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kiwisbell · 8 months

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Boots [joel miller]

Joel doesn't like the idea of someone else gettin' all your best.

pairing: joel miller x female!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: jealous joel giving you a lesson in who really likes you best, birthday sex, (over)protective joel, softie joel, dominant joel, oral sex (m and f receiving), face-sitting, riding, no plot just porn and some fluff because it's me, possessive sex, praise kink, squirting, established relationship

word count: ~ 4.5k

hello, all! i'm beginning to unload my fics onto tumblr for those who prefer reading in this format - and as a result, some of you lovely folks who follow me will likely see works you've already read before. i sincerely apologise for that, but many new projects are in the works as well because i love y'all and i live to please. that aside, if you're new here, welcome, and i hope you enjoy this one-shot!! <3

BOOTS

If there's anything you know about Joel, it's that he can get real angry.

It ain't like he's always mad. He lives a lot of his life in utter silence, but you like to watch him. Sometimes, in the dark, he sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers and bringing them to his chin. He’ll sit like that for hours without moving, barely shifting to take in air, and you know never to shake him from that trance. It’s how you’ve learned to read between the lines.

After fifteen years by his side, you can gauge his moods better than the weather. He’s got a restless spirit, but his voice is midnight water. It’s calm and dark and clear, and it rumbles: the ripples left behind by skipping stones. He never lashes out at you, never raises his voice.

Except for that one time in New Jersey.

“Are you goddamn fuckin’ stupid?”

This was a little while before you could patent your Joel-handling techniques, so you did what any woman would do when a man calls her stupid: you folded your arms over your chest and got just as mad. “Stupid?” you said incredulously. “I saved your ass in there. Multiple asses, actually.”

Above you, the canopy of brilliant red leaves felt like a bloody shawl, and they crackled underfoot. You sported a limp thanks to a sprained ankle and your lip was bloody, but you were fine. Truly. And yet, Joel’s anger was pulsating. You could see it: heat waves, distorting the air around him, his brows flattening over his eyes and his nostrils flaring. A bull ready to charge. He was brimming with the need to release this energy.

Behind you, a building burned. The fire was a monstrous, lively thing, and it scorched the hairs on the back of your neck. Inside lay the bodies of the men you’d stolen the medical kits from, along with two of your own crew. It was only you and Joel left. It was autumn, and the breeze was welcome in such relentless heat.

He’d been ambushed just as much as the rest of you, but rotten fuckin’ luck had pinned a man on top of him—armed with a knife, inches from Joel’s eye. Not trusting yourself to make a shot without hitting him, too, you had tackled the man without thinking much. It had worked well enough to send his knife clattering across the burning hut. He’d landed a punch to you before Joel had blown his head clean off. Brain matter still clung to your jeans, but you tried not to look. When you’d rolled the body off you, Joel shot him again. He was covered in blood from his greying hair to his boots.

“Your job is to look out for yourself out there,” he snapped, “not me. The fuck were you thinkin’?”

Your frown only deepened. What had you been thinking? Maybe leaving him to die would teach him a lesson or two about what it was like to fear for someone’s life. Even if it was his own. “We need to go. You can yell at me later.”

Joel didn’t say anything when he kneeled at your feet and lifted your ankle up onto his raised knee. You yelped when you almost toppled over, but he kept you steady and inspected the swollen flesh. He was achingly gentle when he prodded at you, his expression softening into something more like concern. “This hurt?” he asked.

“Of course it hurts, Miller.” You lifted a brow at him, but he wasn’t looking up. “Want me to try on a glass slipper, or can we go?”

“Still think that was stupid,” he grumbled.

You snorted. “Yeah, well, you’re the only one who can navigate for shit, and I don’t fancy getting lost without my own personal compass.”

When he stood, Joel surprised you some more by gently patting your leg. “Real nice,” he said under his breath, shrugging the strap of your pack farther up your shoulder. “Stay behind me.”

You grinned up at him. “Happily.”

He never gets angry for long. Not at you.

There’s a knock at his door in the rhythm only the two of you know. He still checks the peephole, but it’s you. You slip inside, practically bounding on the balls of your feet, that cute fuckin’ grin on your face as you hide something behind your back. “Guess what day it is,” you say.

Joel will never let it leave this room that he indulges in your stupid game. “Sunday,” he tries.

Your pout is extravagant, but he’ll be damned if it doesn’t make him want to bite it off your pretty mouth. “Rhymes with smirthday. Y’know… the only day I ever ask you for anything.”

He clicks his tongue. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

You roll your eyes and bring your hands around from behind your back. You’re holding a cupcake.

“Holy shit. Where the fuck did you get that?”

“The FEDRA guy who monitors my building likes me,” you tell him, honest as ever. Too honest for this world and too damned sweet to be anything but a liability. And yet, here he is, digging, indulging, sinking his claws in. “Enough to sneak this to me from the kitchen, apparently.”

That makes him feel real fuckin’ grumpy. Nobody with eyes would be enough of a fool to deny that you’re gorgeous, but it doesn’t make him sleep any better knowing other men are chasing that brilliant twinkle in your eyes. He wants to tuck it between his ribs and let it illuminate his insides. He doesn’t want anyone else to see it, not ever.

“He’s tryin’ to make a move on you,” says Joel. “That’s what that is.”

If there’s a second thing you know about Joel, it’s that he lives with his foot in his mouth. Unfailingly.

You have long since learned the tactics of Joel-handling. You'd be offended if it were anyone else, but you just pat his cheek affectionately. “Sit down.”

To his credit, he does, but not after some grumbling. You scrape the second chair along the floor until it's right next to him. You split the cupcake in two as best you can and pass him one of the halves. Joel eyes it suspiciously. “You sure this is edible?”

You just take a bite and groan. It's been a long time since you've tasted chocolate, let alone the decadence of over-sweet frosting. Joel watches you carefully. Your lashes flutter in your trancelike enjoyment, a small speck of white frosting on the top of your nose. He's overcome with the knowledge that people in this world would try and take you from him. That people have put guns to your head, that they have harmed you, that they'll do it again and again. This world does not leave a woman like you untouched.

It's a good thing you've got him to make sure the world goes nowhere near you.

“Got frosting on your nose,” he says gruffly, trying to suppress his smile as he swipes it away with his thumb. “Some killer you are.”

You kick your legs up onto his lap. His thumb idly circles your ankle bone. “I don’t pretend to be a killer. I get by just fine, Miller.”

“Yeah?” He lifts a brow. “And if I wasn’t here?”

You shrug. “Dead, probably.”

Joel takes a bite of the fucking cupcake and he's a little mad when it's not bad.

You sit at the window on his bed later, your knees drawn up to your chest and your cheek resting atop them. You like to watch the lights of the FEDRA vehicles and the occasional star that winks at you from high above the QZ. You're a pretty sight to look at all the time, but it feels somehow more delectable when you don't know he's looking.

It's nearing midnight, and you're getting up to leave. Curfew means you have to scurry back to your apartment across the street or you'll be stuck here all night. It also means you have to walk right past the same officer who snuck you that cupcake.

“You asked me once if I ever wanted to end it.”

Across the fire, he looked like a spectre: a thing you could not touch, sizzling tendrils of silvery air curling around crackling flame. You’d stopped for the night, and neither of you wanted to sleep. Even though you’d both seen enough fire for a lifetime, you still extended your palms toward it and let it warm you as you watched his dark brown eyes grapple for a way through the thistly wood of his past.

“I tried,” he told you. “After I lost her.”

Somehow, you felt undeserving. Like wrapping your fingers around a piece of Joel Miller’s steel-hard aorta and yanking out all the precious bits that came with it. Like licking the blood from the heart and shoving it back inside. Would he ever be the same knowing another soul in the world had this information? Would he come to regret telling you?

He watched you stand and shuffle up next to him on the piss-poor, blood-stained excuse for a sleeping bag. When your fingers lifted to the scar on his throat, he did not flinch away. Your hands were warmed by the fire. It filled the very soul of you, that flame. He did not meet your eye, but you looked into his nonetheless.

“I’m happy you missed.” A hand, warm and kissed by a tenderness he would never deserve, settled at the nape of his neck. Fingers gently combed through the grey strands, and he leaned into your touch, not quite understanding the pull but giving in nonetheless. For the first time in years, he thought he might be able to sleep if you just kept touching him like this.

Your next words were soft, but they were not afraid. “But I’m sad I never got to meet her.”

His head turned, and at last, his eyes met yours.

“Me, too.”

You smiled sadly. “Joel.”

“Don’t ever,” he said slowly, his hand squeezing your knee, “play fast and loose with your life again. Your life happens to fuckin’ matter to me.”

And that was that.

At some point, this began. Neither of you attempt to define how or when. Perhaps it has always been. It isn’t like time matters anymore.

When you pass Joel on your way to the door, he grabs your wrist.

“Does that FEDRA fucker know whose place you go to every night?”

You sigh, turning your head to meet his eyes: glimmering black beetles in the dim light. “Joel. Don’t be an asshole.”

But he’s long past trying not to be an asshole, especially when it comes to people honing in on his fucking territory. He tugs you by the waist so your back is pressed against his chest. His fingers are splayed over your belly. “You like him?” he says into your ear.

Your lashes flutter on your cheeks. “Joel.” His name sounds like the citrus of the oranges you like from the cafeteria. It’s sweet and tangy and somewhat discrete. “You know I need to meet with Robert about the battery tomorrow. You’ll keep me up all night.”

A grunt rumbles deep in his chest. “You’re not goin’ to see Robert alone.”

“That was part of his deal.” You gasp when he buries his face in your neck, sucking at the skin beneath your ear. He’ll make it show up angry and purple for the FEDRA officer and, fuck it, the entire QZ to see. He’ll litter your whole body with bruises and hickeys like he's a goddamn teenager if that's what it takes to keep you here.

“Shit fuckin’ luck.” His fingers dip to the waistband of your jeans. Your hips rock subtly and he smirks against your skin. “Robert doesn't get to decide how this goes.”

“Yeah, he does. He’s the one with the battery.”

The scratch of his beard is rough and deliberate against your neck. “If he doesn't wanna see me,” says Joel, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding the zipper down, “he can tell me himself.”

“He’s terrified of you.”

Joel turns you around and presses you right up against his chest. You feel his hardness at your belly, the sear of his gaze through yours. “Good,” he says. “Get on the bed.”

It’s already midnight, which means you’ll get chewed out if you try to leave now. Joel’s plan, you guess. “You jealous of a little FEDRA officer, Miller?” Backing toward the bed, you smile up at him, coy and teasing.

“You never answered my question.” He chases your body, stalking toward you as his hand juts out to squeeze your hip. Your legs hit the edge of the bed. “Do you like him?”

His lips are so close you could just surge toward him and end this suffering. But he's keeping you at arm’s length, keeping you pliant under his touch because he knows—the bastard—that he’s winning.

