— fuck that was amazing. Best dick you ever had and you really will give him a good rating. However, the things that were said could’ve stayed unsaid. You shared too much vulnerability and that’s not something you’re comfortable with. The last thing you need is Yoongi to throw any of that shit back up in your face.
“I don’t regret it.” You conclude. His arms wrap around your waist tighter, grabbing one of your legs to wrap it around him. “But it won’t happen again. This was a one time thing.”
“But you swallowed my cum.” He pouts again and for some reason you don’t think it’s feigned this time. So you lightly smack his lips. Too much of a distraction.
“Because I didn’t want to get my covers dirty, you freak.” He dramatically raises his eyebrows. “So now I’m back to being a freak.” You sigh because it seems like he’s purposely not paying attention to what you’re actually trying to say.
“Yoongi.” You say seriously making him nod his head. “Okay, I got it. it was a one time thing.” Despite his display of understanding, you can’t help but hear the underlying disappointment in his voice.
You lay in his arms for hours. Neither of you fall asleep, replaying the previous events in your head. You debate with yourself whether or not you’re being in denial, too petty, stubborn, unreasonable. Whether or not you should give Yoongi a chance. Because right now you feel safe. Right now, everything is okay while your head rests against his beating chest. Right now…
“AGUST D GET YO’ ASS DOWN HERE NIGGA!”
You jump. You and Yoongi both lift up— your face of shock is a bit different from his. He knows what it is and you think you do too. That’s why you’re shook as fuck. The shouting and calling through the window doesn’t stop. And when Yoongi arms unravels from your waist, your heart sinks.
“What is that?” You ask.
And when that same, familiar, sorry ass, corny ass smirk that you hate so damn badly form onto Yoongi’s face… you knew.
“That’s D-TOWN BABY.”
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subaru
pairing: han jisung x fem reader
genre: enemies to lovers
word count: 5.4k
rating: mature, includes: swearing, jisung is kind of an asshole to reader at first, mentions of smoking and alcohol consumption, mentions of death but in an exaggerated way due to being upset over a situation (no one actually dies, just used as a hyperbole here and there), an altercation where someone gets slapped on the face, slight mentions of reckless driving (they like to street race n shit!), words such as "stupid", "idiot", "dumbass", "bitch" etc are used, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), mentions of cum play, pet names such as "baby" are used. i think thats it??
disclaimer: i am not too involved in the car community although i do love cars ashsh so if i got anything inaccurate i apologize but it's just a silly lil fic okie!!!!!! also not entirely proof read lmfao
subaru wrx with a clean build.
it was baby pink, low to the ground with bright blue led headlights. the color combination was absolutely sick.
it was fucking gorgeous and jisung couldn't help but be jealous.
it was two in the morning and he had decided that he wanted to grab some mcdonalds, his sleep schedule was shit and all he ever did was watch movies, smoke, eat-
typical boy shit.
but aside from all of that, han jisung had an extreme infatuation with cars, more specifically street racing cars.
none of that corny fast and the furious shit, he was seriously into car modifications and speeding whenever he was sure there wasn't a cop around to catch him (even if there was one, he'd probably floor it to get out of the mess like an idiot, catch-me-if-you-can mentality). he had built his old honda civic up from scratch and it had been pretty loyal to him thus far. that was his baby, his girl, he loved his car more than anything and it was his pride and joy.
however that subaru was definitely one of his dream cars. something he hoped to get his hands on one day when his civic decided it was time to bite the dust.
he was sure he had seen all the street racing cars in his city, he had gone to plenty of car meets to know.. but this subaru was new and he had never seen it before. he definitely would've known if someone in his car community got a new vehicle..
you two were the only cars on the highway right now, the city was mostly dead - perfect time to get some action in.
he drove closely to the car, right next to it, lowering his passenger window to look over at the driver.
he couldn't see shit through the tint, trying to get their attention by revving his engine at them but they seemed to pay no mind
who was this guy? why was he going to have such a badass car and not use it to its fullest potential? why even bother getting a racing car if you weren't going to put your foot to the pedal?
was this guy just being an asshole? jisung clearly was trying to race, trying to get their attention..
the least they could do was tell him no?
whatever.. jisung thought, pulling up his window before speeding off, smoke obnoxiously coming out of his exhaust as he drove.
--
that weekend, jisung had gone to a car meet, it was something he participated in once a month, it gave him something exciting to look forward to.
looking at all the cool modifications his friends have invested in for their cars - whether they got a fresh wrap, new lights, whatever it was, he was excited to see it.
he pulled up in his car, parking in reverse next to the other vehicles in the lot.
once he stepped out, everyone greeted him and they caught up, talking about whatever came to mind
"i saw this fucking baby pink subaru wrx.. none of you got a new car and didn't tell me right? you know how fucking much i love those damn cars!" he whines
"uh no actually.. did you race it?"
"no the guy must've had a stick up his ass because he didn't even acknowledge me.."
"well i'm sure you'll see them around again, it'll be hard to miss a baby pink wrx, trust me" his friend giggles.
jisung knew he was right, how many pink subarus could there possibly be in this town?
(lucky for him, just one)
"hey jisung! there's your car!" his friends giggle when they catch sight of the pink subaru pulling up to the meet. the last thing he expected was to see them again so soon, here of all places.
"holy shit" he groans, he was dying to see who the asshole behind the wheel was, but they never seemed to get down, and those blasted tints might as well have been illegal because he could barely make out the shape of a person in there.
instead they rev their engine, jisung's friend urging him to get into his car and race them.
so now this asshole wants to race, huh? he thought as he got into his car, pulling up next to the subaru as they drove out into the street. both getting their cars ready and as soon as the lights turned green, they were off. the area they were racing in didn't have many stoplights and was normally empty at this time of night. jisung knew this road like the back of his palm, so he felt like he had the advantage.
he was not about to lose to this person, no way in hell. he had so much faith in his old civic, it had never failed him before, so it better not fail him now.
(but the subaru was sooo kicking his ass and it was making his blood boil.)
they raced in a loop back to the lot where the other cars were at, his friends waiting with anticipation, watching as the subaru arrived first, jisung was furious.
how could he lose to this guy? his ego took a huge hit.
to make matters worse, the driver finally rolled down their window
"i hate racing guys that have those dumb anime stickers on their car.." you smirked.
jisung gritted his teeth.
a girl? a car girl?
(those were his dream girls, but how dare she insult his anime stickers..)
"better luck next time buddy.."
oh he could not stand you.. (but that was just his fragility speaking.)
his friends held back their giggles as they rushed over to the cars, they crowded over you, checking out the wheels on your car and complimenting them.
jisung wanted to explode, who even were you anyways? your car wasn't even that cool or that fast (he was lying to himself).
(he was soo fucking jealous)
--
unfortunately for jisung, that wasn't the last time he saw you.
you also began attending the car meets once a month and were quickly becoming acquainted with his friends.
great.
they had learned that you had moved to this city for a job and were excited to find another group of car enthusiasts. you were scared that maybe you wouldn't find a group but you were proven wrong.
everyone got along well with you except.. han jisung of course!
his friends had told him to grow up and get over it but he just couldn't seem to let it go, once he had a bad first impression of someone, there was no changing his mind.
it was childish, but that was han jisung for you.
he hated how you were becoming a part of his friend group, how his friends were inviting you over to their garage on saturdays to maintenance your cars together.
and he couldn't be more obvious with his hate. he made it his job to make it very clear to you that you were not welcome here.
"hey jisung can you pass me that-"
his foot coming to kick the wrench in your general direction while you worked underneath your car.
"dude piss off. seriously." his friend chan spoke up. he was the one trying the hardest to keep things neutral between everyone.
you tried not to let it bother you, although you were not stupid and knew jisung didn't like you one bit.
it made you a little upset the way he treated you.
you felt like you had to apologize. maybe the whole anime sticker thing really hurt his feeling? you didn't mean to hurt him but maybe you took it too far before you even got to know him?
you didn't want things to be like this if you were going to keep hanging around him. you'd find the time to apologize one of these days for sure.
--
see, han jisung was charming when you weren't around or when he thought you weren't looking.
he was actually a pretty funny guy.
(you loved funny guys, had a thing for them even..)
so you tried to incorporate humor when you tried talking to him but he always just looked at you blankly or let the joke go over his head purposely.
you were starting to feel like you'd never be able to apologize to him. and if you did, you were sure he wouldn't even accept it. this was so much harder than you anticipated, why couldn't he just let you make things right?
the only time han jisung ever talked about you without a front was when he was drinking with chan in the garage. they kept a fridge in there stocked with water and snacks and jisung was thrilled to see his favorite kind of beer in there one day. it seemed that drinking made jisung so much more open, like it made him just spill whatever was on his mind easily. it could sometimes put him in sticky situations but it also ratted his true feelings out. chan figured he could get some info out of him.
"your civic is getting old, dude.." chan teased him, taking a sip out of his beer can.
jisung just hiccuped and laughed.
"don't call my baby that.. she's all i got.." he smiled stupidly
"i think she's keeping the ladies away from you"
jisung waved him off and shook his head "nuh uh.. she's a babe magnet trust me.."
"what babe is she exactly pulling? cops handing you speeding tickets don't count" chan laughs
"that subaru bitch.. fuck if she wasn't so annoying.. i think i'd fucking kiss her.."
"she's got a name you know? she's only annoying to you 'cause you want to hate her."
"no, she's annoying.. hot but annoying. like cool.. you like cars too, whateverrr.." he slurs
"what if you guys talked it out?"
"would rather die, channie my boy.. besides what if it get out of hand? what if she's angry hot or somethin'?.. no thanks.." he was holding on to one of the rolling carts in the garage only to almost fall over.
"you are the most stubborn person i know, han jisung." he shook his head
chan knew jisung had a tiny crush on you, there was no doubt about it. but he knew his best friend well to know he would never admit to it. god he was so dumb sometimes.
before you were in the picture, he would always talk about wanting a girlfriend who liked cars. how they could modify their cars together, go to meets hand in hand in their obnoxiously fast and loud cars..
(han jisung loved car girls.. had a thing for them even..)
but chan just kept this information to himself, didn't out jisung's crush to you. he wasn't that kind of friend. if it was meant to happen, he'd let it unfold.
--
things remained virtually the same after that conversation with chan, most times jisung couldn't remember anything he said after he drank so he wasn't even aware he basically told chan he liked you.
on this particular saturday, chan wasn't in the garage.
normally jisung wouldn't care, he knew where everything was and he could just start working on his car on his own.
but you were there.
you were there and it was pissing jisung off.
"what are you doing here?"
"oh.. i thought channie was gonna be here and i came so we could rotate my tires-"
"ew.. don't call him that.. channie? gross."
"well you call him that so what's the problem?"
"i'm his friend. i'm not trying to fuck him."
to say you were offended was an understatement. maybe you shouldn't even waste your breath apologizing to him, seemed whatever this is was irreparable.
"you're a real piece of shit you know that? i'm not trying to fuck chan, he's my friend too."
"yeah well i've known him for ages so.. and i just know when a girl is just trying to fuck him, like it's so obvious.. could you be anymore obvious? jeez. like why are you even coming in here with those slutty shorts and-"
oh god.
you knew you shouldn't have done that but he had it coming.
your hand stinging after the impact.
shit, this was bad.
you slapped han jisung straight across the face.
"f-fuck jisung- i-i-"
he was angry. face red.
you swore you could see smoke coming out of him.
"get out of here. NOW." he said angrily between gritted teeth.
you didn't want to see where this would escalate so you quickly ran out, tears stinging at your eyes.
shit. you felt like you just ruined everything.
chan would be mad right? you hit his best friend across the face.. should you call him? you didn't want to burden him. ever since you started hanging out with them, all you've ever done was cause problems to arise. it was hard not to agitate han jisung when you all were together. things must've been fine before you joined the scene..
you decided it was best to just remove yourself from them and let them be.
--
after two weeks of not seeing you or hearing from you, chan knew something was up so he decided to confront jisung. he had invited him over to play video games and jisung showed up within the hour of being asked.
chan didn't feel like beating around the bush, this was getting out of hand and he needed to figure out how to make peace.
after two rounds of call of duty, chan looked over at jisung.
"mind telling me what happened that day i wasn't in at the garage?"
"what are you talking about?"
"don't play dumb ji.. come on. we both know better than that. it's been two weeks and i haven't heard or seen of y/n. i texted her and at first she was giving me excuses to not show up at meets or come over on saturdays but now she's straight up ghosting me."
"maybe she got tired of being annoying-"
"han jisung, get a fucking grip dude. she is NOT annoying. you're being a fucking asshole. you know she's been trying to apologize to you right? are you that stupid? you think she's just trying to crack jokes and bring us beer because she wants to be annoying?"
"no she's doing that because she's trying to fuc-"
"holy shit, you are a lost cause. i didnt buy the beer and it was never for me okay? she brought it for you because i told her you liked that kind and they don't sell it in any of the shops here, only that one liquor place twenty minutes from here. and i lied to her, i told her i'd be there saturday and i wasn't just so maybe, you'd be a nice guy for once and help her rotate her tires. clearly you didn't fucking do that."
"maybe i would've if she didn't fucking slap me."
"she slapped you? well you know what, maybe you fucking deserved it? if i were her i'd do a little bit more than just a little slap. i'd rock your fucking shit for being so fucking insufferable. you're my best friend but right now, you are being the most goddamn pathetic person ever. all because she kicked your ass in a race? because you like her car? because she poked a little fun at you that day?"
jisung started to get up, dropping the controller on the couch and walking towards the door, he knew chan was right but he was too prideful to admit it. chan didn't bother stopping him, he knew he had to let him reflect on everything. the only way jisung would ever listen was if he talked hard to him, it was the only way for his thick skull to understand.
jisung was embarrassed.
his ego getting the best of him.
he knew it was too late to backtrack everything he's said and done.
he fucked up and these were the consequences.
and karma had a way with things because as he was on his way home, his car finally gave out in the middle of the highway. thankfully nothing happened and he was able to make it to the side of the road quickly but he was so upset.
he couldn't help but cry as he sat on the hood of his car. he didn't even know who to call for help. he just sat there contemplating what to do while tears blurred his vision.
he wanted to kick and scream and throw himself in the middle of traffic but before he took a leap in front of a semi, he saw that godforsaken baby pink wrx.
he figured you would drive by him and not give a shit, maybe even roll down your window to laugh and point at him but you pulled up behind his car and got out.
maybe he had died before he made it to the side of the road and he was now entering his personal hell.
"han jisung? are you okay?"
he didn't answer you, instead he looked down at his feet.
"i'm trying to help. you're lucky i was on my way home and i saw you." you said, walking towards him
"hey, i'm talking to you, idiot. want me to just leave you and your stupid car here?" you shouted, hoping to get him to snap out of it.
he shook his head and sniffled
"just..get in my car okay? i'll call a tow truck." you sighed
he didn't question you, he just walked over and got in the passenger seat. jisung wasn't surprised that the interior was sleek, black leather with pink accents and led lights. you got in contact with a towing company, thankfully they came fairly quickly and took care of jisung's car.
you got back inside your car and started your engine before looking over at him.
"nothing happened right? you're fine?"
"she just gave out on me.. i'm fine.." he mumbled.
you nodded and asked him to put in his address.
after that it just went quiet.
it felt tense but not like before. like there were things you both wanted to say but decided not to.
after fifteen minutes on the road, you pulled up to his apartment.
he didn't move to get out and you didn't urge him to.
"i'm sorry about your car jisung.. a-and i-i'm also so fucking sorry that i hit you.." you spoke up, breaking the silence.
"no.. it's cool.. i deserved it. thank you for stopping for me. that's really nice of you.. even after i was such a dick."
you took a deep breath and looked down at your lap
"i've been trying to make things right between us.. i know maybe what i said about your car that first time we met might've been rude but i didn't mean it like that.. friendly competition you know? but maybe i went too far.. i'm sorry.."
"no seriously.. it's fine. i'm the one that was being an asshole.. i'm the one who's sorry okay? your car is super sick and you're actually a really cool girl.. i just guess i got intimidated by you. that sounds really fucking lame doesn't it?"
you laugh and nod at him "super lame.."
he just smiled softly and let out a chuckle.
"i guess.. truce then? you owe me anyways for the ride home.." you held out a pinky for him, he wrapped his own around yours without hesitating
"truce.
oh and.. thanks for the beer."
you blushed softly, hoping he wouldn't notice.
(he definitely did. he thought it was cute.)
"oh yeah.. it was nothing. i just had a box in my house and i thought you guys would enjoy it more than i would."
(and he knew that was a lie too. that you had gone out of your way to buy a pack and didn't just have it lying around your house.)
"right right.. well thanks..
um listen there's a meet coming up.. you haven't really been around lately so.. are you gonna come? chan's been worried about you and i know it's my fault you've been m.i.a.."
"mm.. i dunno.. i feel kinda weird just showing up after ghosting him.." you said softly.
"i'll take care of that okay?"
"how do you plan on showing up if you don't have a car?" you teased
"well i could ask chan- no no.. he'd ask me what happened.. he's so nosey, dammit.."
"i'll pick you up han jisung.. don't sweat it." you laughed and in turn it made him laugh.
the next order of business was him figuring out his feelings for you now that he had apologized and formed a truce with you.
he hoped he didn't fuck things up too badly. hoped that maybe he'd finally grow a pair of balls and face the fact that he liked you.
--
jisung knew it was gonna be crazy for him to show up the car meet with you.
in your car.
he knew chan was going to question and pull him aside and bombard him with a thorough interrogation.
but he tries not to think about it, not while he's shaking with nerves as he watches you pull up to his apartment, honking at him to alert him of your arrival but your loud ass exhaust pipes gave you away the second you entered his neighborhood.
he walks up to your door, hearing you click it open for him to get in.
and god, did you always dress this pretty to go to meets or is today a special occasion? cute blouse with a pleated skirt and converse to tie it all together.
so, so pretty..
"welcome to the barbie subie" you joked which earned you a smile from him
he buckled up and you were off, jisung enjoying the way you shifted gears and drove your car so flawlessly.
part of him didn't even want to go to the meet anymore.
all of him wanted to just pull over somewhere, lean back in his chair and talk to you for hours.
"han jisung is awfully quiet.." you giggled
but he didn't find it amusing, instead he shrugged.
"oh come on.. i thought we were doing good. what's wrong now?"
"you really wanna go to this meet?"
"i mean.. you're kinda the one who invited me remember?"
"well yeah but.. i don't know if i wanna go anymore y'know?"
"are you embarrassed of being seen with me or something? jeez man you got some serious ego issues to deal with-"
"no no! it's just i dunno.. i think i just.. fuck.. don't laugh okay? don't you dare fucking laugh.."
you shook your head and bit your lip in hopes of hiding the smile creeping up on you
"i just kinda wanna hang out? like.. just with you.. and without chan asking a million questions. just us two alone.."
"so like a date is what you're saying?"
"what! fuck no!"
you frowned but only to mess with him.
"w-well shit yes okay! but like you didn't have to say that yeah? admitting it makes me feel funny.."
"it's okay jisung. it's growth and you're lucky i think you're cute so i'm taking the offer."
jisung feels like he could jump out of your car from how crazy he's feeling right now. and he's so mad at himself for being such a dumbass before because maybe he could've been going on dates with you so much sooner.
he could melt into a puddle right in your seat.
especially when you tell him you've found this huge empty lot by a construction site that you two could go make donuts.
even more so when you tell him he can drive your car.
and jisung feels like he's in some insane car wet dream of his because there's no actual way he's in your car, driving, you at his side laughing hysterically while your car spins in circles, tires screeching as it leaves dark circular skid marks.
"j-jisung! jisung holy shit!" you laugh as you hang on tightly "i'm gonna hurl!"
he stops the car and his sides hurt from laughing. cheeks sore from the huge smile he had been wearing. and when he looks at you, he feels like such an idiot because he really wants to kiss you and he regrets wasting so much time hating you for no good reason.
and you feel the same desire.
you want to kiss his stupid, stupid face.
want him to finally admit he fucking likes you.
thank god you're both finally on the same page. both leaning in at the same time and bumping into each other with a laugh.
"you first.. please.." you whisper, he cups your face and leans in to capture your lips. fluttering his eyes closed as he gets to feel your soft mouth on his. letting out a pleased sigh as he deepens the kiss.
kissing someone had never felt this good before.
when you pull away, he almost whines, almost begs you to come back. he watches as you lick your lips, almost as if collecting whatever remnants of him were left on yours.
(he'd be lying if he said he didn't think it was hot.)
and he looks at you confused when you get up and crawl into the back seat of your car, gesturing him to come join you. basically knocking over himself as he rushes to get back there.
was jisung about to fuck his dream girl in his dream car? if you told him this a few weeks ago, he'd laugh in your face.
"by the way stupid.. i was trying to fuck you not chan.." you laugh
his face is so fucking red and his cock is so unbearably hard, he almost felt humiliated.
"why didn't you say something then?"
