Hey, y’all. Was feeling a lil bit silly and goofy so now this exists :)

Second-Hand Goods #6

Masterpost

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Warnings: non/dub-con

Emmett didn’t get much sleep. It was still the middle of the day, but he desperately wanted to rest. He burrowed his head into the pillow, trying to drown out the harsh fluorescent lights and the babble of his roommate. 

The man kept talking about escape, or fighting back; stupid shit that he didn’t want to hear. Why the fuck should he leave, anyway? The world was full of monsters like serial killers and landlords, and if he hadn’t messed up his life would be perfect by now. 

Emmett ignored him. 

The door at the top of the steps clicked open. He was so attuned to the doors now, he could hear it through the chatter of the guest.

The scent of something delicious wafted down the stairs. His stomach rumbled.

Emmett was stripped naked, cold, and his back and ass burned. And the man would not shut up.

God, he was going to lose his mind down here. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

Don’t cry, he told himself. Don’t you dare cry.

He heard Master on the steps, and his mouth began to water. Finally, some food.

Master unlocked the kennel, and Emmett crawled out. He didn’t like being so exposed, completely nude and vulnerable, but he made no move to cover up. It could be disobedient.

“Thank you, Master,” he said as he set the plate in front of him. Master liked good manners.

Lunch was plain chicken and rice with peas, and it was a far cry from whatever Master was cooking upstairs. Emmett didn’t care. Food was food.

Master fed the guest, and watched them eat. 

Emmett thought as he ate his rice. Obviously the best course of action was to be absolutely obedient from now on, and hope that would be enough.

___________________

It wasn’t enough. 

He’d been silent, only speaking to thank Master, and perfectly good. It didn’t seem to work. He was still ‘grounded’, but at least he had boxers now. 

He was doing the work, taking care of the morning routine. Master even trusted him enough to leave after refastening his muzzle. 

But Master no longer ruffled his hair or smiled at him. Not even a ‘good job’, and the silence was crushing. He was forbidden from speaking with guests, and the lack of interaction, any at all, was maddening.

What else could he do? 

___________________

The opportunity came soon enough. They were alone again, just him and Master in the house.

“I think we can leave this off, hm?” Master dangled the muzzle in his fingers. Emmett nodded. “Good.” 

Master turned to go hang the muzzle on its hook and Emmett had to act fast.

He lowered himself onto his hands and bowed his head to the cold floor. Maybe Master would take pity and pay attention to him.

“Emmett,” said Master, and he couldn’t read his tone. “What are you doing?”

“Please,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry. Please let me fix it. I want to be good for you.” He tried his hardest not to cry, but his voice cracked and tears slipped down his face. “I just want to fix it.”

Master said nothing, and he started to sob. His hands came to tug at his hair and he rocked a little trying to calm down.

“I can’t do this! Please, talk to me! I can’t-”

“Emmett, be quiet.” He shut his mouth hard enough to clack his teeth. Master crouched down in front of him, and took his chin in hand. Through his blurry tears he could hardly see Master’s expression.

“You want to be good for me?” Emmett nodded the best he could, still whimpering.

Master stood. “Come on then.” Master turned to the stairs, and Emmett’s heart soared. He followed him up the staircase, and deeper into the house. Was he finally good enough for a room?

Master opened the door to reveal a plain bedroom with a queen sized bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. It was perfect.

“Get on the bed, my dear.” Emmett scrambled for the bed, kneeling in the center. 

“Lie down. On your stomach.” He got down immediately, but his excitement faded when he realized. He tensed at the sound of Master’s belt. 

“Relax, darling,” cooed Master behind him.

“I- I’ve never-” he stammered, turning his head to the side to see him.

“I’ll be ever so gentle. Nothing to fear.” Master came to the nightstand, pulling open a drawer to reveal lube.

“Have I ever lied to you, Emmett?”

“No, Master,” he whispered, eyeing the bottle. He clutched the bedsheets. 

Master disappeared behind him, and he felt the bed dip. A warm hand guided him, tilting his ass upward to reveal more of his most sensitive areas. He flushed.

Master would not lie to him. He would be gentle.

Fingers dipped underneath the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down. He heard a plastic sound, and a wet squelch as Master emptied some lube into his palm.

Emmett took a deep breath in and out.

“Good boy.”

A cool wetness circled around his hole before slowly pushing in. 

Just one finger, and it already felt a bit much.

“Just breathe. It will feel good soon.” Master would not lie to him, Master does not lie-

He gasped as the finger brushed that spot inside; one he’d heard of but never tried himself.

Master hummed, pleased, and Emmett could finally relax a bit. Master was happy, and that eased his worries.

A second finger, just as slick, entered him and it wasn’t… so bad. This was a test, he was sure of it, and he was determined to pass.

The second finger turned into three, and Master seemed keen on pressing against that spot every other thrust. By the time he deemed him open enough, he was panting and rock hard. Precum dripped onto the sheets, but he was too distracted to remember this was supposed to be his new bed, and too out of it to be upset it was already ruined.

Master shifted behind him, and his only thought was to breathe. 

He pressed into Emmett, slow and careful. Master grunted, and he tried hard to relax and not feel like he was being torn apart.

He was so big.

But Master was a gentle, patient man, and he waited for Emmett to adjust before fully fucking him.

It felt strange, but a part of him enjoyed the attention. Master brushed against that spot, and stars burst in his vision.

He cried out on a particularly nice thrust, and Master reached around to stroke him. Emmett was torn between pushing back and pressing forward into Master’s hand.

It was good, hard but not demanding, firm but not bruising, and Emmett was so so close.

But Master finished hot inside him, and pulled out. Emmett whined at the loss, sinking into the bed. Disappointment coursed through him, but Master grabbed him by the waist and flipped him over. He grasped Emmett in hand, and stroked him hard and fast. Emmett panted and rolled his hips until finally, finally, he came.

There was a tiny part of him that screamed in horror at what he’d become, but the respite that came with pleasing Master drowned it out.

He had passed. Master hadn’t lied, and he had won the attention he was craving. It was everything he wanted.

“Such a good boy,” murmured Master as he cleaned him up with a warm washcloth. He got Emmett a new pair of boxers from the dresser. “I think you’ve earned this room. What do you think?”

“Yes! Yes- I mean, if you think so, Master.” 

Master smiled at him, and he wept in relief. 

At last, he was safe.

taglist: @writereleaserepeat @paintedpigeon1 @morning-star-whump @softmutt444

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

beginning, middle and end

-> the one where heating chicken soup takes 20 minutes… for chris

ultimate fluff because i miss chris ://

here’s a quick fluff fic because i also really wanted to get something out

-h

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

—

“Mr Evans. Has anyone ever told you that you have such a beautiful ass?” You point out because well— he does have an amazing ass and it’s your job to remind him of it every damn day.

Chris sighs, half turning to look at you before he shakes his head almost in disbelief. “Sweetheart, I’m losing count on how many times you’ve said that this morning.”

You simply grin as you sneaked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso, cheek pressed against his bare back. “Just doing my job to make your pretty ass feel appreciated, honey.”

“Your job—” He turns slowly in your embrace and firmly placed his palms on your shoulders before pushing you back to the dining table. “—is to stay here, wait, and look sexy while I try not to burn that damn chicken soup, okay?” He pointedly eyes you while pushing you down to sit.

“Christopher, you can’t burn soup.” You groan shrugging his hands off so you can stand, only to get pushed back down. “Chris, I’m seriously fine. I don’t feel sick. I don’t even feel like eating,”

“Hey.” He softly flicks your forehead making you whine and rub the spot while he just laughs at you. “C’mon, whatever I say goes, okay? Just let me take care of you. Plus— the last time you ate was yesterday afternoon, and your temperature’s still pretty high, honey.”

You frown, deciding to just settle down and make the poor man’s life easier. “Can I at least have apple juice, please?”

Knowing Chris, he’d probably take half an hour just to heat up the soup. And really- he only has to put it in a pot and bring it to a boil. God knows how your husband never fails to mess that up.

With a sigh, Chris steps to the fridge for the bottle of your apple juice. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder if I’m actually married to a kid…” He passes the bottle over to you.

“Sometimes I wonder why I married a guy who can’t cook.” You retort, snatching the bottle and sipping away on the straw.

Chris placed a hand on your shoulder, leaning down and leaving a kiss on the top of your head. “20 minutes tops. Promise.”

“That’s what you always say, Evans.”

Chris snorts, deciding to just ignore what you said. He goes into the kitchen and befor ehe actually startes ‘cooking’ he turns around and makes sure that you aren’t plotting anything. His lips curl when he sees that you’re just staring down at your crossword book with the butt of the pencil resting on your lips. Chris discreetly takes out his phone and snaps a picture of well— you.

Completely unaware of your husband antics and armed with your crossword book and apple juice you somehow decided to mute Chris and his clumsy ass out.

_

"Baby-"

Chris stops in his words as he catches you dozing off. He chuckles softly, watching your shoulders move the slightest bit as you breathe, the side of your face pressed against the crossword book and your fingers wrapped around the bottle of apple juice.

He glances at the clock. Well at least for once, he did stick to the 20 minute limit to get the soup heated. It’s a shame you’re busy drooling off to witness his new achievement.

Chris softly sets the bowl on the table, lips curling into a smile completely filled with adoration as he looks at you. He pulls his phone out, tapping on camera app and quickly snapping a picture of you sleeping. He slips the phone back just as quick as he got it out. Chris gently pries your fingers away from the bottle, trying his best not to wake you up. Though that was the easy part. He has no idea how to carry you from that damn position without being too much of a nuisance to your slumber.

He slides an arm right on the underside of your knees, the other tucking just around your shoulders. He carries you up as gently as he could, holding you close to his chest as he silently walks to the bedroom.

You stirred in your sleep, almost scaring Chris. But you just wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him closer and pressing your face into his chest.

He just lets out a breathy laugh, loving how you paid no mind and somehow just went back to sleep. Chris sets you on the bed, pulling the covers over you like he usually does.

Just as he makes sure you’re comfy and turns to leave, you absentmindedly cling on to his arm. “Stay wimme,”

Chris lets out a louder laugh this time. “You’ve been awake this whole time?”

“Maybe if you bothered to mute your phone and not wake me up with the shutter,” You retort, eyes opened just a tad bit. You tug on his hand. “C’mon just stay till I go back to sleep.”

Chris obliges and climbs in right beside you. His arm stretched out as he pulls you right into his chest. “You still gotta eat when you wake up, honey,” His fingers run through your hair, gently scratching your scalp.

You hum in reply, nose nuzzling into his bare chest as your eyes starts to close. “Congratulations on heating it in under 20 minutes, by the way,”

You feel his chest rumble with laughter before Chris leans down and presses a kiss on the top of your head. “G’night, sweetheart.”

It took a while before your breathing slowed down. Chris shifted slowly to pull his phone out, this time remembering to mute his phone before he taps on the camera app again. He flips to the front camera and angles it so both of you are in frame. He taps on the shutter once, getting the selfie he wants. It doesn’t even matter that the picture was pretty blurry. Everyone will just blame it on his phone being an iPhone 6s instead of blaming his shaky hands.

Chris goes on Instagram, the whole process even more delayed with how he’s just using one hand to tap on the screen.

-

[picture 1] [picture 2] [picture 3]

chrisevans Beginning, middle and end of dragging out the simple action of heating chicken soup.

tagged: y/nevans

--

As always! Reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated, my loves! <3

Omg I'm SO sorry!!! I'm the soulmates pain AU anon, I was completely aware you were the one with the milestone!! I saw the post through Molly's rb and I was almost completely sure I had opened your blog to send you the ask but alas, the Tumblr app can never give you any certainties. That long-ass message was completely dedicated to you, I still can't quite grasp how I managed to send it to scribbledghost 🙄🙄🙄 Sorry!!! Congrats again, I love you!!!!

for reference a Din Djarin x reader soulmate request where your soulmate feels your injuries and pain

hello, dear heart!

I wanted to say, before anything else, thank you. I've reread your words multiple times since you sent this, confirming they were to me, and they really mean the world to me. thank you so, so much! anyway, your idea is fantastic, I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope you like seeing what I did with your already wonderful thoughts 💕

ps it's well documented that I'm a big fan of sprawling thoughts, so please never apologize for sharing them!

warnings: mentions canon-typical injuries, a bunch of fluff. at least enough for a couple of throw pillows

>>

soulmate requests / follower celebration

<<

There's a short burn on his forearm when he wakes.

Din stares at it, wondering at the dull ache, trying to place the injury from yesterday's adventure when it hits him. Hot and golden warmth, flooding through his chest, thawing his flesh against the cold filtered air.

It's one of yours.

A burn, on his forearm.

And selfishly, indulgently, he pauses for a moment, mind slipping away from duty and expectations to dwell in the daydream of his soulmate.

First, his mind creates an image of a blurry mandalorian caretaker, gently moving around a kitchen in the covert. You stir a pot, tapping the spoon on the side before setting it down. Hearing distant calls, you turn too quickly and oh - a sliver of burn along your arm.

Din wants to help, wants to pull you away from the domestic .... danger, and he rushes forward. Your helmet turns to him and he almost sees it - before his mind can no longer produce the answers he aches for late at night.

The second image is of you, in armor as gleaming as his own, in a thick, unrecognizable forest. The hairs on his neck are at full attention, already subconsciously wanting to shout - but you don't need his help. You're breathtaking in all versions of his daydream - but watching you fight with practiced ease punches the air from his lungs. For a moment he feels self-conscious of his awkward maneuvers and slapdash fighting but then his mind pulls him back. You're protecting someone, or else you wouldn't have messed up - you never do, injuries from you are too rare - but you shove them behind you, shooting an enemy over your shoulder before your helmet snaps back. There are so many - you're surrounded - and a hot, sharp blaster bolt grazes your forearm before your fury is truly unleashed.

He runs his fingers over the burn, almost giddy at the possibilities.

Mandalorians are few and far between, but he's grateful he has a soulmate, and even more thankful you've kept yourself out of harm's way almost entirely, since you'd been connected.

As he dons his layers, the shine of his armor reflects bruises and scrapes littered across the expanse of his skin. His own, from his journey, and one beautiful little burn from his soulmate.

And then they're covered, and the armor is tied securely in place, and he leaves his daydreams in the room as the ship door slides unceremoniously shut.

-

You hiss at the burn, clutching your arm.

Great. Just what you needed - another injury to add to your impressive collection.

At least my soulmate gets a gift from me this time. You roll your eyes.

The vendor next to your stall is a sweet lady, already apologizing for her steaming pots and pans and offering you compensation.

The credits would be nice, but you could hardly justify taking anything, especially since it was your soulmate's fault your body was riddled with aches and pains in the first place.

Waving your hand, you accept her counter offer - a bowl of her perfect broth and noodles - before retreating. You sell cloth, from beautiful dyed lengths tucked away to sturdy, unstainable blacks, and it was days like today that you thanked your stars for that choice.

There's a thick pile in the middle that you perch on, sinking into the folds as your body cries at you, and you sigh over your soup in relief. The burden of waking to webbing bruises and sprawling scrapes and the more-than-occasional broken bone is eased by your stall - sitting and haggling until the sun goes down. That is, unless there's drama in the market, as it seems there is today.

In the distance you hear shouts, more than those of vendors selling meat on sticks to passing warriors and merchants - the taunts of drunkards.

Someone is coming, and you almost laugh when you see his form in the distance, because he's trying and failing to be inconspicuous. It's impossible, with his gleaming armor, but still he ducks into shadowy spots, forgetting - or maybe ignoring - their inhabitants.

"A Mandalorian has graced our market," your neighbor remarks dryly. They were respected, but it was well known that chaos followed them. You share a look, both wishing you were wealthy enough to conpletely pack up shop. If anything, a logical person would put away most of the stock and hunker down for a few hours. Weighing the odds was difficult: if you were lucky, the chaos wouldn't bother your business, and shoppers might be drawn out, hoping for entertainment and spending as they waited. If you weren't, a wayward burst of plasma or blaster fire would destroy your whole month's stock.

You looked at him again, the Mandalorian kneeling down the street. His form was... almost handsome, formidable but careful. He was light on his feet, seemingly with gentleness on his mind, and it drew you in like a moth to flame. You decided to stay, and hope for the best, your curiosity pulsing like your bruises.

And you were lucky, that day, because he ducked away not a moment later, taking the exciment with him.

Until, he came back the next day, this time on the prowl, stalking up and down the edge of Dicer's Row, one hand on his blaster and the other atop a bulky, wriggling bag. This time, you ventured to stand, folding and refolding your displays as you watched him through your lashes.

And then he made his move, and you sighed, feigning a yawn to cover your disappointment from your neighbor's knowing smile. She shouldn't be wiggling her eyebrows over the box wall between you - honestly his type were more annoying than anything. A crash from the alley confirmed it: there was no way a guy like that cared about his soulmate. The gentleness from before was surely a trick of the light.

Your whole side lit up with pain, the impact of something hard against your whole side and you groaned, settling into your mound again. Any curiosity or attraction was snuffed under your annoyance and pain, and your mood soured like fruit left unpicked on the tree.

Selfish, you thought, glaring as a chicken ran squawking from the commotion. What a jerk.

-

The next day, you tried to maintain the sentiment, huffing as he wandered the stalls.

Why does he keep coming back?

You'd have thought his time here was over when he'd dragged that lowlife out of town yesterday. But here he was, buying a crock of soup at the stall next to you, and ignoring her comments about how he couldn't eat it with his helmet on.

She had warmed to him, since he'd put money in her pocket, chattering in a way that kept him stuck for long moments.

It struck you as strange - he almost seemed too awkward to leave, like her returned generosity actually meant something to him. A man like him... surely could've just walked away.

But he stayed for awhile, nodding and looking at the spoons she carved in her free time, and you almost thought he was looking at you, too. Then he ducked his head and planted himself in front of you, and certainly he was.

For all the years you'd spent weaving words to sell your fabrics and goods, you'd never been so speechless. The Mandalorian was large, sharp, shining edges and bulky canvas packs tied to his shoulders - he seemed out of place, filling your whole stall, shuffling as he loomed over you.

He asked for soft brown things - children's clothes.

"Of course, I - I mean, yes, just over here -" you tripped over your words, caught completely off guard by the shape of him, the feel of him just an arms width away, and his request. You stumbled from your seat, nearly toppling in your hurry and his gloved hand wrapped around your arm, catching you.

"You're injured," he stated not really asking. It was... overwhelmingly intimate, him knowing, and acknowledging it, like he cared.

"Yeah, my..." you swallowed, trying not to get lost in the dark glass inches from your face. "My self-centered soulmate keeps getting himself nearly killed."

Even with your heart thumping in your chest, you couldn't keep the bite from your words, bitterness having collected over years of nursing injuries that were consequences of someone else's actions. He didn't let go of you for a moment, his helmet pulling back and tilting, like he was startled.

Then he was cautious, unbearably so, releasing his grip like a child freeing a captured creature when it was time. The topic was dropped, and he made his purchase quickly, but before he left, he paused. The Mandalorian's gloved hand ghosted over your cheek, slowly moving a hair back into it's place, and if you hadn't known better, it was almost an apology.

And then, thick cape swirling in the dust, tiny clothes in tow, he swept away, leaving you along with your whole body alight with a foreign longing.

-

Din felt as though he'd been stabbed.

Hot, hot feelings poured through his chest, spreading fast as fire as he desperately tried to sort through them.

You - you were incredible, fragile and bruised, with the most stunning, determined eyes he had ever seen. Not a Mandalorian, and you had a ... a soulmate, a fucker who left your skin littered with marks, burdening you with ...

He felt panicked, shocked, and guilty, just as he had when you'd told him. It had never occred to him that his soulmate might be there... out there, constantly burdened by his recklessness. His body screamed for attention, something he so often ignored, but this time, he was almost deafened by it.

His feet, legs, arms, chest, heart - all of them wanted him to return to you, in your little fabric stall. To... what? Truly, he hadn't the slightest idea, so his mind won out, shaking a little to try to reign in the muscles that he'd taught to obey him.

He couldn't go to you.

But, he couldn't stay away.

-

He was back in the market, and this time, he wasn't being subtle about staring at you.

Tall and ... slow, he waded through the crowds, making his was towards you like he was following a careful path.

"Can I help you?" You stood, moving almost involuntarily towards him. "Was there something wrong with my -" he was already shaking his head, hands reaching to make you shush.

Waiting, an irrational part of your mind wished he would touch you again, would place his big hands on your skin and sooth the aches that haunted your life. It was unfair, but you didn't stop it, couldn't if you tried.

Carefully, he slid a single finger to your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the little burn you'd gotten.

He was being gentle. It made you want to stomp your feet, jealously welling up in your heart like bile, bitter and hot. How could it be, that someone so powerful had learned so quickly, wanted to, and he wasn't - he wasn't even your -

Then he moved again, pushing up his own sleeve and your thoughts tumbled over each other. It was intimate, even more than before, desperately trusting, as his skin near glowed in the morning light. And there was a burn on his skin, hairs singled like they'd met the edge of a pot of boiling broth.

You wanted to punch him. This man has spent years tossing his body around like he had one one spare, making your own as brittle as bread crust and - you wanted to kiss him. This man had learned after a single day, the impact of his actions, and had been nothing but kind.

The forehead of his helmet pressed into yours, and the two sides of your mind compromised.

Later, words would come - they had to.

But now, your eyes closed, and you sighed. He had the rest of your life to make it up to you - and he would, you were sure.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina

Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Pogues x OC, Eventually JJ x OC

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister.

Note: Changed my update schedule to two times a week (probably Sunday and Wednesdays) because three days was kind of overwhelming hahah. Again, thank you for all the wonderful reviews and feedback!! I appreciate every single one!!!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Being shot at?

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3

The Pogues come over later to hang out like usual. No one mentions last night's party. I don't know whether its because they don't want to talk about it or we're pretending like it never happened. I'm fine with either.

I sit next to Kie who taps her fingers on a bongo and bobs her head to her own beat. Pope's shuffling a deck of cards to my right and JJ sips on another beer across from me. It's hard to concentrate on what they're talking about. I'm too busy locked in my own head, thinking about what Peterkin said - foster care - what life would be like if we were taken away. Would I ever see my friends again? Would John B and I be in the same foster home? The thought of being separated makes me sick.

"Look, I'm calling it off. All right?" John B pulls me out of my thoughts. JJ rolls his eyes at my brother and glances at me. "Peterkin said if we stay out of the marsh, she'll help us with DCS."