Still, getting a rise out of Joel Miller is your birthright. “Would you rather I fuck a Firefly?”

A faint sneer twists his mouth, and this is his anger. This is the simmering, thrilling thing that infests your very blood. He’s jealous, and you're surprised at how deliciously it thrums in your lower spine, knowing he’s furious at the thought that someone else could even come close to the way he knows you.

The kiss begins slowly. For the heat you can feel through the press of his chest against yours, his nose only gently nudges yours as he works his way up to claiming your mouth. When he does, it’s a bizarre and dizzying shift compared to the rage you know he feels. The desire to march out onto the street and beat that officer to near-death. He compensates with a unique tenderness, taking his time with you, his hand pressing down against the exact spot on your lower back that forces his hips to mould to yours. His other cups your face, his fingers winding into your hair and curling at the back of your neck. It forces you to look up at him.

His beauty loops like a knot through your nerves. If you prodded any spot on your skin, the blood beneath would sing with the topography of him. You know the lines of his face better than your own. There is a patch in his beard that resembles a heart. There is a twinkle in his eye that lingers when he frowns and smiles. It’s a rare thing in such a sullen person. But you like finding those eyes in the dark. Somehow, for you, he’s hope.

When his lips finally meet yours, they're soft, and he lets you reach up to tangle your fingers in his soft, messy hair even though he’s doing everything he can to keep you under his control. Not that you mind. He knows you're his.

He deepens the kiss with a soft groan, curving his body over yours, tongue seeking the seam of your lips. You part them willingly, gasping when he lurches forward and slides his tongue along yours, biting and sucking at your lips. Joel growls softly at the faint noises you make, your fingers tightening in his hair, the pleasing sting in his scalp sending jolts down to his hard cock.

“MmmmmJoel.” You’re panting, desperate for air he won't give you. He likes this—making you gasp, making you weak, making you forget entirely that you’re supposed to be teasing him.

“Careful,” you gasp, barely able to form words around his mouth on yours. “Gonna hurt your back.”

That only seems to egg him on. He may not be young and agile anymore, but that’s never stopped him from giving you what you need. He turns you around and lies on his back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you down on top of him. Your jeans go quickly, sliding down your hips with your panties and dropping somewhere on the floor. Your shirt follows, his fingers enjoying their path along your shoulders as he slips your bra straps down: a rare moment of indulgence and appreciation in a world that does not allow either.

For a moment, he just looks at you, brushing the pad of his thumb across your chin. Your eyes glimmer from the light through the window. “You only like me,” he says. Matter-of-fact. He knows.

But you smile, because he decided to say it anyway. “I only like you, Joel Miller.”

A hand kneads your ass, giving it a smack. You jump in his grasp, but he just gives you that crooked smirk and whispers: “Come take a seat.”

You rear back, frowning at him. Is he—

“You waiting for a sweeter invitation, baby?” His voice is low and gruff, unused to compromise. You feel his fingers dig into your ass and pull you up onto his chest. Your cunt is slick with anticipation and the ichor of desire.

He wants you on his face.

“What if I—”

“Sit.” Every letter feels like a deliberate strike, bone-deep. “C’mon, now.”

Let me show you how much I like you.

Your bottom lip between your teeth, you shuffle gingerly up his chest until you can brace your hands on the wall, your cunt hovering over his mouth. Joel doesn't like that. He wraps his hands around your upper thighs and forces you down onto his face. You gasp his name, one hand flying to his hair and locking your fingers in his locks. “Fuck.”

He grunts, squeezing your thighs up to your hips as he pulls your clit into his mouth, lathering it with his spit and your wetness. It’s white-hot: the pressure on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, the insistent bump of his nose against your clit as he teases his tongue around your tight hole. “Joel, Joel, fuck,” is all you can manage, sweet little gasps that he drinks in, his hips bucking involuntarily with the delicious pain of your fingers pulling at his scalp. You're losing grip on the real world and slipping elsewhere, and he wants to get you there.

One of Joel’s hands slides between your legs, easing them open even more, and rests on your belly, shifting to your ribcage and helping you steady yourself atop him. His fingertips graze your breasts, reverent and gentle despite their roughness. Those hands have been split and bloodied, but they hold you like they’ve never known anything but kindness. His eyes closed, savouring the taste of you, his fingers trace a scar on your sternum from an incident at knifepoint six years ago. He cannot see it, but he knows it nonetheless.

Joel is greedy when he has his face buried in your pussy. He doesn’t get the opportunity to take his time like this often; the both of you have only ever been acquainted with impermanence. But now, tucked comfortably between your thighs, licking between your folds like a starving fuckin’ dog, taking what he wants from you.

The sounds are slick and obscene, mingled with your drunken sighs and words of encouragement as you curl your fingers against the wall uselessly. “Joel,” you whimper, your hips rolling against his face, moonlight bursting on your eyelids. “I… can’t… so good—”

He groans, his hand smacking your thigh, feeling your cunt gush on his tongue as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly. He’ll imprint the feeling of him on your skin forever—if he hasn't already. He’ll make sure you never have another man like you have him.

It’s a selfish thing, love. He's mastered clutching it to his chest and keeping his palm closed right around it.

“I’m… oh, fuck, I’m gonna…” Your hips buck wildly, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you steadfast and firm to his face. He sucks your clit back into his mouth and fixes his tongue to you, wiggling slightly as he feels you stiffen above him. “Oh, my—gonna come!”

He knows. You're already coming. Your hand leaves his hair and braces next to your other one on the wall, ensuring you don’t fall over as your thighs shake uncontrollably and your mouth drops open in a keening whine. Joel keeps lapping at your clit long after your orgasm fades and you cry out from the overstimulation. Gently, you reach down to tug his hair, and he reluctantly pulls away. He’s so hard he can’t conjure much mental activity besides getting his dick wet.

Your chest is heaving as you try to pick your leg up and get off him, but your strength fails you. Instead, Joel grabs your hips and sits up, your cunt sliding down to sit on top of his erection. Experimentally, you grind down on him, watching a muscle in his jaw feather. “Are you going to let me take your pants off?” you ask him, teasing, your finger tracing the metal of his belt buckle.

He grits his teeth, letting you take control for a moment, sliding the belt achingly slow out of each loop. Your wicked little smile is so pretty in the darkness, illuminated briefly by passing patrol vehicles through the window. Unbuttoning his shirt, you dip your body low to his chest and press gentle kisses all the way down to his soft belly and the trail of hair disappearing under his waistband.

Joel moans brokenly when you shuck his jeans down his legs and squeeze his hard length before it can slap up against his stomach. There’s a tattoo on his inner thigh that you like to trace with your fingers, something he got with his brother when they were young. Your tongue darts out and licks up the precum pooling at his slit, making his cock twitch in your grasp. “Jesus,” he groans. “Baby, c’mon, let me—”

Your soft lips parting around the throbbing head of his cock destroy whatever end to the sentence he had planned. Squeezing his strong thighs to ground yourself, you swirl your tongue around the tip and take him deeper, your throat expanding to accommodate his thick, heavy weight in your mouth. He huffs, grumpy that he can't think straight for long enough to stop you and overcome with pleasure all the same. You squeeze his thigh again, your thumb rubbing circles over the little tattoo, and he meets your eyes. They're watery, blinking hard to expel the tears, his hand instinctively cradling the crown of your head to keep you on him, keep you choking around him.

When your nose meets the thatch of hair above his base, he’s the one who chokes, his head tipping back. “Jesus, fuck, goddamn—” His fingers curl in your hair and gently urge you off his cock; you pout, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length. His dick jumps at the sight, lying hard on his stomach.

“Come up here,” he rasps. You do, crawling up his body until your hips are flush, his hardness slotted, thick and throbbing, between your folds. The hum that leaves your mouth is wanton, your teeth tugging at your bottom lip. His hands move to your lower back, digging into the flesh just above your ass so you’re forced to roll your hips along his shaft.

Your mouth drops open at the jolt of pleasure to your cunt. “Oh…”

“That’s it, baby.”

He cannot come inside you, but he can come like this. And he will, probably faster than he likes; your pretty lips parted, your eyes lidded and boring into his even as you grind along his cock, unwavering. You look good like this. You look happy and soft and all his.

Joel’s hands clutch you a little harder, roll you a little faster, your hands supporting your weight on his firm chest. He’s so fucking close, your wet pussy soaking his length and his tip catching on your sensitive clit with each roll of your hips, but he needs you to come again. You come first.

“Joel,” you sigh, your thighs locking tight around his hips, nectar and frosting and citrus.

“I know,” he says, “I know. Keep goin’, baby. C’mon. Doin’ so good. Jesus, so good.”

The first orgasm was a meticulous build-up. This one crashes down with the ceremony and courtesy of an ambush: it seizes your whole body and leaves you helpless. You moan his name—maybe you whisper it; everything is loud in your ears—and double over, your cheek pressed into the hollow of his throat. He keeps you moving, seeking his own high, bucking up against your cunt.

“That’s it.” His praises gently puff out across the top of your head, tucking your head under his chin, admiring the curve of your back and the supple taste of your skin under his fingers. His balls draw up and his core goes tight with imminent release. “Fuck, baby. Fuck—”

There’s a hot, wet splash against your belly, then another, and another. When you peel yourself away to watch his cum spurt onto his stomach, your cunt tightens with the pulsating rhythm of his shaft under you and another brief, but devastating, rush of pleasure surges through your whole body. It almost fucking knocks you over. You lift yourself off his cock in time to see a burst of wetness soak him, dribbling out around your bodies onto the mattress. Joel groans, his brows lifting, another spurt of cum landing on his belly.

“Jesus Christ.”

You list to the side, unable to hold yourself up in any capacity. You land next to him, your arm belted across his chest, fondly nudging a pec with your nose. “Me, too,” you mumble. Your voice is hollow.

Joel turns his head to face you, and you swipe some cum off his belly with your index and middle fingers, looking him in the eyes as you lick it up and swallow. He grabs you by the back of the neck and kisses you hard. “No fuckin’ FEDRA asshole,” he grumbles into your mouth, “is gettin’ anywhere near you. And neither is Robert.”

You forgot that was what this was about. “Joel,” you whisper, lips migrating from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, his scratchy beard, “you can’t keep me safe forever.”

He reaches around to grab your ass and then hitches your thigh up onto his hip. “Yeah, I fuckin’ can. Stay here.”

“We aren’t related, or married.” You pin him with a stare. “They would never let us.”

Joel lifts his brows. You roll your eyes. “We aren’t married.”

He’ll pick a fight in the morning. But you already know you won’t be going to see Robert about the battery with your big guard dog standing just behind you. Robert can suck it the fuck up, for all Joel cares.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he says, squeezing your thigh. “It was a shitty cupcake, though.”

You laugh, kissing him on the nose. “No, it wasn’t. For all you know, you may never have one again.”