"cause you'd never even give me a chance to.. besides i thought you said you can tell when girls want to fuck someone? was i not being obvious enough for you?" you tease him, using his own logic against him.
he physically face palms, he'd have to make a reminder to never be so fucking stupid again. he'd have to learn to not open his big mouth sometimes.
"fuck. whatever okay? we get it, i was stupid."
"i'm not letting you live it down, ever." you smiled crawling over to him to give him another kiss
he pulls you close, grips your hips tightly. he was so needy but that doesn't come as a surprise to you.
"shit.. i wish i could've fucked you stupid in my civic.. make you regret ever calling her names.." he groans
"shh.. be quiet.. you talk too much.." you teased.
he quickly pressed you down into your seats, hovering over you as he pulled off his shirt. you leaned up to touch the tattoos littered over his skin. he should work shirtless in the garage you think. why doesn't he? maybe it would distract you but that would be alright with you.
and he doesn't waste a second pulling off your top, hastily unclipping your bra to let your tits spill out for him, slapping them before taking one in his mouth and moaning.
your legs wrapped around his torso, tugging him closer, desperately to feel him against your crotch
"fuck jisung.. take it out.. i wanna see it.." you whine
he pulls back to unbuckle his jeans shimmying them off while in the process hitting his head against the roof a couple of times. you laugh at him and reach forward to help him tug them down, boxers soon following suit, letting his cock spring free.
"now i wanna see yours." he gives you a stupid little side smile and you pull your skirt up to reveal your panties. black thong that would soon be thrown out of sight. you hook your fingers on them and tug them down, throwing them at jisung once they were off your legs. he caught them and give them a nice sniff to which you slapped his arm and laughed, calling him a pervert.
he quickly manhandled you into position. he wanted to take you from behind, wanted to lap you nice and clean before he even dared sinking his cockhead inside of you.
working your pussy with his tongue, his hands spreading your asscheeks open for him to be able to embed himself within you. he could stay like this forever. he could live off eating your cunt for the rest of his life.
you were soaking.
some of it dripping on to your leather seats which made jisung fucking lose it
"your car's gonna need some detailing on the interior once we're done.." his hot breath fanning against your pussy as he lands a spank on your ass
"i think my pussy needs detailing first.." you giggle and jisung lets out a grunt. you couldn't joke with him like that, he could fucking die!
he spits on his cock and and uses it to work himself, pumping his length and letting his tip collect some of your essence so he could rub it in with his palm.
he presses an inch in, hearing your breath hitch as you scramble to hold on to the door, anticipating him to completely ruin you.
he curses as he feels your tight pussy swallow whatever he gives you, starting with an inch, then two, then three.
holding still to not overwhelm his cock and blow right then and there, he still had to work the rest in and he was already feeling his balls tighten at the sensation of your warmth.
once he collects himself, he bottoms out. taking a deep breath as he holds your hips and starts to set a steady pace.
the way your pussy was gripping on him was making him dizzy. hearing you moan his name and reaching a hand back for him made his ego and cock swell. he grabbed your hand and held it behind your back as he pressed you further up against the door.
you didn't seem to care about how uncomfortable it was at the moment, all you cared about was that han jisung was using your cunt and it felt so fucking good.
your face pressed against the window as you mumbled incoherently, he picked up the pace as a sheen of sweat started to form on his body.
"fuck.. this pussy is so greedy.. holy shit.." he groans loudly
he could barely pull out, cunt too tight and hungry for him to even let go.
"this pussy is mine now got it? m' making it mine.."
"yours now jisung..fuck yes.. gonna cum in it right?"
"you can fucking bet on that, baby.. gonna fuck you full and have you keep it in until the next car meet. then i'll just fill you up all over again, got it?"
you moaned in agreement, you wanted nothing more than to be stuffed full of jisung's cum. maybe you'd go home and play with yourself, pressing your fingers inside of you in hopes of collecting some to rub against your clit. or maybe you'd bring it up to your lips to taste him, to imagine it's actually his cock in your mouth and not your fingers.
"shit jisung.. i-i'm gonna cum.. keep going baby please.."
the pet name has him reeling, it makes him animalistic, pounding into you so hard that the car starts shaking. if anyone were to pass by, they'd know exactly what was going on inside your car.
he reaches a hand down to rub at your clit, pinching it a few times to hear you yelp.
"come on baby.. cream on my cock.. milk me yeah?" his chest pressed against your back while he whispered pure filth in your ear.
he could feel your pussy clamping down on him as you reached your orgasm, body shaking as it ripped through you, cumming with his name on your lips.
it was finally too much for him so he lets himself go, letting his cum seep into your walls as he finished inside of you, making sure not a drop is spilled.
"fuck jisung.. that was a lot.." you whined, afraid that if you moved too much you'd make a huge mess for sure.
"sorry.. just had to get my point across. i was serious about this pussy- well.. you.. being mine.." he laughs shyly
"we can discuss that topic later and see if it fits into the terms and conditions of our truce." you giggled.
he smiled and helped you up carefully to give you a soft kiss.
at least he was right about his honda civic being a babe magnet, right?
his car sacrificed herself for this moment and han jisung couldn't be too mad about it.
please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito
#skz smut#stray kids smut#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#han jisung#han jisung smut#binsito#han smut#skz han
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You Didn't Deserve That | T. Zegras
pairing: Trevor Zegras x gn!reader (as far as i can remember)
word count: 1.1k
this was requested!
not my gif!
Dating a famous hockey player had its perks, and its downfalls. Such as hate, so much of it. New comments everyday, some new post saying you weren’t good enough for him, if you thought it couldn’t get worse, it did. To the point of ruining your relationship.
“We’re done, Trevor.”
“What?” he was clearly dazed, having just gotten back from practice.
“We’re done. I need to leave.”
“What? No, what’s going on?”
He didn’t get much of an argument when you slipped around him and bolted out the door, but he could say he tried. Which leads to your meeting him again, literally running into him.
You were late for your first day of a new job, you knew Trevor played for the ducks (how could you not?) but this job was too good to pass up, so you took it in hopes of not focusing on him.
“Y/n?” The shock was clearly evident in his voice.
“Hey, Trev.”
“What are you doing here?” you finally glanced down at his attire, all his gear on, clearly headed to the ice.
“I uh- got a job here.” it was awkward to admit you’d be working with the man whose heart you broke for apparently no reason.
“Oh congrats.” he did not sound at all enthusiastic, “Well, we should go for a drink tonight and catch up, you know I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, um sure. I’m off at seven.”
“Great, see you then, I’ll pick you up here.” he nodded, walking away before you could say anything else.
You froze for a minute, letting your mind settle before remembering why you were running through the halls in the Honda Arena.
“Shit.” you cursed under your breath.
“Straight down the hall, first door on the right.” you heard yelling down the hall, Trevor's voice recognizable.
“Thank you.” you yelled back, running in the directions he gave.
It was a great first day, your boss wasn’t mad you were late, knowing the struggle, admitting she’d done it on her first day too. The day flew by and if you could’ve stayed longer you would’ve, but you had drinks with Trevor.
“Goodnight, Lindsay.” You yelled out the door, headed down the hallway again.
“Hey” You jumped at the voice appearing beside you. Trevor, looking at you, a smirk across his face. “Sorry, did I scare you?” his tone teasing.
“Asshole.” you mumbled, shoving him towards the wall.
“Hey, hey that’s not very nice.”
“Well you scaring me wasn’t very nice!” you shot back, making him laugh.
“It was an accident, I swear.”
It fell into a comfortable silence the rest of the way, the walk to his car, the drive to the bar. It wasn’t uncomfortable by any means but you could feel he had words to say. It stayed like that until you two had a table, sipping on your newly acquired drinks.
“Why did you do it?” This question making you choke on your drink.
“What?”
“Why?”
“You’re staring off strong” you tried to joke, falling short when the look on his face didn’t falter from the serious stare he was giving. “Okay no jokes..”
You took a deep breath, chugging a bit of your drink, and planned out how your were going to go over this.
“I uh- fuck it’s stupid saying it aloud. It just got too much, everyday I’d find new hate and something new to hate about myself because of it. I thought that if I just left the hate would stop, it didn’t but it lessened so I just deleted everything. I know it was shitty but I couldn't take it anymore, people everyday telling me terrible things, making me believe horrible things about myself, people lying to me trying to get to you or with you. It was so hard and i love you Z, I do but I freaked out and I thought it was stupid so I didn’t come to you. You deal with it everyday and never did you do something this stupid.”
“Baby, oh you didn’t deserve that.” he cooed, his hand intertwining with yours. “And I’ve done plenty stupid, it was all just too much I get it baby, I do, but you should’ve come to me.��
“I know but I felt so weak.” you groaned, if he knew one thing he knew you hated admitting anything.
“You are not weak, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
“I love you Z, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay baby, we’re moving on, as long as you’re still mine now, yeah?”
“Of course, Trev.”
His smile immediately grew on his face, a small sound of enthusiasm squeaked from his lips as he practically hopped the table to hug you. His arms wrapped tight against your waist, holding you against him.
“Trev,” you whispered into his hair, he hummed in reply, “Can we go home?”
“Of course baby.” was all he said, picking you up, bringing you to his car. It was a short ride, but peaceful almost lulling you to sleep, seeing Jamie peek through the window when the two of you pulled up.
“You’re together again!” he cheered when Trevor carried you in, head tucked into his neck.
“Shush man, they’re almost asleep!” Trevor hushed his roommate.
“Opps” was all Jamie managed in response.
Trevor carried you, as gently as he could, to his room. Laying you down on the bed, grabbing out some of his clothes for you to sleep in.
“Baby,” he whispered, peppering you in kisses to wake you, “you’ve got to get changed, i know you hate sleeping in your clothes.”
“I don’t want to move.” you groan, not moving, still laying in Trevor's bed.
“I’ll help, come on baby, just a little cooperation please.” you hummed in reply, slowly standing. He was gentle, removing your clothes but keeping his eyes everywhere but on your partially exposed body. Even if he had seen it before, he was still as respectful as he could be.
“You can lay back down baby, I’ll be right back, okay?”
You let a hum in reply, before letting the words hit you.
“Wait, don't go, come sleep.” you whined at him, putting grabby hands out towards his walking-away figure.
“I’ll be right back then i’ll come sleep.”
You groan in reply, curling onto your side to wait for him. He was back in less then a minute, now wearing less clothes then he’d left in.
“Where’d your clothes go?” he laughed at the question, sliding in bed with you, pulling you tight against him.
“I threw your clothes and mine in the laundry, you’ll have clean, warm clothes in the morning.”
“Oh my goodness, I love you.”
“I love you too baby, now let’s sleep.”
You yawned in agreeance, nuzzling against him more, accepting the kisses he was peppering over you.
#trevor zegras#trevor zegras imagine#trevor zegras x reader#nhl imagine#nhl one shot#nhl x reader#anahiem ducks#anaheim ducks#anaheim ducks imagines
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omg i just read mornings and i'm so happy ur requests are open cause i am in need for more of female shy reader x confident and whipped ellie please 🤭 so may i request their "first time" smut (+fluff) where ellie takes the reader's virginity 👉👈 make it soft & steamy please 🫶
on this thing called fire / avalon
summary: in which ellie and you take it a step forward in your relationship; maybe that involves being knuckle full of her and crooning with her mouth in places you’d dream of, but who’s counting?
warnings: major nsfw under the cut !! spit mentioned / use of nickname ‘bun’, u know the regular shmegular stuff
a/n: first of all i am so sorry for not responding to this ask! second, thank u so much for enjoying my works! i had been experiencing massive writer’s block when it had been sent and i wanted to give u my best so here we go :-) enjoy! (just a side note, my req’s are still closed for the time being)
The first time with Ellie would be purely coincidental, a haywire of nerves and spongy movements, soft-rimmed with awkward touches, hushed breaths and thoughts of hesitance.
The two of you know your boundaries before you speak of it — she would never force you to do anything and neither would you do anything of that sort of nature with her. Besides, when merged as a pair, you’re two paires of antsy nerves, stringing against each other like grass and rippling with raw shyness, hues of ‘I hope this is okay’. Still, it was enough, Ellie thinks, this was more than okay.
So, come to the day you’re both heavily slotted against one another, limbs tangled so ardently at the skin, it’s hard to anticipate anything headier. Her smell chokes you, makes you formulate a rational reason for the spike in your chest — maybe I’ve just never been this close to someone before.
But your brain is quick to fortify your hopes against you.
You’ve been in tight spots like these more than once — that one instance where you and Dina had monstrously jabbed the two of you in a swing-set half the size of you, meat of her thigh crushing your nerves as the two of you squealed. Or the time where Jesse had whispered apologies, crisp and awfully kind, when he’d nearly bruised you against the car window in an attempt to fit in the tight space (your knees throbbed when you’d exited the vehicle and his hands were spattered with his grapple with the Honda Civic.)
But neither of those times, did you feel a heat as constricting as this, hands muggy and wrestling for a feeling, a sentiment beyond the vest Ellie wore. It was different, incredibly so. This was Ellie, your girlfriend of months. Brutal and stuff of dreams to the touch.
But it all had led back to that pathetic little attempt to clench your thighs, simmer your whimpers to a lesser degree when she groggily swiped a barely restive hand against your back. In a particularly ‘Ellie’ fashion, full of physical affirmation, you were sure, but the heat that painted your back in ordeal left you weak, fighting to weld your nerves back into your body.
But it was never that easy, and Ellie was always two steps ahead.
“What’s wrong…?” she rasps, trickles with hesitation, like she’d done something wrong. The thought makes you awfully prickly, skittering with sweat and jitters, because god, if this was her doing something wrong, you’d like to see her worst.
Still, you shift your position, the heat in your belly never once reclining, shifting like a on-set febrility against you. A dead-set course. A fit of hormones. Endorphins. Fuck whatever fit the label, you were still squirming.
“N-Nothing, go back to sleep…” you spit out, crackle in embarrassment, as she pauses her kindly ministrations against your back. Now she’s awfully concerned, twisted in her idolatry because she’s so sure she’s messed up somewhere. It makes her jaw bleed with sweat, her brows crease with new born worry — she twitches her mouth, opens it, closes, and then lifts her head.
“Seriously, what’s wrong?” her voice is louder, stronger, but not accusatory. It’s sparkly, in a pondering sort of way, but you don’t appreciate the rasp in her tone. It makes you filthy, coated in your want for her, sticky where you swear you shouldn’t be. But you refuse to look at her, resorting to bury your face so deep into her chest, you might as well carve a cavern in there and don it your new home, “Ellie—it’s nothing. It’s stupid.”
Your voice reassures her but your low tone worries her — her hand scratches that low spot below your neck and presses into the skin like relief. Like comfort. But the heat of it is only playing tricks on you and you curse yourself as you tighten your thighs, shaking softly as you feel hot all over.
Fuck.
“So something is bothering you?” she speaks, and her voice, vivacious and real, courses through you. She doesn’t even fathom the effect she has on you, not to this extent, because she’s figuring it’s something cruel. Something unfixable. And perhaps it is cruel, to you, but unfixable? Absolutely not. She continues, pressing her lips against your warm forehead, “let it up, bun. I won’t be upset. You know I won’t, mhm?”
And you feel yourself tremble, crack in her hold. You’d nearly fooled herself and you in the process. But this was getting you nowhere. Her touch catalysed something you resisted and it was overpowering your senses, sending you reeling for the floor and you had to tell her, had to tell her, tell her now, or else it would break you.
“I just—“ your voice picks up, humiliated, “I think I want you.”
A moment passes. You feel like there might’ve been better options. And worse. It makes you wonder if she knows exactly what you’re running from, this swelter plaguing you from the innards.
“I think you will always have me, bun—“ she chuckles, and it makes you spasm with denial. She’s not getting it.
“No—“
“No?” her brow lifts, as she presses against your body. Makes you shake. Makes you tighten with a looming threat.
“Not like—not like that…” you blush, grow silent. It intrigues her, suctions her to you as she brushes a calloused finger against your cheek, swelling the flesh with yet another string of warmth. It spurts you need, again, a terrible ache to your words, “I need you to…”
Her smile is small, calibrated, sick to the thought of not doing what’s right. Slippery and antsy for not being what you want — “What do you need me to do, bun?”
“I—need you to touch… me?” your voice curls at the end, a question, pathetic and dangerously simple, it shouldn’t confuse her.
Yet her eyes falter, fill with a sort of darkness that you hadn’t anticipated. Her lips go tight with a twitch, her hands now coiling impossibly closer around you, with her fingers padding against your waist. Your skin. You.
This whole time, you needed her to touch you? It had been as simple as that? Impossible.
“Touch you how, bun?” she asks and you nearly fumble, devastated that you’d need to spell it out with brick, chalky letters for her. But with the way her eyes curl with a deliberate evil, her tongue licking over lips like she was preparing for something, something big, you knew she was playing with you like meat.
“Ellie—“ you groan, creen against her. She laughs, amused, but doesn’t let up her antics. Instead, she locks you close, her fingers now sinking into the material of your panties. They’re airy, looking against the waistband like a routine, and you’re sick with the wait, “do I really need to say it?”
“You know you do” she smirks softly, pressing her cheek against yours in a sick attempt to taunt you. It works, though. Makes you sense. Feel. Share the heat of her skin as she makes it known just how much harder she was making this for you. And you sink, gut heaving for release.
“Please, El’s,” you murmur. Try the look of innocence. Play the smaller part. She’s not fazed, just merely mocks the look, encouraging a longer string of words, “I need you to touch me here…”
And the words die on your tongue, quickly, as you grasp her other hand, leading the farther weight of her large palm against the front of your shorts. You don’t miss the harsh bob of her throat, the way she sighs with amusement. With relief.
“Need a bit more clarification than that, bun,” she teases, splaying her palm against the front of your shorts and pressing against the fabric in senseless circles. It makes you whine, dig into her softly, breathless like a greedy thing. It only makes her chuckle, land a soft, wet kiss against the expanse of your neck where it allows her.
“I need—“ you pause, swallow air for some slant, “need your fingers in me. Against me. Please, Ellie, please—“ you choke, tears now threatening to poke against your lashes as you attach against her. But the strength of your pleadings makes her nervous, makes her feel better about it all.
“I think I get the idea,” her words come out rough, tangled like she’d wrestled with the idea of them, as her fingers brush past your panties and against your throbbing clit. It makes you creen with new noises — no one has ever taken you this far before.
She presses a small kiss to your cheek, lowers you onto the bed as she rests on her elbows to capture a better picture of the onslaught of your rapture — “you ever touched yourself, bun?” she rasps, as her fingers flicker up and down your slit to gather rhythm. When you shake your head no, she doesn’t lighten her pressure against your clit, but she does suck in a breath of air.
Knowing that you’d never done anything of this extent with each other was one piece of knowledge. Now, knowing you’d never been touched in this way, ever, not even with the weight of your own fingers, made her sticky in her boxers. Made her amble for her breath.
It made her want to please you all the more.
“I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” her fingers ghost against your hole, and you tighten out of unlearnt routine, “want me to take care of you, bun?”
God, she’d be the death of you.
“Yes—want you to touch me, El’s…” you whine, grip her hand to gather a sense of your bearings. You’d only ever read words on a page of this sort of thing, pictures when you got too curious. Sentences that talked of parts, sensations, sticky feelings and the ‘right person.’ You’re sure half your knowledge on the matter would be fusty with nothing but sloppiness, half-hearted attempts to reach a high you’d only ever dreamt of.
But now, Ellie was crushing you with the kindness of her fingers. Delivering you that high you’d read in magazine books picked with prickly fingers, left behind when you felt all too awful about it.
Ellie smiles, brings that familiar puddle of warmth to your belly. Her fingers prod at your hole, “I’ll add a finger okay? Promise it’ll feel good,” and the sentence ends with the chime of your whine, groan, choke, all blended in one as her willowy, slender finger messily finds an opening within you.
Ellie pauses, breathing just as fast. It makes you heady, that look on her face — fucked out when she hadn’t even been touched. Red when it’s you she’s ruining to pieces. It makes you warm again, hopeless with moans as her finger begins to pump into you with moderate speed.
“Feel good?” she asks and you silently nod. But she’s breathless, her other hand coming to touch you, feel. Grab a taste of your warmth, and you’re pleasantly welcomed with your cheeks hollowed as she grabs them gently yet firmly — “kiss me?”
The question is stupid, window-worthy. It makes you scoff, makes her smile in return. The inquiry, burnt in ashes already, as you invite her mouth with a whine. You barely notice the addition of fingers within you as her tongue explores you like no one else, lathers you with her own saliva, behind your teeth and elsewhere.
It gets you hot again, impossibly so.
When she pulls back, she reverts to kissing your neck, punching the skin with her lips, as her fingers slot in and out of you. It had gotten to the point where you aimlessly discarded of your shorts, somewhere in the deep recesses beneath your bed.