"And you believed her?" JJ asks. "An actual cop, John B. You believed a cop."

John B sighs. "All I gotta do is stay out of the marsh for a couple days, and she'll help me out. It doesn't help that your ass was the one shooting a gun."

Here we go.

"You know what I should have done? Just let Topper drown your ass."

"Topper was gonna drown me?"

"Sure looked like it."

"Funny," John B deadpans.

"Have you looked in a mirror?"

"Tell me some more. Come on." I can tell by the look on John B's face that he's getting annoyed. It's pinched and he keeps rolling his eyes.

JJ steps closer to him. "They always win, don't they, man? Kooks versus Pogues. They always, always win!" He turns around and punches one of the small volleyballs we have tied in a string like a decoration.

"Look, it's okay!" Kie tries to calm him down.

"No, it's not okay! It's not! They don't want us to go down into the marsh." JJ comes back. "That means there's something valuable down there, and you know it." He turns to me and points. "I know you do." Then he looks at Pope. "I know you do. And I understand why you don't wanna go. You're the golden boy. You got way too much to risk. And you -" He turns to Kie. "I mean, you're already rich as fuck anyway. Why would you bother? But you and me, and Marleigh, man, we got nothing to lose! We really don't all right?"

"JJ -" I sigh.

"And I know it didn't use to be that way for you -"

John B shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about it!"

"So that's it?"

John B shoves past JJ. "Just get out of my way, bro."

"John B, listen to me. I have a plan." Well thats never good. "You got the key to Cameron's big boat right?"

"No," John B says, already knowing where JJ's head is at.

"There's scuba gear. We borrow that, and then we go down to the wreck this afternoon, and that is what's gonna save you, man. You don't see rich kids going into foster care, do you?"

Here's the thing about JJ. He can be really convincing, which is usually the reason he and I get into the most trouble. Because I always fall for what he's saying. He gives me hope when I don't think there is any. He can be surprisingly optimistic sometimes. And when he is, I fall for his charm and agree with everything he says. If he told me to jump off a bridge, I probably would.

When he looks at me, my lips tug upwards into a smile. This creates a domino effect, and soon the other Pogues get excited. John B looks at me, trying to look disapproving but I shrug in response. I mean, JJ's right. What do we have to lose?

                                                       ~ ~ ~

I light a match and ignite my gas stove to make myself lunch. A can of chicken noodle soup that's been in my food closet for who knows how long. John B left to grab the tanks from the Cameron's boat, so the rest of us are waiting here until he comes to pick us up.

"You're eating soup? Its like a hundred degrees outside." JJ walks into the kitchen and lifts himself up on the counter next to the stove.

I stir the liquid around with a wooden spoon and smirk. "Do you see any other edible food around here?" JJ chuckles at that. He knows better than anyone how horrible John B and I are at food shopping. "I meant to go to the store today but..." I sigh. "I've been busy."

JJ pauses, causing me to look up at him. He's usually so quick with his wit and humor. Something I admire and love about him. How he always manages to put a smile on my face with some dumb remark or a sarcastic reply. Only now he's staring at me with curiosity. "Are you okay?"

"You mean other than the impending doom that is foster care that's going to hit me and John B in the near future?" I say sarcastically. I turn the stove off and grab two bowls out of the cabinet behind JJ's head. He ducks for me and my waist presses against his thigh. I pour half the soup in each bowl and hand him one with a spoon.

"Yeah, I mean other than that," JJ says. I blow on the liquid on my spoon to cool it down. The steam that comes up from my bowl already makes me feel hot.

"I'm fine," I tell him.

He gives me a look that says he's doesn't believe me, but I ignore it and he doesn't press me on it. Truth is, I am fine. I just have a lot of my mind but I'm going to do my best not to let it ruin my summer. JJ got me excited again. He's promising an adventure and possibly a fortune. He's right. John B and I have nothing to lose. If we don't go on the marsh today, DCS will find another reason to snatch us. So why hold ourselves back?

"Mar, JJ, he's back!" Kie calls out to us from my yard.

JJ sips the last of his broth out of the bowl and I shovel in the last couple of scoops into my mouth. We throw the bowls in the sink and run to the dock where John B and the others are waiting for us.

Pope directs John B to the part of the marsh where we found the wreck. I sit next to Kie in the front of the boat. She's looking at the two tanks that John B was able to snag off the Cameron's boat. Her brows are furrowed in confusion as she studies the gear.

"This is empty," Kie says, looking up at my brother who stops the boat when we find the sunken Grady-White. "You took empty tanks?"

"I..." John B says slowly. He definitely didn't look at it before he took it.

"Okay, this one's a quarter full," Kie says, pulling the tank to her left closer to her. "Its enough for one of us."

"Love it when a plan comes together," I say sarcastically and pass a look to JJ who rolls his eyes.

"Does anybody know how to dive?" Kie asks.

I purse my lips and look around at my friends and brother. None of them speak up.

"Uh..."

"Anybody?" Kie asks.

"It's kind of a Kook sport," I say.

Pope raises his hand. "I...read about it."

"Great, Pope read about it so someone's gonna die," Kie says.

JJ walks towards us and picks up the mouth piece and shrugs his shoulders. "Look, you put the thing in your mouth and breathe. How hard could it be?"

Pope answers, "If you come up too fast, nitrogen gets into your blood, and you get the bends."

JJ glances between Pope and the rest of us. "Bends like..." JJ bends forward, purposely sticking his butt out, "bend over and..."

Pope cuts him off. "The bends kill you."

JJ snaps straight up. "Right."

I roll my eyes and stand up. "I'll do it."

"Uh, I don't think..." JJ starts to say but my brother cuts him off.

"No. I'll do it."

"What, why?" I turn to my brother and send him a glare.

"Because Pope just said it can kill you and you don't listen to instructions very well." My brother glares back at me. I roll my eyes. He does have a point and evidence to prove it. I usually follow my own gut and ignore others' directions. And because I don't want him to bring up past events, I decide not to fight him on it.

"He has a point," JJ says, earning a punch in the bicep from me. He looks at my brother. "You can dive. I'm cool with that."

"Since when can you dive?" Kie says not liking the idea any more than me.

He shrugs. "I'll do it. It's fine."

"Let me do some calculations real quick," Pope says as John B starts putting on the scuba gear.

"You serious?" JJ asks.

"That boat's about thirty feet down. Okay? So it'll take twenty five minutes at that depth. Twenty five. Which means you need to make your safety stop at about...ten feet."

Contrary to popular belief, I do the actual listening to instructions, I just don't always follow through. But I process everything Pope just said and think of a way to make this easier for John B.

I shimmy out of my jean shorts and pull my top over my head, leaving me in a purple and white striped bikini. Without saying anything, I jump into the water with my shirt.

"Uh..." Pope says, looking into the water where I just disappeared. "What was that about?"

"I don't know. But I liked it. A lot," JJ says, staring at the same spot. John B slaps the back JJ's head and glares daggers in his direction. JJ pretends to clear his throat and turns away from John B.  "Uh, so..."

Pope pretends to focus on his calculations again, not wanting to get caught by John B for staring at his sister too. "Yeah. Uh, when you uh, when you're down there, you look for the cargo hold. You stick this thing inside and twist and pull, okay?"

I guesstimate how deep ten feet is and tie my shirt around the chain attached to our anchor. I look one last time at the blurry image of the sunken boat and pull myself back up.

"Hey," I say to grab their attention. They all look at me. "I tied my T-shirt to the anchor chain about ten feet down. It's where you need to do your safety stop."

John B nods. "Cool."

I stay in the water, loving how the water feels around me like a protective blanket. I listen to Pope explain the important parts of diving. There's some kind of meter he has to pay attention to to keep track of time.

"Okay, how much do I need?" John B asks.

"Unclear," Pope answers. "Breathe as little as possible."

JJ slaps John B on the shoulder. "Zen. Think zen, you know?"

John B turns to the water, preparing to jump in next to me.  "Yeah. Got it."

"Hey," Pope says, stopping him. "If we get caught in the marsh, we're basically screwed, so better get a move on."

"No pressure or anything," I add.

"Copy that," John B says.

Kie approaches my brother and stands in front of him. She's really close to him, almost inches away from his face. Then she leans in and kisses his cheek slowly. Way more intimate than usual. My eyes widen in surprise and I look at Pope and JJ to see their reaction. They mirror mine.

"Diver down?" Kie says softly.

"Diver down." John B says just as softly.

"See ya, dude," JJ says.

John B jumps in the water and sinks down below me. I lay on my back in the water and bathe in the warmth of the sun above me. I even close my eyes, letting relaxation overcome me. I could probably sleep here if I wanted too.

"Shit, JJ," Pope curses, catching my attention.

"Guys, that's the police," Kie says.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," JJ says, glancing at me.

My eyes go wide with anxiety. I swim closer to the boat and look up at JJ. "JJ, they can't know I'm here. If they find me-"

"Hey, hey, hey. It's gonna be okay. They're not going to, just stay there."

I nod and press myself tighter against the boat.

"Just act freaking normal," Kie says through clenched teeth.

I can hear the sirens coming closer until I feel their boat bump against ours. I flinch against it and kick my feet faster to stay afloat. I look down at the water, but I can't see John B. My heart races at the thought of him running out of air.

"Evening," I hear one of the cops greet my friends.

"JJ, tie it off," Pope says.

"How you kids doing? You know the marsh is closed?" The officer asks them.

"No."

"No. Wow."

My friends play dumb. I look up, finding comfort in seeing JJ's long hair. I can tell he's trying hard not to look down at me.

"Why - why is it closed?" Pope asks.

"Well, we're conducting a search out here. Boat went down." The officer explains.

"Oh."

"See anything?"

"No." JJ purses his lips and shrugs.  

"No boats," Kie says. "No."

There's a pause and for a split second I think he's gonna call their bluff. But he doesn't. "Where are the other two kids you always hang with? The twins? They here?"

I bite my bottom lip hard in anticipation for what's to come. He knows we're here. He has to. I can tell by how suspicious he sounds. I look back down in the water, John B still invisible to me. I don't know how much time he has left, but he's definitely running out of it.

"They both had to work," I hear Kie answer.

"Hm," The officer hums. "I'm gonna check your little boat out."

Shit, shit, shit, shit. I look around for a place to hide, but the only thing surrounding me is water. I'm going to have to go under.

"Yeah." JJ coughs, risking one last look at me before pretending to help the officer into the boat. "Yeah, hop aboard."

I push myself under the water and swim directly underneath the boat. I open my eyes, ignoring the sting of the salt water. I can see John B's silhouette by my T-shirt and the blurry light of his timer.

Thirty more seconds pass. I swing my arms upwards, pushing myself deeper into the water. The shadow of the cops' boat is still next to ours. My lungs are screaming at me for for air like they're tearing into my chest. Just like John B, I don't know how long I'm going to be able to last down here.

My body reactively gulps for air, forcing myself to swallow the salt water. It feels like a stab in my chest, my throat on fire. I've got to pop back up to the surface or I'm going to drown.

Just as I'm about to reveal myself, the shadow of the boat drives off. I push myself up, coughing up the water I swallowed and gasping for air. Less than a second later, John B pops up next to me.

"Oh, god! Jesus Christ," Kie says with her eyes closed and her head looking up.

"Don't scare us like that!" Pope says.

JJ watches me instead of John B, concern laced into his features. As I feel my heart go back to its normal pace, I smile at him and laugh the anxiety off. "You good?" He asks me. I nod and let him help me back up to the boat. "How'd it go down there?" He asks my brother. "Did you find anything?"

"Did I find anything?" John B scoffs and holds up a dark velvet bag.

"Yeah, there we go!" JJ claps his shoulders. "That's my boy!"

"Jeez, dude," Pope sighs.

"You okay?" Kie asks John B.

John B pants as he swims closer to the boat. "Yeah, I ran out of air."

"You and me both," I tell him.

John B pulls himself up. When he stands, he's met face to face with Kie who shoves him back playfully. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Yeah, the cops were up here, but, uh...we took care of 'em." Pope says, trying to act like he wasn't going to piss his pants the entire time he was talking to them.

"My bad," John B laughs.

"You're all good."

"Yeah, you kinda missed the show, brother," JJ says.

I move to the back of the boat to ring my wet hair out when something catches me eye. Its another boat, but it doesn't look like the one the cops were just using.

"Hey, guys? Guys!" I call louder to grab their attention. "Bogey, two o'clock."

"What?" JJ comes up next to me and eyes the boat that's making its way closer to us.

"Do you recognize the boat?" Pope asks.

"I've never seen it," I answer.

A bad feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I can make out two people, I think men, standing in the front. They keep their eyes straight on us. No laughing or talking like a couple of buds would on a boat day in the marsh.

"What are they doing here? The marsh is closed," Kie says.

"Let's not stick around and find out." JJ places his hands on my bare waist and pulls me to the side so he can pull up the anchor.

"JJ get the bowline," John B says, not realizing that JJ was already on it.

"Yeah."

"Should we wait on 'em?" Pope asks.

"No. No. We should leave now. Right now," Kie says, looking directly at John B.

"Go get the stern," John B tells me. "Go!"

I kneel next to JJ and help him. Similar to how I felt in the water, my heart beats violently against my chest and my breathing becomes static. I try not to think of the fear that creeps through my veins as I help release the boat from it's hold in the marsh.

"Guys, don't wait for us! Go!" JJ yells.

"Go!" Kie says.

"Pull out the stern!" Pope yells at us.

I yank the chain hard, revealing the slimy anchor covered in seaweed and moss.

"I don't like this," I mutter to JJ between clenched teeth.

John B pulls away from the wreck. JJ looks between me and the boat that still driving in our direction. "Are they coming for us?"

"Maybe they're fishing," Pope says.

"Go, go, go, go!"

"Go into the marsh," I tell my brother, constantly glancing between him and the other boat.

"Let's go," Kie says. I can hear fear creep into her voice and her hands shake around the drivers seat she's holding with a death grip.

"I'm going. Act natural!" John B hisses and revs the engine of the boat.

He takes a left turn into the marsh. I watch anxiously for the people in the other boat to make its move.

They turn left.

"Guys, they're following us!" Kie says.

"This can't be good," Pope says.

"Dude, you gotta go faster!" JJ says.

"I'm going!" John B yells back.

"Gun it!"

I look behind the boat. They're getting closer. Too close. Can't say I'm surprised. The HMS Pogue is no match for their boat that looks more expensive than my house. However, something catches my eye. Something long the guy in the passenger seat is holding and pointing right at us.

"Is that..." I mutter before I'm cut off by exactly what I was going to say.

The gun shot rings through my ears as if the person who shot it was standing next to me. Before I can react, JJ pulls me down to the floor of our boat by my waist and covers me with his own body. I gotta say, this isn't how I pictured him being on top of me. His left arm outlines my head, keeping me face down while other bullets pass our boat. The cries of my friends are dull through the blood pounding in my ears and my heart inching its way up my throat.

"Holy shit!" Kie shouts.

"John B, get down!" JJ yells.

I try looking up at my brother but JJ's hold is strong. John B's still behind the wheel, trying his best to duck from bullets without crashing the boat.

"We're gonna die!" Pope yells.

I try looking around the boat for anything we can use against these guys. Of course JJ decides to leave the gun he stole at my house for the day, leaving us practically useless against these two strangers.

My eyes find a net pooling in front of Kie's face as she keeps her head down. I try crawling out of JJ's embrace which only makes him tighten his arms around me.

"Kie!" I shout. She looks up at me with wide eyes. "The net!"

Immediately she understands what I'm trying to tell her. She pulls herself away from Pope and army crawls to the wide net. This only makes my friends yell at her, telling her to get down, but she doesn't listen.

"Get down, Kie!" John B shouts.

Another gun shot echoes through the air, making me flinch closer into JJ.

Kie throws the net overboard towards their boat and drops back down to her knees. The sound of the other boat's engine clanging against the net gets my head to perk up and I watch Kie's reaction. She's surprisingly smiling. When she looks at me, she lets out a breathy laugh and shakes her head in disbelief because that just worked. Their boats gets stuck.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go," Pope says.

One last gun shot rings through my ears before we make our getaway.  I pull myself off the floor and look back at the boat one last time. We severely underestimated how important finding that boat was. Whatever John B found was worth killing us for.

A couple minutes later, John B pulls the boat up to the Chateau and docks it by the wooden slacks that I used as a bed last night. My friends cheer and actually smile after what just happened.

"That was insane!" Kie says.

"Whoo!"

I look at my brother with adrenaline rushing straight to me head. I feel giddy about finding out what JB found - what must be so important. "What do you think it is?"

"Gotta be money, right?" He asks, looking at me.

"That or a couple of keys with street value to the low-to-mid-mills," JJ says, leisurely danglingly his arm around my shoulders.

"Can we please just open the bag?" Pope says loudly, forcing everyone's attention at him who now looks at us sheepishly.

"Wow, Pope," John B laughs. "That's a rare outburst of emotion."

"Okay, you guys are literally killing me with anticipation," He says. "Open the bag!"

"Jeez." JJ whistles.

"We almost died over this," Pope says like its an explanation. But he's right. We did almost die for this, which is why I need to know what's in it now.

John B opens the velvet bag. Something heavier than money falls out of it with a thunk. Its round and metal. Dirty and dented. Physically ugly and maybe priceless, but it looks familiar. I narrow my eyes at it, trying to study it and rack my brain through where I've seen it before.

"Oh, wow. Yup. That's about right," Pope sighs at the sight of our treasure. "Good job, everybody. We found a compass."

The word compass hits me like a train and my body goes slack like my limbs just turned into jell-o. John B is already looking at me, shocked at the real meaning of what we just found. I push myself in front of JJ and look down at the object he's holding. Priceless maybe true to the others but not to me. Not to John B. This means everything.

JJ looks between John B and I and laughs nervously at our reactions. "Dude, what? It's not worth anything."

My brows furrow together in confusion as I try to wrap my head around how we just found our dad's possession on another man's boat. A dead man's boat. But I feel blank. Like someone just wiped all my thoughts and memories.

"This was our father's compass," I say emotionless, keeping my eyes on JB who looks equally as terrified.

Tag List: @notyourcupofteax @acvross-the-universe @jjmaybankzz  @jeeperky​ @realistic-breadstick  @moniamaybank  @urbinoutfiters​ @brebear121​  @x-lulu​

Selcouth

You shouldn’t have come on this stupid trip. Not even if it had opened you up more to him. If anything, you felt this trip had soured the more time had passed. Alex could tell. But you two had to play it safe, play the parts that Karl thought you two assumed from his perspective. You resented that, having to stick to an image that he had formed of you, one that tried to act like you weren’t so in love with him it made your heart ache. 

Or,

You and Alex plan a meet up with Karl for a week trip, only to have your feelings for Karl be put to the test when things don’t pan out how you all planned. (Karl Jacobs/Reader)  

After

“Stop it.” He says, voice serious and no longer joyful or even hinting at friendliness. You’ve heard Karl be serious many times but this time sounded different. This time he sounded like he was scolding a child after being annoyed by them repeatedly. 

“Stop what?” You ask, pretending to be aloof.

“Stop acting like a child!”

“I’m the one acting like a chil - since when was doing something I want, acting like a child?!” 

He makes a hmpf sound. “What is this supposed to be, payback? Is that what you’re playing at?”

“I’m not playing at anything here, Karl. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He scoffs. “Oh yeah? So you just suddenly developed an interest in Dream overnight, is that it?” 

“Honestly, why do you care so much? My love life isn’t up for debate here.” 

“Oh and mine was?” He retorts.

You knew he would bring it up, you just knew. It was perfect ammo right now. You stutter to find the right words. 

“What - what do you want from me Karl? I don’t need to explain myself to you. Have you considered that maybe I just finally got tired of being alone? That maybe I just needed someone?” 

Karl tries to not let this dig push him over the line but his frustration and jealousy wouldn’t let him stop seeing green. 

“Is this what you do? You like playing with people's feelings? Do you think screwing my friends is going to help you or is this another one of your phases?”

It feels good in the heat of the moment but he knows he’s messed up as soon as he says it. 

Your mouth drops open. Incredible. In-fucking-credible.  

You laugh bitterly, trying to put up a strong front but your voice betrays you by cracking. “That’s low, Karl. That’s - really fucking low.”

Instantly regretting it, he tries to make amends but can’t put words together properly. His mind reels, heart races, palms suddenly feel sweaty and all he can manage is your name. “(Y/N)......I -”

You can’t bear to hear another false apology spill from his lips. If that’s how he felt, then there was no changing his mind. No matter how badly you wanted to. 

“No you’re right. You’re right. You made your choice and so have I. Goodbye Karl.” You conclude and hang up, throwing your phone across the room. You stare at it until your vision becomes blurry with tears. 

Where do you go from here?

Before

You didn’t think that when you first started streaming that you’d end up at the point you were now. You just wanted to have fun with your friends, maybe meet some new people, share your interests along with the loads of games you found amusing. Interestingly enough, your personality and content seemed to resonate with a lot of people. 

Pretty soon you’d become one of the top streamers on Twitch behind the other big talent that once dominated your dashboard. 

You’d made your way into the big leagues with names like GeorgeNotFound, Dream, Quackity, Nihachu, and even Karl Jacobs. Though you’d met the latter two years ago, you’d become quick friends with Quackity, or Alex(is), having bonded over having similar backgrounds and interests. 

He was more like a brother to you than anything, much to the chagrin of many in the chat. You believe it had to do with growing up in a family with mostly girl siblings. 

Your collabs with Alex garnered lots of views, with people tuning into the streams to watch you two yell at each other chaotically while playing odd games or attempting to bake things. 

Of course, while he did your side of content, that meant you had to hold up your end of the bargain. Minecraft wasn’t your strong suit at first, but as time went on and with some help from both Alex and Karl, you became a little more proficient. 

Karl was no stranger to you, not anymore. Alex had introduced you to Karl a little after he started streaming. You’d only really known him from a couple of Jimmy’s videos. 

He seemed kind, goofy, friendly, and all around a pretty fun guy to be around. Which is why when you started to fall just a little bit for him, you were surprised. You came into this Twitch thing with one rule. Don’t fall for people. 

Things could get messy, it was always a given. The fandoms would tear into you or them, people were unpredictable. It was just better to keep everyone at an arm's length when it came to shipping. 

You were thankful nothing had come to fruition from your friendship with Alex. If anything, all you saw were people shipping you platonically. Though you two would often tease each other if one had a crush on someone. 