“For the fuckin’ best,” he grumbles, chasing your mouth again. You let him kiss you, and neither of you get much sleep.

He really didn't mind the cupcake.

#kiwisbell's fics #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fic

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rosepascal · 4 months

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I'm a feminist obviously || Joel Miller x Reader

I'm a feminist obviously But I wouldn't really mind him savin' me And I know that I'm fine without a man But I think I would like his protection - Prison for Life (Olivia Rodrigo)

Warnings: protective!Joel, he calls you baby girl, reader gets attacked by an asshole guy. Mentions of a fight. Low key dark Joel because he ain't letting that slide. violence, blood, cursing.

a/n: I heard this on tik tok and it just SCREAMS Joel miller sooooo. A good protective Joel fic <3

The town of Jackson wasn't exactly fond of you and Joel. Let's just say the rumors that started when you first showed up have spread amongst the town members and well, no one cares that they're just rumors.

Safe to say that when you walk through the town center that you aren't just imagining people whispering and staring you down as you walk past them. The only thing you can do is roll your eyes and keep going.

Please, like everyone in this town is free of blood on their hands.

The small general store worker refuses to meet your eyes as you pay for your groceries.

"H-Have a nice day." He says timidly as you stare at him stone faced. At this point you don't even try to change any ones mind. Still at least this kid isn't shooting you a dirty look. You nod and head out the door.

"Is that the Miller's bitch I see." Just your luck. Out of the corner of your eye you see Elijah Davis. Resident Jackson asshole.

Though most people who had a distaste for you and Joel, they stayed out of your way. Elijah was different. He was stupid. See Elijah used to be the big man in Jackson. Self proclaimed best hunter, best shooter. A real tough guy. Always led patrols and that kind of thing really got to his head.

When Joel came around well, they may not like Joel but you can't deny his skills when it comes to survival. Joel brought home the biggest catch, he shot down the most clickers. He saved the most lives and Elijah turned bitter. He just couldn't give it up

"I'm talking to you."

"Fuck off." You hiss at him. You turn so fast he flinches and it makes you smile.

"Seriously, this shit is getting old. Go cry to someone who gives a fuck." On most days he was all bark and no bite but today was different. You feel a harsh tug on your arm as you're pulled into a small side alley. He jams his forearm into your neck and pushes you against a wall.

"I'm getting real sick of you. Acting tough when all you are is Joel millers toy. Bet you keep his bed real warm." He spits angrily. The pressure on your neck gets worse as black dots swarm your vision. You drop your bag and claw his eyes as hard as you can.

"Fuck!" He screams as he lets go of you. Land on your feet but the lack of air causes you to wobble.

"Eat shit." You kick him hard in the side and he tackles you to the ground.

The left side of your face erupts in pain as he punches you hard. He doesn't let up and you do your best to defend yourself the way you learned back in the QZ.

"Hey! What the hell is going on here?" Elijah freezes as he hears the voice of Tommy Miller. Though you've got a bust lip and blood spilling from your mouth you smile.

"You're screwed now." You knee him hard right in the balls and he topples over in pain. Before Tommy could pull you off him you get in one last kick to the jaw.

"That's enough, both of you." He gently pulls you back as someone else pulls Elijah up from the ground. He's still groaning in pain and man is that music to your ears.

"What happened?" Tommy asks as you wipe the blood away from your mouth.

"He attacked me, I defended myself." Though Tommy was Joel's brother he was also Maria's husband and Maria didn't like violence inside the walls of Jackson. She meant business. She even scared Joel a little. You bend down to pick up what's left of your groceries and stuff them in your pockets.

"Look, I know how it goes, I'll pay the fine or work extra hours blah blah, See you Sunday for dinner." Your face aches as you walk.

The only thing you want now is a warm bath and a nap. You don't hear Joel as you walk inside and for once that's a good thing. Ellie appears at the back door ready to show something when her face scrunches up.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"What?!" You hear Joel's voice come from behind her and you sigh.

"Thanks Ellie." Joel storms in the house.

His eyes frantically looking around until they land on you. Particularly on your fucked up face. His eyes turn dark as he orders Ellie to go outside. She leaves but not before mouthing Good Luck to you. He's like predator the way he walks up to you. His mouth twitching as anger swirls in his eyes.

"Who did this to you?" He gently tips your head up. It scares you how calm he is right now.

"Joel he was just being-"

"He? It was Elijah wasn't it." He growled lowly.

Sighing you know you can't hide it from him forever. He clenches his jaw and leaves to go to the medicine cabinet. With a clean rag he wipes away the dried blood and patches you up as best he can. Unfortunately most of your injuries will just have to heal on its own.

"M'gonna go take a bath." You stretch your arms out and wince slightly as you tilt your neck. Joel clocks it immediately.

"You need anything baby girl?"

"No, I'm okay." He kisses the top of your head and waits for you to go upstairs.

Once he hears the water running he grabs his rifle and leaves. It's like the townspeople can see the steam coming out of his ears. Joel's got a murderous look on his face as he storms through the town.

"Joel!" He glances to see Tommy chasing after him but he doesn't stop. He goes right to the little town hall and storms into Maria's. She looks unamused as he slams the door open.

"Where is he?!" Joel slams his hands on her desk.

"Doctors, pretty beat up and still crying about it." She doesn't even need to ask, she knows why he's here.

"I'm gonna kill em."

"No you aren't."

"If you think-"

"Joel!" Maria stands and stares him down. He's angry, seething with rage at the thought of that punk little shit laying a hand on you.

"I know you're angry, so am I. He's to blame here and he will be punished to the full extent of the law." She says calmly.

"So what? He gets thrown in jail for a couple days? Has to do extra patrols? Give up dessert?"

"I know you're angry, but don't do anything you'll regret. I can't protect you from the law forever Joel." She can't lose Joel, he's a valuable member of the community and he's family.

He clenches his fists and nods his head. Tommy appears and walks out with him. Trying to talk him out of what ever plan he's got brewing in his head. He knows that Joel won't back down that easy.

"He hurt her, I warned him that if he ever touched her he was a dead man." Joel smirks as he passes the doctors. Outside is Elijah bandages all over his face and a scared look in his eyes when he sees Joel.

Count your days motherfucker.

Joel disappears for a week. Out on a supply run alone and god did it make you nervous. He kissed you sweet before he left. Promised he'd come back. His fingers traced your face. Trying to be as gentle as he can around the sore spots.

"I love you." He mumbles quietly, "You know I'd do anything for you." You hum and kiss him again.

"I know," You can handle yourself, you've proved that time and time again you know how to protect yourself.

But with Joel you don't always have to. Knowing he'd burn down anything in his path for you means the world. Because you'd do the same.

You see Elijah once or twice in town while Joel's gone. He's on double patrol duty before his trial. Then he just, disappears. At first you don't notice it but then you hear whispers around town. A patrol went out with 4 and came back with 3.

When Joel comes back you tell him. Elijah's trial was yesterday and he never showed. They went to his room and he wasn't there. All his things were but he wasn't.

He was just, gone.

A few days later Tommy comes knocking on your door.

"Joel here?" You nod and call Joel down.

"It's been a week and no one's found Elijah. So it seems his trial is postponed indefinitely."

"Okay, thanks for coming to tell us." You squeeze Joel's hand and he just stays quiet. Tommy looks at Joel and deep down all three of you know exactly what happened with Elijah. But there's no proof and Tommy isn't going to turn over his own brother.

"Dinner next week?" You ask and he nods.

"I'm sure Maria would love to catch up." When he leaves you turn to Joel.

"Joel...If they ever found out-"

"I don't care."

"I do!" Your voice raises for a second before you stop yourself from shouting.

"Joel I won't let you jeopardize anything for me."

"Well that's too damn bad." He gets up and walks over to you. He cups your face and stares at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

"Baby girl, he hurt you." Joel would risk it all for you. Death, prison, anything. He kisses you gently as to not hurt your still healing lip.

"Nobody messes with my girl."

In a world like this you need to be able to survive, to fight and to make the hard decisions. But sometimes it's exhausting. Constantly protecting yourself wears you down. You know you can but you don't mind the idea of being protected by someone else.

You know you should hate the violence, the fierceness of his actions and words. But you don't. How could you when he's all you ever wanted.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #protective!Joel miller

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strawberrysturniolo · 3 months

Note

make the versus tour chris thing you posted into a fic i begg

king for a day // chris sturniolo

summary: your boyfriend is feeling extra cocky during sex when he wins a stop on the versus tour. rough oral (male!receiving). praise kink

I watch as Chris’ smile grows as he watches Matt’s final play in Jenga, resulting in the tower to topple over and give Chris his victory.

He runs over to his teammate, who is decked out in orange apparel and gives them a hug as the crowd cheers for them.

I clap my hands, joining in on the cheers as I watch from the side stage. Nick exits the stage momentarily to retrieve the winning garments to place on Chris.

Chris stands victoriously next to his teammate as the crown is placed on his head. He adjusts it a bit so it balances on top of his hat, then takes his microphone to thank his teammate, along with the audience who took the time to attend tonight’s show.

This is the first show of the tour that I was able to make it to. I honestly considered supporting from home. I thought it would a better option so I wasn’t distracting or in anyone’s way before or during the shows, but Chris insisted that I should come to this one. He was currently on a winning streak, and he was convinced that I was his good luck charm that could grant him his third win in a row.

I have a feeling he’s going to demand my attendance every night to continue the streak, but I won’t be able to promise that.

As he exits the stage with his brothers and their teammates, he tosses his arm over my shoulder confidently, placing a kiss on my head. The crowd erupts in applauds and screams, our way of knowing that they saw us and we weren’t as hidden as we thought.

Chris leads me backstage to the green room, inviting me to stay while they wait for fans to come backstage with their passes.

“Good job, baby,” I whisper, keeping a hushed tone in my voice so fans don’t hear me call him by a pet name he swore he hated.

His cheeks blush. PDA isn’t something Chris is afraid of, but it’s different when he’s working and his supporters are right around us. There’s a certain line drawn there, hence why I’m keeping my voice down.

“Thanks for coming,” he replies before placing a kiss on my forehead and greeting the incoming fans.

I sit back on a couch and watch my boyfriend and his brothers interact with some of their die-hard fans. It’s sweet to see the reactions of those who came to see them, but even sweeter to see how the guys I know personally react to that attention. Their faces are coated in pure happiness, and I can’t help but smile just watching them.

There are a few fans that even take their time to say hi to me, which I was not expecting. Chris and I have more of a private but not secret relationship. We rarely post each other, but if we do it’s just subtle reminds that we’re together. There are never any overly publicly loving posts, even if we both know the other is in love. The fact that these attendees are gracious enough to thank me for making Chris happy makes me want to sob. I never imagined my boyfriend would have this sort of effect on people, but it’s no shock that it came true considering his personality.