Now, though, the sounds of her filling you gather as one, melding with the sounds of your cries as she adds yet another finger. Forms a cupping-form against your weeping cunt, as she aims to drill another hole into you. Her fingers are enough to make you sputter, creen, with saliva drooling out the side of your mouth as she works you up in her hold.
“Easy, bun, you close?” she asks. No, perhaps warns, and by the time you’re nodding fervently, she’s already letting out an airy chuckle. But it’s nothing of the malicious sort, just compact with knowing. Several layers of need. Of ‘finally.’
By the time you climax nears, her speed triples, the sopping liquids making it an easy endeavour for the abuse on your swollen cunt. You cry, somewhere in the bucket of noises, clutch onto her like you’re too unsure. You feel an unfamiliar feeling threaten to burst, and you’re half sure it’s a release similar to what you’ve read, and half convinced it’s you wetting yourself.
“El’s—“ you cry, but it’s jammed. It catches her attention, though, “Ellie—I think I’m gonna—“
“You gonna cum?” she asks, for absurdity. For nothing at all, because you’re frothing at both ends. It processes too late, too far, as you agree, pathetic cries too loud for any words but your body allows you a nod as you confirm the threat of release, “then do it, bun.”
And as quickly as you let the words out, the quicker you cry with the fullness of your orgasm, wet, clenching and full of sensations so foreign but diverting, you nearly lose your consciousness. But Ellie trains her eyes on you, as her fingers exit your sopping entrance and rub delicate, cautionary circles against your clit, a sign to come to.
“You good there?” she smiles, teases, tears with a chuckle as you gasp. You’re quick to lightly punch her in the sides, heaving with pleasure still, “you nearly killed me.”
“Killed you with my fingers?”
“Yeah, those fucking, beautiful fingers.”
She shifts, knees caging your thighs suddenly, as her weight hovers over you. In this light, she’s a verdant eyed jewel, gazing at you with tepidity and warmness unmatched, her fingers grazing you like a telltale sign that she’s not done letting you up.
“Ellie?” your voice is nimble, caught in your throat as she descends to your cunt, and before you can let a word of protest even hit her ears, she’s licking a long, aimless stripe against your cunt, and it makes you break.
“Ellie—” you cry, overstimulated and scratching against the sheets as she doesn’t relent her assault against your beckoning centre, heated and oozing yet again that it worries you. But she doesn’t care, merely hitches an arm around your thigh and drives you forward, jerks you with a sting so profound it makes you melt and begins eating you out like her life depended on the course of your pleasure.
Because it really did.
“Ellie—fuck—Ellie!”
She doesn’t listen, just continues, lapping at you and having at you like dessert. Cream. Pudding and pie. The fervor heightens as she prods her tongue where her fingers had busied themselves around, the tight muscle heady in its endeavour to have you crying against her. The zing of your juices has her puddling on her boxers, but it’s more of a priority that she has you seeing white — your second release is quicker, harder, more thrashing and clenching and a mess of hands and feet as you cage her head with your thighs. She sighs, glad for the grapple against her, as she pats against you.
She smiles when you fall limp against the sheets, swallowing air like you’d gone days without it — “did that feel good?”
“Ellie…” you start, warn with a disconcerting frown so faux it makes the both of you giggle, before knocking her useless as you kiss her again. Her kisses are fervent, meaningful, punched with colour and vigour as you pull apart — she chases your lips with a crunch of her eyebrows, a delicate sigh.
And suddenly, her face twists as your hands fall into underneath her boxers, surprised and deliciously wet under those layers.
Of course, you want to string her out — you’re barely recovering from her performance. But some part of you knows she gets excited from the innocent act. And you wouldn’t particularly be ‘lying’ when you acted deft in your attempts to pleasure her. So you do.
“El’s, can you teach me how to touch you?” you murmur, lips rolling into themselves as you fake a look of innocence, all compressed into a look of hopelessly scrunched brows and a small pout. It has Ellie sighing, chuckling quietly as she twitches, throws her head back.
“O-Ofcourse—I’ll—agh—“ your finger ghosts her clit, beating, surely, with want. It makes you pry more, makes you apply pressure against that spot a little more, have her hold your arms as she hisses through her teeth.
“I’ll teach you, bun” she barely breathes out, surging forward for another kiss.
This was going to be a long day.
© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.
#ellie williams x reader#ellie x reader#ellie x reader fic#ellie fic#ellie williams fic#tlou fic#tlou x reader
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IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Commissions Open!
Yes, that's right - this year, you can direct the IZ Days of Christmas fic for your favorite member!
So last year's attempt of IZ Days of Christmas was a royal fuck-up. I didn't even get to put out fics for some members on time. Hell, I didn't even put out a fic for two! Sorry, Yuri and Yujin :(
I don't want that to happen again. So now, before the Christmas season starts, you can commission a fic for your IZ*ONE bias for a low price of $12! I'm close to finishing my last three commissions and have closed them, so no one will be left out this time and I'll write it because I'm getting paid, duh :hannikek:
(Also, I have a shitload of siblings I need to buy Christmas gifts for, so please help me out here.)
Why $12? IZ*ONE is forever and always 12 <3
This year, I guarantee that every member will get a fic out for IZ Days of Christmas.
How do I commission you?
Just send me the form indented below when you order the commission on the link before it!
Commission me an IZ Days of Christmas fic!
> Tumblr username:
> Ko-fi username:
> IZ*ONE member:
> Plot:
> Kinks:
> Extra notes:
> A pic for inspiration and to help with the plot (optional):
Then, send the form through DMs, too!
First come, first serve. I will be accepting commissions until November 25, 2023. The posting of fics will start on December 14, 2023. The list below will indicate if a member is still available!
Kwon Eunbi (CLOSED)
Miyawaki Sakura (CLOSED)
Kang Hyewon (CLOSED)
Choi Yena (CLOSED)
Lee Chaeyeon (CLOSED)
Kim Chaewon (CLOSED)
Kim Minju (CLOSED)
Yabuki Nako (CLOSED)
Honda Hitomi (CLOSED)
Jo Yuri (CLOSED)
An Yujin (CLOSED)
Jang Wonyoung (CLOSED)
Rules
You have to be 18+ internationally to commission.
NO REFUNDS.
No scat, poop, noncon, three/moresomes. or bestiality.
No usual "Christmas" plot - it'll get a little too repetitive.
There is no word count limit or expectation that's promised. It can be as short as 3k words or as long as 10k!
We have the rule of confidentiality and mutual trust here. As long as you ignore any personal information you might see on my end, I'll cast a blind eye on yours <3
Thank you! Merry Christmas (yes, the Christmas season begins on the "-ber" months here.) Be the beautiful, horny people that you are!
#ko fi commissions#commissions open#open commissions#kpop smut#izone smut#ive smut#lesserafim smut#soloist smut#ko fi#ko fi page#ko fi link#ko fi support#writing commissions#fanfic commissions
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Perrito Chapter 3: Position - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)
your first 24 hours on the job. you're starting to adjust to daily life as lalo's puppy, though there's a feeling of dread that you can't quite shake.
tags/warnings: oral sex, vaginal sex, petplay, humiliation/degradation, exhibitionism, stalking, non-consensual body modification, gaslighting, psychological abuse, intoxication (weed and cocaine)
anatomical terms: cunt/hole, t-dick
word count: 9,139 (most normal lalo stan)
ao3 link
author's notes: we're so back (in all /srsness thank y'all for supporting me these past few months as i have been Going Through It. i promise the next chapter will not take this long)
como siempre no soy un hablante nativo pero estoy aprendiendo. entonces por favor corríjame si se encuentra algo de errores :3
This was not the first morning you woke up feeling like a complete and utter dumbass.
And it probably wouldn’t be the last.
Though as you prodded the bruise on the underside of your bicep, you struggled to think of a time that you’d fucked up even half this bad.
The only thing that came close was the day you got arrested. You remember it in flashes. First, you were in the passenger seat of a car, nothing fancy. You couldn’t recall if it was a Honda or a Hyundai, but you were never much of a car person anyway. Whatever it was, it was blue, and parked in a seedy alleyway. You had your mouth on a cock, one of many you’d taken before, thinking about what you’d get for lunch after this. Anything that would get the taste of cherry-flavored condom out of your mouth. Suddenly, there was a knock on the window, and you and your client were dragged out of the car by two nosy officers. Handcuffed, bent over the hood, and trying your hardest not to cry, one of them patted you down, and reached into one of the small pockets in your denim booty shorts.
“Yep. Cocaine. So now we can add possession of a schedule two narcotic to your charges.”
Just your fucking luck. That morning, a client had given you an 8-ball in exchange for a discounted blowjob. It would’ve been cheaper to just pay your normal rate, but he said he was trying to kick the stuff and it was just collecting dust in his possession. You had no interest in trying coke for yourself, but you figured you could sell it pretty easily. After all, what’s one illegal trade versus another? Plus, the guy had said it was high quality. Allegedly, it was the good shit from Mexico.
Mexico.
Maybe it was Salamanca product.
Maybe Lalo had been controlling your life for longer than you thought.
The next thing you remember was crying in the interrogation room.
You’d refused to talk to the pigs, as you should’ve. You weren’t that stupid. You knew nothing good would come of it. They could just lie and say whatever asinine thing they felt like to get you to snitch on yourself.
“We just want to know what happened, kid.” Bullshit.
“We’re trying to help you.” No you’re not.
“Cry all you want, but you got yourself into this mess. If you talk to us, we can find a way to get you out of it.” Fuck. You.
Blubbering, choking on snot and tears, more scared than you’d ever been in your entire life, you stood your ground.
“I’m… *sniff* I’m invoke- invoking my… *sniff* right to remain s-silent and my right- *sniff* right to c-counsel… P-P-Please…” Breathe. Just breathe. In, then out. Innn, ouuut… Okay. You’re okay. You can do this. What’s the next line? “P-Please provide me with an attorney.”
To their credit, they did. The next person you spoke to was a public defender, a guy in his 40s who looked like he hadn’t slept in days. You remember what he said when he saw you.
“Oh jeez, you poor kid. Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay. Please, please don’t cry. I, uh… I think I got some napkins you can use.” He’d opened his disheveled briefcase and handed you some thin fast-food napkins. As you mopped up your misery, he took out a pen and paper, and sat down across from you. He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible. Also, he was a sympathetic crier, so he didn’t want to make things harder for himself. “My name’s Jimmy. I’m gonna be your lawyer. Can you tell me your name, bud?”
Jimmy tried. He really did. But the best deal he could get for you was 6 months. You remember the look of sadness on his face when he told you that you’d be going to prison. You broke down, sobbing violently into your palms. You heard his voice crack under your heavy burden.
“I know… I know, kid. I’m sorry. Just let it out.”
“I’m gonna die in there… I’m gonna die…”
“No, no, no! No, you’re not! Keep your head up, okay? 6 months will be over before you know it.”
“No, you don’t understand…”
You came out to him, and his face contorted in horror when he realized what you’d be subjected to. Jimmy felt like the worst lawyer in the world; he somehow managed to get a client the death penalty for prostitution and a few grams of coke. He had never felt so fucking guilty. At least he gave great hugs.
The cops who did your strip search did not.
Your memory got hazy from this point. You dissociated through the entire intake process, mindlessly following directions. Stand here, turn, turn, face forward. Walk. Stand here. Take your clothes off, oh dear god. Run your fingers through your hair. Open your mouth. Squat. Cough. Put your new clothes on. Take your stuff. Go to your cell. You were lucky to not have a cellmate assigned yet. You could spend your first few hours of incarceration crying in your bed alone.
At lunch, you went to the shower, and the rest was history.
And a few weeks later, you were laying in a luxurious bed, waking up well-rested from the amazing sex you were being paid $10,000 a week to have.
And you had a microchip in your arm.
This wasn’t post-nut clarity; this was post-nut psychosis. No, post-nut divine revelation, like God himself had come down from Heaven just to call you a braindead dipshit who should’ve seen this coming. Like the 2nd-generation cartel boss that paid you to live in his house and drain his balls wouldn’t find a way to track you wherever you went, dumbass? What were you thinking, huh? Are you fucking stupid? Huh? Are you? Are you stupid?
Probably.
You probably were stupid.
But you definitely were hungry, and hell, Lalo promised you breakfast once you woke up and came down to the kitchen. If there really was a microchip in your arm, it wasn’t exactly going anywhere. You might as well enjoy the perks of your situation, of which there were many. Maybe a full stomach would empty your head.
Having completed your morning routine in Lalo’s master bathroom, you threw on some casual clothes, stared at the dog collar your reflection wore, and headed downstairs to the kitchen, where Lalo was eagerly waiting for you, with an apron tied taut around his slutty little waist.
He gasped in delight when you finally graced him with your presence. “¡Buenos días, perrito! (Good morning, doggy!)” He ran up to you and gave you a warm, tight hug, one that could’ve lulled you right back to sleep if he kept it up for long enough, especially with such soothing puppytalk. “Ay, mi chiquito lindo, te quiero muuucho. Te quiero, te quiero. (Ay, my cute little boy, I love you so muuuch. I love you, I love you.)” But instead, he eventually broke the hug to kiss your forehead and pat you on the shoulder. “You sleep okay?”
You slept fine, but waking up was another story, a story that you didn’t tell. “Yeah, I’m good.” You yawned and stretched once he let you go. “That bed is super comfortable. Way better than what I’m used to.”
“Well, get used to it! It’s definitely a step up for you. Good for your back too.” Lalo laughed, patted you once more, and opened up some of the kitchen cabinets. He kept talking as he grabbed a frying pan and some mixing bowls. “Now that you’re up, I thought we could cook breakfast together. You down?”
“Yeah! Sure. I’d like that. I’m hungry.”
“Figured you would be. I gave you quite the workout last night, huh?” Lalo winked at you over his shoulder as he started to position everything on the counter. When he turned his back to you, you couldn’t help but ogle his ass in those insultingly tight jeans he always wore. “Can you do me a favor, actually? Can you grab the eggs and chorizo from the fridge? Should be on the second shelf.”
His question took a second to finish buffering in your distracted mind. “Hm? Oh, yeah! I gotcha.”
You walked over to the fridge and opened the double doors. It was bigger than the fridge you’d had at your apartment in Albuquerque. A lot bigger. Your eyes scanned the fully stocked second shelf, searching for what you had been instructed to find.
Your back to him was the perfect opportunity to strike. Lalo snuck up behind you, snaked his arms under your armpits, and clipped the leash to your collar. Thank god you hadn’t grabbed the eggs yet, because he yanked the leash back and knocked you off your balance.
“¡Siéntate! (Sit!)”
You turned around and dropped to your knees, looking up at Lalo with a face of pure confusion, which he found incredibly amusing.
“What? What are you looking so surprised for?” He reached over you to shut the fridge. “On-call means on-call, puppy! That means if I need you, you gotta be ready for me, yeah? Any time, any place.”
Right. That was what you signed up for. You just went expecting it to be so… sudden. “Okay, yeah, sorry, I just thought that-“
“Ch.”
What? What the fuck did he just do? It was like he shushed you, but it was a ch rather than a sh. Sharper, and with a more distinct bite to it, like a threat. It shocked you into silence, which is exactly what he wanted.
“Good boy.” Lalo balled the slack of the leash in his fist and crouched down to your eye level. “Now, you gonna be quiet? You gonna be a good doggy and do what you’re told?”
Son of a bitch. You really were his dog. The puppytalk, the headpats, the commands, the microchip. His commitment to the bit was honestly impressive. You nodded, ready to listen.
Lalo smiled and tousled your hair, recreating the bedhead you’d so carefully combed away. You would have been annoyed if it didn’t come with some intoxicating praise. “Good boy! Such a good boy! Who’s a good boy? You are! Yes you are! You’re a good boy!”
His sweet words soothed your mind. You could feel your thoughts, reason, your very humanity melting away with each strand of your hair curled around his fingers, each repetition of “good boy” that left his lips and emigrated to your ears. Degrading? Yes, but that was part of the fun. It was nice to not have to think for yourself. You could just close your eyes, sit back, relax, and let yourself be spoiled. Lalo would take very good care of his dog.
Lalo could see the transformation, the shift from person to puppy at the very second you stopped thinking. Having you exactly how he wanted you, he smoothed your hair out to something almost as tidy as you’d had it before. “That’s it… Good boy… Good doggy…” To snap you out of your daze, he snapped his fingers in front of your face. “¡Ay! Mírame. Look at me, puppy.”
You did as you were told, gazing up at Lalo as he stood upright and let the chain leash jingle as the excess fell from his hand.
“Good boy.” Lalo held his hand out for you. “Shake. Dame la pata.”
Assuming a dog wouldn’t have the same dexterity for a handshake as a human would, you laid your limp-wristed hand in his, and let him grab it and shake it.
That was the right move. “Perfect! Good boy!” He let go of your hand and you placed it back on your thighs alongside the other. “Habla. Speak.”
You’d learned your lesson last night, and told him what he wanted to hear. “Woof woof!”
“Ha! Aw man, I never get tired of hearing that.” Lalo’s hand found its way to your hair again and he asked, “Good boy! You want a treat? You want a treat, boy?”
You weren’t entirely sure what a treat would be in this context, but you guessed it’d be something good. You nodded once more, accepting whatever blessing he would bestow upon you.
Lalo’s smile dropped, “I need to hear you, puppy. I need to hear you if you want your treat. C’mon,” and pulled the leash hard enough to gag you a little, “Speak!”
“Woof! Woof, woof!”
“Gooood boy.” Lalo purred and slipped the leash’s handle onto his wrist. Now having both hands free, he went to untie the apron and unfasten his belt.
Should’ve seen that coming. You thought to yourself, though your self-contained sarcasm went out the window once his cock was out. You’d seen it a bunch by now, but it never failed to make you drool. You licked your lips in preparation.
Lalo slooowly pumped himself in front of you, watching you squirm anxiously. His foreskin retracted and slid back so easily, and the overhead kitchen lights illuminated the single drop of precum leaking from his slit. It felt like ages before he finally said to you, “Come get your treat, doggy.”
And your mouth was on him in a flash, an instinctual response to a simple command. You were so well trained. Such a good dog. You reached up to squeeze his ass and push him further down your throat. Even with your mouth plugged with cock, you found yourself moaning in pleasure.
Your voice vibrating his shaft inspired Lalo to speak up, through a deep, rich groan. “Ooh, yeah, that’s it… That’s a good puppy. I almost think you enjoy this more than I do!”
Possibly, but with how obnoxiously loud he was moaning, you thought it was pretty balanced. You pulled his cock out of your mouth to spit all over the tip and spread it down. Once you’d soaked his entire length, you lifted it up to slurp on his balls.
“Yeah, yeah, there you go… Good doggy. Good-“ Lalo went still and unnaturally stiff for a second. Then, he started laughing. Hard.
You pulled back to check on him. “Uh… you good?”
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. Just…” Lalo braced himself against the fridge to catch his breath, “Just thought of something funny is all. Y’know… dog playing with a ball? Fetch, boy!”
As stupid as it was, you couldn’t help but laugh, too, though you only got 3 or 4 “ha”s out of your system before Lalo yanked the leash and impaled your mouth with his cock.
“I didn’t tell you to stop.”
Lalo’s spontaneity was definitely something you’d have to get used to. His ability to make you laugh, drop your guard, and then sneak up on you meant that you could never truly relax around him. But hey, that’s what you’re getting paid for, right? Plus, it’s kind of a thrill to be taken by surprise. You continued to service him, wet and sloppy, spit seeping down your face, until another sound stalled the scene: your stomach growling. Loudly.
But Lalo didn’t mind. In fact, he thought it was cute. “Oh, pobrecito (poor thing), was that you? You’re hungry, huh, boy? Well the sooner you get me off, the sooner we can cook, okay? Here…” He held onto you tightly by your hair and began thrusting into your throat. “I’ll help you speed things up.”
You gripped his thighs to brace yourself, knowing exactly what he meant by that.
Lalo fucked your throat with reckless abandon, savoring all the obscene gawkgawkgawk type sounds it made. His breath shuddered as he neared his peak. “Ay, te pinche puto, oh… Oh, sí, como eso. Buen chico. Qué- ngh… Qué buen chico-oh, mierda, estoy… Estoy cerca… Voy a venir… Voy a venir en tu boca de puto… ¡Carajo! (Ay, you fucking slut, oh… Oh, yeah, like that. Good boy. What- ngh… What a good boy-oh, shit, I’m so… I’m so close… I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum in your whore mouth… Fuck!)”
And once more you were shoved all the way down. Your nose nestled into Lalo’s bush as he ejaculated down your throat. Without any options otherwise, you quickly swallowed it all. You didn’t get to taste his cum, but the feeling of his aching cock throbbing on your tongue was delicious in and of itself.
When he was finally empty, Lalo sighed and pulled you off. You coughed as the oxygen rushed you, forcing down the last few drops of his cum. The both of you were disheveled, sweaty, flushed-face messes. What a way to start the day.