Your dynamic with Alex meant that you had countless ridiculous and outrageous moments together, often documenting them when he would visit you in LA from Mexico or you going to Mexico to see family and stopping by to visit him.

It was starting to become a thing you two did a few times a year. This year was no different. Even when the pandemic seemed to sour your plans, you both promised to stay safe and healthy and limit the trips. So far, this was going to be the first trip you two would be taking anywhere. 

Your phone buzzed next to you as you scrolled mindlessly through your discord server. You laughed a bit here and there, looking at memes and chatting with people. 

Alex’s text ringtone was him rage quitting during a game where you absolutely obliterated his ass. You either cracked up at the sound of it or jumped in sudden fear when it bounced off the walls of your apartment in the middle of the night. 

A: Hey wiener, are you packed?? I know you take like three business days to get ready. 

You rolled your eyes. He was supposed to be coming to visit you first before you both made the flight out to see Karl in North Carolina. 

Y: Me??? I’ve been packed since last week. I thought you were supposed to be on the flight here already 🙄

A: I may or may not…...already be out. 💀

Your eyes widen. You abandon the chat and hit the FaceTime button. He lets it ring for a good five seconds before he accepts it and greets you with a close up of his face.

“What am I looking at?” You ask, feigning disgust. 

“My beautiful face, what else?” 

“Really? I thought it was a dog’s asshole.” You chuckle. 

He guffaws. “Fuck off! First I get stranded here in LA, then I get some shitty chicken nuggets and now you’re calling me butt ugly! Why does life hate me so much?!”

“Menso! You were supposed to call me when you - wait did you say chicken nuggets?”

“Yeah, I still have the rest but I can’t finish because every time I chew I think of the pink slime.”

“Ugh don’t talk about Supersize Me, I’m still having nightmares about it. Who shows that to little kids??” 

“Yeah well it’s shit, Burger King’s better.” He admits, munching down on the nuggets. He chews obnoxiously near the phone speaker to annoy you so you tap at the screen in retaliation. 

“Hey, I was supposed to record you trying out American McDonald’s! Why are you taking sweet sweet content away from me? Now no one gets to see you lose your McVirginity!”

He sputters through a mouthful of nuggets and does a combination of coughing and laughing. 

“Anyways,” he says, finally nugget free. “You coming or not? I don’t think I wanna sleep on the airport floor.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming. I’ll text you when I’m outside.” 

The airport was a forty five minute drive, thirty if you stepped on it and committed several traffic violations. 

Maybe that would make good content. 

You grabbed your keys and rushed out of your home, fully prepared to go fast and furious. You put your windows down, connected your phone to the aux and blasted Tokyo Drift as you merged into the freeway. 

Half an hour later, you’d arrived at a packed airport pick up area and texted Alex to let him know you’d arrived. He replied that he was starting to feel the effect of the chicken nuggets but that he would push through people to get out of the building before he caught anything from anyone.

Once you could make out his figure up ahead in front of the other cars, you got the bright idea to switch your music to something more interesting. You pulled up one of his videos where he was fully invested in a rendition of Hey There Delilah and honked excessively once you got closer to him. He looked around and pulled his beanie down lower to hide his face in embarrassment. 

You and the prerecorded Quackity sang in off key unison with the volume up as much as you could before he threw his luggage and bags into your backseat, hopped into the passenger seat and put the volume down.

“Never do that again.” 

“Hey, that was your welcome salute. I don’t do that for other people, you’re special and I like it.”

“Could you try liking me a little less? I could do without all the cringe covers.” He laughed to himself as he buckled up. 

The ride home consisted of a mix of very poor and impressive impressions of characters that would’ve annoyed nearly anyone else except you. Alex alternated from a gruff impression of Squidward to a raunchy Mickey Mouse that left you doubling over and gripping the steering wheel. You competed with him, doing your worst impression of Cookie Monster and Goofy. 

Your impression competition was interrupted by a phone call, Karl’s photo flashing flipped a panic switch in you as you scrambled to grab your phone. Alex takes your phone and extends his arm far from your reach. 

“Ah, ah, ah! No texting and driving! You want to kill us or something?!”

“I need to answer! What if he thinks I’m ignoring him?”

“I got it, I got it.” He assures, sliding the bar to unlock the phone and meet Karl face to face.

Karl makes a surprised sound, greeting Alex almost immediately. 

“Hey bub!” You chime in, keeping your eyes on the road but getting a glimpse of Karl in his frog outfit. 

“Hi! Sorry, I didn’t know you were driving.”

“No it’s okay! I’m just coming back from picking up this idiot.” 

“Who you calling idiot, dumbass?” Alex suddenly burst into his Mickey Mouse voice from earlier, ending it with the iconic Mickey laugh. 

Karl seemed to eat it up, breaking into laughter. It was infectious enough to make you chuckle. 

“You guys excited for the trip? It’s looking really pretty here this time of year. I can’t wait to show you around.”

“You mean show us your sweater collection?” Alex jabs.

You nudge him roughly to the side as a warning, glaring at him when he glances at you. 

You’d hoped that the change of scenery would do you some good. LA was an endless heap of  heat that you never could seem to escape. Not even with air conditioning. It was October already, which normally would mean Fall, orange leaves, pumpkins everywhere, a complete shift in temperature, right? Nope. 

It was the devil’s asshole all year round, something Alex could attest to. 

“Don’t mind him, I think he was dropped as a kid.”

“How dare you! There is nothing wrong with me, I’m perfect.”

“Ha! Sure. As if you don’t have a lot of things wrong with you.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

You tap at the time on your screen, “We don’t have enough time to get into it.”

You turn your attention back to Karl, very attentive to your bickering, small chuckles here and there. It wasn’t until he made eye contact with you that you felt your hands falter on the wheel. You were lucky enough that it didn’t make you stray away from the road. 

“Um - you know what? We’ll call you later, we’re almost home anyways.” 

“Okay! Be safe! Goodnight. ” Karl bids you both goodbye and poses his phone in front of him in order to hug it from afar, as if to hug both you and Alex. 

You groan to yourself, pretending to bang your head against the steering wheel as soon as you pull up to your complex. Alex laughs at your misery. 

“Oh man, you really are down BAD.”

“Shut up! I regret telling you things sometimes.” 

“No one said you had to! I guess I just have one of those faces.” He Chad swipes at his chin and squints at you.

“Yeah, punch able.” You remark with a quirk of your brow, slipping out of the car and heading to your front door. 

Alex follows, grabbing his things in a hurry before you can get the chance to lock him out and leave him to sleep with the coyotes. 

“Don’t leave me out here! I’m too delicious to die!” He cries.

You’re awoken by the feeling of warm sunlight on the left side of your face. You hesitate to move, feeling tired already even though you’re sure you slept longer than you should’ve. 

You prop yourself up by your elbows, shielding your face from the sun with your hand. You get out of bed groggily, staring at the floor for a second before making your way to the living room and finding Alex sleeping in a weird position. 

Amused, you rush back into your room and grab your phone to document this moment and post it on Twitter. However when you return, he’s gone. You lean over the couch to check if he’s hiding behind it but he’s nowhere to be found. 

You’re about to crouch to check for his feet or any sign of him when you feel fingers dig in your sides. You yelp in fear and surprise, smacking your attacker until he starts to yell in a shrill voice. 

Alex pushes you over the couch making you fall on your ass. 

“WHAT THE HELL?!” You scream. 

“That’s what you get for trying to take pictures of me!”

You try to stand, rubbing at your sore ass. “Ugh, what are you, a cryptid or something? The people have a right to see!”

“No one gets to see me in the morning! No one! I need my beauty sleep more than you.”

He extends a helping hand for you to take in a moment of truce but you take advantage and pull him down with you to land on his back. He groans when he hits the ground and curses at you in Spanish. 

“Play time’s over, we gotta get ready. The plane leaves in…..one hour????!” 

Your phone says it’s only nine in the morning but you hazily remember the tickets reading ten thirty. 

“No way! I have to take a shower, I have to order food….” He begins, counting on his fingers the various things he suddenly had to do but you stop him by running into your room and getting your bags. 

“No time! Brush your teeth, get dressed, I’ll buy us something at the airport.”

“NOOOO! Airport food is disgusting! Can’t we stop somewhere?” 

“Like I said, no time! We gotta be out of here in thirty minutes.”

He grumbles under his breath. 

“I heard that!” You yell behind you, grabbing a towel and turning on your shower. 

After Alex rummaged through your kitchen, stuffed himself with some snacks and an alarming amount of frozen food, you urged him to shower in the little time span you had left and ordered a ride to take you to the airport. 

You had to basically pull him away from putting on his finishing touches with his beanie, with him complaining that his hair wouldn’t settle under it the way he wanted. You rolled your eyes and shoved him and your stuff into the Uber and kissed California goodbye. 

You two started planning what you’d do in NC as soon as you landed, besides getting food. You could practically hear Alex’s stomach grumbling the whole drive to the airport and even after the Uber gave him some snacks.

There was a sense of urgency that made your stomach twist in knots until you’d arrived at the drop off section. You stuck your tickets in your pocket as you hurried Alex, dragging him and urging him to run faster than he’d ever imagined to catch the plane. 

With only minutes to spare, you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you panted and tried to regain it once you were at the gate. Alex makes a joke about you being out of breath to the pretty attendant that you make a note of later, just in case he tried to flirt with her. 

Alex followed the attendant like a puppy while you popped your phone out from your pocket and snapped a photo of the plane. You debated sending it to Karl, not sure if wanting your boarding to be a surprise or not. You relented to posting it on Twitter and sending it to Karl. 

Big things coming ;) You tweeted, exiting out of the app as quickly as you’d posted it, knowing you’d be flooded with notifications. 

You switched over to message, sending it to Karl but unsure if he would be awake right now. Maybe it would make his day better. 

On our way! See you soon! :)) 

You ran to catch up with Alex, finding him still talking to the attendant. In the most bitchy voice you could muster, you hugged him from the side and nestled your head into his shoulder. 

“I’m so happy we’re going on vacation babe, thank you!” 

His face fell, the attendant suddenly losing interest and suggesting the two of you find your seats. You intertwine your hands with his and hold it up, making a joke about how you two were inseparable. 

He suppresses the urge to fight you and instead screams internally, whisper yelling to you as you both sit. “You couldn’t let me be a Chad once? Just once!” 

“That’s what you get for slamming me on my ass earlier.”

red, orange, green

@dalkomhanchocolateicecream: “heyhey :) i have a “angst” request hehe. usually i try to write these types of longer blurbs but end up cringing & not finish. pitch is soft jae/john/ty/dy but goes through flashbacks while y/n is moving into her new place to have a fresh start. the flashbacks that match up to her present are when she moved in the last apartment (with one of the boys). pls do your fluff magic for renovation flashbacks & the mopey postbreakup for present. sprinkle in that breakup too. ur so talented ty <33” helllooo!!! this is long af LOL. italics are flashbacks, enjoy dear! <3

ps this is a non idol au!

scouring through the store, you sighed for the umpteenth time in the past hour as you look back at the offer on your phone.

the big red numbers glare back at you, signalling a big sale at the local IKEA a bus stop away. and so, on a free day, you made your way down.

throughout your hike around the store, you struggle to find the sale items, although noting down that there were one or two things that you needed to purchase.

as your eyes meet the showroom bedroom setups, however, your mind sinks into thoughts you rather not remember, dancing and evading the peace that your heart wanted.

despite the different hues and layouts, your thoughts fill out one by one, and there was one you can’t help thinking about.

“no way, you’re picking that one?” you furrow your eyebrows, feeling over the cushion to give your verdict.

jaehyun grins as he lifts up the cushion printed with an orange design, “what? i think it’s cute; fruit cushions.”

you roll your eyes with a smile as you set down the watermelon version, dragging him to another showroom to admire the bedroom.

“we’re here for a new cupboard and you’re cooing over fruit cushions,” your expression pans when he gives a cheeky smile, hoping you’d cave in eventually.

“well, we’ll think about it when i actually pick out a cupboard.”

jaehyun shows his fist in triumph over your feigned pondering, knowing you’d buy it in a heartbeat.

to your dismay, the two cushions remained there, but the colours of the room have changed to match the fruits. your feet bring you there unconsciously, taking in the red and orange display like a child.

there was hints of green around—on the cupboard and on the rug. the desk light and the stationeries posed as various shades of green as contrast to the passion around you.

your fingers trailed over the furniture like it was yours, feeling each texture and groove of a potential room. a potential room that you could’ve shared with jaehyun.

ridding your distraction, the passion and strength of red and orange faded just as it came, and you were back to your mission: to get a fresh start.

although, you won’t forget the passion and strength of your relationship any time soon.

you didn’t get much work done in finding your sale items, mostly getting distracted by CD cabinets, curtains and plants.

“i don’t think we could fit all our CDs in that,” you mutter, measuring the dimensions diligently, “plus it won’t fit in the space that our current one is in…”

“you mean your CDs,” jaehyun mindlessly says, glancing around the other cupboards.

“oh right, i forgot your ass only collects vinyl records. sorry for disrespecting, sir jung jaehyun,” you bow down to him mockingly, making fancy gestures with your hand that you eventually get your karma.

“ow- ow! my bone just cracked,” your boyfriend laughs, taking your hand into his as he places butterfly kisses onto your fingers.

“that’s not even the place where it cracked,” giggling, you yank your hand back to take a picture of the tag, set on purchasing it even if it didn’t fit.

0125.

rack 1, section 25.

those numbers stayed in your head even when you wished it wouldn’t, plaguing your mind of the countless trips you made to IKEA.

one time, jaehyun bought the wrong set of curtains for the living room.

another, you had forgotten to buy the filling for cushions, too drawn to the design of the cushion set on display.

the next time you two had laughed your ass off whilst assembling the table in your apartment, because you hadn’t realised you were sitting on the missing piece the whole time.

like earlier, your feet carry the weight of your body and heart, heading straight to rack 1, section 25.

the product laid there just as it was like before, mocking the hesitation and dilemma within you. passers-by gave you a few looks, seeing as you haven’t moved an inch in the past few minutes.

initially, you had chickened out on the shared apartment with jaehyun, opting to buy your own set of furniture to avoid seeing the male’s face.

with a stiff body, you walked away deciding against it. your bravery returned for a few moments when your mind settled on collecting the CD cabinet from the apartment, heading forth to pay for your items.

what you didn’t expect, was to hear jaehyun.

the same smooth voice you had dreaded and, at the same time, desired to hear for the longest time.

there’s a upbeat tone to his voice, accompanying a friend he had introduced to you a few months back, johnny.

rack 1, section 25.

the words echoed in your mind, somehow wishing jaehyun could read your mind one way or another.

all pales when jaehyun comes into view, ignoring the way johnny speaks to the camera, ignoring the wails from someone’s daughter and ignoring the loud chatter of customers.

everything, every sound and person fades away, albeit, not in a good way.

you’re instantly brought back to the first time you had met eyes at a party and hell, the same feeling of anticipation and unease repeats.

this time, before jaehyun can reach out, you grab the self-assembled CD cabinet in haste, leaving the place with trembling breaths and the soft call of your name on his lips.

for your own indulgence, you turn back one last time, meeting his downturned and crestfallen eyes with your own as you fight against the hot tears threatening to fall.

“you’ll never leave, right?” jaehyun mutters into your hair as the record plays, getting used to the apartment and your new bed.

you shake your head, leaning up the kiss him as the finished shelf stood at its place.

in the midst of turning back, all you can focus on through your blurry vision were the fruit cushions you had bought the second time.

red, orange, green. red, orange, green.

although now, those hues seem like nothing, seeing as your world had dulled without jaehyun in it.

Buzzed - A Negan One-Shot

Summary: After an incident in the Sanctuary, Leigh takes matters into her own hands. What will Negan’s response be? 

Warning(s): Language. Angst. Attempted rape. Violence. Death. Slight Panic Attack. Anxiety. Leigh being a badass. Negan caught off guard (no pun intended). Mentions of what could be considered self-harm. Daddy kink, but not really. You’ll see. Protective Negan. Fluff. Sexual Innuendoes. Puns (Sorry Not Sorry!). Happy ending. Not Beta’d. I just finished writing this and had to post it! Sorry for any errors.

Author’s Note(s): 

I cut my hair myself, usually every 2 weeks, but no more than 3 weeks. I just can’t have my hair touch my ears; it makes my anxiety 10 times worse, and in a way, I kinda explain the reason behind that in this story. I was cutting my hair tonight, (it’s now 2:30 am, 5/24/2020) and I thought of this story idea and Negan’s reaction to the main character having short hair. 

Also, if any of the warnings are triggering for you, please don’t force yourself to read. The last thing I’d want to do is trigger someone into having a panic attack. Feel free to give me any feedback, thoughts, questions, comments and/or concerns you have with the story. I love hearing from y’all! 

As always, if you’d like to be added to my taglist, just let me know and I’ll happily add you!! 

Word Count: 5,301. (A lot, I know, but I think it’s worth it, and I just couldn’t get everything I wanted across in less words, so enjoy!)

Relationship(s): Negan x Leigh Sullivan (OFC)

Characters: Negan. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Simon. Dr. Carson. 3 unnamed Original Male Characters. Sanctuary People.

Taglist: @negans-network @prettyboynegan @mychemicalimagines @spnnnxangelsx @rockinkel21 @misskittycat02 @band--psycho@ofxallxwexlost @iron-halt @thamberlinawrites @ravenwings73 @lettherebepink @stoneyggirl

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Story Time:

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Then

They’d caught me off guard, for once. 

Normally, I never let anything or anyone catch me off guard. Or at least...I tried not to. Due to having anxiety, I was usually hyper-aware of shit going on. But, today, my anxiety had eased off after the relaxing morning I’d had with my husband. We’d spent the morning, snuggled up in his big king-sized bed, just shooting the shit and goofing off. 

He didn’t have to go out on a run today, so there was no need to rush the morning like we normally had to 95% of the time. Eventually, though, the day had to get started. Dwight came knocking on the door, interrupting our relaxation time, saying he needed my husband for something. Being the man my husband is, he grumbled, cussed Dwight out, and then got outta bed while apologizing to me for the interruption and assuring me we’d finish relaxing when he got back later.

After a kiss, and a soft “I love you,” he was gone. Off to do what he did. It was my day off, so I laid in bed for a little longer before I too got up, dressed, and made my rounds. As the top female Savior, something I’d worked my ass off, fought for, and took seriously, I said hi to who I needed to, did what I needed to, and finally, sat down under my favorite tree out by the greenhouses. 

I laid my leather jacket on the ground next to me, leaving me in my usually black t-shirt, holey but patched up and well worn blue jeans, and faded brown leather boots. Strapped to each thigh was a holster. In the right one was my signature gun, a .357 Magnum, 6-shot revolver. In the left holster, I kept my handcrafted 6 inch blade that I made back when I was 15, well over half a decade, shit closer to a decade ago, considering I was almost 25.

Bending my knees, and pulling them close in a comfortable position, I propped up the notebook I usually kept in my leather satchel with two backup knives, an extra gun, ammo, and a spare notebook for work along with several pens and pencils. The writing equipment was a rare commodity these days, so I always kept them close to me.

As I was writing a story I’d started a few days prior, I zoned out just a bit, focusing on it. I’d started writing when I was just 12 years old, and kept the habit up, even now, 3 years after the world ended and the dead started walking back in 2020 after the Coronavirus outback after the new year, new decade had started. 

I was writing, losing myself in the words I printed on the paper in my chicken scratch. I say chicken scratch ‘cause, well...that’s basically what it was. As a lefty, my handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best, and a doctor’s prescription note was probably more legible. It was a mixture between slanted and curved print and semi-elegant at times cursive. 

But, it was my handwriting, and I could read it. My husband sometimes had difficulty reading it, but he’d always put his black-rimmed glasses on, and fuck if they didn’t make him look sexier than he already was. Because of that, I sneakily wrote a little sloppier when I knew he’d have to read something from my notes about the runs I went on.

It was all an excuse to see him with those glasses perched on his nose, giving him that sexy professor look. He thought they made him look ridiculous, but I loved it. Since I was writing and zoned out, I wasn’t nearly as focused on my surroundings. I didn’t think I had to be. The tree was my safe spot when I wasn’t with my husband.

The Sanctuary was a relatively safe place, and that was thanks to the rules that were in place. So, it’d make sense that I wouldn’t focus on my surroundings as much and relax a bit as I wrote. But, boy was I wrong. I just didn’t realize it till it was far too late. Before I realized what was happening, I was being punched in the right side of my face, slinging my head to the side, as my notebook and bag were jerked away from me and my hair was roughly pulled, jerking my head backwards.

I went to grab my gun and my knife, but they’d already been taken from me. My eyes flirted back and forth in front of me, trying to process what was going on. But, everything was blurry and I was dizzy from the hit. I could barely make out three men close to me, far too close to me. They were basically on top of me. 

Fuck. One of them actually was. I could feel the weight of him straddling my thighs, keeping me from standing. I couldn’t hear anything as the beating of my heart flooded my ears. I tried to fight back as best as I could, but the other two men grabbed my hands and jerked them away from my body and pinning them to the ground as they shoved my upper body down.

When they jerked my arms away, I felt, more than heard, my left shoulder dislocate. I clenched my jaw. The pain wasn’t anything new. I’d been dealing with a shoulder that dislocates when I fuckin’ sneeze since I was 13 years old. The pain, when it happened, was now at a tolerable level since I was so used to it happening.

I didn’t cry out. I knew not to. Plus, the wasn’t the type of person I was. I knew what was ‘bout to happen. It, like my shoulder, was something I’d had to put with for years growing. It wasn’t anything new either. But, that didn’t mean it was enjoyable. It was anything but. I barely processed my jeans being jerked down my hips and past my knees. 

I could just barely hear the men laughing and joking around with each other, talking ‘bout what they were going to do to me and wondering why the fuck I was wearing two pairs of boxers under my jeans. I watched them, as best as I could with my vision being what it was. When the blurriness faded just enough, I could make out their features and recognized them as members of the new group that was brought in last week. 

Members I’d brought into the Sanctuary. Into my house. I dropped my head back down to the ground and groaned to myself. I let my body go slack, waiting for the perfect time. When the men realized I wasn’t struggling anymore, they laughed and the two dumbfucks holding my arms down eased up on their grip.

The man on my legs lifted himself up just enough push his own pants down. Their easing up on their grip was their mistake and ultimately what led to their demise. Since they weren’t paying attention to me, thinking I’d just given up, and instead focusing on getting their baby carrot sized dicks outta their pants, I was able to strike back. 