I watch as the group heads out of the dressing room, shouts of praise and gratitude leaving the fans mouths as they say their last goodbyes. The fans go one way, and the triplets to the other to prepare for the last round of meet and greets before we leave for the night.

I stay back in the green room, scrolling aimlessly on my phone to pass the time. I spend most of it liking fans posts of them in their meet and greet photos and their videos from the show.

About 20 minutes into my time, I get a text from my boyfriend.

Chris💋🦌

You okay by yourself?

I send a quick response before going back to my scrolling.

i’m great. keep doing your thing!!!

Chris💋🦌

You look really fucking hot tonight. Brave of you to wear that when I’m standing on stage in front of hundreds of people.

Oh, he’s gonna do this now?

you look hotter, my crowned winner ;)

Chris💋🦌

Think we have enough room to fuck on my bunk?

even if we did i am not fucking you with six other people around us.

Chris💋🦌

Fine. We’ll make something work.

The boys wrap up the last of the show and head back to the green room to retrieve their things and pack up gifts they received during the night. Chris tosses his bag over his shoulder and grips my hand, leading me outside into the mob of fans that have crowded around the doors. He waves a lazy hand out to the crowd of people before guiding me onto the bus.

“What a fucking show,” Chris says as he tosses his bag into his bunk and kicks his feet up. He taps the space next to him, inviting me to join him. I sit at his side and he quickly tosses an arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer.

“Yeah yeah, we get it, three show streak,” Matt rolls his eyes.

Chris shrugs. “Maybe if you had a girl at the show to hype you up you wouldn’t have been the reason I won three times in a row.”

I lightly smack Chris’ chest for his comeback, giving him a stare.

“It’s true!” he defends.

“Whatever,” Nick butts in. “There’s a change of plans. We have a hotel tonight because there’s gonna be bad weather. I assume you two will want to stay together… so I guess it’s me and Matt fending for ourselves in the other room.”

“Oh, lucky me,” Matt groans.

Chris sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, smirking at me as he hints at what we’re going to be getting into tonight.

The ride to the hotel feels like hours passing by slowly. The ache in between my legs is dying to be relieved as Chris traces shapes on my inner thigh, keeping me built with desire throughout the drive so I don’t lose momentum when we arrive. There’s no chance of that happening.

As we all unload our things from the bus, Chris speeds inside with us hand in hand. We get our room key and are miles ahead of everyone else as we head to the elevators.

As soon as the doors shut, my back is pressed against the wall with Chris cornering me. His lips dive for my neck, sucking on my sweet spot as he parts my legs with his knee.

“Are you gonna be ready for me baby?” he asks, his voice low and grovely.

I nod, a weak sound leaving my throat as I try to respond.

The elevator door opens on our floor. He turns around to check of anyone standing there before his head whips back around, his hand gripping my jaw as he places a sloppy kiss on my lips before leading us to our room.

He keeps one hand on me at all times, even when he’s fiddling with the key to open the door. He kicks it open with his foot, pushing me inside before throwing our things on the floor and picking me up, wrapping my legs around his waist.

“Hey!” I exclaim as he kicks the bathroom door shut.

“Hmm?” he hums, his lips too busy finding mine.

He sets me on the bathroom counter, his fingers trailing up my shirt before I have a chance to process anything. I open my legs more for him, earning a cocky grin.

“Needy girl, huh?” he mocks me.

I nod lazily, my mind in a trance as I watch him pull his shirt over his head and discard it on the floor.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you tonight,” he mumbles, unbuckling his jeans and yanking them down, revealing his hardened cock, restrained by his briefs. “Had to talk to everyone tonight like you weren’t the only thing on my mind.” His hand dips into his underwear, slowly exposing his dick, decorated in veins and a red, swollen tip, leaking as it begs for a release. “Why don’t you be a good girl and suck me off for giving you a win tonight?”

I look at him in shock, his confidence so evident, it’s making me feel small and innocent. There’s an element in it that I love.

I nod, unable to say anything else.

He cocks his head to the side and says, “Get on your knees and show me how good girls behave.”

My heart plummets to my stomach. This is new. And I fucking love it.

I hop off the counter and lower my knees to the ground. As soon as my legs hit the floor, Chris continues.

“Stick your tongue out for me.”

I do as he says, and he begins slapping his dick on my tongue. The precum leaving him sticks to my mouth, creating a line of spit mixed cum between my tongue and the head of his dick. The both of us groan at the sight.

He rests his dick on my tongue, letting me do the rest of the work. I take my hand to the base of his cock, stroking lightly as I spit on his tip, letting it drip down and lube him up through each stroke. I lick up and down it a few times before jerking him slowly as I swirl my tongue around his tip.

His chest falls forward, his hands gripping the marble counter top for support. “Fuck baby, just like that.”

I nod at him, continue that same rhythm for a minute or two. After some time, I continue stroking around his tip, knowing he’s the most sensitive there. I dip my mouth, dragging my lips lazily across his length until I reach his balls, sucking them into my mouth.

“Fuck!” he yells out, his eyes pinched shut in pleasure as his knees buckle. “Fuck don’t stop doing that. Please don’t stop.”

I suck on him harder, his balls filling my mouth. He drops his head lower, the crown falling off his head and clashing against the sink.

I watch as his dick continues to leak, signaling that he’s getting closer and closer to his high.

I lift back up to his tip, spitting on it again before taking it in my mouth as deep as I can. Chris quickly straightens up, grabbing the back of my head and thrusting into my mouth with force.

“I’m so close baby, please. You got it. Just like this for a little, I promise,” he says, knowing I can only handle so much of this.

I look up at him, my eyes dripping as his thrusts becoming more powerful. Spit begins to dribble down my chin onto my neck, coating the ‘C’ necklace that he got me for our last anniversary.

His moans are the most perfect sound. As his pleasure hits an all time him, he blindly grabs the crown showcasing his victory from tonight and places it on his head without a care in the world. It rests sideways, propped up by his curls.

His arms flex with every thrust, his grip on my head strong and far from letting go. I watch as his stomach tightens, his hips jerking messily before stilling in the back of my throat.

I do my best to hold steady, but I can’t help my fingers digging into his thighs as I struggle to keep myself together.

He groans as he releases his cum into my throat, dripping down without me even having to swallow. When he slowly removes himself from my mouth, I can’t stop myself from coughing, wiping my mouth after it’s been spilling my saliva.

“So perfect, baby,” he says, wiping my chin with his thumb before kissing me softly on my swollen lips. “Let’s get you in the shower and cleaned off, okay?”

I nod as he peels my clothes off, knowing that this is only the start of him tonight.

tag list: @freshloveforthefit @lacysturniolo @mattitties @floofparker @javalakers @creamoncreamoncream2 @heebiejeebiezz @sturnswrites @runupthathillgirl @gdsvhtwa @666hellokitty420 @runupthathillgirl @oliviasturniolo21 @keira324 @sstvrnioloo

#matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you

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ervotica · 5 months

Note

could I please get a Cato x soft/quiet gf reader she’s really good at hiding and when he’s training or even talking with friends she sneaks a kiss when he’s not looking and disappears until one day he finally catches her and gives her a real kiss💓

pairing: cato hadley x fem!reader

summary: you hide from cato when he wants a kiss. he always finds you in the end...

hunger games masterlist

Cato has always thought you're charming in a sort of elusive way; you're not a particularly social creature, quick on your feet and opting to hide and duck out of people's line of sight before they've even spotted you. It's endearing, truly, but it tends to frustrate him when all he wants is a kiss from you.

Cato's practicing his knife throwing in an empty field lined with dummies. He brings his elbow up and over his head before letting the blades cut through the air and thwack as they lodge themselves in the targets every time. You watch, entranced - perched just out of his line of sight - as his muscles ripple and flex with his movements; you imagine how they feel under your touch, his warm skin under your hands.

He's just thrown the last one when your cold fingertips graze his waist; his t-shirt has ridden up to expose a pale sliver of skin: ridged abs and a line of blonde hair that disappears beneath his low hung shorts.

He reaches out but you're too quick, ducking under his armpit and snaking up his front for a chaste peck before you're off again.

"Hey!" he yells as you disappear up a nearby tree. "Come back!"

He crosses his arms and plants himself at the roots of the tree, glaring up as you keep climbing. You giggle, traversing the length of a particularly thick branch and wrapping your legs around the width of it in order to hang upside down. Your hair forms what can only be described as a halo as you swing from side to side and grin.

"Cato," you hum, sing-song voice taunting him. He creeps closer and tries his luck in catching you. You're faster, snapping back up to lay horizontally on the branch, too high for even your hulking boyfriend to reach.

"Come here!" he huffs, brow knit as he stares up at you. You only scrunch your nose and raise an eyebrow and his tone changes like the flick of a switch. "Baby, please. C'mere."

You only shake your head and wiggle your fingers at the blonde boy and he seizes the opportunity, locking his fingers with your own as they reach for him enticingly. Your eyes widen and you shriek as he tugs and you come toppling down rather unceremoniously.

Of course he wouldn't let you fall and you land in a heap in his arms, hair static and frazzled as he sets you down.

“Cato!” You scold. “That’s not funny!”

He presses his chest close, his face burying in the juncture of your neck as he kisses and nips at the soft skin there.

“Wasn’t supposed to be,” he murmurs, big hands squeezing the fat of your hips. “You kept hiding from me.”

You pout and push lightly at his chest, forcing him to take a step back.

“Awh,” he coos, pressing a thumb to the plush flesh of your lip before he’s leaning in for a kiss. No chaste pecks or soft, fleeting moments- he’s determined to get a real kiss from you, all tongues and teeth and heaving chests as he steals your breath.

The only sounds to be heard are the whistling of wind and the soft smack of your mouths as he kisses you with fervour. Your hand comes up to his neck, fisting the short hairs at the nape to pull him closer. You feel his smile against your mouth.

“This is all I wanted from you,” he snarks, sarcasm dripping from his tongue as you chase his lips to keep him quiet.

“Shh,” you whisper, eyes fluttering as he bites into your bottom lip and soothes the pain away with his tongue.

He pulls away heavy lidded and breathing hard.

“Caught you.”

#writer #writers on tumblr #writing #writing for fun #the hunger games #the hunger games fic #cato hadley x reader #cato hadley fanfic #cato hadley #cato x reader #thg cato #cato hadley x you #cato hadley fic #thg x reader #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #writing for myself

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ceilidho · 6 months

Text

prompt: it's been a month since you managed to run away from them. your luck had to run out eventually. tags: noncon, darkfic, ghoap x reader, previous kidnapping implied, stalking and hunting down reader. i am begging you to read the tags before reading this, thanks. 4.4k

You pay for the motel room in cash. Always cash. Never a paper trail if you can help it. Nothing that could ever tip anyone off if you didn’t want them to be tipped off.

You haven’t been on the run for long. Maybe a month, tops—but after the first week, the days and nights have begun to blend together like watercolours. You don’t do much during the day apart from sit in your room and wait for the night to come. Sometimes you venture out if you’re low on food or if the itch under your skin grows severe enough that you know you need to buy a fresh set of clothes and dump the ones you came into town with.