“There. Little snack to hold you over before we cook, right?” Lalo tucked himself back into place and unclipped the leash from your collar, signaling that your job was done. He gave you a warm smile and finger combed your hair back into place. “Good boy! Oh, that was good. C’mere. Lemme help you up.” He extended his hand for you to take, lifting you up onto two legs. You were a person once more. Now you could think rather than feel, and speak rather than bark. “You alright? You did great. As usual.”
You chuckled, the warm and fuzzy feeling of puppymode still lingering behind. You were in no rush to let it pass, anyway. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Thanks. Glad you liked it.”
“Good!” Lalo was back to his normal, energetic self. He grabbed his apron, clapped you on the shoulder, and said, “Now, go get me the eggs and chorizo.”
And with that, he strutted back to the counter, business as usual.
You would definitely have to get used to his spontaneity.
…
Breakfast was delicious, so much so that you wondered why he bothered having Yolanda cook at all. Oh well, not your place to judge. His cooking was phenomenal, but maybe hers would have you exploring a different plane of consciousness. After breakfast, Lalo saw it fitting to give you a proper tour of the house.
“Okay, so, you’ve seen the living room, the kitchen, and the master bedroom. There’s a couple more bedrooms downstairs, at the other side of the house. One of them is Yolanda’s, and another is Cecilio’s. The rest are for guests. There’s 2 more bathrooms down that way, too.”
“Mm, okay, got it.” You nodded, making a mental map of where everyone was in the house, though you noticed a pretty substantial gap. “What about all the guards?”
“Oh, they kinda have their own base outside. Makes it easier for them cause they gotta wake each other up to switch shifts. I’ll show you in a bit.”
Honestly, for a cartel boss’s estate, you weren’t expecting it to feel so… homey. Your vision of a drug lord’s mansion was something akin to a fever dream that you’d have after bingewatching MTV Cribs. Everything either marble or gold-plated, 15 Lamborghinis in the garage, and a pet tiger that somehow has its own Lamborghini. But no, Lalo’s place was decorated like people actually lived here. Barring the concrete gate topped with barbed wire, it was like any other family hacienda. Though instead of multiple generations of one family, it was just Lalo and his staff: his cook, his gardener, his guards…
And of course, his dog.
You tried to ignore that nagging feeling under your bicep as Lalo walked you up to a bookshelf. “And so this, oh, you’re gonna love this, just watch.”
One of the books caught your attention. It was bright red, and its spine said “Hiding in Plain Sight by S. P. Onaj”. How clever. Actually, it was clever, because he reached for a plain-looking blue book on the shelf below it. He pulled it back, and the bookshelf opened like a door, revealing a dimly lit staircase heading downward.
“By the way, pulling that red one sounds an alarm. Just in case any intruder thinks they’ve got me all figured out. Made it obvious on purpose.” Lalo winked at you. “So! Guess what’s down there.”
“Is it a sex dungeon?”
Lalo froze, his facial expression that of bewilderment. You’d got it in one. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. “What gave it away?”
You shrugged. “I mean, you’re rich and kinky enough to hire a live-in sex puppy, I’m assuming you’d have your own dungeon. Plus, why else would you be showing it to me?”
“Fair point.” Lalo shook his head and chuckled. “Since you wanna be a smartass, though, I’m not taking you down there now.” He shut the bookshelf door, and the ominous staircase was gone, as if it was never there.
“Aw, boo.” You pouted. “Just cause I guessed it right, you’re not gonna show me?”
“No, I actually gotta run out in a little while, and I’m not gonna show you until I have enough time to give you an extensive tour.” Lalo smirked. “There’s a lot down there. Trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.” He leaned down and brushed your hair away from your ear, making sure his whispered words hit you dead-on. “There’s so many fun things I can do to you, puppy.”
Before you could even whine, grovel, bitch, or moan, Lalo slipped right past you and beckoned you forward. “Alright! Now, I’mma show you outside. C’mere, boy!”
What a fucking tease. You thought, rolling your eyes and following behind him. He held the backdoor open for you to step onto the patio, but before your other foot left the threshold, Lalo grabbed you.
“Hey! What the-”
You were stopped mid-sentence by the sound of jingling metal.
The leash.
Lalo had clipped it to your collar again and led you onto the patio, like it was the most casual fucking thing in the world, and he didn’t just accost you into a near chokehold. No warning, no red flag, nothing. You didn’t even hear the damn leash before it was on you. You were stunned. “Were you just keeping that in your pocket this whole time?”
“Well, yeah. Where else would it be?” He stepped out in front of you and pulled the chain. “Sit. And don’t talk ‘til I say so.”
You let your snarky comments simmer on the backburner and did as you were told, dropping to your knees on the patio. You felt a slight tinge of embarrassment as you took in your surroundings: the golden midday sunlight, the warm air, the sounds of birds and a lawnmower running. Oh, god, is he gonna make you blow him out here? Out in the open? Well, you’d done worse. You’d even done worse with him, but the spontaneity was gonna stop your heart one day.
Lalo gave you more of those cloyingly sweet headpats. “Good boy. Good boy. There you go, that’s it. Just relax. Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Be a good puppy. Be a good puppy for Don Eduardo.”
You gradually synced to his rhythm. He’d ambush you with the leash, then coax you into pupspace with petting and praise. Once you were warmed up, you’d do whatever he wanted. It was easier to adjust the second time around.
And as predicted, your master gave you a firm pull of the leash and an even firmer command. “Cuatro patas. All fours, c’mon.”
You shuffled onto your hands and knees, waiting for your next order. But it didn’t come. Instead, Lalo just started walking, expecting you to follow suit. But you didn’t. You were mortified by what he was implying.
When you didn’t move with him, he turned around and glared down at you. “What? I can’t take my dog for a walk?” Lalo clicked his tongue and yanked the leash. “Come.”
What was usually your favorite command to hear was now suddenly your least favorite. Lalo was going to have you crawl on your hands and knees, through the grass and dirt, in broad daylight for anyone to see. You kept your head down, staring at the blades of grass that stained your palms and knees green. You weren’t listening to Lalo’s tour.
Knowing damn well he was talking to himself, Lalo still pointed out every landmark that you passed, the first one being right ahead of you. “Pool’s right here. It’s heated, just in case you were wondering. And at night, the lights change color. It’s really pretty. Been thinking about getting a bar out here, too.”
As you approached the perimeter of the pool, the cool grass turned to burning tile. You winced and hissed in pain as your bare palms touched the hot surface. “Ah! Shit…”
To your surprise, Lalo actually showed some concern for your situation. “Too hot?”
You grit your teeth and grimaced, still not looking up at him. “Mhm…”
“Here, c’mon, stand up,” He tugged the leash up, “Two legs.”
You hopped up onto your feet, grateful that you were allowed to keep your skin from melting off your hands. You went to brush yourself off, but Lalo grabbed your wrists.
“Let me see.” He checked your palms for any injuries, and finding that you were alright, released you. “Okay, good. Vamos (Let’s go).”
You walked like a person past the edge of the pool, yet once you stepped onto softer ground, you felt a pull of the leash.
“Cuatro patas (All fours).”
And you were back to walking like a dog, hanging your head in shame as you were paraded around the ranch.
Lalo kept blabbing about whatever building you passed by, his garage, the guards’ house, the shed. You still weren’t listening. You barely even looked up. You were more intently focused on how the beads of sweat dripped off your face and onto the grass below you. And even though the sun wasn’t directly shining down on them, your cheeks had never felt hotter. This was a level of degradation that you did not expect to come with this job. What was he even getting out of this anyway? Did he like showing you off? Having you jump through hoops? Making you whore yourself out to him and debase yourself for his amusement? Was this even getting him off, or was it just for shits and giggles? And why so heavy on the dog motif? And why was there a fucking microchip in your arm?!
Your mind kept repeating one phrase, one sacred mantra that pushed the bad thoughts away and helped you keep going, one paw after another: $10,000 a week. $10,000 a week. $10,000 a week.
As you kept internally chanting your mantra, a loud voice derailed your train of thought, and to your shock and horror, it wasn’t Lalo’s.
“¡Patrón! (Boss!)”
Your neck snapped up, shifting your gaze from the ground to the gardener, Cecilio. You hadn’t exchanged more than a wave when you met, and now here you were, being walked on all fours in front of this nice old man. You had never felt so thoroughly humiliated. All you wanted to do was dig yourself a nice little hole to die in, but that’d just make his job harder. It’d be rude of you to mess up his meticulous groundskeeping. Maybe if you asked him nicely, he’d simply bludgeon you to death with a shovel instead.
Lalo waved at him and shouted back. “¡Cecilio! ¿Qué tal? (What’s up?)” He dragged you behind him as he approached his landscaper. “Un buen día para dar una vueltecita, ¿verdad? (Nice day for a little walk, right?)” He knelt down on the grass and ruffled your hair with the same informality as petting an actual dog, one that didn’t understand the abstract concept of embarrassment. “¿Necesitas algo? (Need something?)”
Much to your surprise and relief, Cecilio didn’t seem at all fazed by the spectacle in front of him. He didn’t even acknowledge you. “Sólo tengo una preguntita. ¿Usted quería los arbustos altos como estos o más bien como los en frente? (I just have a quick question. Did you want the bushes tall like this or more like the ones out front?)” He asked, gesturing to a tall shrub that had a stepladder beside it.
Lalo hummed and scratched behind your ears as he thought about it. “Hmm… Pienso que como ellos están ahora está bien. Déjalos altos. (Hmm… I think how they are now is fine. Leave them tall.)”
You couldn’t understand much of the conservation; it had gone by too quickly for you to translate. What you could understand was how nice his hands felt, how they scratched every itch you didn’t even know you had. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Now knowing that Cecilio didn’t care, you were able to relax. You sighed and leaned into Lalo’s patronizing touch.
“Pero… ¿qué piensas, perrito? (But… what do you think, doggy?)” He yanked the chain leash hard to get your attention. “¡Habla! (Speak!)”
And your base instincts reacted quicker than your brain. He’d trained you well. “Woof!” you barked. Upon realizing what you just did, you blushed and pressed your face into him, attempting to hide from Cecilio.
“Oh, good boy. That’s my good boy.” He kissed your forehead before he stood up, and tugged the leash to get you on all fours again.”Come on, puppy. Let’s get you back inside.” And as he walked you toward the house, he called out behind him. “¡Bien hecho, Cecilio! ¡Sigue así! (Good job, Cecilio! Keep it up!)”
Cecilio called back, “¡Sí, señor! ¡Gracias! (Yes, sir! Thank you!)”
Lalo took you back to the house, again letting you walk on two legs past the pool. You started to crouch down once you made it onto the grass, but he stopped you.
“Nah, that’s okay. You’re done for now.” He unclipped the leash from your collar and stuffed it back in his pocket. “How was that? You okay?”
“Yeah, uh… I’m fine.” You replied, brushing the grass off your knees and pondering what the fuck you just did. “Just, uh… Was that, like…” You didn’t even know where to begin, but your most pressing concern was the mental well-being of the innocent bystander. “That wasn’t weird for him, right?”
“What, Cecilio? Nah.” Lalo waved off your concerns. “He’s fine. Listen, everybody here just does their job and minds their own business. No one’s gonna say anything about you doing yours. And if they do, you tell me. Okay?”
That was actually reassuring. After all, it was just a job. You were just doing what you get paid for, same as everyone else. “Okay.”
“Good!” Lalo smiled, “So, I gotta run out for a while. Gotta handle some business stuff with a few of my guys. You remember Tuco?”
Thinking back to that one time he broke a dude’s nose in the prison cafeteria for spilling a soda on him, you answered, “How could I forget?”
“Yeah, so it’s gonna be him and his buddy Ignacio. He’s cool. I’ll have to introduce you sometime.” Lalo went to grab his going out essentials that he left on the counter: his phone, his wallet, his keys, and a 9mm handgun. “You’ll probably be asleep by the time I get back, but if you’re not, I’ll be outside on the patio. Just in case you get lonely. Oh, and feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” Having everything he needed, he gave you a tight hug and a smooch goodbye on your forehead. “Be a good puppy while I’m gone, okay?”
You giggled playfully. “I will. See ya!”
…
The rest of your day was uneventful without Lalo around. You wandered around the house looking for ways to keep yourself entertained. Part of you thought about sneaking down into the alleged sex dungeon he had, but you decided against it. You didn’t want to 1.) spoil the surprise, and 2.) trip any unexpected alarms or booby traps without him to guide you through them. Instead, you went for a dip in his pool, made yourself something to eat, and took a shower before bed.
During your shower, you dragged the soap across the underside of your bruised arm, wincing when you felt the skin roll over the microchip like how a tire does to a speed bump. There was definitely something under there. There had to be. You could feel it. It was a tiny stick, about an inch long. You could even jostle it around with your fingers. No bruise or vaccination moved like that. And it all made sense, too. Why else would the doctor have to numb you? Why else would he make sure you had your eyes closed when he stuck you? “This is how we do it in Mexico.” Bullshit.
Unfortunately, Lalo did not have any medical books in his possession, nothing that would reveal his tricks. So, all you had to go on was the injection site. All you could do is poke and prod at it helplessly as you laid in his bed, wide awake.
At least the bed was comfortable.
If you had to be kept prisoner somewhere, this was definitely a step up from MDC Albuquerque.
That’s what he was doing, right? Keeping you prisoner. Why microchip you if not? You could rationalize that this was a job; you’d be free to quit any time you want. But that was wishful thinking. As if you’d ever be allowed back to civilian life knowing what you know. Putting in your 2 weeks notice would probably result in Lalo calling in the doctor to put you down. That’s what happens when dogs bite.
No. No. Stop thinking like that. Stop thinking in general. Just go to sleep! Just go to sleep. It’s not that difficult, right? You do it every night! Here, let’s count some sheep. Maybe that’ll do the trick.
A sheep jumps over the fence. Baa! One.
Another sheep jumps over the fence. Baa! Two.
Another sheep jumps over the fence. There’s a microchip in your arm.
“Goddamnit!” You grabbed one of the spare pillows by your head, screamed into it, and tossed it onto the floor. Having finished with your brief temper tantrum, you stared up at the ceiling, tense, wide-eyed, and fully cognizant. You sighed. You weren’t going to sleep anytime soon.
Though you probably knew someone who was in the same boat. Someone who you knew would be good company.
No. No, no, no. Do not go out to him. You cannot be dependent on him emotionally, too. Physically and financially is more than enough. You catch feelings, and that’s how Stockholm syndrome starts.
…
Then again, does anyone know when they have Stockholm syndrome? Is it like anxiety or depression, where you’re aware of your symptoms and yet they persist no matter how many times some asshole tells you to just try yoga? Or is it more like addiction, where you can rationalize anything to avoid facing the problem that you refuse to accept?
…
Fuck it.
You tiptoed downstairs and out the back door, and sure enough, Lalo was outside on the patio, right where he said he’d be, sitting by the firepit. On the table next to him was a rolling tray, and on the tray you saw a jar, a lighter, and a hemp wrapper. Next to the rolling tray was an ashtray, a tiny golden tool that looked like a shovel for ants, and a baggie of white powder. In his hands, he was twisting a grinder. When he saw you out of the corner of his eye, he perked up.
“Hey, puppy. What’re you doing up? You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep…” You rubbed your eyes and yawned. “Can I join you?”
Lalo’s smile radiated the same warmth as the fire pit. “I’d like that. Could probably use the company.”
You approached the chair adjacent to him, when Lalo raised his hand to stop you.
“No, no, no.” He slapped his thigh and wiggled his eyebrows. “Right here. Best place for a lapdog, right?”
Unable to argue with that airtight logic, you sat down on his lap and settled in. Lalo hooked his arms around you, kissed your temple, and said “See? You fit right in. Good boy.”
You hummed contentedly and leaned back against his chest as he continued to grind what you hoped was weed. You glanced over at the table and asked, “You rolling a blunt?”
“Yep. You want some? It’s indica. Helps me relax.”
“Sure, thanks.” You sat in silence for a moment until he reached towards the table. He took the jar and lighter off the tray and set them aside, next to the bag of what was probably cocaine. No harm in asking, right? He must have had it out for a reason. “So, uh… is that coke?”
“Yeah. I’m not letting you have any, though, so don’t ask. Especially if you’re trying to sleep. It’s the last thing you need.” Lalo’s voice was tender, but firm. You knew better than to question him on that. It seemed like a hard rule.
“That’s fine. Wasn’t gonna anyway.” There was a drop in the conversation, until you thought of a way to pick it back up. “So, like… do you do it often?”
Lalo unscrewed the second chamber to the grinder and dumped the weed on the rolling tray. “I guess you could say I do it more than most people, but I don’t always use it to get high. Most of the time, I just do little bumps to keep me awake.”
Granted, you didn’t have any experience with actually trying coke, but you didn’t think you could do it so casually. You’d always thought of it as an extreme thing, something you do lines upon lines of and have either the best or worst night of your life. But no, Lalo was calm and collected, as usual. You never would have guessed if it wasn’t just chilling on the table next to you. Next to that weird little shovel. “What’s that for?”
“What, the spoon? Oh, it just measures a bump for you. Here, watch.” He set the grinder down and picked up the coke and the spoon. He cracked open the baggie and dug the spoon in, retrieving a tiny little pile of coke. “See? Just a little bit.” He brought it up to his nostril and sniffed up the powder. His face crinkled up, and then he exhaled. “And that’s it!” He closed the bag and set it and the spoon aside, sniffling up the trace amounts stuck inside his nose. “That’s all you need to keep you up.”
“Interesting…” You pondered, having gained a new perspective on cocaine. Still, that couldn’t be healthy, right? Why not just, y’know, go the fuck to sleep? “Why, uh… Why do you wanna stay awake?”
“Couple of reasons.” Lalo replied, leaning over you to roll the blunt. “First, sleeping is a waste of time. I got more important things I could be doing. You’re supposed to sleep, what, like 8 hours a day? That’s one third of your life you miss out on. ‘S too much.” His calloused fingers curled the hemp wrapper around the weed so dexterously, like a true professional. You’d expect nothing less from a cartel boss. He probably had decades of practice. “I’m lucky, though. I don’t really need much sleep. I’m good with just an hour or two.”
“Mm.” You concurred in as few words as possible. None, actually. You weren’t cosigning the delusional things he said, just acknowledging that you were listening.
“Second, sleeping means you’re vulnerable. That’s something my tío taught me. People can ambush you in your sleep, and you won’t see it coming. They got a head start if you’re knocked out. That’s why you wanna be up as much as possible. Don’t let them get you.”
The most normal advice to give your nephew. You didn’t want to think about what his childhood must have been like, growing up with lessons like that. You answered with a noncommittal “Ah, gotcha.”
Lalo licked the edge of the blunt to seal it, then flicked the lighter. He singed the tip and took a big puff, blowing out a pretty decent cloud. He sighed, then said, “Your turn,” and the blunt was passed to you.
“Thanks.” You graciously accepted the blunt and took one puff, then another, and passed it back to him. Having both hands free, you scratched your neck absentmindedly, just above your collar.
You didn’t notice what you were doing, but Lalo did. After taking his hit, he set the blunt down on the ashtray. “Let me get that for you.” Before you could ask what he was getting for you, he unhooked your collar and set it on the table. It wasn’t asphyxiating you by any means, but the fresh air on your neck was a shock to your system. You’d forgotten you were wearing it. It just felt so natural.
“Wait, but… aren’t I supposed to keep it on?”
Lalo’s voice was rich and sweet, honey sticking to the sides of your brain. “I tell you when to have it on, I can tell you when to take it off, can’t I?” One of his hands caressed your bare neck, and you whimpered at the feeling of something besides leather. “And besides… not everything has to be about work, right?”
“Right, yeah… Thanks…”
“Of course. I care about you, y’know.” He picked up the blunt and brought it to your lips. “Take another hit for me.”
You wrapped your lips around the blunt and inhaled until Lalo pulled it away. You coughed, just a tiny bit, and he was there to pat you on the back.
“Shh, shh, you’re okay, puppy. You’re okay.” He cooed, gently stroking your hair. He then brought the blunt to his own lips, took a hit, and blew out the smoke. “Sooo, how was your first day? You like it here?”
The weed was starting to cloud your mind. It took you a moment to realize you were just asked a question. “Huh? Oh! Yeah! Yeah, it was…” Your mind stalled, trying to string some words together as you relaxed into his body. “Mmm, it was good…”
“Yeah?” Lalo chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that.” He reached over you to ash the blunt. “What was your favorite part?” He relit the blunt, took a quick puff, and passed the baton to you.
You didn’t even have to think about your answer. It was instantaneous. “Blowing you in the kitchen, obviously.” You took your hit and handed it back to him.
“Ah, yeah, I figured. I can tell you really put your heart and soul into it.” He tousled your hair for the 400th time today, and said “Such a good little slut.” He took a long drag and let the smoke drift lazily out of his mouth. “Did you like being walked?”