I immediately brought both my hands up, fingers curled in to form perfect fists without worry of possibly breaking my thumbs, ignoring the protest of my left shoulder, and cocked both the men on my sides straight in the noses. I internally smiled at the sounds of their noses breaking and their screams of pain. 

They stumbled back just a little bit, hands covering their faces as they clutched their noses in an attempt to stop the extensive amount of blood falling. Clearly, I caught the man on top me off guard with my actions and he was shocked for a moment. It was perfect. I bucked him up off me, managed to jerk my pants up as I stood. 

All one fluid motion.

Since he was still obviously in shock at me suddenly fighting back, he stumbled, tripping, and falling backwards on the ground. He tried to scurry backwards as fast as as he could. Despite being 5’3”, I was able to stay with him. I slammed my boot down on his stomach, making him howl in pain and wheeze as he struggled to get the air back that i’d just forced outta his lungs.

I kept my foot on his gut, putting most of my weight on it, digging the worn sole into his abdomen. He let out a sad excuse for a grunt as I did. I just smirked. This fucked had no idea who he’d fucked, or tried to fuck with. I leaned down and started pummeling the shit outta his face, keeping him in place with my foot.

Since he couldn’t get fresh air back into his lungs because of the position of my foot, he was too weak to try and fight back. To say I was a little disappointed at not having a challenge, would be like saying the dead weren’t walking around. It was a lie. I was disappointed, and I fueled that disappointment in with the anger as I literally beat him to death. 

He kept trying to apologize, tried to plead with me, to not kill him, but I didn’t give a fuck. He was ‘bout to rape me, and I’d had ‘nough of that in my life. I wasn’t putting up with it. I eased up just before I knew he was about to die. Gave him false hope into letting him think his words had affected me. I let him get one last breath in as I completely lifted my foot off his torso. 

“Than-” He started to say, but I cut him off as I slammed my boot into his face, effectively crushing his skull. 

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, prick.” I muttered to him as I wiped my boot off on his once clean but now bloody clothes. “You fuckin’ ruined my goddamn favorite fuckin’ pair of boots, asshole.”

Before I turned away from him, I spit on his crushed skull. Since it was destroyed, I didn’t have to worry ‘bout him coming back as a dean’un. I was a little sad that I wouldn’t get to kill him a second time, but he’d gotten what he deserved. Turning to the other two dumbfucks, I repeated my actions, and did to them exactly what I’d just done to their friend.

I knew my husband was going to be pissed that I killed these men, instead of letting him do it, but I’d deal with that. I wasn’t going to let these fuckers back inside the relatively safe concrete walls of the factory that was the Sanctuary. By the time I was down stomping in the skull of the third man, I looked up, as I finished, and noticed that I’d gathered quite an audience.

Including Simon. The right-hand man, third person in charge of the Sanctuary. His, and everyone else’s, eyes were wide, and everyone was silent. I knew I was gonna be in trouble since they’d just seen me stomp the life outta three men, but I didn’t give a fuck. I had shit to do. I gathered up my weapons, my jacket, and bag after shoving my shit into it and stormed inside the Sanctuary, flipping everyone off, not wanting to deal with their gawking.

Not caring ‘bout my bloody appearance, I made my way to the commissary, needing to grab a few things before I went back to my room. I found what I needed: a new pair of jeans identical to the ones i was wearing, a new t-shirt, undergarments, a pair of boots and a special item, an unopened, brand new boxed set of hair clippers. 

Once I had what I needed, I stormed up to the room I share with my husband, stripping down to my bra and one pair of boxers when i get there.

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Now

“What the fuck was that fuckin’ shit out there, Leigh?!?” 

I sigh as I hear my husband storm into our room, the door slamming shut behind him. I look at myself in the mirror as I lay the scissors down on the bathroom counter by the sink and pick up the clippers. Turning them on, I don’t reply to my husband. Not wanting to explain to him what happened at the moment.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I bring the clippers up to my shortened hair. I press the #2 guard to my head and move it backwards from my forehead to the back of my head, sticking to the once familiar hairline I used to see and live by religiously. I watch as the hair falls, joining the rest of my once long, curly locks, on the floor by my feet. I use my fingers to guide my movements, making sure I don’t go too high and completely fuck up my hair.

Once I have the hairline visible, separating what I want to keep and what I want to shave off, I move the guard down below my ear and with practiced ease, I shave the sides and back of head, getting rid of the hair. Keeping an eye on myself, making sure I don’t fuck up my haircut, not that I would since I used to do this every 2-3 weeks, I watch as my husband steps into the bathroom.

I watch as his eyes nearly bulge outta their sockets when he sees me. I watch as the anger vanishes from his face and body, being replaced with worry, sadness, and a hint of curiosity. I watch as his eyes traveling over the reflection of my face in the mirror, taking in my black eye, bruised and split open cheek, covered in blood and even the nasty black eye I’m now sporting.

I watch as he slowly moves his eyes up to meet mine in the mirror. 

“What...what are you doing?” He asks softly. 

My left eyebrow shoots sky high as I look at him. My husband rarely says a sentence without cussing every other word. And yet...he just asked a simple question without one sentence enhancer thrown in. 

“What the fuck’s it look like I’m doing? I’m cutting my hair.” I say. “Decided I needed a new fuckin’ look. Don’t you fuckin’ love it?” 

I know I’m being Captain fuckin’ Obvious at the moment, and a bit harsh, but I’m not ready to tell him what happened. That’s for after I get done. Cutting my hair is the only thing keeping me from completely shutting down and giving in to the panic attack that’s trying to take over. I watch as he lets out a deep breath as he slowly steps into the bathroom, padding across the tiled floor to me.

He places his hands on my shoulders and I do my best not to flinch. But he still sees it and quickly lifts his hands off me, holding them up in a surrendering pose. I know he’d never hurt me, and he was the one to save my life after this shit hole of a world started three years ago. But, I can’t help it. The feeling of those fuckers’ hands on me, plus the fact that my shoulder is still dislocated, keeps me from wanting to be touched.  

“Can...let me help. Please, sweetheart.” My husband’s soft drawl meets my ears.

“No. I need to do this myself.” I reply, tightening my grip on the clippers.

I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat as he swallows deeply and nods. I keep my eyes on his in the mirror and finish cutting my hair. It’s been three years since I’ve cut my hair, but the muscle memory is still there. It’s like riding a bike. My husband watches as I finish shaving the sides of my head down to where there’s just a bit of peach fuzz. 

Switching the clippers off, I replace the guard with a #1 and go back over the bottom hairline on the base of my neck. Once I have that done, I take the guard off completely and just put the metal of the clippers to the back of my neck doing my best not to flinch at the burning heat coming off it as it meets my skin. 

I take that little strip down so there’s no hair there, running along along the hairline on my neck. I use the blending guard and even out the area, making the hair have a fade. Replacing the blending guard with the #7, I bring it up to the patch of hair on my head, and trim it down. When I finish, my feet are covered with a mountain of what used to be the long, thick, curly hair on my head.

My neck and shoulders are also covered with the little strands of hair that I buzzed off. Setting the clippers on the counter, I run my hands over the buzz cut I now sport and take in a deep, shaky breath. I let my head drop down, pressing my chin to chest and take another shaky breath in after letting out one. 

“Baby?” My husband asks softly.

I lift my head and look up at him. My eyes roam over the unzipped black leather jacket he’s wearing over his standard white t-shirt and down to the grey jeans he’s wearing, held up by two leather belts. I let my eyes rest on his feet, no longer hidden by his own pair of black combat boots, but rather a pair of white socks. 

Taking in another deep breath, I bring my eyes up to meet his. I can see the worry swimming in his muddy water brown eyes. I shake my head as i start to take my bra off and push my boxers down, stepping outta them as the pool ‘round my ankles.

“I need a shower.” I mumble and step ‘round him to walk to the stunning shower we share.

I grip the knobs tightly as I turn the water on, as hot as it’ll go. I need to feel the pain of the burning water over my skin. If I don’t, I know I’ll give in to that panic attack that’s already  on the verge of consuming me. Stepping into the shower, I glance back at my husband over my shoulder. 

“You can…” I mumble.

He nods as he understands what I’m trying to say. I look away, for the first time since we met, and eventually became intimate, not wanting to watch him undress. I know that if I were to watch, I’d see those assholes tugging their pants down, and I don’t want that. I don’t want my husband to be mixed in with them.

Standing under the burning hot water, feeling it flow over and pelt my skin, I bring my hands up and tightly grip what’s left of my hair, tugging on it. I feel Negan step into the shower, behind me. I don’t have to look.  I know he’s there. I can feel the heat rolling off his skin, along with the worry and helplessness. 

He hasn’t seen me like this in three years, and even then, it wasn’t this bad. I blindly reach for the bottle of men’s body wash he and I share and I vigorously scrub my body with it. Trying to get the touch and the blood of those men off me. It takes four harsh washes and rinses before I even begin to feel clean. 

Negan just stands behind me, leaning against the back wall of the shower. He’s giving me my space while still letting me know he’s right there if I need him. The bottle slips outta my hands when I go to pour more of the soapy liquid into my palm. I’d leave it there, but Negan gently reaches around me, picking it up. 

I hear the bottle open and can tell he’s pouring some into his own hands. I figure he’s just gonna wash his body until I feel his soft and gentle touch on my skin. I flinch and tremble at first, but eventually give into the feeling of him touching me. He takes his time, gently washing me, letting me get clean for the final time. 

Letting me know that it’s ok. That it’s over. That’s he’s got me. That he’ll take care of me. Neither of us say a word as he takes the removable showerhead from it’s dock and gently rinses me off after he turns the cold water on, letting the temperature of the water mix until it’s no longer burning, but rather warm and gentle.

He lets the showerhead drop and dangle as he turns the water off and steps out. I keep my eyes closed and feel him wrap a soft towel around me. I open my eyes and bring them to meet his, only to find him staring at my dislocated shoulder. He blinks and his tongue darts out just a little from between his lips.

“Want me to put it back in place, sweetheart?” 

I nod slowly. 

“Put your right arm ‘round my waist, baby, and I will.”

I follow his soft command and a moment later, I feel his palms against my left shoulder. He’s helped me pop my shoulder back into place enough over the last few years that he knows what he’s doing. I suck in a deep, shaky breath right as he pops it back into place. I bit my lip to hold back the whimper from the pain.

As soon as he’s done, he wraps both his arms ‘round me and just holds me close as I bury my face against his wet chest. We don’t say another word for a solid 10 minutes. He just holds me as we stand in the bathroom, water pooling ‘round our feet. Eventually, he gently scoops me up in his arms and carries me to bed. 

Sitting down on it, he just holds me in his lap, not saying anything. I know it’s his way of helping me get outta the panic attack and also letting me know that he’s listening when I’m ready to talk. It takes me a hot minute before I get the words out, and even then they’re just a whisper.

“They...they were trying to rape me.”

I hear him let out a growl and his arms tighten ‘round me, protectively. That’s his number one rule. Rape is not allowed. Followed by the prohibition of abusing women and children. He doesn’t say a word, letting me continue. I tell him everything that happened, as I tremble in his arms. He just holds me close, softly rubbing my back and taking even breaths to help me subconsciously focus on keeping my own breathing even.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, baby.” He finally murmurs after I finish recounting the events. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. They got what they deserved. I just wish I could’ve introduced them to Lucille.” 

My eyes flirt over to the barbed-wire baseball bat propped up against the wall by our bedroom door. She’s surprisingly clean. I guess Negan didn’t have to dish out any punishments today. Only I did.

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, though, baby.” He whispers in my ear.

I look up at him, confused. “Proud?”

He nods. “Mmhhmm. You shut that shit down, and kept your cool until you were up here. I don’t know how you fuckin’ managed that, but I’m not surprised. I heard what you did, heard how you described it, and fuck, baby. I wish I’d seen you go Rambo on their asses. You’re my badass girl. I’m proud of you.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. Despite the events of the day, and me doing what I did, my husband still manages to make me smile. He slowly brings one hand up, keeping it in my line of sight, and cups my good cheek. 

“Will you let me send Carson up here to stitch your cheek up and get you checked out?”

His eyes search mine, waiting for my reply, and hoping I’ll let him. I nod against his palm, and he lets out a deep breath. He reaches over to the nightstand and plucks his radio off it. His thumb pressed against the side button.

“Carson. Get your fuckin’ ass up to my room now, and bring your bag. Fuckin’ now.” He growls into the receiver.

“Yes, sir.” Comes the doctor’s reply not even  a moment later.

Negan then pushes the button down again and talks.

“Simon. Bring two plates of food up to my room. Now. And make sure it’s some good shit too.”

Simon replies in the affirmative and Negan sets his radio down. He looks back at me and places his palm back against my good cheek. A gesture that always makes me relax.

“Can I ask why you cut your hair?” He asks softly.

“I refuse to let another man tug me around by hair, guiding me to do his bidding,  especially during a situation like earlier. It was a flashback to my dad doing what he did. It’s why I’ve also cut my own hair. It’s the one thing I about my body that I can control. So, I keep it short and no man will ever be able to use my hair against me again.” I say, the truth just spilling out. “Plus, having it touch my ears, always made my anxiety ten times worse.”

He knows what my dad did, and he’s known that tugging on my hair was a hard limit for me. So, he never did it, which is why I let my hair grow out. I felt safe around him. I still do. But, having long hair is just a liability, and I refuse to be put in that situation again. He nods in understanding.

“I’m gonna miss your curls, though.” He says. “And waking up with a mouthful of your hair in my mouth.”

I can’t help but giggle at that. It’s true. Most mornings, he’d wake up, sputtering to spit out the strands of my hair that ended up in his mouth as we slept next to each other.

“I left enough on top so you can still play with my hair, babe. And, there’s still enough to run your fingers through it.” I assure him.

“Can I?”

I nod and a moment later, I feel his fingers on his other hand stroke through my wet hair, lightly massaging my scalp as he does. I let out a soft moan at the feeling and lean into his touch on my cheek, closing my eyes. He chuckles as he plays with my hair.

“If that’s your reaction to me doing that every single fuckin’ time, I could get used to it. And I’ll just have to get used to having an even stiffer hard on from the soft moans.” He smirks as he looks at me.

I blush and open my eyes looking up at him. “You're my husband. I think I can manage helping you out with the baseball bat you have in your pants.”

He laughs softly. “Yea?”

I grin. “Mmhhmm. You’re fond of Lucille. I’m quite fond of your own bat.”

He grins, showing off his dimples. “I’m fuckin’ fond of you, baby. Have been since we first met in the woods. Why else do you think I got rid of the wives years ago?”

I try not to grin as I shrug. “It was the only way you were getting in my pants and scoring a homerun.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Not the only reason, baby. It was because I love you, Leigh.”

I grin from ear to ear and turn my head to place a soft kiss to his palm. “I love you too, Negan.”

Before he can say anything else, there’s a timid knock on the door.

“Come the fuck in!” Negan calls out, holding me close.

Dr. Carson comes in. He’s no longer as nervous as he used to be when I first showed up. But he’s still a little nervous around the man. I’ve gotten Negan to ease up on the fear of himself he’s instilled in people, and gotten him to be nicer in the way he treats folks. He’s not the bat-wielding lunatic he was when we first met. 

He’s the man I always knew he was.

A soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather. 

My soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather. 

After Carson checks me out, determines nothing’s broken, assures me that everything is good, and stitches my cheek up, he leaves. Negan helps me get dressed in a pair of his boxers under my new jeans and one of his shirts before he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. Simon comes in shortly after I finish getting dressed, holding a tray of food for Negan and I. 

His eyes widen as he looks at me, taking in my new appearance.

“What, Si? Never seen a girl with short hair before?” I ask, teasing.

He shakes his head. “I have. I just wasn’t expecting you to have cut your own. It looks good on you, fitting.”

I smile. “Thanks, Si.”

Leaning up, I kiss his cheek and then kick him out before Negan can Lucille him for staring at me. My husband knows Simon’s like a dad to me, the dad I never had, and that there’s nothing there. He just gets jealous and protective over me, not liking other men to stare. And, for once, I’m thankful, given the events of today.

As we eat, Negan and I stay on the bed, me snuggled up to his side. When we’re finished though, I look up at him. 

“I have to tell you something else.” I say.

His eyebrow raises and he looks at me, grining. “What’s that? You planning on buzzing anything else?” 

I laugh and playfully slap his bare chest. “No, asshole.”

He pretends to be hurt and rubs his chest, grinning. “Damn, girl. That hurt.”

I laugh and kiss his chest where I smacked him. “Feel better, Daddy?”

He grins that dimpled grin again and nods. “Mmhhmm. Now, what else you gotta tell me, babygirl?”

I smirk. “Well, Daddy…you see...”

He growls low in his throat. “Don’t tease me, little girl.”

I giggle. “I’m not, Daddy.”

I bring my hand down to rub my tummy. 

“You full from eating?” He asks, covering my hand on my tummy, rubbing what he thinks is a food baby.

“Nope. But, it’s nice to see you already rubbing my tummy. I can happily get used to this over the next 7 months.”

“7 months?” His brow creases in confusion for a moment before his eyes widen. “You...you’re...we’re…?”

I giggle and nod as I lean up to kiss him softly. 

“Yes, honey. I’m pregnant.” I say. “I’m 2 months along, and found out a few days ago. I was working on a story earlier, and that was gonna be how I told you, but shit happened, so I figured I’d just tell you.”

He lets out a high pitched squeal that I never would’ve expected from him, and pulls me right back into his arms and his lap. His beard tickles my neck as he grins against it, placing a soft kiss there. I giggle and wrap my arms ‘round him. Like I said, he’s a soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather. 

My soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather and I’m his buzzed haired girl. 

Bruised

Summary: The team’s recent case gets in the way of you and Jimmy’s date night, until it doesn’t.

Words: 1,862

Warnings: None

Tags: @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @stanathanxoox @pageofultron

Notes: I haven’t written a Jimmy oneshot in a long time and i reckon he deserved one so here’s Soft Boy

The past minute or so has been peaceful, in comparison to the utterly exhausting chaos that this case has brought to the team. It wasn’t really peace that you were feeling; no matter how hard you tried, the office ambience wouldn’t let you forget about the stupid amount of work to be done before Gibbs returns. He’ll want results that you can’t possibly have.

Still, hiding your face in your eyes and shutting your eyes did provide a small break. Not quite the one you needed (or deserved), but it served its purpose of letting you rest your eyes. To do something other than scan over bank statements for the next couple hours.

You let your mind go blank for a few moments, which wasn’t very hard to do. Everyone was exhausted, and if you laid your head down, you’d probably fall right to sleep. The short, blissful moment of thinking about nothing was cut short when your belly rumbled. Loudly.

Right - you skipped lunch. A sacrifice to follow a lead that McGee dug up and lead nowhere. You were still mad at him about that.

A sudden loud call of your name makes you drop your hands from your face. And you didn’t have to look up to know who it was who greeted you; his voice was unmistakable in its bright cheerfulness. Normally, hearing Jimmy’s voice so jovial was a nice change from Gibbs and his grumbling. But right now, it made you exhale a small puff of air.

You loved him. You really did. But he was too damn happy right now.

You finally look up when Jimmy stops beside your desk, stepping in behind it so he can bend down and press a quick kiss to your cheek. Had the day been a little better, you would have returned it. And Jimmy picks up on that with a furrow of his brow. “You look really stressed out,” he comments.

“We all are, Jimmy,” is your flat reply; there just wasn’t enough energy in the world to make you put more enthusiasm into your voice. “This case is kicking our asses.”

He looks a bit sympathetic, but that smile doesn’t disappear. In fact, it gets even bigger as Jimmy straightens up and sets a brown paper bag down on your desk. You didn’t even notice he had it, until just now. “Well, it’s a good thing I brought you something to eat. Maybe it’ll make you feel better. I bet your blood sugar’s just a little low; that outta make you tired...”

Jimmy puts his hand against your forehead, but you barely hear whatever little ramblings he spits out. Because you’re pulling the bag closer, opening in and savouring the way that the smell of food hits your face instantly, and you’re belly growls again.

Alright. Maybe having his cheery self around here isn’t so bad.

You don’t talk much as you eat - just idly listen to Jimmy as he tells you about the autopsy and what came from it. How he sent all kinds of different samples up to Abby, so one of them is bound to give the team a couple clues. And he doesn’t even mind that you respond with a little hum here or a nod there. Jimmy is honestly content to watch you eat, knowing you needed it.

And the sight also makes him a bit sad. Because he wishes you didn’t work so hard that a simple sandwich and fries would make you the happiest person in the world.

Jimmy pushes the rising melancholy away and nudges your shoulder to get your attention. “So, do you think you guys will finish things up early tonight?” He asks. And when you frown a little in confusion, his weight shifts. “We have dinner reservations. Remember?”

You immediately stop chewing and swallow thickly. Fuck - you completely forgot about those reservations. Thank God it was nobody’s birthday or something, and the dinner was just for the sake of spending some time together. But even with that rationale, you feel guilty about shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know. I mean, this case is taking up a lot of our time. Tony had to skip on breakfast with this girl because of it...”

Jimmy’s smile was fading a little, and that’s what made you trail off. If it weren’t for this case (and the threat of death from Gibbs), you’d go. But it was just impossible.

The disappointment is still clear on Jimmy’s face, even after he pushes his smile back into view. “I understand, really! We can just reschedule. It’s not a big deal,” he promises earnestly. And before you could say much else, Jimmy is leaning back in to kiss your opposite cheek. “I should get back to autopsy, in case Doctor Mallard needs me. Enjoy your lunch. I love you.”

You mumble out a weak ‘I love you’ as he walks away toward the elevator. And despite his attempts to shrug off another missed date night, that sad look on Jimmy’s face weighed on your heart for the rest of the day.

--

You never truly knew what a science experiment felt like until Tony was bent over beside you, his eyes completely locked onto your face.

And you really tried hard to ignore him. If he didn’t get a response, he’ll get bored and go back to his desk. There were more important things to be doing; since Abby identified some DNA on the murder weapon, the team was led to what could only be assumed as the suspect’s house.

It was so empty - so quiet - you didn’t think anybody would still be there.

You were wrong. He was definitely there. And you had the injuries to prove it.

“I wonder how much more your eye is gonna swell up,” Tony spouts out, his head tilting a little while he continues to stare.