Freshly dyed and cut hair. Jackets two sizes too big to make you seem larger than you are from the back. You’ll never be able to change the face god gave you, but you make an effort to obscure it when you can—surgical masks on public transit, heavy sunglasses even indoors, a deep mauve lipstick (purchased, again, in cash at the local pharmacy) to make you seem, from a distance, like someone else. Anyone else.

Sometimes remembering that it’s been a whole month since you escaped, since you got out, leaves you winded. You have to hold onto the wall in your pay-by-the-night, ratty, hole-in-the-wall motel room to keep from toppling over. A month without spotting one of them in pursuit of you feels next to impossible. Almost impossible. You still don’t let yourself think that you’ve fully given them the slip, that you’ve gotten the better of them. There is no getting the better of them. There is no outmanoeuvring the two men that—you’ve learned through painful trial and error—do not let up when there is still the trace of a scent.

And everything leaves a scent. Even you.

You sleep in the bathtub instead of the bed for fear of bedlice; these days, your neck has an ever-present kink that needs to be worked out. It’s bound to get worse though. It’s not like you can stop in this town now and call it home, not when you can feel them hot on your heels.

You change in gas station bathrooms when you run. You’re learning a kind of awareness of cameras and eyes that you never would’ve developed before. You do not smile at cashiers. Your face becomes blank, unrecognisable. The goal is always that you fade into obscurity the second you step out of the shop, so that no one could ever identify you to the two terrifying men haunting your shadow. Even if they wanted to.

Paranoid isn’t the half of it. When you hear a car pull up outside your motel room door, your body drops a whole degree and sweats like a night terror has found you in the waking world. You only relax when you hear a door four rooms down slam shut. Then you shake so hard that you swear you can hear your bones rattle.

This isn’t a life. It’s life like the promise of a tomorrow is the only thing getting you through today.

You get on buses with no idea where you’ll be getting off. Pattern disrupter. In the months that you lived with them, you learned something. If your movements are scattered, they become unpredictable—harder to track down. You force them to stay behind while you skitter off, forcing them to review video footage, question people, even sift through garbage and recycling bins for any sign that you’d been there.

It doesn’t make you any less nervous. You know they’re like hunting dogs. You’d love to believe that you’ve tried their patience enough for them to abandon the chase, but thinking like that gets you caught. Complacency will get you caught faster than anything.

The money folded and sealed in an envelope in your bag is dwindling though. Even for as frugal as you’ve been, food costs money—clothes cost money. Boxes of hair dye and bus tickets cost money. And you can’t stay anywhere long enough to hold down a job to recuperate what you’ve lost.

It feels hopeless. You trudge back to your motel room after grabbing a bite to eat at the pub down the road and feel like maybe this is purgatory. Maybe you died a long time ago, long before you got away from them, and this long path you’ve been burning across the country is just the long descent into the underworld. You let out a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second by the door before unlocking it to go inside for the night.

You trip over something. It catches you so off guard that you almost break your nose on the carpeted floor, arms almost not swinging out in time to catch you.

“Whoops. Sorry, kitty—took a lil’ tumble there, huh?” a familiar burr says from somewhere behind you by the door. “Gotta watch where you step.” He chuckles a bit under his breath, pulling back the leg he’d stuck out to trip you.

Your body goes ice cold on the floor. The door clicks shut behind you; the deadbolt sliding into place is deafening in the silence. The thick knot in your belly expands until you think you might throw up. The only nonsensical thing you can think is that you hope the motel manager won’t be upset that you’ve ruined the carpet.

You hear the muffled sound of knees hitting the floor and then a hand tangles in your hair, wrenching your head back. “Oh Jesus, look at the state of her, Lt.”

“Looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

The second voice is rough, like logs rolling over water, clattering into each other. It comes from the other end of the room, way into the darkness. They didn’t bother to turn the lights on, perhaps in an effort to make sure your guard was down. Fear grips the inside of your chest. Behind you, Johnny holds your head up high enough that you’re forced to stare at the patch of darkness from which Ghost materialises when he flicks on the bedside lamp.

On the surface, he sounds almost amused, but as long as it’s been, you’re still attuned to the undercurrent of anger in his voice. His patience has been tried over weeks of chasing after you. He almost looks like he’s put on mass since you last saw him over a month ago, but that could just be the perspective of looking up at him from the floor. His face is still covered in the same half skull mask as always, exposing the shaved blond hair on his head. His eyes are narrowed though, terrifyingly mad.

“Poor baby,” Johnny murmurs, nuzzling into the back of your head. He props himself over you, not leaning his whole weight down onto your prone body, but trying to get as close as possible to you while still forcing you to stare up at Ghost. “Did we give ye a wee fright? Is that why ye ran off? I missed ye so, so bad, baby.”

“She ran off because she’s been spoiled,” Ghost snaps. He sits on the edge of the bed and it creaks under his weight when he shifts a little closer to the edge, leaning closer to where you’re lying on the floor.

“I ken, I ken, Lt,” Johnny sighs, plastering sloppy, wet kisses into the side of your neck, fitting his mouth briefly into the crook of it, into the meat of your shoulder. “Cannae help myself, she’s just so—ah, kitty, am really sorry but you’ve really pissed Simon off.”

“No—no, please—” you gasp, breath splintered into short hitches. “H-how’d you—how’d you e-even find—”

Johnny shakes you by the hair, a bit rougher than usual. Anger finally leaking out like a drip from a loose spigot. You yip at the pain. “Of course we were gonna find you—Lt, ye hearing this? She thought she could outsmart us.”

“Pet’s don’t know any better,” Ghost says dismissively. It makes you feel queasy to hear him say that like you’re not even in the room. “Needs a lesson in not making us run halfway across the country after her. Get her on the bed, pup.”

“No, no, get OFF—” you try to yell, then gag when Johnny shoves two fingers into your mouth, pushing them almost to the back of your throat.

When the urge to choke abates, you close your teeth over his fingers, flirting with the idea of just biting all the way down and taking them off. Only the fact that you’ve never done something like that before keeps you from instinctually biting through. Johnny laughs breathlessly when he feels your teeth flirt over his fingers though.

“Bite down,” Johnny dares you, voice quivering with smugness and rage. “Bite down ‘n see what happens to ye. Have nae gotten my cock wet in a fuckin’ month because you’ve been gone and Simon—”

“Quit talking to the pet like she understands,” Ghost snaps, finally standing up, towering over the two of you. You can’t help staring at his mud covered boots still rooted in front of your face. “On the bed. Now.”

You howl when Johnny takes his fingers out of your mouth and wrenches you to your feet, struggling when he coos and frogmarches you to the bed. No matter how hard you struggle though, you can’t break the way he has your arms twisted behind your back. It’s a short walk too, only a few steps, and then Johnny shoves you roughly onto the bed, clambering over you again. His hand forces your face into the mattress, not paying any mind to the way you grunt because your nose bends uncomfortably against it.

“Always fuckin’ whining,” Johnny growls into your ear, fully pissed off now. His anger is electric, rippling down the length of you. “On and on and on—’n I’ve been so fuckin’ good to ye. Have nae even been a little mean. Being a fuckin’ brat to me and leavin’ me and makin’ us hunt ye down like dogs.”

You can hear that he’s working himself up to a fever pitch, growing angrier and angrier. It terrifies you to think that you’re trapped under him, nowhere to go. Somehow, it’s a mercy when the bed dips again under Ghost’s weight and he pulls Johnny back by the shoulder, giving his cheek a little tap when Johnny growls and tries to bend back down.

“You have all the time in the world with her, pup,” Ghost says, giving Johnny a rougher shove. “Get undressed. Can’t fuck her in your civvies.”

“Yeah…yeah, yer right,” Johnny mumbles to himself, getting off you.

Your head automatically twists over your shoulder, eyes following him. It’s easy to see in the spare seconds you get before you try to make a break for it again that he looks haggard, beard grown out a bit more than usual. Ghost usually makes him keep it short and tight, but apparently weeks on the road have tempered that military expectation a bit.

His eyes are wild, electric blue, hardly blinking for how hard he stares at you. You tell yourself that you haven’t, on some small level, missed his pretty face. His arms bulge around the tight shirt that he easily strips off, pulling it off one handed from the back of his neck.

You hear him kick off his boots somewhere in the distance, but when you try to scramble off the bed, Ghost tips you over onto your bed and presses you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. He’s a bit less dressed now—hoodie pulled off and boots and jeans piled on the floor somewhere. Mask off. Familiar scars cut across his face—old burn marks and white spidery lines of fresh skin. Rougher than Johnny, not a pretty man; maybe without the layers of scarring he’d be a proper masculine kind of handsome, but with them, he only seems dangerous. Someone to avoid.

He doesn’t say anything when he stares down at you. He says enough like that. He looks over his shoulder, away from you. “Johnny?”

“Lt?” Johnny’s at attention now, stripped naked and eager. When you glance down, his cock is already flushed and hard, excitement making him almost vibrate.

“Help me get her naked and then you’ll get her mouth, alright?”

You’re already struggling before the words come out of his mouth, frantically trying to push Ghost off you and opening your mouth to scream—the piercing shrill of it bleats out of you for half a second—before a big hand wraps around your neck and Ghost turns back to you. It shuts you up in a heartbeat. Not once in the months you were with them has Ghost looked half as terrifying; you’ve had a belt taken to your ass until the blood pooling under the skin almost burned, you’ve been manhandled and roughly positioned and been bent into shapes that your body could only just accommodate, but you’ve never, until now, actually worried for your safety somehow.

“You scream—” he starts, moving his hand up just a little to grab you by the jaw and twist your head to make you stare at the bedside table, where a glock lays flat under the glow of the lamp, “—and I shoot anyone that comes through that fuckin’ door. We clear?”

You nod once. Sweat pouring out of every other gland, but the saliva running dry in your mouth. You lick your lips and swallow, hummingbird heart going wild in your chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Johnny mumbles, coming up behind Ghost to wrap his arms around him as best he can, planting a row of kisses into his shaved head. “Missed it so bad, I need ta—need ta—”

“Her clothes, Johnny. Take ‘em off.”

You only put up a little fight when Ghost works on unzipping and pulling down your jeans. It feels hopeless to try. Johnny almost tears your shirt in two to get it off, only being a bit gentler when you yelp. He can’t help groping at your chest when the shirt is pulled off you and tossed somewhere else in the room, big hands fitting over your breasts and plucking your nipples, twisting them like you’re just a toy for Johnny to play with. He slithers down onto his belly for a second to pop a nipple into his mouth, switching between kissing and sucking at the beaded nub like he can’t tell what he missed more.