Looking back on it through hotboxed windows, you did enjoy the exhibition. How vulnerable and open you felt, How Lalo, no, your master Don Eduardo, clicked his tongue at you and told you to walk, and you crawled through dirt to please him. It was kinda hot in retrospect. “Yeah… Hm…” You tapped the unlit end of the blunt against your lips and thought it over, trying to do your duty as a sub and give feedback. “I think, like… I was a bit nervous at first, ‘cause I was worried about getting caught. But I mean, if Cecilio didn’t care, it’s not really a big deal, then, I guess.” You gave the blunt to your boss.
He took a hit, and asked “Would you do it again?”
You took your hit, “I think so.”
“Okay, good. Good to know.” Lalo put the blunt out in the tray and squeezed you tight against him. “You feel high yet? This is strong stuff, baby boy.”
He was right. It was some strong stuff. A drug lord wouldn’t half ass his weed. None of that pussy bullshit from a medical dispensary that gives you the most limp-wristed handjob of a high so you can fall asleep without nightmares for once. This was a heavy, soul-crushing indica, the kind that has you couchlocked for hours and makes a Crunchwrap Supreme taste like the pinnacle of humanity’s achievements. Taking the time to pause between hits meant that you could actually feel yourself getting high, as if the weed was somehow catching up to you. As if for the past 5 minutes, you two had just been pumping a balloon full of helium, and now you could watch it fly away. Half the blunt was left, but your brain cells were already sizzling away one by one. His big, strong hands rubbed your shoulders, jiggling your limp body around.
And his pinky finger nudged your microchip bruise.
You locked up. Going from warm and fuzzy to tense and cold at the drop of a hat. You had no words you could use. You were an animal, reduced to base instinct. Panic. Panic. Panic.
Lalo could feel it. “Hey. You okay?”
Now having been asked another question, you switched from animal instinct to robot programming. What just happened? What did you feel just now? How do we approach this question? You came up with this as a plausible response: “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
Feel what? What did he feel? What was it that triggered your rigid demeanor? You stared off into the distance, dissociating into the program, and lifted your arm. “There’s a stick in my arm.”
“A stick?”
His tone was unclockable.
No need to panic. Just tell him what happened. “There’s a stick. In my arm. I just felt you move it.”
“What… right here?” His thumb tapped the bruise dead-on. Bullseye.
“Yes. Right there. I can feel it moving. Push down on it.”
Lalo did as you requested, digging his thumb into your inflamed skin. He nudged it back and forth, jostling the microchip around.
“There.” You said, no humanity or warmth to your tone. Purely indicative facts. “It’s moving.” And a simple question. “Do you feel that?”
Lalo pulled his thumb away and sighed. “Honey, I don’t feel anything moving. It just feels like a normal bruise to me.” He hugged you close and gave you a tender kiss, just above your ear. “Maybe… Maybe just give it a few days for the swelling to go down? If it’s still bothering you in a few days, we can call Dr. Cruz to look at it.” He caressed your shoulder. “You’ll be okay. I wouldn’t worry about it, baby…”
“Okay…” You sighed. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was just swelling. Maybe it was just a normal tetanus shot. Maybe the stick you thought you felt was just your latent regret manifesting into somatic delusions. Maybe your body was trying to trick you. Maybe it couldn’t accept how lucky you were, and it was trying to give you a reason to doubt this whole arrangement.
Or, maybe there really was a microchip in your arm.
You tried not to think about it. You didn’t have to try very hard. The weed made it easy to forget.
And besides, Lalo’s touch was giving you plenty to focus on.
“You smell so nice, puppy…” He dotted kisses along your now accessible neck. “I was hoping you��d come out here… Share this blunt with me…” He snuck his hands up your shirt and pinched your nipples. “It’s such a great body high, isn’t it?”
“Yeahhh…” You mewed softly as he rolled the sensitive buds between his fingers.
“You want more?”
“Mhm…”
“More what?” Another kiss was planted on your neck. “More of the blunt, or more of me?”
“...B-Both.”
“Both? Aww, haha… So needy…” Lalo slid one of his hands out of your shirt to grab the blunt and the lighter for you. When he gave them to you, he said, “My kinda man…”
Your clumsy fingers fiddled with the lighter, taking a few tries to get a good burn going. When you had it, you inhaled it, and Lalo started sucking marks into your neck. You choked on a moan and coughed out smoke. “Ahck! *cough* *cough* Oh… oh, fuuuck…”
“You’re okay, puppy. You’re okay.” He took the blunt from you. You whined, but he shut that down quickly. “No, no. You can have it back in a second. Take your clothes off first.”
You panted and nodded, trying to translate his direction into action. “Ah… Okay… okay…” He helped you tug your shirt off over your head and toss it aside. Now, you just had your pajama shorts.
“Can you stand up?”
“I… I think so… Lemme…”
Considering that you stumbled the second your feet touched the patio tile, no you could not. Thankfully, Lalo was there to catch you.
“I gotcha, I gotcha.” He held you up by your waist and slid your shorts down to your ankles, and you stepped out of them with his guidance. “Good boy.” He kissed you again on your temple as he undid his belt. “You wanna ride me?”
And here you were again, a warm, fuzzy, happy, high, dumb little puppy. No need for thoughts. No need for words. Just instinct. Just do what you feel. And right now, you felt like that was the best fucking idea anyone had ever come up with. Your stupid little doggybrain responded with “Uh huh…”
“Good boy…” You heard the telltale sound of denim bunching up as Lalo tugged his jeans down below his cock. He quickly stroked himself up with one hand, keeping you steady with the other. “I’m gonna sit down. Then you get on my lap with your back to me, just like before, okay?”
“Okayyy…”
Lalo took his seat and spread his legs. “That’s a good doggy.”
Without looking behind you, you backed yourself up into his lap, holding your lips open to find him. Eventually, his tip poked your hole. Jackpot. And with that, you sunk down, letting him fill you to the brim. “Ohhh, oh my gahh-ah!”
He held you in place, shushing you and talking you through it. “Shh, shh shh shh, take it. Take it. Take it.”
And you did, you took it so well. He bottomed out, and you babbled, “Mmmm, iss so deeeep…”
“I know, right? You’re so tight, baby boy. You always are.” He grabbed the blunt, lit it, and hit it as you purred nonsensically, squeaking when his cock would throb and send a pulse through your whole body.
“Mmm… ah! Ngh…”
“Take your time, puppy. I’ll follow your lead.” He put the blunt between your fingers and kissed your hand. “You’re in control.”
What? You’re in control? Since when? Wasn’t the whole point of this arrangement that you were not in control? Oh well, you weren’t one to squander an opportunity like this. You took a puff for courage and held it between your teeth. With all the strength you could muster, you gripped the sides of the lounge chair, hoisted yourself up, and then slammed back down. You did it again, and again, establishing a rough, relentless pace. You were gonna take him for a ride.
And although you were in control this time, you were still the whiny little bitch you always were, especially when Lalo grabbed your hips and began guiding your movements. You took the blunt out of your mouth to let your moans . “Mm! Ah! Ah, gah! Oh my g-god! F-Fuck! Fuck me! Fuck me-e-e!”
Lalo growled some words of encouragement. “Goooood boy. Oh, you’re doing so good. C’mon. Just like that.”
Having a flashback to the night before, you remembered what you were supposed to call him at times like this: his title.“Ohhh, Don Eduardooo-oh!”
“No, no. Just Lalo. Just Lalo. You’re not-ngh…” He grunted. “You’re not working, baby. Just call me Lalo.”
You were grateful for that. It was certainly easier to say over and over again. It rolled off your tongue so nicely, though the rest of your words were starting to slur. “Lalo! Lalo! Lalo! Ohhh, fuuuck, La-lo… I’m… I’m’onna cuuum… I’m’onna cum, Lalooo…”
Lalo nuzzled his face into your neck, humming and kissing your bare skin as he pleased. “Mmmm, that’s okay, puppy. Go ahead. You can cum.”
Now more motivated and more riled up than you had ever been before, you frantically bounced on his cock, determined to find and feel your release.
“Yesyesyesyes, fuck! Fuck!!!”
You squirted hard enough to push him out of you, completely drenching both your laps and even seeping through the lounge chair. A noticeable puddle had formed on the tile below you, but neither of you cared.
Well, neither of you cared about that, at least. Lalo had other concerns. “Aww, you kickin’ me out, baby?” He asked teasingly as he lined his cock up with your unacceptably empty cunt. “That’s not nice.”
You started to apologize, but the words got caught in your throat as he sunk you back down onto his shaft. “I’m s-sorry… I’m so-ohhh, fuuuu-ah, y-yesss…”
“Shh, sh, sh, don’t worry. Oh, there we go...” He grabbed your hips and stroked his cock with your person, now chasing his own climax. “You’re being so good for me, baby…”
“Mmm, thank youuu…” You whined.
“I’m-mm, I’m getting close, baby boy. Hah… ah… You want it inside? All nice and warm for you, yeah? You want me to fill you up?”
“Y-Yeeeah, f-fucking fill me uuup… fuuuck…”
“Okay, baby. I got you. I’ll fill you up.” Digging his nails into your handlebar hips, Lalo huffed and gasped as he thrust up into you. His balls slapped against your t-dick, making you scream as his hips moved faster, rougher, meaner, until they went still. He let out a primal groan and slid his arms up to your chest, pressing your body to his as he unloaded inside, rambling some sweet nonsense in his native tongue. “Mmm, buen chico… Qué buen chico… Mi chiquito lindooo… (Mmm, good boy... What a good boy… My little boy’s so cuuute…)”
It was serene. Peaceful. The most gorgeous night one could ask for. The fire pit was crackling. The crickets were chirping. The cum inside you was warm and fulfilling. It was honestly breathtaking. Sure, some strong weed and an even stronger orgasm could make any night seem beautiful, but no matter. It was beautiful nonetheless. A perfect end to your first full day. And if every day were to end like this, you’d be more than happy to keep them coming.
You both panted heavily as you gazed up at the stars in reverie, high out of your minds. It felt like eons before one of you broke the silence, and it wasn’t you.
“Let’s get you to bed, okay?”
#lalo salamanca#lalo salamanca x reader#lalo salamanca smut#lalo salamanca headcanons#lalo salamanca imagine#lalo salamanca hcs#perrito#bcs#bcs x reader#better call saul#better call saul x reader#better call saul imagine#better call saul smut#better call saul headcanons#better call saul hcs#nsft ftm#ftm nsft#nsft mlm#lalo salamanca x ftm reader#ftm puppy
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Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)
Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Angst with a Happy Ending, Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking,
Summary: You and Jake geek out at the fly in. Later things get heated and you start to realize you might be in over your head with the feelings you're developing for Jake.
Word Count: 2.6k
Masterlist
Chapter 9
Chapter 10: Vintage
Group Chat: Your favorite hoes
Members: Lydia, Beth
Lydia: How was the date with Bob, just Bob? Any good action?
Beth: It was good.
Beth: Real good.
You: Details!
Beth: Let's just say he has a bit of an oral fixation and he's definitely more of a giver, 😉
Lydia: It all makes sense. Like he knew he had to be really great at eating pussy to make up for some of the initial blandness
Beth: You're so vulgar
Lydia: But you love me for it, 😍
You: Still waters run deep…..like his tongue deep inside you
Beth: Not you too.
Beth: Speaking of the devil, he's calling. Buh-bye
It's Saturday morning and you're pulling together the last few items for your day bag for the air show. You're looking forward to spending the day with Jake and checking out the vintage aircraft. Jake is picking you up here shortly, he mentioned something about having the better car for today and purposely remained vague on details.
I'm looking out the window when you see a turquoise vintage Corvette convertible pull up with the fabric top up. You can't see who is driving as the car stops at the curb in front of your house. A familiar head of blond hair followed by a leather bomber jacket with mission patches unfolds out of the driver's seat. Jake is of course wearing his aviators. He just smiles wide and stretches his arms out presenting the car, he shouts,
"A vintage ride to a vintage air show!" as you walk out to meet him. He runs around the car to greet you with a hug and a kiss and opens the door for you.
"Ooh, vintage manners too," you coo as you get into the car. He shuts your door and walks around the car and climbs into the driver seat. He starts the car and you are off towards Chula Vista where the fly in is being held.
"You know, if you had told me you had a 61 Corvette when we first met, I might have been nicer to you," you say as he pulls on the freeway heading south from San Diego, hand trailing on the dash.
"The lady knows her cars," Jake replies.
"Of course I do, I'm the daughter of an automotive engineer from Michigan. In fact my dad worked for GM."
"And yet you drive a Honda CR-V, the store brand vanilla ice cream of cars." He teases back.
"Yeah, it's definitely utilitarian and I got a good deal on it from a friend who was moving overseas. Besides, I drive way too many miles for my job to have anything like this."
The rest of the drive passes quickly and soon you're pulling into the lot at the general aviation airport hosting the event. Jake and you walk up to the entrance and grab a map,
"So where do we want to go first? Ooh, they have a World War 2 section," you ask scanning the map. Jake hooks his chin on your shoulder to peek at the map. He scans the map and says,
"That sounds good, we'll have to make sure to see the fighters," Jake says pointing at the map from over your shoulder.
"I wouldn't dare miss that, dear," you say to Jake as you kiss his cheek. It comes so naturally to you that the intimacy of the gesture doesn't register till you start walking handing hand towards where the World War II planes are arranged on the tarmac. This has definitely moved past fuck buddies and you try to convince yourself it's just friends with benefits, ignoring the slight panic that flutters up in your gut.
There are dozens of aircraft from World War II lined up on the tarmac. You and Jake find yourself gravitating to the bombers.
“These always intrigued me because of just how many people were in a crew, how many people it took to fly these and hit targets. All of that stuff we can just do with one or two people now," you say as you wander around a B-29.
“I’ve always liked the WWII bombers for the nose art, mostly the pin up girls to be honest. I had a few posters of some of them on your wall in high school. Closest I could get to putting up a bikini model poster without my mom freaking out,” Jake replies.
You laugh at the thought of Jake as horny teenager looking at pin up girls for hormonal inspiration.
“So, you’re saying you like the pin up look.”
“I’d have you on the side of my jet, but I think the Navy’s not going to be into that,” he leans in closer and whispers,
“But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t ravage you the second I saw you all gussied up like that.”
He points up to the classic nose art of a woman astride a bomb, skimpy red dress and heels, and Jessica Rabbit style red hair. You make a mental note for later.
You’ve traversed most of the air show and you finally get to fighter jet row after lunch from a food truck. The way Jake kept catching your eye as you were trying to eat a ridiculously large Italian sausage made you nearly choke on it with laughter.
“You’re going to kill me if you keep that up,” you joke as you bump shoulders with him.
“Whatever do you mean? I just see a woman really enjoying a large girthy sausage,” he replies back with an innocent look.
As you walk through the planes it's apparent whoever curated the show did a great job with lining the aircraft up in chronological order. It’s easy to see the evolution of the planes. Jake stops when we get to a F-14 Tomcat.
“Maverick flew one of these when he was at Top Gun,” he says.
Climbing up the step ladder you check out the cockpit. All the same elements that are in the jets you work on are there, but they're so rudimentary compared to what we equip aircraft with now.
“It’s like looking back at a stone hammer versus buying one at Home Depot,” you say. “There’s actually a few guys I work with who worked on the F-16s around the time this was made by Grunnam.”
“It does give me a tiny, tiny” he pinches his fingers together, “bit more respect for the old man to have shot down as many planes as he has when he had this to work with.”
The afternoon is getting hot so you call it and head back to Jake’s car, the turquoise is easy to spot in the field of cars. As we get closer, Jake looks at you and asks,
“How about I put the top down and we can drive back by the coast?”
“That sounds good,” you quickly find a hair tie out of your purse and pull your hair back to keep it from flying around in the wind as we drive. After navigating through town you finally make it out to the main coast road that will take you back to Coronado Island. The wind noise is so loud you can’t really talk, but you find yourself looking at Jake a lot of the way back and just how beautiful he is especially with the setting sun behind him as we drive. Every once in a while he catches you staring and smiles that panty dropper smile of his.
You see a sign for a scenic turnout and you point it out to Jake. He nods, turning the car into the gravel lot and pulls to the far end of the lot. You get out to stretch our legs and watch the sunset. As you lean against the front of the car Jake wraps his arm around you and you curl into his side as the cool ocean breeze rolls in. The sun slowly sets and Jake turns to kiss you. You stand up between Jake's legs where he is leaning on against the car. He is finally at a height where you can access his lips easily. You reach in his bomber jacket and wrap your arms around his back. He grabs your hips and pulls you in close. The kiss deepens and you can feel that familiar tug low in your belly. Grabbing the lapels of his jacket you pull him in closer. The kissing and sliding of hands over each other's bodies starts to build, the heat between you rising.
Jake stands up to his full height and gently pushes you away and runs to the back of the car and starts to pull the top of the car into place. His plan becomes clear when he sits down in the passenger seat and pats his lap. You're thankful you're wearing a dress. Jake is already hauling his pants and boxers down and stroking his cock. He pulls a condom out of his pocket and rolls it on as he watches you walk up to the open door, lean down and slip your underwear off and climb in. As you straddle his lap Jake closes the door. He reaches in between you and grabs the base of his cock and guides himself into you. You sink down on him as far as you can. He pants out between groans,
"Fuck, El, so good."
Jake reaches up to push the denim jacket you have over your sundress off and slide the straps of your dress and bra down exposing your breasts. His firms hands slide up and palm your tits as he works each nipple with his mouth and rough fingers.
The pleasure of his mouth and hands becomes too much and you start to ride him, desperate to quell the ache between your thighs. Your moans get louder and breathier and Jake pants out a few words,
"God damn, El, ride my cock."
His hands have slipped down your side and are holding the globes of your ass. He pulls your dress over your hips and kneads at the flesh of your ass.
Fucking his head to yours he whispers,
"Such a pretty ass, makes me want to slap and spank it."
He grabs and holds you still against his cock as he squeezes your butt hard.
You clench around him at the thought of his big hands leaving red hand prints on your smooth flesh.
He chuckles, having picked up on your response to his dirty thoughts.
"Oh El, you dirty girl. You want me to slap your ass, make it hurt a little, hurt in a good way?"
You can't control the whine that escapes your throat while you rock into him harder. Taking your response as permission he pulls back his hand and lands a resounding slap on your soft flesh. The sound is deafening in the closed car. You whine in pleasure at the flash of pain.
"You like that?" he asks, in a soft tone.
You duck your head into his neck, a little embarrassed, but oh so turned on. Ignoring the thought of your feminist credentials being tarnished by this, you reply,
"Yes, I do."
He slaps your other cheek, and says,
"Say 'Yes, sir.'"
You pull your head back and look him directly in the eyes and challenge him and gain back a little control,
"I do, Lieutenant."
He raises an eyebrow and pulls his mouth into that smirk right before he slaps both of your cheeks at the same time. The delicious pain ricochets down through your clit causing you to clench hard around him finally breaking his cool facade,
"Fuck, so good.'
You start to lift up and down on Jake's cock at a faster pace while he rubs your ass, keeping it warm and the hint of pain lingering. Your mutual heavy breathing fills the car. Jake moves one hand to place his thumb over your clit and starts slowly rolling circles around your sensitive point. The slowness of his touch is contrast to your frantic pace. His other hand pulls your head down to him and he gives you a filthy kiss as he says,
"You ride me so good, like you were made to do that, El."
"Yes, Lieutenant, your cock is so good. Give it to me, please," you whine in response.
The tension is starting to build in your belly and you keep riding Jake even though your legs are starting to ache and shake with strain.
Jake's hand on your ass is helping lift you each time and to keep your pace going.
His thumb on your clit pushes down harder and he slaps your ass at the same time, breaking that wave of pleasure over you.
"Fuck, fuck, oh my god," you rasp as your release triggers Jake's and he goes slack under you, the tension released.
The air in the car is thick with your deep breaths as you both come down from your highs. You tuck your head into Jake's neck and he wraps his strong arms around you. You and him just exist for a few minutes, still joined.
The casual closeness of the moment startles you, the safety and security, and mostly just how right it feels to be in Jake's arms. It overwhelms you, sending a niggling sense of panic and alarm through you. That familiar wave of vulnerability and fear rolls through you and you push back off Jake's chest, desperate to get rid of these feelings. This is not what you had planned on, developing feelings for him, not for anyone after Liam. Jake's arms are still around your waist, his head leaned back and his eyes closed, he doesn't pick up on your unease.
Your next words are chosen intentionally to break the spell you're under.
"Hey there, did I fuck your brains out there, Lieutenant?" you ask as Jake comes back to reality. His cock twitches inside you as you say Lieutenant. He looks into your eyes with an expression that you can't place, almost hopeful and wistful, and you know that the enormity of the moment has surrounded him also. Your own panic and doubt starts to swell as he pulls your head down for one more deep kiss before you separate hoping to quell this tsunami of emotions brewing in you. You step out of the car and rummage around in your purse to find some tissues to clean up, handing some to Jake as you piece yourselves back together and get back on the road.