A harsh, frustrated huff comes up, and it pulls on your ribs to remind you not to breathe too heavily. But you still whirl your head around to DiNozzo, trying your best to glare at him with only one eye, since the other was big and bruised. “I don’t know. But keep staring at me, and we’ll have matching injuries.”

The angry tone of your voice was enough to convince Tony to pull away and return to his desk. You’d think with the first solid lead of this case, he’d be eager to work before it got cold.

You shift in your chair, hoping a new position would be easier on the annoyingly-sensitive bruised ribs that keep inhibiting your breathing. But moving only jostled the injury, and your eyes screwed shut at the sudden sharp pain in your flank. This was just great.

“Palmer! What are you doing up here?”

A small sigh comes up at Tony’s rude greeting, and you force your eyes open so Jimmy doesn’t notice the pain on your face.

He already did. You watch him cross the bullpen in a few long strides, eyes wide as dinner plates and his jaw hung open in shock at your condition. Gibbs is trailing in behind him; he must have told Jimmy about what happened. Because he crouches by your chair, hand gently resting on your knee. “Are you okay?” Jimmy asks softly, eyes examining your face. The black eye, mostly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just got knocked around, a little.” That was downplaying the battle, but Jimmy was worried enough.

He looks doubtful at your answer, though. “Well, maybe I should take you to the hospital. Just to be safe.”

“I don’t need a doctor, I’m fine.”

Jimmy looks ready to argue, but it’s Gibbs who speaks up from his desk. “Maybe not a hospital, but you’re goin’ home for the rest of the day,” he states. And unlike Jimmy, his tone leaves no room for debate.

Still, for some reason, you try. “But Gibbs, the case-”

“No ‘but’s. Palmer, take ‘em home. Make sure they rest.”

He’s all too happy to obey that order. You hesitate for a moment, but you have nowhere near as much strength as you need to argue with Gibbs about staying. Plus, Jimmy still has that fearful concern in his eyes. And that’s what truly prompts you to let him help you up and downstairs to the car.

“You drive like an old lady,” you tell him. Trying to tease but everything hurts just a little too much to really be believable.

“I’m just being careful. You know, even the smallest pothole could aggravate your ribs. They might not be broken, but bruised ribs aren’t something you can just shrug off...”

That’s how his scolding comes through; telling you just how bad your injuries around and how much worse they could have been. In this state, Jimmy wouldn’t of had the heart to outright scold your actions.

He’s talking about the dangers of black eyes by the time he finally pulls into your home. And slowly, gently, he helps you inside. Even assists in shedding your work clothes for something more comfortable. Jimmy frowns heavily at the ugly sight of the blotched bruises fanning your flank. It makes him a little sad. Even a kiss to his cheek doesn’t truly chase it away.

And then Jimmy has you sitting on the couch, carefully gravitating over you as he cleans every little cut and gash. He touches a particularly nasty one, and the sharp pain comes as a surprise. Jimmy immediately pulls away. “Sorry! I don’t think this one was cleaned very well.”

You just let out a hum of acknowledgement. Words weren’t coming up as easily as they should. As if your brain just wasn’t running normally, because before you knew it, Jimmy had finished cleaning you up, and your head was resting against his shoulder.

He was warm. Comfortable. Smelled a bit like the sterile environment of autopsy, but underneath that, pure Jimmy. It was his scent that became the last sensation you registered before closing your eyes and slipping into a comfortable blackness.

Jimmy was the last thing you smelled before falling asleep, but it was the tantalizing aroma of food that woke you up. And everything was blurry, at first. You weren’t even sure how long you were out. But right now, your injuries were still numbed with sleep, and the only thing you can focus on the was smell of food.

Your eyes blink open when Jimmy sets something down on the coffee table. Turns out, it was a plate of food. Chicken and mashed potatoes and a couple other things that instantly made your stomach growl. “Jimmy...?”

“Hey,” he greets lightly, crouching down into your line of sight. He’s changed out of his autopsy scrubs, and was smiling brightly once again. You missed that optimistic smile. “We missed our dinner date yesterday. I figured since you finally have a night off, we could make up for it.”

You’re injured and hurting and still frustrated at being sent home early. But Jimmy looks so hopeful and soft and earnest in his efforts, you just had to mimic his smile.

Even if it hurt your eye.

Suptober Day 7 - Battered and Bound

Dean awoke with a splitting headache and forced himself to not move while he took stock of the situation, eyes closed. He was sitting up, head handing, adding a wicked crick in his neck that would take days to fully go away. The chair he was in was metal, heavy-duty, possibly bolted down. His hands had been forced through the slats of the back so they could be bound tightly. The rope was good quality, quite thin but strong, with enough give to prevent it from easily snapping. And it didn’t feel like the switch-blade was in his sleeve any more. Unfortunate. This wasn’t going to be easy.

He kept his head hanging, kept his breathing deep and even, listening for any hint of whatever thing had trussed him up like a damn chicken. It was frankly embarrassing the amount of times he’d woken up like this. For one of the most feared hunters in the country, it apparently sure was easy to sneak up on him and bash him over the head with something. Sam was no better, that boy would probably have some kind of brain damage by now if Cas didn’t periodically heal them.

“You can quit the act,” a female voice said. “I know you’re awake.”

Damn. So not an amateur then. That was about all he could narrow it down to really; vamps could hear the change in your heartbeat, djinn could sense when you were no longer under their thrall, werewolves could smell the chemicals that flooded a waking person’s system, angels and demons and gods… they almost always knew too. In fact, nine times out of ten the pretending-to-be-asleep shtick didn’t work. He only kept doing it because when it did, it was really fun.

Dean blinked and lifted his head, abandoning pretence immediately. He looked around first, taking in the stone room, the thick air of underground, hanging from the walls were chains with flakes of red on them, rust or blood he couldn’t tell from here. There was also a dirty looking cot against far wall. His chair seemed to be in the centre of the room.

Dean yawned and looked up at the woman with a smirk, “Congrats, you’ve got the torture dungeon model 38.4. Pretty standard really. Sweetheart, if you’re trying to scare me, this ain’t gonna do it.”

“It’s not your fear that I care about, Dean Winchester. Only your pain.”

At this point, Dean had given up on asking how the monsters they hunted knew his name. He was practically a celebrity. It was weirder when they didn’t know to be afraid.

This woman didn’t look afraid though. She didn’t have the smarmy confidence of a demon either, or the stick-up-the-ass look of an angel.

“What are you?”

“Apathetic.”

Dean frowned. The woman looked down at him passively. “My species doesn’t have a name, if indeed, there are more than me. I assume there are.”

“You don’t know?”

“It makes no difference either way.” Her voice was hollow, devoid of all feeling, but with a lilting accent he couldn’t place. She really didn’t care that she might be the only one of her kind. What the hell even was her kind? How could he pray to Cas to start researching how to kill a creature with no name?

He tried nonetheless. Praying mental snapshots of his situation and the woman in front of him, hopefully it would be enough if he couldn’t make it out himself.

“I’m going to feed now.” She said, stepping around the chair to avoid the reach of his legs – smart – and resting a palm around the back of his neck.

White-hot agony speared though him at her touch, shooting up into his brain, blotting out the until-that-moment-noticeable pain of his headache with something a thousand times worse. He thought he screamed, he must have tried to jerk away from her hand. The metallic tang of blood rushed into his mouth where his teeth must have ripped at the skin of his lip. He thought perhaps his nose was bleeding too, his eyes, his ears, his very pores oozing red fluid as it too tried to escape the all-encompassing torment.

And then it was over and a string of blood hung from his mouth, trembling with each one of his shuddering breaths.

“That all you got, bitch?” Dean spat, because he had to, because to admit that he would rather she run him through with a sword than touch go through that again would be admitting a weakness he couldn’t have, not in front of the monsters.

“I will not be hungry again for another few hours,” the thing said, clearly done with any kind of small-talk. She walked out of sight and Dean heard the sounds of a door opening and closing and locking, and then footsteps fading away.

As soon as he deemed himself in the clear he searched every inch of the room from his chair, he strained his neck around in all directions, trying to see something of use, anything. The last thing he remembered before waking up here was throwing down a few dollar bills onto a sticky bar top and standing to leave. He suppose this thing must have caught him on the way out. He didn’t remember seeing her in the bar.

They were investigating a murder, the murder of a guy who’d been missing for thirty-six years. He’d almost not been found at all, having been buried deep in protected woodland, but a ranger had noticed all the animals avoiding a particular spot and had gone to investigate.

The body can’t have been there more than a week but the skin was paler than it should have been by far. It was also stained with dry blood though there hadn’t been any visible wounds there had been considerable damage to the brain, and a handprint on the back of the neck.

It was just their kind of weird, so they’d packed up and shipped out and Dean had been asking around for anyone who remembered the guy vanishing nearly forty years ago. He hadn’t gotten anywhere.

Dean shuddered, knowing now what that poor guy had been going through for the past three and a half decades. He couldn’t go through that again, he wouldn’t last thirty years, his brain would explode way before then.

Weak, his mind hissed at him you were on Alastair’s rack for as long. You will suffer this as long as you need to.

Just long enough for Sam and Cas to find him.

Xxx

Four feedings later and Dean openly sobbed whenever the creature entered the room. Not that it mattered, she was as impervious to begging as she was to threats, unmoved by bargains, by bravado, by screams. She didn’t care that he told her this was nothing compared to Hell, she didn’t care that he was lying. She didn’t try to gag him or muffle his screams so either she had good soundproofing or she lived way out in the middle of freaking nowhere.

He measured time by feedings now, by the fear that ebbed and flowed with her presence. He still wasn’t sure what she was feeding on, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. She didn’t offer the information and he didn’t ask.

This was worse than any other time he’d been held captive. There were no taunts to bite back at, no cracks in her veneer to exploit. He was just here for when she was hungry and ignored otherwise.

She doused him with water once, immediately after feeding and he spluttered for breath, disoriented and confused. She also fed him, by hand, using a glove, and as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t reject the food or bite at her if he wanted to keep any strength at all. She gave him water after each feeding, tipping the neck of a plastic bottle over his mouth. It was up to him whether to drink or not. He’d refused at first, keeping his lips tightly pressed together, but she didn’t seem to care about that either.

Apathetic was probably the most accurate way to describe her.

Each feeding was worse than the last. The lack of natural light, of any kind of social contact, of enough sustenance to do anything more than just keep breathing was taking a gruelling toll. She didn’t talk to him much. She would respond to his words most times, but everything she had to say was just so empty that there was no satisfaction in trying to goad or insult her. His sight had started to go fuzzy, something had fried back there during the last feeding and everything was just slightly blurry now and it strained him to focus. Not that there was anything to see. He’d looked for any kind of escape route, a weapon, he’d even tried to break the chair, slamming one of the legs with his bare foot again and again but tied up as he was, his strength draining by the second, it was looking pretty bad.

Xxx

It was coming up to feeding ten now. It must have been at least a week since his capture. His fingers had been numb for two feedings and he’d all but given up. How the other guy had lasted so long he didn’t know; perhaps that brain damage had kicked in around now because Dean could use some. He was done. His eyes hurt to open, everything was covered in a red film, so he mostly left them closed. His ears whined even when there was nothing to hear. Any words he tried to say came out slanted and thick his hands barely moved. He was a fucking useless hunter.

There was a muffled scuffling sound and Dean shook his head, trying to clear his ears. He was pretty sure they were blocked with blood. Everything tasted and smelled like blood here, and he didn’t even have a deal to take.

The scuffling continued for a while and then stopped, and then there were footsteps, regular, heavy, and it must be feeding time because Dean’s body was already straining in his bindings, trying to get as far away from the door as possible.

The footsteps stopped and then there was a loud BANG. The door flung open and two blurry shapes rushed in.

“Dean!” One of them yelled, and warmth filled him at the sound, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Suhme,” was the sound that left his mouth.

“Crap. Dean, how bad is it?”

Fingers reached for him then and he screamed and yelled, trying to shove his weight to one side, away from the touch. He heard something pop in his shoulder before he felt it, but that was fine, that was like a headache, it wasn’t a touch.

Incredibly, the fingers stopped advancing.

“Dean?” The voice was very small now and Dean wanted to cry, probably was crying, his face didn’t feel much any more.

“Let me see,” came another voice, deeper, more warmth, but different, something more painful, but not bad.

“Cuh,” his mouth said.

“Yes, Dean. It’s me, it’s Cas. We’ve come to take you home.”

“Hum,”

“That’s right.” The voice sounded strained. “I’m going to heal you now, as much as I can.”

“Nuh!” Dean yelled. He knew what that meant. It meant a hand on his neck, it meant more agony, it meant-

The fingers landed lightly on his cheek and his eyes blinked and sharpened. A mop of dark hair and huge, worried blue eyes gazed at him.

“Cuh?”

Cas nodded and forced a smile. “Sam, cut his hands free, I can’t heal much in here, the warding is strong.”

Sam, shaggy-haired and gaunt-faced gave a grim nod. Dean kept his eyes on Cas and Cas looked back steadily.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Dean. No more pain.”

“Nuh muh?” It was hard to believe, he barely remembered a time before the pain.

Cas’s eyes were bright and wet in the dim room and he shook his head. “I promise.”

“I pred.”

Cas’ expression softened even further and his fingers trembled against Dean’s cheek.

“I know, my love. I heard you.”

@winchester-reload

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Looking For a Heartbeat (7/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Series Summary: You and Bucky used to be in a relationship. Feelings were hurt, you left. It’s been two years and you’re back. You both will handle the reunion well, won’t you?

Chapter Summary:  The day after  the  rooftop.

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings for this chapter: angst, cursing, canon physical violence, actions that could be interpreted as suicidal thoughts.

 A/N: Thanks @nedthegay for helping me with this chapter! Please, let me know what you all think. Links are ruining posts, so you can find the the masterlist link on my description. 

  Steve has his full Captain mode on, pointing and explaining the strategies for next mission.  The details of the it mimicked in the 3D holograms hovering over the round table. Something about alien guns and dealers based on an abandoned construction site. Bucky couldn’t tell exactly. Always the same old shit. Whatever Steve’s says falls on deaf ears. His thoughts are somewhere else. Or better, someone else...

His attention is fastened on the vacant seat between Nat and Tony. As far as he remembers, you were never one to be late for briefings, especially the ones right before missions. The team should be those Natasha and Tony, alongside Steve, himself and you, but it’s been at least 20 minutes and you haven’t shown up yet.

Drifting off to the last night events he can’t believe he let that happen. When you got to the roof he thought that maybe that would be the opportunity to finally talk to you, come clean to whatever there might still lingering between you two. But like the damn coward he is, he chickened out, only for two seconds later, to fuck your brains out against the wall.

Jesus… he swears he can still taste you in his tongue, feel your velvet touch around him, the softness of your lips against his… He has no idea what came to his mind. He wasn’t really thinking. All he felt was the desperate need for you, like an addict who finally gets a taste of their drug of choice after a long time of abstinence.

Now, after the relapse, he has to deal with the hangover.

He had had no self-restraint. He was so fucking harsh on you…and you let him. He had you bare and vulnerable under his demanding touch and you let him do whatever he pleased, giving yourself fully to him, driving him fucking crazy.     

You don't deserve this… the way he's been treating you ever since you came back. No matter what happened two years ago, you're not to blame for his own insecurities. You’re not to blame for how unstable he becomes when it comes to you. It's all on him.

Regret weighs on him over the way he left you there, wrecked and alone. But why the hell did you have to go and tell him you loved him? The moment he heard you saying that, holding him between your arms, sounding so fucking sincere… his heart thundered and swelled inside his chest, begging his dazed mind to believe you, to give himself to you the same way you had just done. But in his head, the reality of what you were saying mingled with flashes of the complete abandon he felt when he realized you were gone, and then him begging you to hear those same three words years ago that day in London. If that's the truth, if you truly love him, why did you run from him the way you did?

The sound of opening doors in front of him takes him out of his own thoughts.

“Hey, hey. Look who finally decided to grace us with her Director of SHIELD’s ass,” Tony exclaims, giving you a teasing smile.

As you walk to Tony with a tired smile and bend down to put your arms around him, Bucky can’t avert his stare from the dark circles around your eyes, which you clearly have tried to conceal with makeup. His stomach flips with shame, replaying in his head the way he left you the night before.

“How the hell did you manage to keep Pepper in a thousand years long honeymoon, old man?” You pat Tony’s shoulder wearing a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes by a long shot.  

“Oh honey, I could tell you how, but Cap here would choke on his own guts, and you don’t want me to break America’s favorite toy soldier, do you?”

Nat and you chuckle and, as Steve rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to respond, Tony adds, “By the way, I heard last night was girls night, huh? A wild one, sugar?” He winks after giving you a once over.

As Bucky’s eyes widen, your hand flies to cover your neck in a clearly unconscious act and embarrassment etches in your face, which you quickly try to hide with tight lips.

“Ok, ok. Enough with the chit chat. Sit down, Y/N, I don’t have all day for this shit.”

Bucky thank the Gods for Natasha Alianovna Romanoff. Always saying the right thing at the right time.

Answering Tony’s grimace at her with a similar one, Nat pulls the chair beside her and in front of Bucky for you to sit, which you promptly do, delicately running your hand over your neck and not even once glancing at Bucky, switching your attention to Steve, instead, who pick up from where he’s left off.

His fists clench under the table, gripping the jeans over his thighs. The embarrassment you’ve shown at Tony’s comment feels like a punch in his guts.  He’s disgusted at himself. He’s been that rough, if not rougher, with you during sex before, but this is completely different. Before, there was solely lust, desire and love behind his possessive, demanding actions. Last night there was desperation and even a twisted wish to somehow provoke harm, like some sort of retaliation… He feels like shit, like he’s taken advantage of you, like he’s truly hurt you. And hasn’t he done exactly that?    

He’s a goddamn moron, that’s what he is. Fucking you like he did, instead of acting like a grown ass man and talking to you like Anna had told him to…

Anna...

Is what you said the truth? Is Anna really in love with him? Is he really so blind?

“Are you listening, Bucky?” Steve’s voice is stern.

Bucky blinks and look around, all eyes on him.

Except yours.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He lies and nods at Steve, before his eyes seek yours again, only to see your distant gaze fixed on your hands over the table, as your fingers swiftly tug at one another.  

“Let’s go, then.” Steve commands, switching off the holograms and leading the way to the jets after everyone promptly got up to follow him.

~~~

Everything happens so fast. The place where you busted the dealers is a construction site, huge and open. The team needed to disperse in order to deal with the unexpectedly large number of hostiles, who were heavily armed with all kinds of alien weaponry and tech.

You face each one of them who dare to cross your path with all you got. You are reckless,  and don’t listen to Cap’s orders or anyone else’s words of warning through the coms.  If they said there was too many hostiles at a certain spot, there would be; you don’t wait when they tell you to, don’t listen when someone told you need help and can’t do what you’re doing alone. All you see is red. From the enemy’s blood or yours, you can’t tell. This is what you do best, this is you. And right no all you can be is you. And all you can do is fight without anything else in your head and your heart.  

You only stop when you finally hear his voice calling your name. He is shouting, calling for you, desperately, pleadingly, angrily. You turn around just in time to witness what happens next.

One of your opponents were right behind him as Bucky runs to you. You’re quick to take the man down with a single perfect shot from your gun, but not quick enough to stop him before he used a blaster to tear a thick piece of concrete from the construction. Your blood freeze as you see it crashing down towards Bucky’s direction. You sprint to him, screaming and calling his name, taking down whatever blurry figures that come between you and him.

You finally remember to breathe again when you finally get to him and see he has somehow managed to block the concrete, but his metal arm is stuck under the heavy block.

“We gotta get you outta here,” you pant, kneeling in front of him and pointlessly trying to move the block.

“It’s worthless, even I can’t move it.” He’s trapped with his side to the floor, holding his machine gun securely against him with his flesh hand, “There’s more coming, you gotta go,”

“Tony, Steve, where are you?  Bucky’s stuck, we need you here,” You ignore him, shouting through the comms.

“I’m a little stuck myself, darling, gimme a minute.” The answer comes from Tony.

“I spotted you two, I’m coming over,” Steve replies.

And that’s when a buzzing sound catches both you and Bucky’s attention. You spot the shooter up in the building roof before the small red device attaches to the top of the block trapping his arm. Through the small screen, the countdown started: 15, 14…

“Get the fuck outta here,” Bucky screams and pushes you making you fall backwards.

You ignore the desperation etched on his face and in his voice to favor your own, as you get back up and bolts to the device, trying to pull it out of the rock, to no avail. Some damn alien shit...

10, 9…

“Steve, Tony…”

“Almost there,” Steve shouts back.

“It’s gonna fucking explode. I might be able to take it, you certainly can’t! Get the fuck out of here.”  He gestures with his arm for you to go.

“I won’t leave you,” You cry out, still trying to unattach the small explosive.

7, 6…

“You’re gonna die, Y/N.” He desperately begs.

“And do you think I fucking care?” You snap, locking your gaze with his. Silencing him completely.

5, 4…

The ticking of the countdown in the background is all you can hear as you keep  staring at each other.

His blue eyes are terrified and his parted lips are speechless.

3, 2…

“Back off.”

Tony’s voice makes you step back as he jumps to the device, easily hooking it off with a blast and tossing it to the sky just before the loud thunder of the explosion booms.

“Do you have a fucking death wish, Y/N? You were gonna blow the fuck up,” Tony yells at you at the same time he pulls the block off of Bucky’s arm.

You don’t answer. Steve, who has just arrived, gives you a concern expression, offering his arm to lift Bucky up who remains astonished and wordless, staring at you.

Terror still haunting his eyes.

~~~

The rides back home from missions are never cheerful. Even in victory, there’s always the regret, the feeling that more could’ve been done, the heavy weight of the casualties, the collateral damage, and the darkness that inevitably came with a fight.

However, you can’t remember ever feeling the way you feel now. The whole team is quiet; each one busy with their own demons, but also trying to digest what had almost just happened to you.

He’s sitting right across from you. You can feel the fire in his eyes burning into you.  But you don’t dare to look at him.

The jet lands and you’re the first one to rush out, only nodding when Steve says he wants to see you in his office the next day.

You run to your room, leaving the door unlocked behind you. Breathing heavily, you sit on your bed and stare at the door. He will come, you know this.  To scream and yell at you. Call you crazy and reckless. You know what you said and how it sounded. You’re not sure what it really meant for you, though.

But you know he won’t let this one go.