Your panties get ripped clean in two. The sob comes out of your chest unbidden, tears finally spilling out. Ghost’s patience seems finally at its end. His eyes are black even in the light, all pupil. Your legs try to close instinctively, but he slots himself between them so you can only clamp your legs around his waist, stuck staring at the way his hand reaches for his boxers only long enough to pull the elastic under his balls. His cock is so heavy with blood that it droops, the tip dewy.

Your nipples gleam with spit when Johnny finally takes his mouth off them, sitting back on his haunches and spreading his legs. It’s all happening so fast—there isn’t a right place to look. Either the monstrous cock between your legs that already has you feeling twangs of phantom pain knowing that Ghost isn’t going to even bother stretching you on his fingers before fucking you, or the pretty cock that Johnny is already rubbing against your lips, painting with his precome. You flinch when you feel Ghost spit on your sex; he doesn’t try to rub it in.

“Simon” he pants, fingers tangling in your hair again to keep your head still when you try to turn away. “Simon, please, can I—I need ta come so bad. Please, please.”

You almost say something and then Ghost pushes his cock in to the hilt in one brutal plunge. Your mouth opens on a ragged gasp and Johnny keens, fingers clenching so hard in your hair that he almost tears it out by the roots. The tip of his cock stays flush against your lips, even split open on your gasp.

“Please, sir, please,” he begs, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Aching and desperate. Holding himself back only because he needs permission to put his cock anywhere in you, just like he did all those weeks ago back in their house out in the countryside. The one you thought you thought you’d escaped.

Ghost chuckles, groaning at the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock. “Go ahead, boy. Give your cock a squeeze.”

That’s all it takes. Johnny pushes past your lips roughly, no finesse or gentleness at all. Maybe the capacity for it is gone after going without you for so long. You choke when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, tears making your vision blur. Johnny preens and gushes over you, unable to stop babbling about how hot and tight your throat is, how much he missed it.

“Oh shit, sir, she’s—” Johnny gasps, sinking into your mouth again and again, sweaty hand still clutching your hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

You feel close to the point of breaking, tight after a month on the lam, too tight for someone Ghost’s size to shove their cock into you without prep. You tell yourself that at least he bothered to spit on you, but lube would help a lot more. Too bad for you. His hands fit over your waist and hold tight, making sure you know that there’s nowhere for you to go. The first few thrusts are rough but slow enough to keep you from tearing—a small mercy, but probably not for your sake.

“I get—I get her pussy after, right, sir?” Johnny asks desperately.

“Dunno, Johnny,” Ghost muses, licking his lip. His thrusts get more brutish, faster; your teeth would be clacking together if Johnny’s cock wasn’t stuck halfway down your throat. “Gonna be a bit sloppy. Might not be tight enough for you after this.”

“S’okay, sir,” he whines, glancing back down at you. Fingers petting your cheek and tracing over your throat, trying to feel himself from the outside. “Jus’ need…oh fuck, please, it’s so good—oh Christ, missed it. I’ll take anythin’, sir, please.”

“Christ, alright, puppy. You can have a turn after. Been a good boy, huh?”

You can only stare when Ghost lifts a hand from your waist to reel Johnny in by his mohawk, tugging him in for a wet kiss, still thrusting into your pussy all the while. Just a toy between them for their cocks while Ghost licks into Johnny’s mouth and mutters sweet nothings to him. Johnny moans into the kiss, sucking Ghost’s tongue when it’s offered to him and looking dazed, come-drunk. All fucked out and flushed, hips unconsciously pumping forward, just absently rutting.

“Got our girl back, right?” Ghost murmurs, letting go of Johnny’s hair to smooth down his head and neck, making him preen. “Such a smart puppy.”

“Yeah, I’m good, sir.” He sounds out of his mind, slurring his words. Praise gets him like nothing else; it’s not easily given by Ghost, not handed out for nothing. “Did good…’m a good boy…”

The corners of your lips feel like they might crack. It’s hard to be careful with your teeth when you’re so overwhelmed, but luckily Johnny doesn’t mind it a bit rough. He hiccups when your teeth scrape over his cock a bit. He lips at Ghost’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the scar that bisects the corner of Ghost’s lips. When Ghost finally pulls away from Johnny’s mouth, a thin string of saliva pulls and then bends with the distance, finally snapping off and leaking onto your chest.

Your flinch and squeak draws Ghost’s attention back down to you.

You try to think of yourself looking down on the three of you instead of in it, but it’s hard. For as much as it seems like you’re just a toy between them, Ghost makes an effort to get you off, slipping a hand down to jiggle his thumb over your clit, rubbing it just the way you like. It’s sick how well he knows your body by now, how it takes almost nothing to push you to the edge of coming, core tight with the heat of it.

“Gonna come?” Ghost taunts, scooping a hand under your ass to tilt your hips up, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars, cunt flexing over his cock. You garble around Johnny’s cock as if to say something, but all it does is make Johnny groan and slump over you, holding himself upright with a hand on the mattress. His abs flex every time he fucks into your mouth. “Pussy this close to coming—you must’ve starved it. Good thing you didn’t let someone fuck you while we were looking. Woulda torn them apart.”

You can see the real threat in his eyes at that. There’s no way you would’ve, but the real danger of it crackles in the room. You feel like you’ll slip and touch the third rail if you so much as twitch under his glare. His jealousy at the thought makes him look like an angry god, chest heaving with every breath as he fucks you.

“My baby wouldnae—” Johnny gasps, sinking his cock all the way into your throat and groaning at the squeeze, “—no, Si, she’s—ah, fuck me, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck—Si, she wouldnae do that to us. No fuckin’ way.”

“She’d have a lot of making up to do then, huh?”

“She’s a good girl, sir, ‘promise. Oh, jus’ look at her,” Johnny gushes, sweat dripping down onto your face from how he’s curled over you. “So, so pretty. Maybe I dinnae take her…take her on enough walks.”

“Yeah…” You feel your skin crawl when Ghost stares down at you, not convinced. “Of course, pup.”

You know there’s no way he believes that. When they drag you home, you don’t think you’ll see the sunlight for weeks, never mind have Johnny take you on ‘walks’. Ghost’s smothering presence will take on a whole new meaning; he’ll snuff out the sun before he lets you walk in it alone ever again.

Someone in the room adjacent to yours slams their fist into the wall a couple of times, jolting you out of your thoughts. The headboard must really be knocking against the wall. Ghost and Johnny ignore it though, Johnny so close to coming that he can hardly even form a sentence, solely focused on spearing between your lips. You can feel Ghost reaching his end too, fucking you with a single-minded intensity. Breath snorting out of his nose like a bull. The hair on his chest is matted with sweat, curls whorling around his nipples.

You almost choke when Johnny comes down your throat without warning, hilting his cock until his balls brush your chin and his hand in your hair tightens painfully. He groans, drawn out and long, pained. It splashes against the back of your throat, almost familiar. You’ve done this before. You can do this without falling down a cliff and never climbing back up.

He pulls his cock out before he’s finished, striping your face with come, twitching when he has to hold his cock from how sensitive it is. You instinctively close your eyes, grateful when you feel his come tag your eyelid.

You hope it’s almost over, but Ghost hasn’t come yet and you know it’s going to get worse before it gets better. When Johnny pulls away to collapse onto his back on the bed, trying to catch his breath and dragging his hand over his stomach, Ghost hunches over you. He drags his tongue over your cheek, wet and nasty, and your brain almost switches off when you realise that he’s licking Johnny’s come off your cheek.

“There we go,” he snarls, feeling you flex around him, the little tell-tale spasm of your approaching orgasm. “Atta girl—gonna come on my cock? A little wet sorry for running away?”

You try to say something, but your throat is raw, voice too hoarse for words. Even your lips feel puffy, swollen. Talking hurts. It doesn’t matter though, Ghost doesn’t wait for your response. He pumps into you like a machine, pulling his cock all the way out before pushing back in again. Your stomach cramps with the worry that he might miss and try pushing into the other hole.

You wish there was a way around it, but you can’t avoid it slamming into you, a white hot wave cresting over you. You come so hard it hurts, milking Ghost’s cock and pushing him over the edge too; he pants harsh, animalistic sounds into your throat, cutting himself off by sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead, making you howl. There’s no condom to keep his come from pumping into you; just a big, heavy man smelling of gunpowder and salt hovering over you, elbow propped on the mattress beside your head and making you go a bit crazy at the scent of him everywhere around you.

He peels himself off of you after what feels like an hour, soft cock pulling out of you and making you clench down on nothing. You didn’t remember how much being empty can hurt. You try to roll away from him and onto your side, maybe squeeze yourself into a fetal position, but Ghost collapses down beside you and plants a hand on the centre of your chest, holding you in place. Never any respite.

You croak a tired little, “Ow.” All it does is make Ghost snort softly.

Your body feels like one livid bruise in the aftermath, limbs loose at your sides. You couldn’t move even if you tried, even if you thought you could make a break for it. It would hardly be worth it. You let your eyes slide shut when Ghost runs a hand up and down your chest, a little comforting gesture.

“Simon,” Johnny whines from beside you. Your brows scrunch, annoyed at his voice breaking the silence. “Please.”

You hear Ghost sigh. “Now?”

“Cannae wait—please.”

You wait to hear Johnny and Ghost get up. Maybe there’s something they have to do—maybe they drove to the motel and there’s still something in the car.

A hand grabs you by the hip.

“Turn over, pet,” Ghost instructs, flipping you onto your stomach without waiting for you to acquiesce. “Promised Johnny a turn with your pussy before we leave.”

Your eyes go wide.

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heich0e · 7 months

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just saw talk of boxer au!gojo on twitter and i fear now i'm thinking about satoru—undefeated in his weight class, a sensation in the sport—gearing up for a fight against a fighter from the underground scene, ryomen sukuna, who's known to have seedy connections and to not fight fair. his opponents often end up hospitalized, or mysteriously retiring after his matches—and there are rumours that some meet even more sinister fates.

and you show up at gojo's training gym one night, long after the rest of his team has gone home and find him in the practice ring just laying on his back, his mitts tucked under his head like a pillow, asleep and totally at peace. you hesitate, not sure if you should disturb him, but eventually climb up onto the elevated platform of the ring. you slip through the ropes like you have a hundred—maybe a thousand—times before, and approach him quietly as not to wake him.

he strikes when you're within arm's reach, moving faster than you could ever hope to dodge even if you did anticipate it, and before you know it you're toppling down on top of him as he uses his body to break your fall—two strong arms cradling you to his bare chest.

"you weren't sleeping," you grumble into his neck sullenly, and you feel his chest lift with a laugh. "you tricked me."