The ride back is quiet, the night turned dark. Jake has taken your hand in his and is rubbing his thumb on the back of yours as he drives. As you slow down and roll through the residential streets to get back to your house, he asks,
"Hungry?”
The question startles you from your thoughts, and you fumble for an answer,
“Yes, I was too into the scenery to think about dinner till now.”
He grins back at you full of self satisfaction as you realize the secondary meaning of your statement. You give him an affectionate eye roll in return.
“Want to hit the Hard Deck? You can’t beat the fish tacos,” he asks.
“Works for me,” you reply, happy that they'll be something to redirect your attention and thoughts when you get there.
It doesn’t take long for you to pull into the parking lot and the place is its usual level of busy for an early Saturday night. Jake parks the car and you walk over hand in hand to the entrance when Jake suddenly stops, his shoes crunching on the gravel in response the abruptness of his motion, and says,
“Shit, my squadron is here.”
--
Worry not my pretties, the next chapter is on deck and will be posted soon (I have no impulse control, lol.)
Chapter 11
@starswholistenanddreamsanswered
@mayhemmanaged
@callmemana
@dempy
@hangmanscoming
@lanie-k
@callsign-viper
@senjoritanana
@djs8891
@atarmychick007
#top gun maverick#hangman fanfiction#hangman x you#jake hangman seresin x reader#hangman#jake hangman seresin x you#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin x you#top gun smut#top gun fanfiction
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Circles / C. Berzatto || Summer Prompts !
A/N: Carmy is lip Gallagher as a chef in the AU? Anyways here’s me trying to write for carmy on this cloudy Sunday up north. The only thing I know about Chicago is big buildings, hot dogs, pizza, black ink crew, and uncle Bernieeee! lmao so excuse the dialect throughout? I don’t think it’s really important for this piece so…Let’s see how this works out.
Plot/Prompt: summer cold
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The dynamic between you and your roommate only made sense to the two of you. You were consistently on different time frames and only arrived back at the spot to rest your head…well you more so than your Italian roomie. The both of you could count on one hand how many times you saw each other in a week—if either of you took the time but somewhere written in the “rules” you still checked in on each other…you know to make sure the both of you were still alive and shit.
Perhaps that became a thing once the both of you slept together once or twice. It didn’t become a attachment really, you knew not to be clingy after the love of your life decided to cheat on you with your step-sister a week before your wedding. You swore on everything that you truly loved that man with all that you had and thought the feeling was mutual, however it became knowledge to you that everything he truly did was for show. He fooled you, made excuses for his actions, fucked off to Florida—of all places with your heffa of a step-sister, popped out some twins with her, and cheated some more when he went off to California for his job as a assistant coach—last you heard from your step-mother, she told you that the pair were in couple’s therapy.
So yeah…your guard was definitely up when it came to relationships after that! And it’s been a year, almost two since that happened but…who’s counting?! Life has changed for you, as it commonly did once you truly step into adulthood. You had two jobs just to make ends meet: a part-time door dasher and currently in paid training underneath a unbending Cambodian food photographer; while trying to get your own food blog up and running. Being involved in food is how you became aware of what the culture was like down at TOBOCL—nobody called it that but you so that made you feel somewhat special. Or just difficult—depends on who you ask.
The last time Carmy remembered seeing you was maybe a couple of days ago, he was trying to get at least a hour of sleep on the couch (before he headed back to the restaurant) while you were on your way out with your girls. You were taking shots in the kitchen, getting amped up, and chucking up the deuces after receiving a call from one of your friends that they were all outside. Carmy had been half awake during that conversation, eyes low but remembered the color dress you had on and realized early that next morning that you didn’t come back home. It had been what? Two days since your night out that he saw you last and it was extremely rare for the both of you to be home at the same time, with Carmy trying to run a restaurant and you being far from a homebody.
Carmy just got in after 1am and couldn’t recall seeing your Honda parked on the street or not. It actually surprised him that you were back on his mind as he walked the late night streets of Chicago, yet he’d be lying if he said he didn’t peek at the crochet bowl on the microwave for your keys. He gripped his greasy hair with one hand and rubbed at his bottom lip with the other as he decided to stomp down the tight hallway towards your room. Normally he would hear some neo-soul echoing from your room or some sort of podcast that mostly contained murder mysteries? Even if you had dozed off, your room was always lively.
You can only imagine the red flags that were going off in Carmy’s head as he stood in front of your door. He knew he looked fucking ridiculous, gripping the door frame and resting a ear against your door to simply hear nothing. He racked his knuckles against the door, ear still pressed to it hoping to hear some sort of movement beyond it.
“Yo, y/n? You in there?”
When he was met with more silence, he knocked some more before wrapping his hand around the door knob. “Alright, I gave you time to give me something here so I’m comin’ in.”
The blue eyed man didnt realize he was holding his breath for so long even when he pushed the door open. Your room was mostly dim and only illuminated by your salt lamp right by your bed. He spotted you, laying on your stomach in a big gray t-shirt and head turned completely away from his sight. You did not move at his entrance, not even when he called out to you some more.
“Y/n.” Carmy shifted on his feet at the door.
Carmy always hated the feeling of not being able to do something when he could always try.
That feeling was starting to creep up again.
He suddenly stomped over to you, the sound of his thuds overshadowed the sound of your diffuser misting in the quiet room, his patience always running thin as he finally got to you. He rested a hand right in the space between your shoulders and shook you.
“Hey, you alright?”
You grunted followed with a snore, slightly lifting your head which made Carmy jump back a bit as you rolled your body onto your back. You closed your eyes for a moment longer before opening your hooded eyes to focus on Carmy’s concerned stare.
“Why’re you in my room, Carmen?”
Carmy picked up on how much your voice sounded different to him now. He’s heard your croaky morning voice before but now it was low, heavy and congested.
He felt his eye twitch in that moment, “why am I? Y/N…I’ve been trying to check on you and all I’ve been left with is white noise. I even texted a day ago.”
“Phone’s dead. Left it at the club Tia’s cousin works at, got it back just to get it cut off because I’m five days behind on the bill.” You answered, voice thick with mucus, “appreciate it though.” You went to close your eyes again but Carmy wasn’t having that.
He kicked at your bed, making your dark eyes meet his again. “What’s wrong with you and why do you sound like that?”
“It’s allergies…you know sometimes I sound like Barry white when this happens. It’s just a bad case and not Covid, I got tested at the clinic my employer’s family owns the other day. Now are you going to let me sleep or do I have to cough on you like I have no manners?” You scratched at your hair, lazily reaching back to secure the bonnet over your edges. 
Carmy puffed out a breath in disbelief as he took in the sight of you. “You look like shit.”
“And yet I’m laying here across from a man that uses a 2-in-one shampoo,” you clapped back, “I’m still the baddest in the room.”
You went into a coughing fit next, making Carmy step back making you smirk at him with a slow raise of your brow.
“Ah, fuck you.” Carmy replied, “I have a business to run and can’t catch what you got. Imagine that? Me out sick and leaving Sydney in charge.”
“Allergies aren’t contagious goofy,” you scowled in which Carmy nodded, knowing this to be true as you continued, “and Sydney’s more than capable.”
Carmy shoved his hands into his pockets, “oh I have no doubts. Leavin’ her there with Richie is homicide is what I’m getting at.”
You laughed and curled into your body feeling it ache, “That’s the bail money I’m saving for my good sis when that does happen.”
Carmy snorted with a shake of his head. Silence filled the room as he looked around to see clothes tossed on the floor by your window and wondered how long you’ve actually been like this. He bent down to grab the large smart water that fell by the side of your bed, plucking the tap back, he handed it over to you as you held onto your dry throat.
You held the bottle up to him in thanks before you drink half of the water and that was definitely a 33.oz.
“It feels good to know that you’re not in here you know, fucken decomposing away and rotting up the place.” Carmy’s dark humor kicked in which made you roll your eyes, “I’m gonna go…make you some soup.”
“Soup?”
“Yeah, I know a cold when I see one. Sugar had the worst immune system growing up, dad was always working, and ma rather be in physical therapy for eight hours a day instead of coming home to her sick kid. So Mikey and I always stepped in…he catered to Sugar’s every need no matter how much shit he gave her for it. While I was mostly in the kitchen trying to figure out what the hell sick people eat.” Carmy told you while a small smile appeared on your face.
You could picture it.
You didn’t meet Carmy’s older brother Michael Berzatto before his untimely passing, only heard stories mostly from Richie whenever you stopped in to say hello or grab a quick meal for lunch. You and Carmy only lived together for a couple of months, he was back from New York needed a place to stay while you needed help covering rent, so it all worked out. Your job was to pay attention to detail and you knew from the moment you met him at some hole in the wall donut shop that something tragic happened to him.
It was none of your business but late night conversations in your apartment were comforting? At least you hoped it was comforting since you could tell Carmy was not the type to open up to people. Yet he felt like he could with you and you were a open book, you knew how to listen and not give perspectives unless it was asked. You didn’t want to be what your mother was and sure you loved that woman (from afar) but it was frustrating to have someone dictate instead of listen.
“What kind?” You asked, “if it’s standard chicken noddle soup with huge pieces of garlic I might just unalive myself.”
Carmy tilted his head at that, “lemme guess. Something your ma used to do?”
“Oh yeah, that was the beginning of my trust issues.”
Carmy laughed, “she was on the right track.” He paused thinking about your upbringing and the exact look of disgust on your face then which was probably a replica of your scrunched up nose now, “I uh..gotta see what we have in there. Haven’t done much grocery shopping lately but it’s a signature soup of the berzatto’s. None of that fake ramen shit. Chicken broth, Parmesan, spinach, pepper flakes—
You watched in amusement as he listed the ingredients while ticking off his fingers, “I don’t want it.”
Carmy blinked, his round blue’s burned into your frame while you tried to not let a smile break through your lips, “what?” He questioned.
“It’s summer! I can’t eat soup in the summer.”
You sneezed.
“…The fuck are you talkin’ about? It’s not only seasonal.”
“Are you gonna throw pasta in there?”
“Why would I do that?”
“You tell me Chef Carm-Parm.” You threw in your personalized nickname for the brunette who was growing annoyed by your bed.
“Did I say I was gonna throw pasta in there?” He scratched at his brow, lips pinched.
You laughed, “I’m just fucking with you, no need to burst a artery.”
Carmy huffed, “Well I’m just letting you know…it would of been too bad if you didn’t want it, ‘cause I was gonna make the Stracciatella regardless.”
“Don’t you have to be back at five or six to prep? How are you gonna have the time?” You asked.
Carmy shrugged his shoulders, “I’ll make the time and that’s why I’m not adding any pasta just the spinach and flour.”
He winked making you laugh as you closed your eyes once more.
Carmy always took his time in the kitchen so it did not feel like forever as he prepared some soup for the both of you. He opened up the living room window as the soup simmered and just as he was heading over to plate, you appeared from the hallway wrapped in a quilt.
“There she is! Have a seat.”
You dragged yourself up onto the bar stool, resting your warm cheek into the palm of your hand watching Carmy move around the kitchen with ease. He slid a bowl on the counter to you, handing a small spoon (your favorite kind of spoon, you despised large utensils since you liked to take your time to eat) with swiftness right after. Your hand shook a bit as you dipped the spoon into the porridge like texture and hummed at how good it smelled.
“Eat with me and don’t just watch me.” You ordered, noticing him lean on his hands that he rested on each side of the sink.
He crossed his arms challenging you, “I want to see you taste test first so that you can tell me you want more soups in the summer.”
Sucking your teeth you answered, “you can’t make me change my mind.”
“Yes I can.”
That earned a stare off, even when you scooped some of the soup onto the spoon and placed it in your mouth. It was the right temperature for your sore throat and went down with ease even with the spinach. The soup was savory and there was something else in there that was nutty but combined with the Parmesan so nicely. And to top it off? The red pepper flakes began to air out your stuffy nose.
“Damnit.”
“What was that?” Carmy smirked.
“Shut up and eat, chef.”
Carmy dipped his head, the smirk not leaving his lips as he fixed himself a bowl to sit beside you. As he did you bumped your shoulder with his, offering him a warm smile, resulting in him gently rubbing your quilt covered back, pulling you towards him so he could place a chaste kiss to your temple before returning back to his plate.
Life would always be one huge tangled tired circle but at least he still had you by his side, whatever that means.
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Continue along with my summer anthology prompts here.
#Spotify#the bear#the bear hulu#the bear fx#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto#carmen x sydney#carmen berzatto x black! reader#carmen berzatto x y/n#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#Carmy berzatto x black reader#carmy x richie#summer prompts#summer prompt
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Intimidation Tactics / Chapter 2
Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader x Dave York
Rating: T (for now???)
Word Count: 2.8k
Warnings: Mention of previous abusive relationship, enemies to lovers with a splash of idiots to lovers, minor peril,
Summary: A dark gray Honda Accord is tailing you.
A/N: Can these three just fuck already? No? I have to write an action sequence first??
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
Chapter Two - Gray Honda Accord
It takes you a few days to detect it.
A dark gray Honda Accord is tailing you.
In your defense, it’s both a common and a nondescript car. No one takes notice of a Honda Accord. How many of them pass you by on the street on the short walk from the FBI office to your apartment every day? This particular Honda Accord has no unique identifying characteristics, nothing to suggest you haven’t simply seen a series of different gray Honda Accords in the span of several days. It wouldn’t have been unusual if you had, after all. It’s a common car.
The thing that alerts you to its presence is that it isn’t just driving by you on the crowded streets of D.C. You often see it standing still–in an alleyway, outside of the convenience store a block from your home, parked on the street as you cross Pennsylvania Avenue on your way to work…
…In front of your building at one in the morning.
It had started a week or so after your second interview with Danilson. The man had seemed shocked to see you and your partner knocking on his door again–almost suspiciously so, although you still can’t pin anything on him, and, the last time you checked, being surprised wasn’t a crime.
The case is still a dead-end, no matter how many late nights you spend with Marcus in a conference room, details of the case spread out before you on the table. One small breakthrough does finally come when you subpoena Danilson’s email history.
“Hang on,” you mumble, scanning the long list of subject lines and recipients. “This domain name–’Quantum Holdings’–where have I heard that name before?”
Marcus looks up from his laptop. “Quantum Holdings–isn’t that the business Buchanan’s brother-in-law worked for?”
You laugh disbelievingly. “How do you keep track of all this information in your head?” you ask him playfully.
Marcus shoots you a sheepish grin, and you feel your cheeks heating. Ever since your run-in with Dave York, you’ve not been able to hold eye contact with your partner for long. Surely he knows–knows what Dave had meant in his evaluation of you. What you really want is right in front of you, because it’s your partner. Marcus. He has to know… right?
“I write stuff down, it sticks in my head forever,” Marcus says, tapping his field notebook, that you know is filled with his messy scrawling of notes, each line clearly written with haste as he quickly captures his observations, theories, witness statements, and, occasionally, a grocery list.
“I’m going to start looking into them,” you announce. “Quantum Holdings. First Buchanan’s brother-in-law–”
“Dylan,” Marcus supplies.
“Dylan,” you repeat, “and now Danilson’s inbox. There’s been no indication that the two of them had known each other, right?”
“Not as of yet,” Marcus says, frowning down at his notes.
“I don’t like it,” you say, snapping your laptop shut. “There’s something going on with them. What the hell do they do anyway?”
The Honda Accord sightings start shortly afterward. It isn’t until you peer out of your blinds at the sound of a car alarm and see it right in front of your building that you tell Marcus.
“I need to talk to you,” you tell him the next morning at FBI Headquarters. “Not here, though. Can we go grab a coffee or something?”
Marcus’s eyes go wide, his lips parting with surprise. “Oh,” he breathes. “Yeah, of course.”
It isn’t until the two of you have your lattes in hand that you finally get up the courage to speak.
“I think I’m being followed,” you say under your breath as you take a seat in the loud, crowded cafe.
Marcus blanches–whatever he had thought you were going to say, it had clearly not been that.
“What?” he whispers quietly. “Are you sure?”
“There’s this gray Honda,” you murmur, taking a sip of coffee so that it looks like the two of you are having a pleasant, casual conversation rather than the tense discussion that’s truly happening. “I see it everywhere. By the office, on the way home…” you press your lips together. “...right in front of my apartment in the middle of the night.”
“Shit,” Marcus mutters gravely. “Oh, shit.”
“It happened right after I started looking into… the thing I was looking into,” you say, suddenly feeling like uttering the name of the business itself would conjure up the car. “I don’t know what to do,” you whisper.
“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” Marcus says weakly. “What kind of car does your–um–”
“It’s not him,” you say automatically. “My ex. I just–I just have this feeling that it’s about the case. I can’t explain it.”
“I trust your intuition,” Marcus offers quietly. “You didn’t get this far without having good instincts.”
You allow yourself a few moments to bask under his soft praise.
“I’m going to start driving you home,” Marcus says, with a finality in his voice that causes you not to argue the point. “And if I’m not around, the moment you see that car again, you call me.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah, will do.”
“Don’t go anywhere without this,” he adds, tapping the holster at your hip.
“I know,” you say, Marcus’s protectiveness starting to get on your nerves. “I know how to be a good Agent, Dad.”
Your partner laughs softly. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You know we watch out for each other, right?”
You can’t help the smile that breaks out across your face. “I know.”
—
As promised, Marcus drives you home that night. He waits in the car until the door to your building clicks shut, gives you a serious nod, and drives off. You don’t remember seeing the gray Honda on your way, and you’re starting to second-guess yourself.
It’s a common car, after all.
You microwave some dinner and sit down with some wine to watch some guilty-pleasure TV to take your mind off of the case, and off of Marcus, who has been on your mind more and more after that asshole of a DIA Agent aired your little secret. Nothing has changed between the two of you, but you can’t deny that there’s a tension there that wasn’t there before. You occasionally catch Marcus looking away when you glance in his direction. Oh, God. That’s all you need. A partner who secretly pities you and your situation.
After an hour of ‘America’s Got Talent,’ you turn off the TV, getting to your feet and stretching. Your eyes flit over to the shuttered window and back almost of their own volition. You don’t want to check. You also really fucking do want to check. You turn off the lamp as well, bathing the room in darkness as if you were simply going to bed. Then, you creep toward the window. Taking care not to disturb the blinds, you peek through one of the narrow slats at the street.
You feel a stab of fear when you see the familiar shape of the car.
Heart pounding, you back slowly away from the window, debating your next move. You had promised Marcus that you’d call him. Numbly, you pick up your phone and dial his number. It barely has a chance to ring before he picks up.
“Hey,” Marcus says by way of greeting. “Are you all right?”
“It’s here,” you tell him. “Outside my apartment again.”
Marcus hisses a curse under his breath. “Shit. Do you see anyone in it?”
“Too dark,” you say. “Do you… do you think it’s that guy from the park?”
“Maybe,” Marcus concedes. “It could be. Listen, I’m going to come over and–”
“No!” you interject. “No, because what if they start tailing you, too? You still haven’t seen anyone following you, right?”
“Not yet,” Marcus answers. “But look, it’s not safe, I–”
“It’s fine, I can take care of myself,” you tell him. “I just wanted to make you aware of what’s happening. I’ll call you if anything changes.”
Marcus murmurs your name, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of it. “Be safe,” he says softly.
“I will,” you whisper back, before ending the call.
You don’t sleep that night.
—
The next morning, you arrive at Headquarters with heavy bags under your eyes. Marcus gives you a sympathetic look and the second to-go cup of coffee he’s carrying.
“Thought you might need that,” he says with a wan smile. “I definitely do.”
It’s then that you notice that Marcus looks almost as tired as you.
“Didn’t you sleep?” you ask, incredulous.
“How am I supposed to sleep when I’m waiting for another call from you?” he responds pointedly. “I don’t care what you say, from now on, we stick together on this.”
You’re too tired to argue, and you’re more than a little relieved. He’s right, this is far too much to carry on your own. The two of you spend the day digging through public records for more information on Quantum Holdings, looking for connections to the original art theft the two of you were supposed to be investigating. The only problem is, there’s nothing.
“It’s a shell corporation,” you say emphatically. “It has to be. I mean, they have a website, and they own several domains, but they don’t do anything.”
“I think you’re right,” Marcus agrees. “The only question is, what are they hiding? I mean, maybe it’s something as simple as tax evasion, but then why do they keep coming up in relation to an art theft?”
“The domains all have IP addresses that indicate they’re based overseas,” you tell him. “Whatever it’s a front for, it’s not local.”
The two of you are silent for a while, both poring over the details of the case. You start from the beginning in your head again: There’s a missing Warhol from a gallery in New York. The evidence points to a regular offender, Curtis Buchanan, who had already done time a decade or so ago for black market art deals. Nothing your team had thrown at Buchanan stuck. He had a solid alibi and an excellent lawyer, and no matter how much digging you did around the man, the only thing that had come up was this ‘Quantum Holdings,’ which is starting to look like a front for some sort of international operation.