You wait for him.

~~~

It’s hard to contain the tremble on his hands as he rushes past the elevator and hurries over to the stairs, hoping the physical exertion would at least ease down a bit the hurricane inside him.

You were going to die. Right there in front of him. And it seemed like that was all you wanted at that moment. His throat is tight and he feels sick. So utterly sick at the thought. The way you came back, last night, the mission… This is not ok. You’re both a couple of fuck ups and it needs to end.

Right now.  

His heart hammers with every step as he climbs up to her floor. He needs to see her, talk to her, listen to her voice.

He needs to calm the fuck down.

Bucky’s rushed pace halts completely when he meets the door in front of him. He takes in a deep breath and runs his hand over his damp locks before bumping his fists to the wood repeatedly.  

A few seconds pass before the door opens and startled eyes meet his.

“Bucky?” She takes in his appearance, “Are you ok?”

“Is it true?” he ignores her questions, his eyes frantically analyzing her face, “Is it true that you’re in love with me?”

A small gasp slips Anna’s parted lips and her eyes widen even more while she takes an unconscious step back. He can tell she’s struggling with her mind before her jaw clenches and she straightens up her posture, keeping her gaze on him.

“Yes, it is,” she answers, simply, in a soft, yet full of resolution voice.

Bucky doesn’t even let the words sink in before he crashes his lips on hers.

~~~~

Feelings? Fuck Off.

Pairing: Negan x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, Daddy kink, oral (female receiving), mutual masturbation, unprotected sex, mention of bodily fluids, Negan realizing he has feelings (yikes)

Word Count: 4.9K 

Summary: Negan comes home to see you in his bed and he starts to realize some things.

A/N: Here’s a little afternoon delight for you all. This was originally supposed to be for Valentine’s Day (hence the mention of it in the story) but I didn’t get it done in time. I had a lot of fun writing this because I decided to do it from Negan’s POV. He’s always so entertaining to tap into, especially when he’s having an emotional crisis. Anyway, I hope you guys like it and enjoy!

Masterlist in bio.

*** 

Negan sighs wearily as he climbs the steps to his less than humble abode. He’s had a shit day. He’s been having shit days since Rick and his posse of fucking misfits decided to challenge him at every fucking turn. He’s tired of having to sling is dick around to prove a point. He wants them, no…needs them to fall in line like good soldiers and keep the backstabbing to a minimum. So far, they have been dead set on doing the opposite. And he is paying for it.

 His whole body is sore; aching with an exhaustion that reminds him he’s far from a young spring chicken. His eyes are blurry from overuse and old age, though he’d blame it on a particle of dust before he went and admitted that. His shoulders sag and he feels burdened with a new weight he hadn’t been expecting. Alexandria is testing his motherfucking patience like no other. He’s mentally drained and the state of his personal affairs is not improving his well-being. Those personal affairs include the fairer sex. More specifically…his wives.

 They are a whole other matter entirely. What once was every straight man’s wet fucking dream, has now crashed and burned with only a single survivor left among the wreckage. All of his wives have gone and fucked off in some form or fashion. Sherry hightailed it out of the Sanctuary, even leaving behind her pre-apocalypse husband for god knows what. She had a stick up her ass most of the time anyway. Tanya and Frankie are more fascinated and interested with his newest addition than him nowadays. The wannabe Rain Man, mullet-head have two of his wives fucking captivated, and in a way Negan is grateful…less bullshit for him to have to swim through. Amber is basically in a comatose state since he’d taken the iron to her ex. A situation that could’ve been avoided if people would just stop fucking testing him.

 It was all for the best anyways. His true affections belong to one woman. And you were the last one standing. You were there when the dust settled because you were the only one that gave a damn about him. You were the only one who cared if he made it home in one piece. And you were the only one who would care if he didn’t.

He feels relief overtake his body as his closed door comes into view. Immediate guilt soon follows. He’d promised you that he’d be back to celebrate Valentine’s Day. He’d been neglecting his husbandly duties lately and he was on a path of redemption, but he’d ended up failing miserably today. The pick-ups and runs had taken longer than anticipated and he’d been forced to oversee the mess. Once again, you’d been placed on the backburner.

 His door eases open easily. He decides to shower and seek you out as soon as fucking possible to start the groveling process. But one look at his massive bed and his plan is abandoned.

 There in a nest of grey blankets and pillows, you lay sleeping peacefully. His wives had not been allowed to stay in his room in the beginning, but now, with just you and him, he basically fucking needs it. The warmth of your body always lulls him into a soundless sleep. Some nights you stay with him. Some nights you retreat to your own room. He’s asked you once why you left when it was just the two of you that remained. You’d insisted it was for his benefit and that you knew how much he liked having moments of solitude. That’s bullshit. He doesn’t need that shit. He needs you. But does he admit that? Fuck no.

 Negan walks into the room quietly, setting Lucille against the wall as he removes his jacket and boots. He watches over you like a hawk, hazel eyes scanning your prone form as if it were the first time. You look beautiful all wrapped up in his bed and he suddenly feels a swell of emotion rise in his chest. He quickly sweeps the feeling to the side, unwilling to be honest with himself or you. Instead, lust dominates his actions as he sits down on the edge of the mattress and lets a hand trail across your cheek and down to your collarbone. The comforter is pulled up to your chest and he can’t stop the urge to expose you to his hungry gaze.

 Your breasts are encased in red and pink; hearts decorating the feminine fabric in celebration of a lover’s holiday. Your nipples are easily visible and he groans lowly at the sight. You are far too fucking good to him and your festive attire solidifies that fact. You shift softly as a thick finger trails between your breasts and over each nipple, the thin fabric barely acting as a barrier as they harden against his touch. He watches as your skin breaks out in gooseflesh, the reaction sending a shot of arousal straight to his dick. Your body’s reaction to him is one of the things he adores about you the most. You’re so responsive and completely open to letting him explore you in ways no one has before. It’s an intoxicating sensation.

 A soft sigh leaves your lips as he continues to pull the blanket away from your body, revealing more of yourself. His calloused hands that are so used to beating and breaking men are now caressing the flesh of your stomach with a gentleness that would surprise most. He feels your body arch into his touch as he continues on his path south. Your lower half is decorated the same as the top. A scrap of red and pink material with the same girly hearts barely hide you from view. He can see the perfect outline of your lips against the fabric, a small damp spot barely visible. He licks his lips at the sight.

 You shift in your sleep again and Negan can swear he sees your thighs part ever so slightly, silently begging for more. He’s happy to oblige. He traces over your clothed sex with his finger, enjoying the way you lean into his touch. He teases the elastic of your panties and dips a finger beneath the barrier at each new pass. He touches the seam of your opening and is rewarded with a wetness that makes his pants grow increasingly uncomfortable. This time, a moan leaves your lips at the flesh on flesh contact and he can’t take it anymore. He has to have you. He has to indulge in the one good thing he has left.

 He moves down the bed so that his mouth is now even with your crotch. He takes in a deep breath and inhales the delectable scent of your arousal. His tongue shoots out on its own, licking at your slit through the fabric. His lips and teeth soon join in, creating a pleasure that has your hips rolling into his mouth. He becomes emboldened by your display and moves your panties to the side. His lips instantly suction around your clit and you awake with a moan, your hands tangling themselves in his hair between your thighs.

 “Oh, Negan…” Your voice is breathy and raw with emotion. Negan rubs himself against the mattress, hoping to alleviate some of the throbbing that has settled there.

 “Rise and shine, darlin’.” His voice is clear of the fatigue that had been so prevalent moments before. He’s invigorated and horny as fuck. He adds a finger into your slick-soaked channel. Your walls immediately suck him in, the feeling reminding him just how fucking good your pussy always takes his cock.

 “Jesus…” You whimper as Negan’s finger and mouth continue to work you over. He adds another finger, his digits seeking out that spot deep inside your body that begs to be explored.

 “Right there, baby?” He asks, but your body is already answering for you. Your thighs begin to shake and your nails drag across his scalp as the tremors start to overpower you. “Oh, that’s the spot, isn’t it? Right. Fucking. There.” He thrusts vigorously and watches as you come undone, head thrown back and spine arched in a picturesque scene of climax. You moan loudly, the sounds tapering off to whimpers as he slows down his movements. He eases off as you gently push him away, too sensitive after such an intense orgasm.

 “Hi.” You say finally and almost shyly, your eyes now clear of the fog of lust. You look cute as shit still wrapped in all your Valentine’s Day glory with an ‘I just got fucked good’ smile on your face. Negan crawls over you, trapping you underneath him as he presses his still fully clothed body into your near naked one. He makes sure you can feel his dick against your thigh, the evidence of his desire for you apparent.

 “Hi.” He replies smugly, enjoying the way you melt into him. His hands run through your hair as you start to come back to reality and down from your high.

“That was quite a wake-up call.” You point out, voice still thick with sleep. Your hands delicately caress his face, the action causing his eyes to close briefly.

 “Hmmm,” He hums, soaking in your soothing touches. He can already feel the difference in his body being there with you. The tight coils of tension that had caged his body only moments before were now releasing and easing him into a state of relaxation. And arousal.

 “You looked too fucking good to ignore.” He says with a grin and slow thrust of his hips against your core.

 You moan as his lips descend onto the flesh of your neck, his tongue tasting you as if you were the sweetest chocolate. Your fingers grip his thick locks; your legs wrap around his waist. His jeans rub deliciously against your thin panties and he can feel that wetness he loves so much start to coat the dark denim.

 “You need me, baby?” He husks against your collarbone though he already knows the answer.

 “Yes, please…” You moan, your words trailing off as he bites down and sucks on the plump flesh of your left breast.

 His hands expertly reach behind you to unclasp your bra, the material immediately being torn away by his hungry hands. You arch into his body now that your breasts are free and he fucking loves that shit. He doesn’t think you realize it, but he gets one-hundred times harder when you push yourself into him. It’s like your giving yourself over to him, to do what he pleases. And you trust him enough to do so. It’s a strong fucking aphrodisiac that he always takes pleasure in.

 Your hands pull at his t-shirt and he pulls away from your perfect tits to appease you and pull off the offending garment. His naked chest meets yours and he swears he could hear you release the sexiest fucking purr.

 “I don’t think I told you how fucking sexy you looked tonight, baby girl.” He mouths at a pert nipple as he pulls your panties down your rounded hips. The material gets caught on your thighs and he takes a moment to appreciate the goddess laid out beneath him.

 “Why’d you stop?” You asked breathily, your chest rising and falling quickly from desire. You look dazed and it’s the cutest fucking thing he’s seen in a while. He feels that bubble of emotion in his chest again, the need to express just how much you fucking mean to him on the tip of his tongue.

 “You’re really fucking special, you know that?”

 Your eyebrow quirks up at his sudden admission and he can tell he’s caught you off guard. You smile up at him and he feels that heaviness in his chest ease up at the sight.

 “So are you.”

 They were three simple words, but they made him feel on top of the fucking world. And you’d never know that because he’d never tell you, but he hopes you can feel it somehow. He hopes you can just tell it from his actions and feel it in his touch.

 “Now finish what you started.” You demand with a push of your hips and a bite to your lower lip. You know what that action does to him and he has no choice but to surrender.

 “Bossy.” He quips as he gets back to ridding your of your soaked panties. You lift up so he can finally free you of them and his eyes spark with mirth as he brings the fabric to his nose and inhales. “And fucking needy. Just like I like ‘em.” He boasts, the scent of you now surrounding him. He feels a primitive wave wash over him and he becomes overwhelmed with the need to be balls fucking deep inside of you.

 “Dirty old man.” You tease. His lips form a smirk, one he’s been told time and time again makes him look like Lucifer incarnate. He licks his lips, unashamed of the way his body responds to your own.

 “You love it.” He growls as he stands and starts to remove the last of his clothing. You watch with heavy-lidded eyes, your legs parting ever-so slightly to give him a peek of his favorite fucking place to worship.

 “I do.” You cheekily agree, body stretching along the bed like a feline. The sight makes him work faster at getting his clothes off so he can mount the fuck out of you.

 When he’s finally bare, his hand wraps around himself on instinct, seeking relief. He hears a whimper fall from your lips and he hastily lathers his hand with saliva, jerking himself off to you. You’d started to slip your own fingers inside yourself, the sound of your soaked cunt urging him to a finish line he wasn’t ready for.

 “Fucking hell, baby…” He releases the hold he has on himself and moves closer to the bed. You open your legs, letting him see all of you. A finger is buried deep in your pussy while another teases your clit. He grunts and pulls your ankle so that you slide closer to the edge of the bed. You yelp and remove your fingers, gripping the sheets instead. The height of his bed lines himself up with you perfectly and he steps forward to rut against you.

 “God, I missed you…” You moan once his bare flesh meets yours. Negan sets his weight on top of you, his stubble-laden face rubbing sensuously along your neck and chest. He lets his lips and teeth work you over the way he knows you like while his dick has a field day grinding against your pussy.

 “How much?” He demands, his hands now full with your flawless tits. You throw your head back, submitting yourself over to his ministrations.

 “So much.” You finally reply, voice strangled with fast-rising pleasure.

 He pulls away, his dick now fully coated in you. His eyes catch yours, ignoring the way you plead with him to resume his actions.

 “Prove it to Daddy, baby girl.”

 He lies down on the bed, back resting against the headboard. His position says it all and without further prompting you straddle his lap. He fucking loves that you know him so well; that you take your own pleasure in pleasing him.

 His hands settle on your hips as you take him in, warming him from the inside out. He can feel your walls grasping at him; feel them pulling him in like they never want him to leave. He groans as you move slowly above him, the sight and sound of you impaling his cock making that elusive tingle surge to the surface. He places a hand on your breast, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. Your hands grip his wrist, urging him on. He pinches your nipple, loving how responsive you are under his touch. Your hips pick up speed, swallowing him over and over. The sensation is fucking intoxicating. He can never get enough of you. He can never get his fill of you.

 “That’s it…take it all.” He encourages, his own hips now thrusting up into you at a matching speed.

 “Fuck…you feel so good.” Your words sets his body on fire and he doubles his efforts. He assaults your clit and he can feel you starting to flutter around him.

 “Cum for Daddy. Squeeze my dick.” He knows you love dirty talk about as much as he does and he happily obliges you. His words no sooner leave his mouth before you’re shaking above him. He can feel the tremors race from your body to his own and he pulls your hips flush with his, stilling your movements and letting his dick feel every inch of your orgasm.

 “God fucking damn. That shit is good.” He drawls as you collapse against his sweaty chest. He can feel your lips along his neck and he groans, very aware that his dick is still hard as fucking steel and embedded inside you. He adjusts his position below you and you whimper into his flesh at the action.

 “That was amazing.” You breathe out once you finally sit up, hair sticking to your glistening skin. You look hot as shit. Your skin is flushed, your nipples still hard, and your lips swollen from your constant biting. He feels himself twitch inside you and you notice immediately.

 Your hips move slowly as they push back and forth. Your hands are planted on his chest, your nails clawing and leaving marks. He thrives on that sting of pain and he has to stop himself from flipping you over and pounding that gorgeous fucking ass. He wants to take his time with you tonight.

 His hands grip the flesh of your ass, encouraging your movements. And as much as he loves watching you writhe beneath him, he fucking loves the way you ride him. You’re in your own world, your body moving of its own accord; searching for that cliff to dive off. Your head is thrown back and your tits are pushed out; all while you’re fucking stuffed of him. The image almost makes him bust a fucking nut right there.

 “Stop.” He commands with gritted teeth and you instantly obey, your body stilling over his. It takes everything he has to utter that word, but he’s a seasoned lover and he doesn’t get that way by hitting and quitting it. No, he takes his time. He can be just as fucking theatrical in bed as he is out in the world of rotting corpses. And he’s sure there’s some kind of hidden fucking analogy about swinging Lucille beyond the fences and swinging his big dick within the confines of his bedroom. That analysis was for another time.

 “Take me out.”

 You comply without hesitation and he watches in rapt fascination as you lift off his lap and pull him from your depths. You moan lowly at the loss of him and he can see your lips still trying to clutch at him. His dick is soaked as fuck and he can feel it throbbing like a motherfucker, wanting to cum in your tight pussy. He’s enamored by you and that you can take all of him so well. It’s another check off his list on why you are so fucking special. He doesn’t have a monster dick, but it’s definitely something to brag about. Which he fucking does.

 “Oh come on, baby girl…” He starts, his tone taunting and filled with challenge. “You can get Daddy wetter than that.”

 Truth is he doesn’t think you can because his dick is already sliding through your fucking hands like Jell-O, but he enjoys provoking you. Because just like him, you can’t help but to rise to the fucking occasion and prove yourself. You challenge him and he loves the hell out of that shit. It’s another one of the things that makes you important to him.

 With a new fierceness in your eyes, you take him inside again. He groans and throws his head back because he can feel you doing that thing with your pussy that squeezes the fuck out of his dick. Beyond the intense pleasure he’s laughing because you play fucking dirty. His dirty girl.

 “Holy fucking shit.” He curses, eyes squeezed shut and body taut with tension. It’s a different kind of tension than the one he’d been riddled with earlier in the evening and he can’t wait to release it.

 Your body starts moving up and down, slowly and seductively. Each time he’s fully inside you, you grip him with a force that makes his eyes cross. He fucking asked for it. He tries to urge you faster, but you ignore his attempts and keep your speed. He can feel that spark catch fire and its spreading fast. You can read his body just as well as he can read yours and you can see how close he is to snapping. You rotate your hips, twirling his dick inside you like you’re riding a wave on the fucking ocean. Shit feels fucking phenomenal.

 “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

 His whole body stills and his fingers dig harshly into your hips and ass. You cease your hips and let him fill you up, a victorious smile planted on your luscious lips. He pumps his hips up and into you, keeping you locked to him but knowing he didn’t have to. He can feel the sudden warmth from his release as it coats your walls and him, the sensation enough to make him want to stay this way forever. Through the haze he can hear you mewl and moan, taking as much joy in the moment as he fucking does.

 Negan lets his limbs go lax as his chest continues to move with his rapid breaths, eyes closed as he starts to recover from the intensity of his release. You lean forward and catch his lips, and he blindly falls into the embrace with you. His hands smooth over your naked back and ass, feeling you shiver as he does. He can feel a moisture start to collect between your joined bodies and he notices he’s still half hard. Payback time.

 He moves so fast that you don’t even have a chance to react. He flips you both so that he now hovers over you, dick still encased in your painted walls. You squeal in surprise and soon laughter flows from your lips as he tickles your neck with his stubble. The sound makes that chest tightening shit happen again.

 “Negan!”

 “You clearly don’t play fair, baby.” He rumbles against your ear, his teeth biting at the lobe delicately.

 “I learn from the best, Daddy.”

 Your words make him smile proudly because you are right. You are a badass in your own fucking right, but neither of you can deny the influence he has on you.

 He shifts so that he’s on his knees and maneuvers you to your side. This position is a fan favorite for you both. He can watch himself fuck you while also being able to see that pretty face take his dick. He’s freed himself from your clutches and streaks of his cum are already seeping from your heavenly pussy. He can’t help it. He uses his fingers to open you up, always eager to see himself all over you. Perhaps it was an Alpha male thing, but he fucking loves seeing you covered in his marks and cum.

 “You ready to learn more from Daddy?” He teases, tongue to his cheek as he situates his dick back at your weeping slit.

 You nod, just as eager to take the lesson as he is to give it. By now, he’s fully erect again and he plunges into you hard and deep. You love getting fucked like this and he works to find that spot inside you that guarantees a flood on his dick. Your hands are tangled in the sheets and your body is twisted so that you’re staring up at him with wide, desire-fueled eyes. He slams into with abandon, admiring the way your ass and tits jiggle as he thrusts.

 “You gonna cum again, baby girl? Gonna make that pussy so wet I slip out?”

 You moan loudly, the volume enough to alert anyone on this floor to what you two were up to. Neither of you gave a fuck.

 Your hands are grasping your tits, keeping them from his view and he tuts at the sight.

 “Uh-uh, you know I love to see these fantastic titties bounce.” He moves your hands out of the way and he can see you roll your eyes.

 “You’re not the one who has to deal with them bouncing on your fucking chest.” You retort, giving in to his request and going back to gripping the sheets instead.

 “I’ll make it up to you, baby.” And he does. You cum around him in a matter of seconds, the search for that hidden spot a success. He clenches his jaw as he lets you ride through your orgasm, your body and limbs tangling around him as you shake.

 “Fuck, that’s tight. Feels too fucking good.” He groans.

 Negan can tell he’s not far behind and he speeds up his thrusts, moving so hard he’s pushing you up the mattress. He slips himself out of you and cums on your hip and ass cheek. It’s not a lot, but he knows he’s not quite finished. Every once in a blue moon he’ll have the stamina of a man twenty years his junior. He isn’t sure what triggers it, but anytime it happens he doesn’t fucking question it.

 He slips back inside, still hard and up to giving your pussy a pounding. Sweat coats his skin and he can feel it start to slide down his temple. You’re taking the fucking like a champ; lips pursed and body completely pliant. Your hand trails through his cum, rubbing the liquid into your skin.

 “Shit baby, you like Daddy’s cum all over you?” He watches as you smooth your hand up your waist and to your tit, covering the fleshy mound in his spendings. He growls at the sight. A finger makes its way up to your lips and you suck on it. The display is purely for his benefit and that doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

 “Daddy…” You whine and he knows its time to wrap up this little production. He can tell you’re tired after having cum three times. He knows your pussy is probably sensitive as fuck and just to be an asshole about it, he pulls out and slaps your swollen lips with his dick. You jerk away and he laughs darkly because he knows you fucking love it. As much as he pushes your buttons, he makes up for it tenfold when you two aren’t fucking like rabbits. He has his softer moments and they seem to be more frequent where it concerns you.

 He’s cumming on your pussy and ass again, the amount much more than his previous load. He’s making a huge fucking mess. One that he knows you’re going to bitch about later, but he continues on. He lets his dick play in the mess he made on your skin, his body finally spent and limp all over. He smirks at your thoroughly fucked form and leans down to kiss you tenderly. Tongues twist together as you both marinate in the afterglow. He’s admitted to you once before that this was one of his favorite moments post coitus…the two of you just making out like teenagers rather than the two savages who fucked each other senseless moments before.

 The contrast works.

 “I l-,” He stops short, knowing what’s about to slip out. He catches himself and recovers, hoping you hadn’t noticed but knowing you most likely did. “I live for this shit.”

 He looks down at you, seeing a specific look in your eye. He likes to think he’s smooth, but there are times when he stumbles. You don’t call him in on it, not immediately anyway. He knows he has time to figure shit out before you do.