"had to, otherwise you might've tried to run away." his hands pat down along your spine, then up over your shoulder blades, holding you tight. "couldn't risk that when you haven't been answering any of my calls."

he lets you pull away but only barely—just enough room to use his chest to push yourself up and look at him, but his hands on your hips keep you pinned in place where you straddle him. when you look down at him, at his pretty face and his bright eyes and the soft smile he always shows you, you feel like you might start crying again—just like the last time you were in this very gym a week prior. the gym whose route you could walk in your sleep, whose walls you have memorized with his name and trophies displayed proudly everywhere you look. Gojo. Gojo. Gojo. the same way the crowds at his fights chant for him and his triumph.

gojo—a name as familiar to you as it is foreign. it's his, but it's not. because the boy below you, staring up at you with that same lovesick expression you've never seen waver, will never be anything to you but satoru. means everything to you as satoru.

"it's not too late," you whisper, reaching up with a shaking hand and running your fingertips along the blush that sits high on his cheeks. "you can still call off the fight, there's still time."

satoru's expression shifts for a moment, so brief you may have missed it if you didn't know him so well. there's a flash of something behind his eyes that reads unmistakably like guilt. he dons a facade of petulance to mask it, his lip pursing in an exaggerated pout.

"i can't believe my own good luck charm doesn't think i can win against some loser," he whines, turning his face and nosing against the palm that was cupping his cheek.

it's not true. you believe in satoru unwaveringly, you know his skill and his abilities. your faith in him is, and always has been, implicit. it's his opponent you don't trust.

it's what the fight might cost him, regardless of the outcome, that terrifies you.

"hey."

your eyes focus again, and you meet satoru's gaze below you. he lifts his hand, cupping yours—so much smaller in comparison—underneath as he holds your touch against his face, pressing a kiss to your palm.

it's so impossibly still in the gym with everyone else gone, but everything about it is known to you. is wholly familiar. the dim fluorescents, the smell that lingers in the air, the hum of the fans, the sound of satoru's breath.

"stop worrying, okay?" he whispers against your skin, kissing your palm again to punctuate the request. "there's no way i'm gonna lose. i'm the strongest, after all."

and there's familiarity in those words too, since he's said them to you more times than you could ever hope to keep track of.

but this time they just don't seem to reassure you the same way.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk drabble #jjk writing #writing

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the-banana-0verlord · 1 year

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How the taller Twst boys would react to their S/O climbing on them because they were afraid, pt. 2.

note: tw:spider, Gn reader.

⚡⚡⚡

Sebek Zigvolt

⚡Completely froze.

⚡That’s it, you broke him. He isn’t even able to utter a word.

⚡You had to get off before he could pass out.

⚡You also had to stop Lilia from passing out because he was laughing too much.

⚡If you ask Sebek about it, he will deny.

🦁🦁🦁

Leona Kingscholar

🦁It’s rare to find an occasion when he’s not on the ground asleep, but if it happens at the same time there’s a spider present, you’re in luck(or not)

🦁He finds it very cute, but since he’s an a-hole, He can and will tease you about it.

🦁He also sees it as an open invitation to go cuddling.

🦁I hope your day’s not booked, because he’s got you trapped.

🎮🎮🎮

Idia Shroud

🎮First of all, he is also terrified of spiders. Second of all, He will get absolutely flustered.

🎮So now you’re both on the floor because he fell over in surprise.

🎮Oh and you’re also both screaming.

🎮Ortho is very confused when he walks (floats) on you two screaming at a ball of hair(the so-called spider)

☘☘☘

Trey Clover

☘ When you first do it, he practically topples over.

☘He fights to stabilise himself.

☘He’s like Okay??? Please get off???

☘He tries to convince you to get off, but you won’t budge.

☘After a while he just gives up and accepts this is his life now.

☘«Can cookies convince you to leave me alone?

-Maybe.»

☘turns out the cookies worked.

☘But then Trey realised he was lonely without you clinging to him.

☘So he goes to hug you.

***

Have a good day/night!

#twisted wonderland #sebek #sebek zigvolt #leona #leona kingscholar #idia #idia shroud #trey #trey clover #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #trey x reader #trey clover x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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mxtxfanatic · 2 months

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What gets lost from the book’s message in trying to push monster!Hua Cheng as canon is not just that the message of Hualian’s romance is “I see you for who you are, at your best and worst, and I love what I see,” but also that Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are both just people. Xie Lian isn’t a bad luck charm capable of toppling kingdoms, and Hua Cheng isn’t some grotesque monster that nobody loves because they can’t look past the horrors. They were both once kids, then young men who were put through some of the worst trauma—but not unique!—imaginable and still came through the other side without losing themselves. They were and are people, and nothing about their traumas makes them inherently unloveable. There is nothing wrong with them. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THEM!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ It just took someone willing to see them without shying away for them to experience the love they deserved.

#tgcf #human metas mxtx #me: they are both people #hc in the edits: i am not a person #anyways all joking aside #the message doesn’t work if hc is a literal monster #which is why canonically he is not

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tiyoin · 3 months

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pt. 1 | 📍pt.2 | pt. 3

hmmm

i like to think that the other yuu (y/n) would also somehow befriend kalim

like- listen.

maybe they’re wandering around campus while everyone is in class. they were skipping, yet again, because of their anxiety. yuu gave them the advice of walking around the school while everyone was in class so you could get to know the school on your terms.

so you here you were, roaming around the outside portion of school, forcing yourself to walk slowly and take in your surroundings. each footstep followed the pattern of black and white tiles; left white, right black. if your toe went over the black tile your other toe would have to match. if your foot skidded on the tile, your other foot would have to follow in suit.

it was an old habit you had in your old world. you never knew what possessed you to do it, but you couldn’t stop once you started.

‘tsking’ at the fact that half your foot went over the white diamond, you were preparing to have your other foot follow suit when you felt a sharp jab in between your shoulder blades

“AGHH” you cried out in pain as you tripped over your feet. with the short time you had, you braced yourself onto your side, where the side of your arm took most of the impact. letting out a shaky breath at the pain, you felt tears escape as you kept your head down looking towards the floor.

fuck. what luck huh.

first the scene in crewels class last week, now this???

the universe is really trying to humble you

there was a crushing weight on top of you that kept pushing your side into the floor. you were debating rolling on your back to cradle your arm, but you didn’t want to cause you and the boy to shift positions…

your face started heating up. just at the thought of anyone seeing you like this made your tummy clench. you can imagine it, the bell ringing, indicating the end of class. all the boys in the classrooms would thunder like wildebeests into the hallway, only to see you pinned to the floor by the mystery man.

oh could you could just kill yo-

“ughh- oh sevens! ae you okay?”

the voice cried out from above you, immediately getting off of you. your relieved sigh from the weight being taken away was short lived as you were yanked by your wrist upwards.

you gasped, pain shooting through your ankle as you toppled into the strangers strangely strong arms.

his skin was tanner with white swirls and patterns running up his muscles arms- no stay focused. your ankle? probably broke-

“hello? anyone home? i oh no, i hope you didn’t hit your head, ahh im so sorry, let’s get you to the nurse!!”

a soft hand found your shoulder as he set you upright, and there you were forced to meet you assailant.

of course you knew who kalim al-asim was. you’d hear him from classrooms away, and jamil too, the latter usually chasing after the former.

“huh, that’s weird, i’ve never seen you before” he tilted his head in confusion, a split second later his face lit up like a thousand christmas lights as he connected dots.

“oh! you must be a new transfer student!

(i said he connected dots, i never said he connected the right ones)

i’m kalim al-asim! im the housewarden of scarabia! and you are…”

he looked at you expectingly, his scarlet eyes honing in on yours. you would’ve thought he was trying to peek into your soul if it weren’t for the ever growing smile on his face.

“uh… y/n” you didn’t have the heart to tell him you weren’t new.

you shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to his crest as you fiddled with your hands behind your back. despite your nervous deposition your mind was racing.

what if he was there to bully yiu?

if you kept pressure off your foot then just maybe it won’t be black and blue and swollen like a pufferfish.

oh god what if a camera crew jumps out from behind the corner telling you you just got fucked

oh god what if the entire school is in on it-

“hey, you okay there?”

snapping your head up, you met kalim’s worried expression. his eyes no longer like that of a predator’s stalking its prey, but of someone who was genuinely worried about you.

was this the leap of faith yuu was talking about?

1,2,3 fuck it

“uh, no actually” fuck you wanted to run. yet like an anchor at the bottom of the sea, your foot stopped you from setting sail. you were stuck in your own situation.

“oh sevens, i knew it! here i’ll take you to the nurse!”

“OW”

you yelled when his hand tugged you in the opposite direction. you thought he got burnt by how fast his hand detached itself from yours.

“sorry” you mumbled, rubbing your brushing arm firmly. you weren’t sure why, but a little pressure made it not hurt so much- you winced, rubbing motions stopping immediately as you cursed yourself mentally.

“there’s no no reason to apologize, at the most i should be the one saying sorry, you did get hurt by me after all” his face shifted to a guilty one as he eyed your ankle, then your arm, and back to your face.

you sighed, running your free hand through your hair as you let out an exasperated sigh. “how about this, we call it even if you can take me to the nurses” you pointed to your ankle “think i sprained it” you mumbled out once you realized you were ordering THE house warden of scarabia around.

you were gonna get snipped, weren’t you?

bye bye y/n! died before they could live!

“nonesense!” he shouted, causing you to flinch slightly at the closeness and loudness. he let out a small sorry as he smiled sheepishly “i knocked into you while riding this guy” he pointed behind him as his expression quickly grew to one of amazement.

“oh! you haven’t seen my magic carpet! he’s-“

“not behind you” you muttered, peeking behind him left and right. and yet, there was only him and you in the deserted hallway.

(you checked behind you as well just to confirm your claim.)

“WHAT” kalim shouted, again. this time not apologizing as he was too busy freaking out about his lost carpet.

“jamil’s gonna kill me” he whined.

“if you want i could help look” you pressed your nails into your fists as you asked. boy were you talkative today!

“nah, you’d only be dead weight with that ankle of yours, don’t worry about it!”

… this is why you don’t talk…

“oh! how about this, when i find it i’ll let you ride it so you can go to the nurses office!”

…you were getting dizzy, first he calls you dead weight now he’s offering to ‘carry’… carrying? said weight on his so called carpet.

you couldn’t keep up with him.

nodding dumbly, you hobbled to the door side of the corridor as kalim jumped through the hole that acted as a window that outlooks the courtyard.

searching high and low, you couldn’t help but laugh as you watched the heir turn into an acrobat as he climbed trees, jumped over rocks and somehow managed to climb on top of the gazebo’s roof.

“don’t fall! i don’t want us to having matching ankles!” you mused, laughing lightly as he turned to you, waved, almost fell off, and flailed to get his balance back all in the span of 10 seconds.

a few minutes passed when you heard him yell out. prying your attention from your nails, you were face to face kalim.

“shit!” you flinched as kalim almost ran into you a second time. although he tried to keep it hidden behind his back, the large carpet peeked over his shoulder at you, before folding in on itself.