“Is this a dead end?” you ask suddenly, causing Marcus to look up with a start. “Maybe we are digging into something we shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t know,” Marcus admits quietly. “I’m not so sure, anymore.”
That evening, Marcus drives you home again, but this time, he says, it’s a temporary condition. “Let’s go grab some of your stuff,” Marcus declares, “and you can come stay with me for a bit while we figure this out.” He parks illegally in front of the building and turns on the emergency lights. As the two of you exit the car, you look down the street behind you and let out a choked sound.
“Marcus,” you manage to gasp. “The car.”
Marcus spins, hand on his holster, to see a gray Honda Accord slowly rolling toward you. As the two of you take notice, the car picks up speed, and the two of you draw your pistols as it approaches–out of time to make it up the steps of your building.
The squealing of brakes is the only warning you get before another car–a black Range Rover with dark windows–comes to a halt beside you.
“Get in.”
You recognize the deep rasp to the owner of the Range Rover’s voice immediately, but the rapid glance in his direction confirms the identity of the driver as the same DIA Agent who had warned you in the park. Marcus hesitates, leveling his gun at the accelerating Honda.
“Don’t be a martyr, Agent Pike,” Dave York calls from the driver’s seat. “The two of you are in way over your head. Get in the fucking car.”
A gunshot rings out–from the opposite side of the street as the Honda, and you suddenly realize that it is not the only car converging on your position. Out of options, you and your partner scramble into the backseat of Dave’s car, and the door barely shuts before the man peels off.
—
“I thought I told you to stop digging,” Dave snarls, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel as he swerves around the crowded streets, dodging other cars as he tries to evade your attackers.
“I’m not in the habit of taking orders,” Marucs snaps, and Dave growls something in response, too quiet to hear over the squeal of the tires and the roar of the engine, but it sounds strangely like "Pity."
“Who are you,” you demand. “Tell us what’s going on.”
“David James York, Operative with the Defense Intelligence Agency,” Dave drawls from the front seat. “Born October twenty-seventh, nineteen–”
“Shut up,” Marcus interrupts. “We deserve to know what’s happening.”
“That’s above your security clearance,” Dave deadpans. He glances in the rear-view window, and whatever he sees causes him to clench his jaw and swerve through a red light onto a side street.
“Jesus!” you hiss as you’re thrown against the window.
“Seatbelts,” Dave says in a singsong voice.
“Where are you taking us?” Marcus asks, his tone getting more and more furious.
“Safe house in upstate New York,” Dave answers. “You two really have no idea what you’re sticking your noses into.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” you squeak. “That’s like, an eight-hour drive.”
“I can give you my auxiliary cord,” Dave says mockingly. “Agent Pike here looks like he knows some good podcasts.”
When he’s greeted with two twin glares from the backseat, Dave smirks. “Good. Now shut up and let me escape from this fucking mess that you two created.”
—
After a while, Dave goes from bat out of hell to simply speeding as he loses the gray Honda and the rest of your assailants. The streets move from urban, to suburban, and finally to rural as he leaves Washington, D.C. and heads north.
Marcus is silently fuming beside you, Dave is seemingly focused on the road ahead, and none of you have spoken a single word in over an hour.
Finally, you break the silence. "Why are you helping us?" you ask Dave quietly.
Dave snorts. "Helping you? I'm the investigator on the Quantum case for the DIA, and suddenly I find out two little art detectives are digging themselves into a deeper and deeper hole. Someone stole a Picasso-"
("Warhol," grumbles Marcus.)
"-and now I have two FBI agents not only impeding a year-long investigation, but getting themselves a little tail as well. You have no idea how close you were to being abducted and taken out of the country," Dave says. "And once that happened, there was no chance at getting either of you back."
You and Marcus are silent as you absorb the information.
"Thanks, Dave, appreciate it, Dave. Thanks for sticking your neck out and getting shot at while we tried to take down a terrorist cell with two handguns, Dave," Dave quips facetiously from the driver’s seat.
"Why, then?" Marcus asks, maintaining his stony expression. "Why stick your neck out?"
Dave purses his lips. "I am, by all accounts, not a good man. But I like to think I'm not an evil one. Maybe ten years ago I would have done nothing, and you two would have been unfortunate casualties of a war you had no conception of, but I made a different choice."
"What changed?" Marcus prompts, arching his eyebrows suspiciously.
Dave smirks. "Do you have children, Agent Pike?"
"Figured you already know the answer to that," Marcus mutters, "considering you seem to know everything else."
"Oh, I do," Dave says lightly. "Just proving a point."
The three of you refrain from speaking for the remaining seven hours.
—
It's dark when the Range Rover finally pulls into a well-hidden gravel driveway high in the Catskills. There are no outside lights, and you can barely make out the outline of a small cabin against the trees in the moonlight.
Dave cuts the engine and opens his door without comment. You and Marcus follow suit, exiting the car in silence, the only sound the crunch of gravel under your feet as you approach the house.
When Dave flicks on the hallway light, you're pleasantly surprised at the warm, cozily decorated interior.
"There are two bedrooms," Dave gravels, not stopping to show either of you around. "You can share, or fight amongst yourselves for the bed, it makes no difference to me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I just made an eight-hour drive that began with a car chase through downtown D.C., and I'm fucking tired."
With that, Dave disappears inside what you assume is the other bedroom and snaps the door shut, leaving you and Marcus alone in the quiet living room.
#marcus pike#dave york#marcus pike x reader x dave york#marcus pike x you x dave york#marcus pike x dave york#marcus pike x reader#dave york x reader#pedro pascal
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40- Adrian Kempe
A/N: The people want Kempe. and I am the people pleaser of this story. Congrats to 🧃 IRL on 40! Can't wait for the playoffs.
Also, yes I had to mention Kevin, okay. I MISS HIM. But this is about Juice. Promise.
And can we please appreciate this GIF that literally made my heart skip when I saw it. Good GAWDDDDDDD.
Word Count: 967
Warnings: drinking, implied smut, fluffffffff, swearing (always with me)
40 goals, I think to myself as I wait with a few other girls for our boys to join us after their season closing win against the Anaheim Ducks. I smile against my straw, pausing from slurping up more of my margarita.
What a year Adrian has had. I can’t wait for him to get here so I can squeeze him.
“They’re coming!” Ines Kopitar squeals, placing her drink back on the bar and rushing forward. I turn to watch, seeing her and the captain meet with a sloppy kiss. She’s a few drinks in and Anze has to catch her as she sways to the left.
Adrian is right behind them. His eyes meet mine. We grin at each other, maneuvering around the people between us to come together.
“Hi!” I squeal at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He collapses me into him, strong hands pressing into my middle back.
“Hi.” He murmurs close to my ear, pressing his nose into my temple.
“You are incredible. I’m so, so proud of you, baby.” I pull back so we can share a kiss. Our lips meld perfectly in sync. “Mmm. Been wanting to do that all night.” His beard tickles my face as he nuzzles our noses.
“Me too.” He reaches into the pocket of his dark jacket. “Brought you something.”
“Ah!” I squeal excitedly, grabbing the white, Kings bucket hat from his hands. “My hat!” I squeal, speaking of the Kings bucket hat I had bought in an emergency circumstance after forgetting a hat to lay out on Hermosa Beach. This fashionable hat lead to our meeting and our eventual friendship turning into love.
“I had to.” He insists, biting his bottom lip as I put it on. “Just as good as that first day.” He hooks his pointer finger under my chin, bringing our lips together again. This time, his tongue slides against mine in a hotter kiss.
“You deserve a drink.” I murmur against his lips as we peck at each other.
“I think so.” He chuckles, wrapping an arm around my neck to keep me close. I link my fingers loosely with his, gliding my thumbs across his rings. As we wait for the bartender to come back, Adrian presses his nose into my hair.
“Anyone give you trouble?” He wonders. The King were at Honda Center tonight and with the fierce, freeway rivalry, it can get a little tense sitting amongst opposing fans.
“No.” I shrug. “We were surrounded by Kings fans. It was actually really fun.”
“That’s good. I was a bit worried about you.”
“Is that why you kept looking at me?” I raise an eyebrow. His constant glances were uncharacteristic tonight.
“You noticed?”
“Yeah. The girls in front of me thought you were looking at them though.” I adjust my voice higher. “OhmyGOD. He looked at us AGAIN!” I squeal, stomping my feet excitedly. His laughter wraps round us, making my chest warm from where it settles.
“Did you break their hearts?”
“No. It was kinda cute.”
“She’s beautiful and sweet.” He whispers, leaning in for another smooch.
“Fuck, I am so single.” Quinton mutters from behind me.
“Keep your head up, QB.” Adrian murmurs, without looking away from me. “You’ll find this.”
“You’re so sappy now.” I laugh at him, flicking my tongue against his lips.
“I’m just having a great fucking night.” He unwraps himself from me as the bartender puts his shot down.
“Juice for juice is on the house tonight. Congrats!”
“Thanks, man.” Adrian tosses the shot of tequila back, then sets the empty glass back on the bar. “That is good shit.” He moans as the Clase Azul slides down his throat. “You want one?”
“No.”
Adrian motions to the bartender who gives a thumbs up in acknowledgement. The shots are flowing around the team, everyone taking an opportunity to cheers to Adrian and the Kings incredible year. We all acknowledge Kevin Fiala, who is tucked at home with his wife after an injury. By the time we get to the last shot, I’m pushing mine towards Ines, knowing I’m going to be the one driving us home. Adrian is loose, laughing with our friends, while his hands drift around my body like we are in private.
I pull away from him and he snaps his gaze to me in annoyance.
“Why.”
“I have to pee.” I whine, holding him back from pulling me in again.
“Hurry.”
“Okay.” I roll my eyes and work my way to the back of the restaurant.
It’s a quick in and out trip before my heels lead me back along the tiled floor to my superstar.
“Let’s get out of here.” Adrian intercepts me at the corner of the bar.
“Okay.” I shrug, not caring if we stick around. “I’m just going to say goodbye.”
“Nah. We’ll get caught up longer.” He steps forward, making me take a step back towards the exit.
“Kinda rude when everyone showed up for you.” I wrap my arms around his neck, giving him a look.
“The boys understand.” He drags his eyes down my body. “Half of them congratulated me on getting you in bed tonight.” I toss my head back. My hair swings down my jacket, brushing against his hands around me. He gathers it in his hand to hold me like that. He leans forward, pressing his lips against the front of my throat. I swallow in anticipation. He sucks my skin into his mouth making me whine.
“You’re the only one I want to keep celebrating with…. All… night… long.” He says between suckles.
“Say less.” I breathe out to him, tugging him with me as I walk backwards. We stumble into someone, giggling an apology then fly out the door before we can be stopped.
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I sold the first and only car I had to my name today, to some guy about a city away from this place. Didn't schedule a breakdown today, tho.
We looked for the Certificate of Registration and other necessary paperworks when the confirmation came from my cousin: someone was interested in a 2008 Honda City. Fumbling, we p much turned the whole house upside down just to look for it, but right as we confirmed it to be someplace, the relief morphed to grief and I just broke down.
Is it possible to have felt the gravitational pull and release in a single day? To have been granted some sort of privilege to take an automotive mobile places you've also considered to be instrumental to your growth as an adult now, though they say it's the other wary around. To associate that car with a count of how many times she's taken me through loss and the pangs of inadequacy, providing me a place to record a cover of Keane's Somewhere Only We Know, sweating bullets and all. Practically a car who's taken me and my family to unfamiliar mountain heights as a child.
I don't know how to end this on any kind of consolation other than there's finally money for me as seed money for a new house. Fuck, I don't know if I'm being completely irrational about a car, but perhaps a look back to this space in 10 years time would tell me otherwise. Sitti was the best car I've ever had the privilege of driving.
#this post contains tears#gladly have cried it out before being taken away (me) to the nearest plaza to eat some street food#suddenly feeling relieved again after typing out this post#personal#text post
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A King’s Ransom, Part Thirteen
Word Count: 2711
TW: Smut (oral, m!receiving). 18+ only.
AN: Part of an unfinished series. The series masterlist here.
Over the next week, you put a lot of work into Nevada’s business. Well, his businesses, plural, now. You just shrugged and said that you had the spare time anyway, since your own work slowed down around the holidays, but Nevada wasn’t stupid. You were running numbers and checking out properties for him, tired from your insomnia, but still working insane hours to pull together this new, mostly legitimate business model for him.
He didn’t even feel bothered about it anymore. He didn’t even mind when Gabe or his other guys rolled their eyes or grumbled at the impending doom of operating within the bounds of the law.
And you were doing it all for him. Other than sex, what had any other woman done for him?
You never asked for anything from him, so he knew he had to get you something nice for Christmas. He struggled though. He knew he couldn’t get you those expensive fucking shoes with the red soles that some of his exes loved. He knew you didn’t care about clothes, and he knew you had a weird fucking affinity for your bland little Honda sedan.
He couldn’t go to the usual jeweler he went to for the gold earrings or diamond bracelets he’d gifted women in the past. You wore simple stuff. He spent an afternoon in an antique jewelry place, browsing the trays of old shit that all pretty much looked the same to him. But he knew that out of all the stuff he could get you, something in an antique store was the best bet. You would rather have something unique than something big and sparkly.
He finally settled on an opal ring. It was a ring, and it might send the wrong message, but Nevada decided just to set you straight as soon as you opened it, in case you thought he was trying to commit or shit like that. It was just a piece of jewelry. But it suited you, he thought. It was a simple setting with a thin silver ban, a pale blue stone that most people might look past. Once you got closer, though, you saw how complex it was, the cold sort of fire that burned in it.
Not that Nevada was into poetic shit, but it fit you.
And not that Nevada was proposing because marriage was a fucking trap he’d avoid until the day he died, but the thought of you wearing it still gave him a weird feeling in his chest.
-----
Christmas Eve was, surprisingly, a solid night at the club. The place was closed the next day (no point in being open), but the night before did a brisk business, especially as young people from out-of-town returned home, fell back into their high school cliques, and went out to relive their youth.
Nevada was sitting on his balcony, watching the reunions unfold below him. He’d never admit it, but this time of year made him lonely. Most of his family – what was left of it: his mother and sister and nieces and nephews – were all in the Dominican Republic. He didn’t really have friends. He usually spent the holidays alone, unless he could coax a woman to relieve the loneliness for a few hours.
He felt the usual dark thoughts start to descend over him, but then he caught movement near the door. It was you.
You shed your winter coat and hung it over your arm as you brushed some snow out of your hair. You chatted for a moment with his guard by the bottom of the steps, and Nevada drank you in, letting the sight of you lift the darkness. You were in a crisp blue Oxford tucked into a dark grey pencil skirt and dark stockings. He’d never admit that either, but your business formal wear had grown on him. Mainly because he enjoyed peeling it off of you.
His guard stepped aside, and you made your way up to him. He started to stand up, but you waved him to stay seated. You walked over and laid a soft kiss on his mouth, then leaned against him as he wrapped an arm around your waist.
“Congratulations,” you told him. “You’re the new owner of a building on St. Nicholas Avenue. Mixed use. You put another ten thousand in upgrades, and you can open your salon. And,” you continued with a gleam in your eye. “You have six units above it. Solid renters that have been there a long time. Fixed revenue stream.”
He should have made a crack about your boring fucking accounting talk, but instead, he just tilted his head up to face you. “Thank you,” he said. You smiled down at him and kissed him again, this time a bit more lingering. When you broke away, he added, “did you take your cut?”
You shook your head. “You got the boyfriend discount. It pays to date me.”
Nevada shifted his hand to pinch your ass, making you jerk away with a laugh. “You need to get paid for the work you’re doing for me,” he chided you.
“You can pay me in other ways,” you replied. You walked over to his office door. “For example, you can buy me a drink and sign these papers for me, then you can tell me that I’m a brilliant businesswoman.”
Nevada got to his feet and followed you into his office, shutting the door behind him. “Deal,” he replied.
-----
You were both settled on his couch, his signed paperwork safely in your bag. You each had a tumbler that he refilled, from time to time, from a bottle of tequila. You leaned back on the couch, your heels kicked off, and your stockinged feet stretched out in front of you. Nevada sipped his drink and listened to you explain the work you’d done so far and what was left to do. Just sitting and listening to you almost made him feel…content. It was an unfamiliar feeling.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked when there was a lull in your talking. “You going anywhere?”
You shrugged. “I usually lay low on Christmas. What about you?”
Nevada wanted the content feeling to never end. “Maybe you could stay with me tonight.” He’d been sleeping, more often than not, at your place over the past week. But your house seemed haunted by those fucking pictures, sitting like a curse in your home office on an innocuous looking external drive. Nevada himself lost a few nights of sleep over them, and he was basically heartless. He was working on a solution, though, but he pushed those thoughts away for the short-term.
And Nevada thought you slept better at his place, and he preferred having you in his bed anyway. Your mattress was too hard.
He caught your smile over the rim of your glass. “I’d have to stop home and pack an overnight bag,” you said before taking another sip. “Toothbrush, pajamas….”
“I have a spare toothbrush,” Nevada said, impatient. “And you don’t need clothes to sleep.”
“…and my birth control pills,” you continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “Unless you’re suddenly willing to wear condoms or roll the dice on fatherhood.”
The thought of being a father made Nevada’s stomach turn. He’d never have kids if he could help it; he’d never give himself the chance to turn into his father. To hear his uncles and other men in the neighborhood talk, Marco Ramirez had been hilarious, the life of any party, willing to give anyone on the block the shirt off his back. Marriage, and two kids (three, technically, if you counted the brother that came before Nevada, who died a crib-death) transformed him into a bitter man. Always unhappy, always with a sharp word or a heavy swinging fist.
That wouldn’t be Nevada’s fate.
He didn’t tell you any of that, though. Instead, he just grunted an affirmative and took a deep swallow of tequila.
“I’ll spend Christmas with you,” you said. “Though I’m worried that Santa won’t know where to find me, if I’m not home.” Nevada snorted at this, and you continued. “We moved a lot when I was a kid, and I was always worried that some other kid would get my gifts.”
Nevada perked up – you rarely talked about your past, and you never talked about your childhood. Your voice had a sleepy quality to it that he knew meant you were tipsy. Relaxed. Relaxed enough to gift him with this little memory that somehow made him feel sad.
“Santa will know where you are,” he said, and he reached out to squeeze your thigh. “If not, I’ll put a hit out on him.”
That made you laugh, and he smiled to see it. You almost never laughed anymore, so he counted it as a victory when you did it.
“I’m surprised you didn’t already have Santa killed,” you replied. “I assume you got nothing but coal as a kid, being a permanent entry on the naughty list and all.”
He tightened his grip on your leg. “There’s that fucking mouth again, being rude when I’m being nice to you.”
You laughed again and stood up before sitting back down on his lap. Your legs were stretched out across the couch cushions, and you turned to wrap your arms around his neck. “I think you like my mouth.”
“There’s parts I like better,” he retorted.
You made an injured noise and pulled one of your arms away from him and let it drift down your front. Nevada watched your hand as it undid first one, then a second button on your shirt. It wasn’t enough to reveal your bra, but from Nevada’s vantage point, he could look down at the revealed flesh, the soft swells.
“I like these better,” he said, and he pressed his face against your exposed skin. He kissed a trail of light kisses along each curved rise, trailing his tongue along your impossibly soft skin. He could taste the salt of your sweat, and in the valley of your cleavage, a bitter spot from the alcohol of your perfume. Nevada loved that smoky-sweet scent and the way it reacted with your body chemistry. Your breathing was getting heavier, so he bit down against your flesh. Not hard enough to break the skin or even hurt you – just enough for you to feel his teeth pressed against you. You gave a little whimper, and Nevada felt his cock strain against his jeans. You shifted a bit in his lap and obviously felt it too.
“You want one of your Christmas gifts early?” you whispered in his ear.
Nevada pulled his head away from you and nodded, then surged up to kiss you, but you pulled away from him with a sly look on your face. He tried again to kiss you and you again evaded him. When he growled in frustration, you smiled broadly and slipped off of his lap. You stood over him, so close that he couldn’t heave himself off the couch to stand up with you.
You laid your hands on either of his shoulder and then ducked down enough to whisper in his ear again, the words a shot to his cock.
“How about I show you what my mouth can do, your highness? Since you’re being so nice, and I’ve been rude?”
Before he could protest, you knelt gracefully on the floor in front of him and pried his knees apart with your hands on his legs. You ran your palms over his thighs before your hands drifted up to unbutton and unzip his pants. He leaned back and watched you, and his breath hitched in his throat when he felt your slim hand reach under his layers of clothing to grasp his erection and release it. You shot him an inscrutable look from under your eyelashes and licked your lips, then bent your head to him. With a groan, he threw his head back against the back of the couch and shut his eyes.
You teased him first, of fucking course, but he couldn’t be mad because his head was reeling at the realization that you were kneeling in front of him, in his office, putting your smart fucking mouth to a separate purpose. And while he really didn’t mind your smart-ass teasing, he thought he might like this better.