 “Pervert.” You quip, hands back to tangling in his hair. He can feel his skin sticking to yours from the sitting liquid between you, but neither of you make a move to retreat.

 “I may say all the fucked up shit, but you’re the one that gets off on all that fucked up shit, my dear wife.” He nips at your bottom lip while pinching your nipple. You swat his hand away. You know he isn’t wrong.

 “Touché, my darling husband.”

 Negan finally collapses beside you and he can already feel his eyes drooping, sleep ready to take over. He feels your hand entangle with his and he smiles. His chest is tight again, but its significantly less than what it had been. He doesn’t know what the fuck that means. He knows fuck all about relationships, see his first marriage, but he also knows life is too fucked up to go through it alone. 

So, there on his bed, both of you covered in sweat and cum, he decides he’d do anything in his power to protect you. That chest-tightening feeling be damned.

Dinner in Bed

Word Count: 1985

Pairing: Jensen/Jared

Summary: One wrong step lands Jared in the hospital, but Jensen isn’t going to let that ruin the plans he made for the two of them.

Author’s Note: A huge thank you to @aihoshiduo and @kissmewinchester for their encouragement. I was dying to write some hurt!Jared and they helped me accomplish it.

~~*~~

Jensen finished setting the table and rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. He was thankful for a late call time so he had an opportunity to make sure everything was ready for tonight. Jared had been complaining lately about how they never do anything romantic and Jensen, who was really tired of hearing it, wanted everything to be perfect.

When he finally arrived on set, he went straight for Jared’s trailer instead of his own. Jensen didn’t even bother knocking. He pulled the door opened, letting it hit the side of the trailer with a thud as he ran up the stairs.

“Honey, I’m ho-“ Jensen cut his greeting short when he noticed Jared laying on the couch with a bag of ice held to the back of his head and his other arm draped over his face. “What the hell happened?”

He carefully lowered himself to his knees and placed a hand on Jared’s shoulder. With a jolt, Jared removed his arm and glanced at Jensen with glassy eyes. They pinched together when Jensen’s wandering hand easily found the tender spot on the back of his head.

“I’m fine,” Jared argued as he tried to push Jensen’s hand away weakly. “I fucked up, missed my mark and fell backwards. Nothing serious though.”

“Yeah, Okay,” Jensen rolled his eyes but removed his hand and reached for his phone to send a quick text. “How’s your vision?”

“It’s a little blurry, but it’ll go away.”

“Headache?”

“Yeah,” Jared nodded, which was an obvious mistake made clear by the grimace. “But I took some medicine as soon as we finished the scene.”

Jared’s lips twitched into a small smile as Jensen stood and leaned over him, his hand brushing through Jared’s hair before caressing his cheek. The way Jared’s eyes twitched as they attempted to focus was definitely worrisome. Jensen was about ready to throw Jared over his shoulder and haul ass.

“Come on, Jay,” He slid Jared’s legs over the side of the couch and helped the younger man shift into a seated position. “We’re going to go make sure you didn’t crack that skull of yours.”

“Jen,” Jared took a shaky breath and blinked his eyes.”I’m fine, seriously! Plus, we have another scene to shoot soon. I can’t do that to the crew.”

“I wasn’t asking. Let’s go.”

He threw Jared’s arm over his shoulder and lifted them both from the couch before slowly heading to the awaiting car. Jensen carefully helped Jared into the back seat before rushing to the other side and explaining to the driver where they were headed. Once they were moving, he slid closer to Jared, who instantly leaned to the side and rested his head on Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen squeezed Jared’s thigh and let his head fall against Jared’s as they drove in silence.

~~*~~

Luckily they were filming in a small town and the emergency room was surprisingly empty. It only took about fifteen minutes for Jared to get called back. Against his own wishes, Jared’s too, Jensen stayed behind to finish filling out all the paperwork.

The nurse promised to come get Jensen once Jared was settled into his room and the doctor was ready to speak with them. That had been almost two hours ago and here he was bouncing his knees and cracking his knuckles for the thousandth time.

“Mr. Ackles?” The voice was quiet, unsure.

He glanced up to see a young woman approaching him in blue scrubs. He felt kinda bad when he noticed how nervous the girl was, so Jensen did the best he could to smile.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh yes,” she answered quickly with a smile of her own. “Mr. Padalecki is asking for you. Are you ready to go see him?”

Jensen chuckled and the nurses smile widened as he picked himself up off the chair. He simply nodded and followed behind her as they entered the doors he’d been staring at for so long. In just a few seconds they were outside Jared’s room and Jensen felt his heart beat a little faster.

It was amazing that the lanky fool could still have this effect on Jensen after so many years.

He paused for just a second to school his features before stepping into the room as the nurse held the door open. The smile he was greeted with was everything Jensen needed to calm his lingering nerves and he quickly moved to Jared’s side.

“The doctor will be in shortly.” The nurse was quiet but Jensen still startled, having forgotten she was standing there.

“Thank you,” He was polite but never took his eyes off Jared.

Jensen was reaching for Jared’s hand as the door clicked closed and he carefully leaned in, his other hand holding Jared’s head still as he kissed those beautiful lips.

“How ya feeling, Jay?” He watched Jared blink a few times, but the smile stayed.

“Better now.” Jared’s hand squeezed Jensen’s, holding tightly and refusing to let go. “I missed you.”

Unable to resist, Jensen shifted to sit on the bed beside Jared’s hip. His hand gently brushed hair from Jared’s face and lingered there for a few moments until he heard the door open behind him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Padalecki.” The doctor moved to Jared’s side, holding a clipboard tightly in her hands as she scanned the notes. “You’ve got a nasty concussion, huh?”

Jared nodded in reply, but the simple movement must have caused a wave of pain because he stopped abruptly with a hand to his head. Instead he simply smiled and held Jensen’s hand even tighter, as if he was afraid Jensen was going to walk away and never come back. There was zero chance of that happening though.

“Well here’s what we are going to do,” The doctor took a second to jot down a few notes on the chart before she looked back up with a smile. “I want you to stay here over night and assuming nothing changes, then tomorrow morning you’re free to go. However, you have strict orders to rest for 3 days. No work, no gym, just rest.”

“You got it, Doc,” Jensen answered, squeezing Jared’s hand just as tight. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

The doctor nodded and left the room with a promise to check in again before her shift ended. Jensen wasn’t surprised to see Jared had turned away and he would have bet his entire life savings that the younger man wasn’t concerned about himself in the least.

He turned back around and carefully grabbed Jared’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet, “It’s not the end of the world, Jay.”

“I let everyone down,” Jared pushed Jensen’s hand away and turned his head again. “Now filming has to be pushed back because of me.”

“Since you neglected to tell anyone how bad your injury was,” Jensen grabbed for Jared’s hand instead. “I informed the crew and of course their only concern is that you’re okay.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.” He squeezed Jensen’s hand in return, but didn’t turn his head.

“I know you didn’t.”

“I was stupid.”

“Shut up,” Jensen growled, grabbing Jared’s again. “I don’t want to hear that shit. You know you’re not stupid and no one else thinks you are either. Now, rest and worry about getting better. You understand me?”

He smiled at the expression on Jared’s face and bent over to place a kiss on the younger man’s forehead before standing. He kept a strong grip on Jared’s hand for a few seconds longer, waiting until Jared finally returned the smile, even if it was rather weak.

“I’ll be back in a bit.” Jensen promised. “I expect to hear you slept the whole time.”

“Why are you leaving?” Jared stared at Jensen, ignoring his last statement.

“I’ve got something to take care of.”

“Please stay, Jack.”

~~*~~

Those damn puppy eyes are extremely tempting, but Jensen mustered up enough will power to resist. Although he felt awful leaving Jared like this, he knew it had to be done. With one final kiss, he turned away and quickly walked out before he had a chance to change his mind.

“Hi Mr. Ackles!” The same nurse from earlier greeted Jensen as soon as he exited the elevator.

He smiled in return, but got right to what he really wanted to know, “How’s he doing?”

“Oh it took him a bit to relax, but then I convinced him to take something for the pain and he was out shortly after.” She pointed toward the clock. “Should be waking up soon.”

Jensen nodded and waved to the girl as he quickly made his way to Jared’s room. It wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he wasn’t letting this little hiccup ruin the night he had planned.

He set out the flameless candles around the room and pushed Jared’s tray over to the side of his bed. Quietly, Jensen removed the containers he had prepared, setting them as nicely as he could on top of the tray. Once he was satisfied with the set up, he took his phone from his pocket and found the playlist he created specifically for this dinner.

As the beautiful melody began to play, Jensen ran his fingers through Jared’s hair. He watched as the younger man’s eyes began to flutter and when they finally blinked open, Jensen leaned down and placed a warm kiss to Jared’s lips.

“You’re back,” Jared’s voice cracked.

“You knew I would be,” Jensen’s hands stopped on the side of Jared’s face. “I just had to pick up a few things.”

Finally, Jared seemed to pick up on the flicker of the candles and his eyes softened. A beautiful smile curled his lips and he reached for Jensen’s hand, turning his face into the touch.

“What is this?” He looked at the tray and began to sit himself up just a bit. “Did you cook?”

“I did,” Jensen smiled proudly and slowly removed his hand. “I had dinner planned for us tonight, but since you couldn’t leave, I brought it to you.”

He took a fork and picked up a piece of chicken, feeding it to Jared who gratefully accepted. The look on Jared’s face was enough to relax Jensen’s nerves.

“Good?”

“Oh my god,” Jared kept his eyes closed as if if savoring every last bit of flavor. “It’s delicious.”

“Told you I could cook.”

“What’s the occasion?” Jared asked as he reached for the fork to feed himself.

Jensen stopped Jared’s hand before the fork reached his mouth and turned it until he was able to close his own mouth around the utensil. He made more of a show out of it than necessary, but he was enjoying the way Jared’s eyes lit with desire and knew it wasn’t for the chicken.

“Why do I need an occasion to do something special?” He asked after swallowing the mouthful of surprisingly delicious food. Honestly, he wasn’t too sure of his culinary ability, but he wasn’t letting Jared know that. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“And I ruined it,” Jared lowered his head, folding his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry, Jen.”

“What are you talking about?” Jensen laughed. “What’s more romantic than surprising you in the hospital with a home cooked meal. I’d say that’s a win.”

“Definitely a win.” Jared’s smile slowly returned and he reached out for Jensen’s hand, tugging until Jensen got the hint and leaned in so that their lips could meet.

Jensen pulled away just slightly, hIs words ghosting over Jared’s moist lips, “I love you.”

Nothing else needed to be said because when Jared pulled him back in and deepened the kiss, Jensen understood that the sentiment was mutual. The food may be getting cold on the tray beside them, but this was far more delicious than any meal Jensen could ever prepare.e

soaring light (chapter 7)

Summary: Don’t get attached, do not engage in any physical contact… The list of rules were long, but Lucas had never been the one to follow orders. In fact, he might have broken all of them in just a week, all because of the piercing eyes staring at him from the assignment in his hands, and the charming, mysterious boy they belonged to. Who wanted him dead, and why?

Chapter summary: Lucas deals with the aftermath of what he did at Eliott's party, and Manon tries to stop him from doing something incredibly stupid.

read on ao3 here

-

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Eliott!”

Eliott wasn’t listening. Eliott wasn’t bothered. Eliott was dancing around the room with the drink in his hand, happily grinning at the party guests. Lucas was following closely behind, heart beating hard enough to jump out of his chest. His vision was blurry and he didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol or the fact that he was about to kill Eliott. The noises seemed to blend in to a constant thumping sound in his ears and he couldn’t concentrate on anything else than Eliott in front of him.

“Eliott, wait!” Lucas yelled, but his voice was drowned by the screams and loud singing in the enormous living room. “Eliott!”

The older boy twitched his head to the side, finally catching Lucas’ voice in the crowd around them. He waved, a smirk playing on his lips. Lucas grabbed his arm, a bit too forcefully based on Eliott’s eyebrows furrowing, before he could slip away again.

“I’m sorry” , Lucas quickly recovered, taking his hand back from his arm. “I… can I have your drink?”

Eliott looked at him for a few moments, then a sweet, soft laugh let his lips. “You want my drink? I can make you a copy if you’d like. You could’ve asked.”

“I mean”, Lucas hesitated. Shit, he knew he shouldn’t. It would get him in so much fucknig trouble, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t- “I think someone poisoned it.”

Eliott glanced down at his drink, and then he brought it up to his nose. For a terrifying moment, Lucas thought he was going to take a sip, but Eliott just sniffed it, confusion written across his face. “How do you know?” he asked, “doesn’t look or smell weird. Look, if you want one I can-”

“Eliott, please”, Lucas pleaded, it was too late to go back now. Fuck, he couldn't kill the guy at his own party. He would traumatise every guest and ruin countless of lives. No, he had to do it more sneakily. Besides, the dose he put in his drink would make him sick enough to faint in probably 20 minutes, which would just be a disaster. No, Eliott deserved to die peacefully, at least that Lucas could give him. “A guy took your drink and I didn’t think about it at first but now…”

“It’s fine, Lucas”, Eliott smiled, “it’s absolutely adorable that you-”

“Eliott! Please. Give me the drink.” He voice was sharp enough to cut through the music and Eliott met his eyes for a moment before nodding shortly, handing the drink over to Lucas.

“Okay”, he nodded, “okay. Let’s go make new ones?”

“Yeah”, Lucas nodded, his knuckled white from the pressure he put on the glass.

Eliott seemed to have totally forgot about what Lucas told him as the came back to the kitchen. Lucas quickly poured the liquor down the sink and proceeded to wash the glass extremely carefully. Eliott was busy whistling as he reached for two new cups to make the same drink in.

“Hand me the lemon juice?” he asked cheerfully, not a clue about what had been just a disastrous moment away.

Lucas, swallowing thickly, did as told. “Sure. Here.”

Eliott smiled at him, but Lucas couldn’t bring himself to smile back. For the first time ever, he had hesitated enough to stop someone from dying. For the first time ever, he had failed to do his job.

And he knew what happened to people who failed.

He still had almost two weeks. If no one found out what he did today - it would be fine. Fuck, it would be fine. There was no proof of what he did and the poison would disperse in the sink and unless  you knew what you were looking for, there would be no trace of it.

“Are you okay?” Eliott asked, “you look a bit pale.”

Eliott reached out to run his fingers down his arm, but Lucas flinched away. Clenching his jaw, he stared down at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. “I got to go”, he said.

“What, really? Are you alright? Look, I’m sorry if I didn’t take the poison thing seriously, my friends-”

“Don’t touch me”, Lucas interrupted him as Eliott reached out to touch him again, “I gotta go. I gotta go, I-” He held up his hands as to defend himself from… from something, before stumbling back out towards the hallways.

Lucas barely remembered getting his shoes on before rushing down the stairs, ignoring Eliott’s confused voice as he shouted his name.

Fuck.

-

Lucas refused to leave his home for four days. He was torn between planning Eliott’s death and his own escape. He would be able to disappear for a while, maybe until they stopped searching for him if he failed his mission, and then he could come back and - no.

He could slip something into Eliott’s drink or food another time, he just had to find a way to do it without having to hang out with him because it made it all way too hard, so - no.

He didn’t get anywhere in his planning. And Yann got nowhere trying to drag his ass out of the door.

“Nope!” Lucas yelled as he wrapped his body around the sofa in every way he could, trying his best to hang on as Yann tried to force him up.

“Get up!” Yan yelled back.

“There’s no reason to go out, it’s raining!”

“You’re impossible”, Yann growled, finally releasing his grip around his waist, “you’re being a pouty baby. Where's the tough guy I know?”

Lucas glared at him. “You’re just playing me right now.”

A grin spread on his face, “I am. But seriously Lu, is this because of the party?”

“Still, no”, Lucas shrugged as Yann asked about Eliott’s party for the fifth time in the hour he had been at Lucas’ apartment.

“Don't believe you”, Yann sat down next to him, “what, Eliott fucked another?”

“Excuse me?” Lucas stared at him, “I don’t want-”

“Kidding, kidding! But seriously, did he?”

Lucas shrugged. “Don’t know. Probably, a lot of attractive people there. I left before I could find out.”

“You left?

Lucas didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

Yann huffed quietly and put a soft hand on his shoulder. Lucas didn’t know why the tears were burning in his eyes at the touch of his best friend.

“Why? Did he do something? Look, we don’t know the guy-”

“No, no”, Lucas shook his head, “I… I just chickened out and left. It’s my fault. Yann, I don’t know what this is.”

“What is?” His voice was so soft and understanding is started to piss Lucas off. He wanted someone to scream at him, tell him he was being a fucking idiot and had to pull himself together or he could put his own life - and the people he loved lives in danger.

“Eliott. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Alright”, Yann nodded a few times, “alright. I didn’t get to be there when you came out and when the whole process, but I’m sure as hell gonna be here though your first love.”

Lucas finally looked up to glare at him, but Yann was only smiling, clearly sending the I’m-kidding-but-I-made-you-look-message he was hoping for.

“Not funny”, Lucas rolled his eyes, “we haven’t spoke since. I was a dick.”

“Tell him.”

“That I was a dick? That’s not-”

“Yeah”, Yann smiled, “tell him that.”

Lucas stared at the phone clutched in his hands. Sitting and weeping like an idiot because of some lost crush was plain stupid, he knew he had to contact him if he was about to finish his contract in time. Lucas swallowed thickly, forcing his nerves down his stomach again while clicking up the message conversation with Eliott. They hadn’t said a word since the party. Lucas had considered asking how it went after he left, if it was any fun without him (maybe a winky face at the end), but never had the courage to do it. It was incredibly stupid considering he killed people for a living.

-

To: Eliott

I’m a dick.

-

“Did it!” Lucas threw the phone in front of him. Why was his heart beating so fast?

Yann grinned. “Good, now watch him and wait until he agrees.”

“Yeah, and- what? Agrees? I’m not-”

“Lucas. You kind of are. He gave you free alcohol and company and you just left.” Lucas stared at him and he had never in his life wanted to tell Yann the truth so much as he wanted in that moment. But I almost killed him! he wanted to yell. “Look”, Yann continued, “I know there’s something you’re not telling me and you don’t have to, I’m just saying if you want to talk to anyone, I’m here.”

“It’s not like that”, Lucas sighed, “it’s just… complicated.”

“Sure”, Yann shrugged, “just… don’t leave me behind. I’m gonna let you fix whatever you’re going through-”

Lucas phone buzzed. Yann fell quiet as the both stared down at Lucas’ scream.

-

From: Eliott

If you say so.

-

Lucas gasped och Yann chuckled. “Get going tiger”, Yann smiled, “I gotta pick up Chloé now but call if anything’s up. I wanna know how this goes.”

“You’ll be the first to know”, Lucas nodded, not able to take his eyes off the screen and the short, affirming message Eliott sent him. At least he replied, right? It was a start.

-

To: Eliott

I’m sorry I freaked and left.

-

Lucas waited patiently for a reply as Yann got his jacket on and waved him goodbye from the door. Silence fell in the room the moment it closed behind him and his echoing shoes died down in the hallway outside.

-

From: Eliott

No worries. Didn’t mean to pressure you into anything. I had a busy week, that’s why I didn’t contact you.

-

Lucas frowned. Eliott wasn’t mad at him? Okay, see, life could work his way sometimes too. This was progress.

-

From: Eliott

Also, you were right. Thanks for warning me.

-

Lucas was chewing on his lower lip, fingers hovering over the screen.

-

To: Eliott

You’re welcome. What do you mean?

-

The reply came quickly. Eliott was typing the moment after Lucas pressed send.

-

From: Eliott

Someone did try and poison me. Police found traces in my sink where you poured out the drink. I think you saved my life.

-

The air suddenly seemed to leave his lungs. The low humming of the cars outside seemed to disappear and the only thing echoing through his ears was his own, loud, frantic breathing.

-

From: Eliott

Sorry if that was a shock, but I really wanna thank you in person, if you’d like? Maybe you saw something that could help us find whoever did it?

-

Lucas barely noticed as the phone slipped through his fingers, falling from the couch down on the floor with a soft thump. He didn’t even realize he was crying before the first tear dropped down on the back of his hand. Oh no.

-

To: Eliott

Are you sure? I was probably overreacting.

-

From: Eliott

Thought so too but you seemed so worried I brought the police shortly after you left. They found traces of it.

-

He screwed up. In the only line of work where you, under no circumstances, were allowed to screw up; he screwed up. He- his phone called and his heart almost jumped out of his chest. It was Manon’s name written over the screen, and Lucas had to force himself down on the floor to pick his phone up. There was a small crack leading from one side to the other, probably from the drop.

It was buzzing in his hand for a good 15 seconds before Lucas realized Manon wasn’t going to stop calling unless he picked up.

Clearing his throat, trying to calm his poor heart, he answered. “Hi.”

“What did you do?” Manon’s voice was sharp and way too loud considering what she was referring to.

“Nothing”, Lucas croaxed.

“I met with the right hand”, Manon told him, referring to his boss’ closest employee, the same, scary woman that visited his apartment not too long ago, after his first date with Eliott.

“So?” Lucas tried to sound like he couldn’t be more bored.

“So”, Manon repeated, “she left in a fucking rush, saying something like I knew that boy would fuck up. And don’t you dare try and lie - I know it’s you.”

“I’m-”

“Lucas!” Manon was yelling, “tell me what the hell is going on!”

Lucas sank down in the couch, not able to stop his eyes tearing up from the sudden rush of confusion and pure sadness flowing through his body, darkening his mind. “I fucked up”. he sighed. “I think I fucked up bad.”

Manon’s voice was soft when she replied. “What happened?”

Lucas wiped the back of his hand under his eye. “I did what I had to”, he said, hesitating, “but then I… I didn’t.”

“Huh? You took your pills?” Took your (or give someone your) pills meant poisoning your target.

“Yeah”, Lucas nodded, defeated, “but then I took the glass out of his hand and threw it down the sink.”

“Down the sink”, Manon repeated slowly, “Lucas, are you kidding me?

He shook his head, realizing only after a second of silence that Manon couldn’t see his action. “Andthepolicefoundtraceofit”, he rushed out.

“The what?” Manon repeated slowly.

“Police”, Lucas groaned, “found traces of it. Eliott thanked me for saving his life.” He was fully aware he wasn’t speaking in codewords anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Oh, Lucas”, Manon sighed, her vice filled with an understanding that somehow made Lucas angry.

“I’ll fix it”, Lucas said, “it’s fine. They can’t trace it to me or us anyways.”