First it was just your tongue, dancing around the sensitive tip of his cock, just enough to make him groan again above you. After you fucking tortured him like that for what seemed like an eternity, you finally enveloped him with your wet mouth, bobbing your head and taking a bit more of him in each time until he was nearly buried completely in you.
“Ah, fuck,” he groaned, and he reached out to tangle his hand in your hair. He opened his eyes and brushed your hair away from your face so that he could see you, your own eyes shut as you alternated between running your tongue over him from root to tip and just bobbing your head against him. At one point, though, you opened your eyes and looked right at him, and Nevada could swear he felt your lips smirk against his cock at whatever you saw written across his face.
You had one hand on his thigh, gripping the tense muscle under his jeans, and he laid his other hand over it, threading his fingers through yours. You weren’t rushing it at all, taking your time to deal him languid strokes with the flat of your tongue and then humming as you drew him into your mouth again. Nevada had never received an unhurried blow job. Everyone else had aggressively sucked him off, just getting it over with. You were downright leisurely. There was no way you were enjoying yourself though.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You can stop.”
And you pulled away with an obscene pop to look up at him again. “Are you not enjoying it?” You looked confused, and maybe a little hurt.
He pulled his hand out of your hair to stroke your cheek. “It’s great, but you don’t have to - ”
“Just relax then, Ramirez,” you chided him with a smile. “This is one of your Christmas gifts. No returns or exchanges.” He let out a breathless huff of laughter, but it was cut short as you slid his cock back into your mouth, now with more purpose.
So he did relax. He pushed the memories of bad blow jobs past and focused on how your mouth felt and the little mewls of seeming pleasure you made. He felt his orgasm approaching, the pleasure drowning out everything else. His hips bucked up involuntarily, making you gag for a second, until you laid a forearm over him to pin him down.
“Princesa,” he warned you, but you just hummed against him to signal that you understood him. Nevada tried to buck against you once, and you held him firmly, and a half-strangled sob tore from his throat as he came, hard. You took all of it, swallowed all of him and coaxed him through his orgasm until he was done.
When he was calmed down, you stood up and sat back on his lap, tilting his head and kissing him so that he could taste both the tequila and himself on you. “Merry Christmas,” you murmured against his lips, and he laughed weakly, still recovering.
“I should have made you my girlfriend a lot sooner,” he said. “If that’s what I’ve been missing out on.”
You laid your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you. “Take me home so that I can pack a bag, then take me back to your place,” you said. “I’ll show you a few other things you’ve been missing out on.”
He didn’t exactly shove you off of his lap to stand up and get his jacket, but you stumbled all the same with a laugh. When he made a tortured, impatient groan as you put your heels back on (slowly), and pulled your own coat back on (even slower), you couldn’t help but smile even more.
#nevada ramirez#nevada ramirez imagine#nevada ramirez x reader#nevada ramirez x you#trouble in the heights#trouble in the heights fanfiction#tropes-and-tales
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246 of 2023
Are you unemployed?
No, I’ve been having a job for the last 9 years and counting.
When’s the last time you received a letter in the mail?
Yesterday The bill from the labour union lol.
Do you even write letters to people?
No, just emails.
Have you ever driven a Honda?
No, my cousin had a Honda before, but he crashed it.
What color do you want your dream car to be?
Black, just as ours.
Finish the sentence: Taylor Lautner is…
...a person, who else?
Do you have more then one favorite band?
Yeah, I have a few. But I rather like songs than bands.
Do you like The Band Perry?
Never heard of it.
You can kill one person & get away with it; who?
This question is so fucked up that I’m not even gonna answer this.
If you could be a supernatural creature, what would you choose to be?
None, thanks.
Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
I have no preference, but since the relationship has happened, I do my best to take care of it. We’re happy together.
How long until you’re 50 years old?
17 years.
Would you be really upset if Facebook ceased to exist tomorrow?
No, I would be actually happy.
Do you usually hide your true feelings from others?
Most of the time. I rarely open up IRL.
Do you pronounce the ” t ” in often?
Yeah. Better ask me if I pronounce “h” in my dialect.
Are you capable of running 2 miles without stopping?
No. I was once paralysed.
Do you lick the roof of your mouth often?
What?
Did you do it just now?
No.
Most unattractive male name, in your opinion?
I don’t know, Derek? Or all the boring names like Adam.
Do you watch the show THE BIG BANG THEORY?
Yeah, I love it. It’s so stupid that it’s actually funny.
Are you exhausted?
Not today, I’m just slightly tired.
Finish the lyrics: I’m a barbie girl in a barbie world. Life in plastic…
Fuck off.
Are you a fan of reality tv shows?
Not a fan, but sometimes I watch them for lolz.
Have you visited amirite.com?
Never heard of it.
Is your pet dog male or female?
I don’t have any dog. I only have two cat ladies.
When you’re single are you mostly lonely or content?
Such things don’t really matter to me, so I’m not overthinking it.
Have you or would you try shark meat?
I’ve tried, didn’t like it.
Do you know anyone that’s pescatarian?
No. But I’m somewhat related, I guess my diet is called “pollotarian” because I’m like a vegetarian who allows chicken in his diet.
Are you shy or over confident around your crushes?
Very shy, but I cover it with some confidence. Very strange, I know.
Do you drink skim milk?
No. It’s like coloured water, so tasteless. Whole milk or don’t waste my time.
Did you know everything causes cancer these days?
Oh, really?
Do you think the govt has a cure for cancer, but is hiding it from public?
*taps his forehead* conspiracy theories, be like.
Last time you drank a diet soda?
Never. Diet soda, what an oxymoron.
Do you need to urinate?
Yeah, now I feel it.
Do you usually brush your teeth every night?
Yeah, I do.
Do ppl normally describe you as sexy?
No, they rather describe me as cool. Although there were some people who found me exceptionally hot.
Were you really nervous at some point today?
No, my antidepressants finally kicked in and I’m not anxious anymore.
Do you have a Mexican friend?
Not a friend, but one of my classmates in uni was Mexican.
Have you ever dated an Australian?
Never.
Do you think you’re fit to be a Victoria Secret model?
Do they even hire guys?
Is mostly everyone you know in a relationship?
Most of people I hang out are married.
Are both of your biological parents still alive?
Yes, thankfully.
Was your ex born in America?
No, he’s Dutch.
Are most of your jokes funny or lame?
So lame they’re actually funny lol. I make people laugh, some call me a natural entertainer.
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Hands That Heal - Ch. 1
Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader
A few background details before we start as they will come into the story throughout: You are a mechanic, you were blipped, your ex is a biker in a 1% gang, your father served as a marine with Chip and Dale - fraternal twins who are like weird uncles to you.
Summary: Bucky is looking for someone to repair his motorcycle but ends up finding something better.
Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men.
Word count: 3266
Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 coming soon
The garage was busier than usual and you had barely stopped to take a break all day and it had left you cranky. The banter between the guys had been getting on your nerves, you were working hard and they were just milling about, smoking and cat calling any woman who walked past the open roller doors. Rolling out from under the chassis of a mint green ‘66 Shelby Cobra, you got up off the creeper and grabbed a wing nut that was lying around before tossing it at Chip’s head
“She’s younger than your daughter, you creep.” You chastised as he whistled to a girl in the local high school uniform.
“Old enough to bleed, old enough to butcher.” Dale laughed before holding his fist up to Chip to bump.
A disgusted growl erupted from your throat as you grabbed a torque wrench off the top of your tool box and watched their hands drop. They murmured apologies as they dispersed back to the cars and motorcycles they were meant to be working on. Metal clattered as you tossed the wrench back in your box and grabbed a bottle of water from the small bar fridge that was about 20 years past its prime and probably a fire risk.
You didn’t have time to even run across the street and get a pie from the bakery with the amount of cars that were piling up. Your reputation as the go-to person for high end cars and high spec motorbikes had spread far and wide, with people even flying their cars to your shop in the Bronx for repairs. Ignoring your grumbling tummy you laid back down on the creeper with the parts you had just collected and disappeared beneath the grimey undercarriage.
“Sorry to break it to you but that’s fucked.” You heard Chip laugh before it was abruptly cut off.
“Your sign says you can fix anything.” A dangerously quiet voice drifted across the garage floor. “Are you a liar?”
“Man, if you wanna waste your money on a Honda, be my guest. Over here.”
You watched two pairs of boots cast shadows in your already dim light, one pair far nicer than the steel caps Chip wore for 10 hours a day 5 days a week.
“Oi Jiminy, customer for you.” Chip called out to you.
You took your time as you finished tightening up the fan belt before gripping the concrete with your own boots and wheeling yourself out from under the car.
The first thing you noticed when you escaped the claustrophobic space was the gorgeous man towering over you. His piercing blue eyes were surrounded with thick eyelashes and dark eyebrows that shot up when he realised you were a woman, surprised just like every other man that stepped foot in this garage. He held a hand out for you and you looked at the grease marked palm, wiping it on your overalls before accepting the offer.
“Jiminy?” He asked as he pulled you to your feet and you rolled your eyes at the nickname.
“Like the cricket, because I’m the only one of these fuckers with a conscience.” You explained as you glared at Chip and Dale.
“Right. Pinocchio.” He laughed. “I’m Bucky.”
“Y/N.” You shook his hand that you were still holding and dropped it at the realisation before grabbing a rag and giving them a better clean as you took in every inch of the hottie, including the outline of dog tags beneath his tight shirt. “So what can I help you with, soldier?”
“It’s my bike.” He said, nodding his head to a pick up parked out the front with the crumpled remains of a motorbike resting on the back tray. “She needs a bit of work.”
You snorted at the understatement and made your way over to the wreckage. “She needs a priest. It’ll take a miracle to save her, Bucky. You can get a new Ceeber for 12k, what’s so special about this one?”
“I like the colour.” He shrugged.
The usual Honda red had been painted matt black and it would have looked sleek and sexy in her prime but it had to be more than just the colour. The only people who spent a fortune on an unremarkable item were the sentimental type. You sighed at your inability to say no to people, especially vets, despite Chip running his hand across his throat behind Bucky. You didn’t know what his problem was but you were going to fix the bike.
“Fine. I’ll take her but Chip is an asshole and wants me to say no.” You said pointing to the man making a break for the bathrooms and Bucky looked over his shoulder with a glare. “Can you meet me back here when I get off at 7?”
“Uh, ahem, sure.” He nodded after clearing his throat and licking his lips.
“Relax, soldier.” You teased the suddenly nervous man watching your lips. “I have a garage at home. I can fix her for you there and not get my ass fired for pissing off my boss. So 7?”
He nodded with a growing smile that sent a rush of endorphins flooding your body. “7.”
The mirroring smile on your face didn’t drop until his pick up pulled away and Chip emerged from the bathroom like the slimy weasel he was. He even had the audacity to curl his finger at you like he could summon you at his will. You scoffed and turned back to the Cobra, disappearing into your own world as you kept your hands busy so your mind didn’t wander back to Bucky.
“You’re really going to just show the Winter Soldier where you live?”
You jumped at the sudden sight of Chip as he dropped to the floor and your forehead hit the stabiliser bar above you before groaning and tossing your torch at him. You rolled out from the car once again and rubbed the sore spot furiously as you glared at your boss. At least now you knew why he seemed familiar, you had seen footage of him saving the Global Repatriation Council members. A small part of you wondered if that actually made him the bad guy after the hell they put people through.
“Well, you didn’t want me working on it here.” You complained, brushing your thoughts away. “Besides, the most dangerous bikers on the east coast know where I live. I think I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, well, bikers and heroes are a whole different kettle of fish, Jiminy. You always know where you stand with bikers.”
You rolled your eyes at his ominous tone before rolling yourself back out of sight. Any more interruptions and the simple repair and service would end up lasting another day. Thankfully the guys left you alone for the afternoon and by 6.45pm you were dropping the last tool back in your tool box with a happy sigh. Everyone else had already left for the day, it was only you that opted to work later since you didn’t have a family waiting at home and you preferred the quiet when they left.
Twin headlights illuminated the garage as Bucky’s pick up rolled in but he quickly shut them off as you covered your eyes from the glare. He was already getting out of his truck before you could tell him not to bother and he took the heavy tool box from your hands, carrying it effortlessly in just one of his.
“Where’s your car?” He asked as he looked around the empty staff parking and back at the toolbox in his hands.
“I don’t live far, I usually just walk.” You shrugged as you flicked the light switches off and set the office alarm, missing the look of concern that passed over his face.
You walked out of the garage with your bag and ducked beneath the roller door that was automatically closing to meet Bucky at his truck. He had already dropped your tool box over the side of the tray and was opening the passenger door, daring you to refuse the offer of a lift. You wouldn’t dream of doing that, you were tired and hungry and a hot man was offering you a ride home, yes please.
“Take the first left, then first right. You’ll know it when you see it.” You directed him as the engine turned over but even the diesel motor couldn’t drown out the sound of your stomach begging to be fed.
Bucky frowned at the sound and indicated right at the intersection instead of left and you are about to correct him on his poor listening skills when he turned into the diner a few shops in.
“I have food at home.” You mentioned as he turned the truck off.
“Hey, you’re going out of your way to help me when no one else would. The least I can do is buy you dinner.”
That damn smile of his sent another flood of warmth through you and it only got worse when you agreed. He led the way down the aisle of an old tram turned diner and waited for you to take a seat in a faded red vinyl bench before he sat down opposite.
“Why do you work for that douchebag?” He asked with blunt honesty.
Your laughter caught you by surprise and it had a few heads turning by the handful of patrons dining so you waved your hands in apology.
“Chip served with my father and he made a promise to keep an eye out for me when dad died.” You explained as you fiddled with the salt and pepper shaker. “He used to be sweet and kind but the Blip fucked him up. He hasn’t been the same since I got back.”
A quiet fell over the table but it wasn’t uncomfortable and also didn’t last long as the waitress wandered over and you ordered the first dish that caught your eye on the coffee stained menu. You both reached out to hand the menus back and the back of his hand brushed yours every so slightly and every hair on your arm rose with goosebumps.
“Are you cold?” He asked as he noticed you shiver and begin to shrug himself out of his jacket.
It would have been a lie to say you were cold since you were beginning to feel like the diner was hotter than a sauna but you kept your mouth shut and let him drape the leather over your shoulder. It reminded you of the days you would ride with the local biker gang, the pride you had of wearing a leather jacket very different to this but staked a claim nonetheless. Bucky’s jacket smelt like a woody cologne and raw masculinity, not like the stale smoke and beer that clung to your ex’s. You took another deep breath in through your nose so you could imprint the mouthwatering scent to your memory.
You liked the meal with Bucky, he was quite similar to you in the fact you could both be comfortable in silence and you found his blunt honesty a refreshing change in a man. Your drinks were warm by the time you finished them since neither of you were in any rush to leave but with a reluctant sigh Bucky got up and tossed some notes on the table with a good tip for the waitress. The chivalrous manner of his bygone generation was endearing and you ducked your head to hide your smile as he held the diner door open for you and then the truck door.
“Ok, I see what you mean.” He chuckled as he pulled onto your street and immediately noticed which house was yours.
High wired fences created a barricade between the street and your house but it was what lay between the space that gave it away. Your open garage showed a newly finished rebuild of a 1970 Dodge Charger R/T and scattered around the yard were all the discarded parts you hadn’t had time to get rid of yet. It was vastly different to the family homes that lined the street.
“Yeah, the neighbourhood support group is not too happy with me.” You half-joked before jumping out and unlocked the thick padlock so Bucky could drive through. “Give me a sec, I’ll bring the hoist out.”
Your mouth dropped as Bucky waved it off and just picked up the bike from the back of his truck. He just picked up a 440lb piece of metal with one hand and carried it inside your garage. You couldn’t even talk as you followed him dumbly inside and flicked all the lights on so the room was flooded brightly.
“Can I keep you?” You joked. “I have this jar upstairs that just refuses to open.”
His warm laugh did as much to you as the sight of him flexing and clenching his metal hand. “It has it’s uses I guess.”
“Oh I’m sure it does.” You said with a bit more longing than you had actually intended for him to hear so you busied yourself by wheeling a stool over to the bike and taking a quick inspection. “It’s going to take a while to fix, some of the factories that make the parts still haven’t restarted production but I’m not above scrap diving.”
“How much?” He asked as he crossed his arms and leant back against your workbench.
“As much as it sucked to come back from the Blip, the Avengers repaired a whole lot of broken families. The least I can do is fix this on the house.” You said as you began to pull some of the broken panelling off for a better look.
“You didn’t want to come back?” Bucky asked, voice laced with concern and curiosity.
“I don’t know.” You admitted with a small shrug. “They say five years passed but for me it was a second. One second. One second and my fiance has married my best friend and started a family with her. One second, and my mother has been dead for two years. Maybe…”
You hated to cry in front of anyone, especially a stranger, so you blinked rapidly and tried to stop the droplets from escaping the bounds of your lower lashes. It was only a matter of time before you were due another breakdown, you just hoped it wouldn’t be tonight, in the presence of Bucky.
“Shit.” Bucky swore softly under his breath and pushed off the bench. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
You waved off the apology with a sniffle and walked over to the small fridge you kept in the garage. You were grateful your back was to him as a lone teardrop rolled down your cheek and you quickly swiped it away before grabbing two beers and heading back to the bike and Bucky. He silently accepted the drink and chuckled when you looked around for something to open the bottle before holding his hand out.
“Jars and bottles, I’ve got it covered.” He smirked and pulled the bottle cap off with his metal fingers.
“Thanks.” You said taking a sip of the refreshing drink. “So, why are you so hung up over this anyway? And don’t lie this time.”
“It was a gift.” He stated after releasing his bottom lip he had bit while he debated whether to answer or not. “My best friend gave it to me before he…went away.”
You could read between the lines and accepted his truth with a nod before grabbing a socket wrench and continuing to pull apart the invaluable treasure before you. You worked quietly under the watchful eye of Bucky, the only sounds coming from the ratchet in your hands and the empty beer bottle he placed in your recycling bin. It was peaceful, it was nice to have another person around and even nicer that they didn’t feel the need to talk all the time.
The peaceful feeling was quick to wash away as you heard the throaty growl of the Rottweiler that had sauntered into your property. He was 130lb of pure muscle and right now he was salivating for a taste of the man opposite you. Bucky turned to look at the dog the same time that you did and it took a second to realise Benson was sizing Bucky up as a threat.
“Benny. Here boy.” You called and slapped your leg to get his attention.
The great lug bounded over and practically knocked you to the ground as he tried to lick your face off while you laughed, eventually managing to push him off you so you could stand up. He sat back on his haunches with his tail wagging furiously knowing you would give him a treat and you did just that, reaching behind Bucky to the tin that was reserved just for Benny. Bucky didn’t make any effort to move and your heart raced as your body pressed against his.
“That’s a big dog you have.” Bucky commented as you tossed the treat up and watched Benny easily catch it while baring his long canines for all to see.
“He’s not exactly mine.” You muttered as you scratched Benny’s ear fondly. “Did you slip your leash again?”
Not two seconds later did the deep rumble of a Harley roll down your street and your eyes flicked up to Bucky’s. You straightened up and Benny whined at the loss of your touch before you began to chew on your bottom lip.
“Um, let me grab your number and I’ll keep you updated about your Ceeber.” You rushed as a single motorcycle headlight pulled into your open gates. “You should go.”
“Are you alright?” Bucky frowned and ignored the heavy boots that were crunching their way along the gravel towards you. “Do you need me to deal with this guy?”
“No, no, that’s not necessary.” You whispered. “Just let me handle this.”
You turned to face your ex as he stepped into the light of the garage and immediately his lip curled at the sight of Bucky. He had always been possessive of you and that hadn’t changed with your reappearance from the Blip. Not even having a wife and child stopped him from thinking he still owned you.
“Benny, get home.” Axel growled at the dog you had picked out as a puppy but he had taken care of in your absence.
“This is his home.” You said when he didn’t move from your side. “Just let him stay.”
Axel laughed harshly and scratched his short beard with a heavily tattooed hand before reaching behind his back and pulling out the Beretta Storm he kept in his waistband. You held your hands up in surrender and dropped your head in defeat, he never let anything that belonged to him go.
“Go home Benny.” You commanded your dog with a lump in your throat.
Benny began to walk away slowly with his tail between his legs, stopping every few feet to look back and you had to turn away from his chocolate eyes that were begging you to call him back. Your lips were trembling and you hid them behind your hand, shaking your head at Bucky who looked ready to kill Axel with his bare hands.
“Do I know you?” Axel asked as he pointed the weapon at Bucky. “You look familiar but I know you don’t belong ‘round these parts.”
“Nah.” Bucky smirked, not showing an ounce of fear as he looked down the barrel of the gun. “I’m just here for her hands.”
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A/N: That's the end of chapter one. How do you think Axel is going to handle Bucky’s dig? I would love some feedback ♡♡♡
Next Chapter
#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader#marvel fanfiction#bucky barnes x poc!reader
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