“Fix it how?”

Lucas leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He was too tired to feel scared or upset. It would be fine. Somehow, it would be fine. Everything would work out. He just had to wait. “I’ll talk to the right hand, tell her the truth. I’m sure they have some way of fixing this.”

“I hope so”, Manon groaned, “if you need somewhere to disappear, don’t hesitate to call me, alright?”

“Yeah, okay”, Lucas nodded, “what do you think they’ll say?”

He could hear Manon considering his question for a moment, “take away your contract, for starters. If you’re lucky get you underground for a while? I mean, this is your first mistake.”

“You don’t get two chances in this line of work.”

“But you’re good, Lucas”, she insisted, “you’re one of the best, everyone knows it. If anyone gets two chances, it’s definitely you.”

Her voice somehow didn’t convince him. “We’ll see. I’m just trying to figure out how to keep the contract.”

Manon fell silent. “You want to keep it?” she asked after a while, clearly surprised.

Lucas knew he should just shut the fuck up and end the call, but it felt so good to get his thoughts out to someone who understood what he was going through. He wanted, badly, to open up to Yann but it was risking both of their lives and it wasn’t worth it. “Yeah”, Lucas said.

“Oh no”, Manon groaned, voice filled with realization of what Lucas really meant by that. “You can’t save him, Lucas! He’s on our radar one way or another. If you don’t do it, someone else will.”

“I’m not gonna let him die”, Lucas shook his head, “I’ll fix this. Manon, it’s fine. I’ll fix it. I can pay those-”

“It’s not about payment! It’s about the client!”

Lucas parted his lips to argue against it, but the words caught in his throat. She was right. “You’re right”, he told her, “it’s about the client.”

“No, I don’t like that tone. What are you thinking?”

“I’m gonna find them”, Lucas decided, “I’ll find them and I’ll fix this.”

Manon sighed loudly, “you’re getting too deep into this, risking your life for someone you don’t even know.”

Lucas hid his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes, “I can’t give the pill to innocent people, Manon. I go for rapists, criminals, those who deserve it. Not Eliott.”

“You don’t know what he did, though. You don’t know if he’s innocent.”

It’s in his eyes, Lucas wanted to say, but he didn’t. That wouldn’t make any sense for anyone except for him. Lucas knew Eliott was innocent. There was absolutely no way he could have done anything to the deserve the end coming his way - and Lucas couldn’t let that happen. He was in this line of work because it had to be done. Someone had to go after the assholes who bought themselves out of jail or escaped their punishment in other ways. But no one had the right to kill someone who didn’t deserve it.

“I’m sure, Manon”, Lucas said sharply, “just… just don’t argue with me about this. And stay out of it, alright?”

Manon knew he was only thinking of her own good. “I won’t”, she sighed, “be careful, okay? I’m sure by the way she rushed away from me, she’s on her way to you. Survive her and take it from there.”

“I will. Good bye, Manon.”

“Good luck, Lucas”, she sighed sadly, ending the phone call before Lucas had the chance to say anything else.

He swallowed thickly, glancing over at the door. All he had to do now, was find who wanted Eliott dead and frame them for the poisoning at his party. And without a client, the contract would be broken and therefor Eliott didn’t have to die.

It was absolutely insane and Lucas should just run as far away as possible from Eliott and whatever mess he was about to get himself into, but something told him stay. He wasn’t sure what that something was just yet, but he would find out. As always.

But before he could do anything, Lucas shifted in the couch to a position where he had a clear visual at the apartment door, and waited. Waited for whatever the black clothed woman who just stepped out of the white limousine on the street below his window, would tell him.

just as sweet | Yosano

explicit ; pegging ; smut || thank you to my patron who allowed me to post their commission ||  Despite her field of work her hands treated you with the utmost delicacy. As if she were handling the most fragile material in all of the country. Red wine swirls in her glass lips spread in a knowing smirk, words flowing from her mouth in a voice lighter than air. Her longest pauses come when she’s focused on how much food is left on your plate or how quickly the wine has drained from your glass. Manicured nails left bare of polish dance along her bottom lip, a sure sign she’s drank twice as much as you by now. Though, her tolerance could outmatch even the strongest stomach in any bar in Yokohama. Soft music plays through the bluetooth speaker propped up on the coffee table low enough to hear her voice above all. Light in her eyes ten times as beautiful as the skyline view behind her head.

“How is it that we always end up in my little dorm when you have this beautiful place?” She asks, another pause. She can tell you’re listening to the story but not as intently as you should be. A shrug of an answer before you take a sip of wine and lean forward on your elbows ignoring proper etiquette. Because she always worked such strange hours and when you’d visit at two am the walk to the train station was too long. “I much prefer this view, but I guess the skyline is nice at night.” You finally respond. She smirks and sets the glass down on the table copying your movement to lean forward closing the space with a gentle kiss. She tasted like cherry wine. “I’m surprised you like this wine. You normally don’t like my ‘sweet baby’ alcohol.” You murmur playfully between kisses. Yosano’s smile widens pulling back on her elbow with a sigh chin propped in her palm. Eyes no less glossy or blurry than when she’s been working too much. People only knew when Yosano Akiko was tipsy if you were graced to know her well enough to know the childhood she’d suffered. At least, part of it. “Are you nervous?”  You ask brow cocked in curiosity. Yosano mimics the look. “I’m not, but I can tell you are a bit. Just wanting to lighten the air after all this evening is perfect even with your sweet baby alcohol. And, this wine goes really good with the food.” Her eyes soften as she speaks free hand coming to grip yours over the table. Steam rises from the pile of rice and remainder of teriyaki chicken on the plate near her elbow giving the wine glass a thick layer of fog. You watch red swirl behind tinted grey with bits of light refracting from the window trying to ignore the knot in your stomach. There was no negativity in this ball of nerves you’d been fighting with since the day before last, but a slight embarrassment you’d rather chuck out the window than deal with. “I’m alright.” You lie through your teeth unable to look her direction. Yosano huffs and taps her middle finger along your knuckles one by one. You knew what would come next from her mouth, so you cut it off before she can get the first word out. “I want to. I trust you, but...it’s personal with you. More personal than normal, it’s meaningful.” You grumble feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. Sex on its own wasn’t exactly nerve-wracking but with Yosano the connection was different. Real. Something. Opening up to someone with an intensity you’d never felt before had been the reason of the knot. It started as a thought and spiraled. “I want to.” You repeat, glancing up at her giving her hand a firm squeeze. And, you’d never had this experience before. “______, you’re sweeter than this wine.” She giggles into her fingertips own cheeks flushing slightly under the pale lamp light. “Akiko that was terrible.” You snort pulling her hand up to kiss her knuckles thankful for the corny pick up line. She always knew how to pull you out of your own head. Yosano agrees blaming it on the wine and spending far too much time with Dazai lately. You swirl the remainder of wine in your glass before downing it in a few sips tugging her hand lazily away from the table. “Dishes later.” Your voice drops from playful to sultry, as smooth as smoke gliding over water. Yosano’s eyes flicker in gold as she finishes her own glass. Setting it back down before rising from her knees to her feet pulling you up with her. Hand immediately wrapping tight around your waist. Where it belongs. “Lead the way.” Her voice drops tingles down the side of your throat. Your feet move unconsciously walking her backwards towards the dimly lit bedroom. Single curtain drawn to allow the halcyon glow of Yokohama through the window. Yosano’s hands don’t stay dormant for long. Thin, talented fingers weave up the back of your neck tangling in the roots of your hair while the other wanders playfully beneath the hem of your shirt. Walking up in teasing patterns to the swell of your breast fingernails tracing the underwire around to the back unhooking the garment in one snap. You smirk and press your lips against hers tasting the wine on her tongue. Movements guiding you into her spell, her scent, her warmth-- each kiss grows hotter, needier. Your feet shuffle until the back of her knees hit the bed with a soft thump. On cue she wedges out and spins breaking for air just in time to push your shoulders lightly sending you toppling on to the bed with a gentle bounce. Gold outlines her silhouette as she stands at the foot of the bed panting, metal butterfly clip catching the light of the moon hanging low and full in the night sky. Her hands move quickly to her hair removing the clip, as always, tossing it gently on the armchair near the window. Slowly, the air begins to drain from your lungs as Yosano takes the reigns. This is her show now. All eyes fall to her and the silky smooth glimmer of her bare skin as she rids herself of clothing painfully slow belting ‘watch me’ with her movements. A dance she’s perfected with the utmost care meant only for you. Performed only for you. The mattress creaks as you rise up on your elbows to watch her. Moonlight shining brightly over her pale shoulders following the curve of her waist and hips. Taut muscle hidden beneath skin softer than silk with traces of you hidden in the crook of her neck and shoulder, the edge of her left hip bone, and the inside of her thigh. She loved teeth marks. They riled her up when you played dominate. Made her eyes blow as wide as saucers before she used that lasvacious energy to flip you on your back. Yosano saunters forward clad only in lace panties bra slipping forward off her arms to flip the unnecessary thing over her shoulder landing somewhere unimportant. Her teeth glint like freshly polished pearls in the moonlight. “_____~” her pitch comes out soft, but devilish. A shiver bolts down your spine when her hands move up and up and fuck she’s too quick with those fingers. The button of your jeans clatters to the floor zipper nearly ripped off the stitching as she tugs them down until they’re a pool at your ankles. “Should I just shred my shirt or--” Yosano cuts off the retort with her lips pressed heavily down against your own. Tongue gliding through with ease to paint patterns on the roof of your mouth and behind the line of your teeth. Fabric rips beneath her nails; you smirk against her lips. “Impatient.” You coo, hands winding up the back of her neck dark locks twirling through your fingers until they’re taught. You pull back. She moans your name. Another shiver; her voice was as just intoxicating as her touch. Delicate little patterns leave goosebumps in their wake. Trails of pebbled skin following the tips of her fingernails as they delve down your ribs then back up again. Giggling, her lips drag over your cheekbone following the shell of your ear down to the corner of your jawline. Tepid, dotted kisses that send repetitive electricity down your spine making your thighs twitch beneath her body. Yosano smirks against your skin already reveling in the uncontrolled movements she pulled out of you with barely any effort. Her moan caresses your skin breath hot, aroma of sweet wine still lingering on her tongue. The pink muscle drags between her teeth along your skin when they puncture just enough to redden the area. One hand strays down her spine wanting her to feel the same electricity that had been coursing through you since she’d begun stripping. Yosano welcomes the touch back bowing down to tilt her hips and ass up. Curve in her body making your hand wander further to cup the swell of her ass and pull her closer. “Mmm…” she sighs, letting you have control for a two counts of a heartbeat before she aligns herself on your body to play with your chest. Mouth pulling in a nipple fingers grasping at it’s twin tugging and pinching it into hardness. Both sensations cross in the center of your chest and send a jolt down between your legs that makes your clit throb. “Akiko!--fuck.” Your voice hits a high note only heard in her presence; the reaction makes the need between her legs double in pressure. Her tongue flicks against the pert edge lips sucking in rhythm with her fingers until your back bows off the mattress. You gasp for air when she moves down the center of your stomach dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses that leave your skin tingling. Her hands follow the path teasingly tracing the outline of your ribcage as her teeth dance along the edge. She was an enchantress in her own right. Queen of touch and taste and every miniscule movement that sent galaxies bursting to life behind your eyes. Each part of you felt the impact with the intensity of a supernova. Sensitive was an understatement. Needy was even less. Desperate at the halfway point because when her hands left your body the entire world stopped and stole your breath straight from your lungs until she touched you once more. She lit the world on fire better than any sunrise you’d ever seen. “No...fair.” You pant out through shaky breath feeling her drunkenly laugh against your belly button at your claim. “When have I ever said I was fair?” She quips, stilling to rest her chin on your stomach eyes glossy and blown wide like the moon. Alcohol dusting rouge over her high cheekbones skin contrasting the natural dark tone of her eyes and hair falling wildly against her face. Smirk riding higher the longer it takes for you to catch your breath. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.” She hums, fingertips walking over the new bite mark beneath your rib cage rubbing the pad of her forefinger through the red blossom proudly. “Or should I stop?” There is a mixture of teasing and seriousness only detected in the way her eyes shift from curious to cautious. Ensuring this is what you wanted, still, after months of dating. You run your fingers through her tangled hair lower lip cinched in your teeth eyes locked with hers. A smile, a harsh tug of her hair. Question answered. She wastes no time giving your hip bone a playful bite that leaves a bruise over a fading red tag. Your shaky moan makes her thighs tighten. But, this was far too fun for her to give in just yet. Your hands slide back to grip the sheets moonlight gracing the edge of the bed with stripes of off-white. Catching the curve of her jawline before she disappears between your legs. With just her breath on your thighs you’re already quivering, near begging. More. Touch me. She sighs lovingly and runs her flattened hands up and down the supple flesh begging for attention. Kisses light and lazy from one hip bone to the other hands stilling on your inner thighs. “Akiko,” your voice strains teetering on pathetically desperate, “baby..” you purr. Yosano feels her heart skip a beat at the pet name. Her eyes flicker up for a second drinking in the portrait of your back arching high and skin ignited in rose from her lips and her touch. Sweat crawling down your forehead matting your hair to the sides of your neck. Maybe she was less of a sadist than she thought, or she was too deep in her own need. Who cared. Her tongue draws a stripe down the center of your pussy hitting your clit with perfectly timed swipes as her palms push your inner thighs open further. Your eyes roll; she moans at your taste. Warm vibrations pull wanton moans from your lips  as she rolls her tongue up and down your core spending every few seconds flicking the tip over your swollen clit before dropping back down again. Arousal coating her chin and sides of her mouth the longer she teases. Goosebumps feather down her arms and legs, one hand slipping from your thighs to drop between her own legs. Finger mirroring the pattern of her tongue on your clit causing your moans and twitches to sync up with hers. “Akiko!” You hiss, shaking hands gripping her hair to push her back enough to see her blushing, glistening face between your thighs. “I want you.” You gasp between breaths. She was needing you too. Yosano licks her lips clean and nods dropping two kisses to the side of your knee before rising to crawl up your body. Coated finger slipping in to your hungry mouth eyes locking with hers. You moan around her finger lapping her juices happily, whimpering when she pulls the digit out. “Shhh.” She commands tapping her finger against your pouted lip with a smile. “Scoot up on the bed. I’ll be just a minute.” You obey her words, but not before stealing a deep kiss that nearly sends her toppling over from the sudden appearance. You smile; she clicks her tongue and nips at your lips before rising off the bed and walking to her overnight bag in the corner. As your told you scoot up and plop down in the pillows thighs sticky and heat coiling in the pit of your stomach. Watching her from the corner only fueled your desire for her body to reattach itself to you. Cold air of the room making the loss of her heat even more apparent. Yosano works quickly, quietly, pulling the strap from her bag and rubbing a wipe over it to ensure it was fully clean despite it being new and unused. The butterflies idling in your stomach burst up your throat. Heels digging in to the mattress as a strange mix of curiosity and arousal make your pussy twitch in need. Yosano turns harness vibrant red, the color of her dress she wore the night you two met at a benefit, she smiles as its secured. Knees bending to allow her to crawl back up the bed between your legs. Cool silicone brushing against your inner thigh as she tangles her hand back in your hair for a kiss.   “Relax..” she coos, teeth nibbling your bottom lip softly, “I know what I’m doing.” You sigh into her words letting her take over the trainwreck of nerves in your mind. Her kisses begin to slow them, and then silence them. Hand wandering up and down your side nails dragging feather-light beneath your breast then over your nipple back to your throat. Thumb rubbing circles directly under your jaw forcing the tilt higher so her tongue can dance over the roof of your mouth. Her hips roll closer head beginning to delve between your soaked lips coating the edge in you before she teasingly rubs it against your clit. “Fuck.” You gasp sharply legs immediately wrapping over her waist. “Mmm..I want to show you something different. You okay with that?” She draws back for air slipping the cock down and inside you slowly until it’s buried completely. Your eyes widen at the stretch moans growing in length and volume legs already shaking around her waist. “I can fuck you like this…” she trails off stomach arched slightly off yours allowing her a perfect view of the expressions you’re unaware of. Pleasure. Shock. That cute little eye roll when you bite your bottom lip to stop from moaning too loud. Her hips arch up head rubbing your g-spot in slow, precise strokes. The teasing was going to drive you insane. Your thighs tense forcing your toes to curl throat beginning to dry from the constant, uncontrollable sounds falling from your lips. “But I want to make you feel as good as I do seeing you like this…” teeth clench the shell of your ear, “get on your hands and knees for me love..I’ll make you see stars.” Her voice glides over your skin smoother than velvet. She smirks, hips pistoning ever-so-slowly, just enough to build the foundation of your orgasm. Edge of her abdomen rubbing your clit in soft, swift strokes when she moves. You gulp for air only able to nod in agreement. Truthfully, you’d let her do anything right now if she’d just stop her teasing. “Akiko.” You grate out nails dragging red down the center of her shoulder blades. “Te.ase..” she cuts off the word with a sharp thrust smile broadening when the moan that comes from your lips nearly shakes the window. Your pussy clenches thighs following suit around her hips. Her own arousal had already soaked down her thighs. “I know my love, but I promise it’ll make everything so much better in the end.” She speaks her words like scripture and fuck if you didn’t swallow every drop and praise her for the goddess she is. Yosano dips her head to nibble down the column of your throat hips pushing the dildo completely inside of you in one slow thrust. Your toes curl lower back bending up off the mattress into her warm skin. Whine bordering on embarrassingly loud when she pulls out completely and sits back on her knees. “Love get on your stomach for me.” Sultry, it vibrates down your chest. Fuck The mattress creaks. Stomach flattened against the warm sheets elbows lined up with your shoulders and head turned to watch her shadowed movements. Her nails grip your hips to tilt your ass up just enough that your hips hover over the bed. As smooth as a wisp of satin dancing in the wind her fingertips draw trails of heat between your legs traveling to the arousal stained between your thigh before one talented hand finds the mattress. It’s twin snakes around to tilt you just a bit more lining up the head with your dripping pussy dragging the tip up and down your soaked folds. Her breath hitches; your entire body pulsates. “Ohh...” She whispers into the moonlight middle finger rolling on your clit as she pushes inside you slowly allowing you to get used to the new angle. Her pace makes your eyes roll and the rush of pleasure from both ends tightens the coil in your stomach so quick the room blurs around the edges. Her moans are sweet, delicious, sinful. Filling the room with her exquisite voice paired to perfection with glimmering night and scent of sweet wine. She rolls her hips, free hand sliding up the mattress to allow her lips open range on the dip between your shoulder blades. Skin far too sensitive to keep your mouth shut. Her name comes out in fragments and the stuttering just makes her moan even louder. “Fall apart for me.” Deep, slow. Each stroke inside your walls makes the entire world crumble into nothing but bright white. Her voice carries the melodic tune of euphoria, torso slick with sweat as she glides up your back over and over keeping your bodies close. The hand between your legs continues the slow, torturous pace even when her hips begin to pick up in fervency. Sweat beads down the sides of your face heat scouring every inch of skin that’s graced with her touch. Yosano’s hips twitch and arc up to jolt against that sweet spot deep inside never leaving it for longer than a millisecond before she’s applying pressure that sucks the air right from your chest. “_____..” she sighs like your name is the only word she knows. Your hand curves back to tug at her hair. Motions shaky and sloppy as your head tilts to capture her lips in a rough kiss. Skin slickened and hot sheets beginning to bunch at your legs twisting up in the movements of your bodies. Golden light streaks over the mattress the scent of sweat and sex overtaking the once lush aroma of vanilla candles burning on the ledge. Yosano grips the mattress tongue darting between your lips in an act of desperation. Her own need eating away at her patience. “Nnnn..fuck..Akiko.” Your voice makes her spine tingle. One smooth motion--a hand sliding beneath your chest--has you flipped on your side back flush against her chest. Arousal coats the inside of your thighs as the arm ducked between your legs falls back beneath your thigh cranking your leg up allowing her deep enough to scrape your cervix; your entire body stiffens in shock and pleasure. The perfect mix that unravels every part of you. “FuckAkiko!” your mouth drops open, her thrusting growing quicker and quicker until the sound of skin slapping skin echoes louder than a thunderstorm. Her teeth leave careless kisses and marks up and down the side of your neck hand beneath your rib cage bending at the elbow to twist and pull at your nipple in tandem with her thrusting. Your hands grip whatever they find. One in her hair and one in the sheets as your back bows off her chest knot coiling tighter and tighter pressure building far too fast to keep any fragment of control on your voice. Yosano bucks hard nails digging crescents into the skin of your thigh and the last knot pulls strong enough to snap. Pleasure encases your body in lightning-fast tingles. Toes curling and muscles clenching as cum drips down coating both of your legs in a glossy, sticky sheen. Yosano slides her fingers down from your thigh to your pussy as she pulls out wanting to coat her fingertips in your cum rather than let it trickle out. Her hand shakes as it rises up to her lips, moans light and satisfied at the taste. You pant heavily but force your numb body to turn wanting to face her as she carefully removes the strap and tosses it off the bed. Legs tangling with yours and arms wrapping you in a tight hug as you both fall from your high. A comfortable stillness overtakes the room. Silence only interrupted by shallow breaths shared in the aftershock. Minutes pass, wrapped in each other’s arms amid the sweat and cum neither of you concerned about the clean up. Later, you think, as Yosano tucks her head beneath your chin hand trailing the outline of your shoulder. “Did..you cum?” You didn’t hear her, or you were too gone to notice. Both scenarios made you feel a bit guilty. Yosano chuckles and nods tilting her chin up to kiss the center of your throat. “There’s a vibe on the inside that works just fine, love.” She pushes herself up to be even with you, eyes half-lidded and glossed over. Haze of adoration and exhaustion mixing beneath her long lashes. She was so fucking beautiful. “ Even if the act of pleasuring you until you screamed my name didn’t get me off I always have a back up plan.” A simple kiss to your lips, soft, sleepy. You smile when she pulls back just enough to let you breathe. “Shower?” She asks voice bordering on smoky as she yawns. “Later.” You mumbled refusing to give up the comfort of your bed. Yosano sighs as if she didn’t know that would be your answer. Though, her legs had twisted in more with yours blocking you from leaving even if you wanted to try. A gust of wind rattles the window, early night falling deeper transitioning twilight with darker skies and quieter streets. Candlelight remaining against the walls softening the harshness of the room and the world outside the walls. “Later.” She repeats eyes fluttering shut to the sound of the wind.