“this is my friend, y/n! c’mon don’t be shy buddy. they’re shy just like you, see?” kalim encouraged the carpet from behind his back. yet every-time he tried facing it, the carpet would stay glued to his back until they started playing an intense game of “peek-a-boo”

laughing at their antics, the carpet unfolded its wings and with a flap, it flew into the sky, effectively knocking kalim over and onto his butt.

“HAHAHSHAH” you threw your head back as you slapped your good leg’s knee.

what felt like a few seconds must’ve been a few minutes of you laughing none stop that you didn’t even notice the two in front of you.

calming down from your ab inducing fit of laughter, you started fanning yourself as you had a nasty habit of blushing when you laughed. your eyes were closed in concentration as you let the last of it out of your system.

“boy you guys are sure a riot, lord i can’t remember laughing that hard in a long time- what”

kalim, with his ass still on the floor was just staring at you. you didn’t dare name the emotion as you tensed up again.

“i’m sorry for laughing-“

springing up like a rocket, he celebrated with his carpet. what the fuck.

“there you go! no longer doom and gloom! you should laugh more! “

extending a hand to you, he grinned, his face flushed and breathing slightly erratic that the normal eye wouldn’t have been able to spot it. yet you did, you always did.

you looked at his hand for a moment, then to his face, then to his hand, which he opened a bit more towards you to get you to take it.

what felt like a pause in time was probably more of a minute as you just looked between the two.

“fuck” you growled out lowly, closing your eyes as you thrusted your hand into his. you kept your eyes shut as he yanked you up to the point your feet touched off the ground.

bracing for another hard impact, you were met with the soft, fuzzy fabric of the carpet.

“oh” you said lightly, ungracefully fixing your positioned to where your good leg was extended and your bad ankle was resting over your good leg. your arms keeping you up right.

“neat huh” you looked at kalim as the front carpet dipped a bit to let him on. he sat in front of you as he shifted his position to face you.

“do you mind” he looked at your ankle as the carpet started flowing. too impressed with that fact that you’re on a giant fucking carpet, you shook your head no.

the light touch onto your sore ankle caused a hiss to escape you as your head snapped towards an apologetic kalim.

he wasn’t sorry for too long as he kept softly poking your ankle, before he dramatically sighed. shaking his head, he said “yep, it’s sprained alright.”

groaning, you leaned back in annoyance. but with the lack of personal awareness made you forget that this is in fact not! a car.

so down you went. your world turning upside down as you felt your legs lift. and soon enough you would nose dive into the concrete.

welp this was it ladies and gentlemen. you’ve had a god run.

our father who art in heaven-

a hand lashed out and gripped your arms before pulling you back up. where you were met, once again, face to face with the al-asim heir.

breathing heavily, you stared at him wide-eyed through the tresses of your hair.

“not gonna lie, i thought you were gonna let me fall” you joked, gulping as you looked behind you at your almost murder scene.

pushing down the sudden dread, you looked back to kalim who wore an almost serious expression

“only a fool would drop a girl like you”

he smiled slightly, cheeks growing in hue as he looked away from you shyly. his back was now towards you as he told the carpet where to go.

the complete one-eighty left you gagged as you you just stared at him, gob-smacked that he had the AUDACITY to use that moment to quote a meme.

shaking your head slightly, you looked behind you as you extended your arms back, hands trailing through the carpet. stopping once you thought it was a suitable distance from the edge. leaning back, you enjoyed the ride

—

i was gonna write this sooner but i had to finish my assignment el oh el

i love this y/n sm🫶

y/n is actually me

yes i did that on purpose

#hope y’all realize the carpet could’ve saved y/n #tiyoin 🔎#twisted anxiety 🌀#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst kalim #kalim al asim #kalim x reader #scarabia x reader #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader

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babyboydaniel · 4 months

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Red Wine (M)

Daniel Ricciardo x Fem!Reader

Summary: You cannot stand Daniel, so how did you both end up in the bathroom together?

Smut, Fluff (?) | Warnings: 18+, PinV, Fingering, Semi-Public | Word Count: 4.3K

If there was one thing that you were sure of, you could not stand Daniel Ricciardo. You hated that people fawned over him, laughing at all his jokes, his stupid teeth-bearing grin which was constantly plastered to his face, or that he genuinely seemed to care about everyone he spoke to. He had this unwavering dedication to look like a nice guy. But, you saw right through him. He was a cocky, arrogant asshole that needed a reality check. So, any time you were forced to spend your free time with him, you were less than thrilled. Getting a root canal without novocaine sounded more enjoyable.

So, when your close friend invited you to a small housewarming party, you knew that Daniel was destined to be there. Everything told you to reject the invite and spend the night with a bottle of wine and binge-watching Sex and the City. However, you were a good friend and confirmed your attendance.

After a couple of weeks, you were standing outside the front door of your friend’s new home, your arms filled with gifts and food to share. As you struggled to balance everything without the risk of it toppling over, someone called out from behind you, “Do you need some help with that?”

You rolled your eyes as you looked back at him. Daniel. He was walking up the pathway with that perma smile on his face. He was dressed in an oversized sweater and slim-cut black jeans. His hair was longer than when you had seen him last and somehow curlier. You would even go as far as to say he looked good, but he ruined any illusions when he opened his mouth. Nobody is that happy all the time.

“I got it,” you stated, still working to get a hand free to ring the doorbell so someone could come open the door.

Daniel stood patiently behind you, his arms crossed while he watched you juggle everything. A tiny amused smirk pulled at his lips.

You struggled for a couple of minutes before you felt someone come up behind you. Their chest pressed against your back, and their tan tattoo-covered arm reached past you to push open the front door.

“I would have died out here at the rate that was going,” Daniel laughed in your ear. Close enough that the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine. You noticeably flinched from him as you walked through the threshold, wanting as much distance from him as possible.

“I had it,” you muttered as he walked past you, traveling further into the house.

Daniel turned back and winked at you, “Sure, babe.”

The sound of his laughter carried down the hallway. Gosh, he was insufferable.

While you removed your shoes, your friend rounded the corner into the foyer to help collect the things from your arms. You thanked her for the help as you followed the sounds towards the kitchen. Gathered around the island were a small group of your closest friends, glasses of wine in hand, and plates full of a perfectly crafted charcuterie board.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” your friend asked, putting down the dish you brought.

“Please,” you said, “What kind do you have?”

Your friend showed you the two open bottles, and to no surprise, they were both specialty DR3 wines. You rolled your eyes.

“Daniel brought these to share,” your friend explained.

Of course, he did. Always one to outdo everyone else. Most would see the gesture as sweet, not you; it was simply a way to feed his ego. Showing off how successful he was, subtly rubbing it in people’s faces.

“Whichever is fine with me,” you lamented.

She quickly poured you a glass before pushing you to make yourself a plate and join the conversation. If luck would have it, you wound up standing next to Daniel. He was casually leaning against the counter, hands gesturing wildly, as he encaptured the people around in a story that you were sure was far more boring than people let on. You slowly ate the assortment of cheese and meat on your plate as you tried to drown out what Daniel was going on about until you heard your name called by the man himself.

“Yes?” you questioned.

“Where did you go? I called your name like five times,” he chuckled.

“I was just enjoying the cheese,” you stated simply.

Your response caused Daniel to throw his head back as a genuine laugh racked his body. The corner of his eyes crinkled up, and his hand lifted to cover his mouth. Your response wasn’t that funny.

“Gosh, you’re funny,” he giggled.

You shook your head, “If you say so.”

Daniel just continued to grin at you as you met his gaze. Laughter still danced in his warm golden eyes. His face was so open and welcoming, but you knew better than to trust it.

“You were asking me a question?” you enquired, trying to get the conversation over as soon as possible.

“Oh yeah. Umm…” Daniel chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I already forgot.”

“Great,” you responded.

Before he could say anything further, your friend and their partner called for everyone’s attention and directed us to the dining room for dinner. The group shuffled through the archway to the attached room, where among the beautiful tablescape was dinner for the night. As everyone found their seat, you sat down in the chair nearest to you and felt someone pull out the chair to your right. You quickly glanced over to see that Daniel moved to occupy the seat. It was as if the world was playing a cruel trick on you. Was he painfully unaware that you did not like him?

The alcohol flowed and food was passed around the table. The room buzzed with laughter and conversation. You spent most of the meal talking to your friend on the left, doing a damn good job at ignoring the man opposite of you. That was until you felt a tender touch placed on your forearm. You looked down to find long, slender fingers delicately wrapped around your wrist, and the bold outline of a rose contrasted the sun-kissed skin. Your gaze trailed up their arm until your eyes landed on Daniel’s. His expression looked as if he was awaiting a response.

“Yes?” you questioned, clearly annoyed.

Your annoyance did nothing to deter Daniel. He smiled back at you, his hand still on your skin, “Did you want more wine?”

That is what he interrupted an obviously important conversation for. You rolled your eyes.

“Uh, no,” you grumbled, “but you can stop touching me now.”

Daniel looked down at where you were still connected and quickly pulled his hand from you. He flashed you a quick smile as an apology. You rolled your eyes involuntarily as you turned back to your previous discussion.

“If you keep rolling your eyes, they are going to get stuck like that,” Daniel whispered as he leaned over to you. His firm chest pressed to your arm. Warmth spreads throughout your body once again.

“Well, stop giving me a reason to,” you sassed.

That caused Daniel to chuckle, his breath fanning over your cheek, which was undoubtedly flushed. It must be from the alcohol. That was the only explanation. Not from the proximity of Daniel Ricciardo.

“Babe, there are plenty of other things I can do to make your eyes roll to the back of your head,” Daniel murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear before pulling back and settling in his chair.

“Dick,” you muttered, picking up a glass of water, attempting to reject your body’s reaction to his words. You could hear Daniel laugh as he watched your movements. Gosh, you could not stand him.

With a gulp of water and a sigh, you turned back to your friend. The conversation picked up from where you left off. But you were granted only a couple of minutes of peace before you felt a warm liquid spread over your lap. You gasped as you looked down and saw red wine seeping into the white satin material of your skirt. Before you could even react, Daniel’s hands were dabbing a napkin on the growing stain.

“Shit,” he stated, which he continued to repeat as he pawed at your lap, which did nothing to rescue the ruined skirt.

You sat there stunned, watching Daniel attempt to clean up the mess.

Daniel’s eyes met yours, his eyebrows furrowed in worry, and his ever-permanent smile was replaced with a downturn of his lips.

“I am so sorry,” he declared.

You just continued to stare at him, mouth hanging open, “What the fuck?”

Daniel flinched slightly from the chill in your voice, his hands coming to rest where they still resided in your lap.

“I am sorry,” he repeated, “I will get you a new one. Fuck, this is my bad.”

Without a word, you pushed back from the table and stomped off to the bathroom. Unbelievably irritated. It was no surprise Daniel had to go and ruin something. You closed the door behind you as you stripped the skirt from your body, placing the soiled material in the sink, hoping to get some of the wine out. There wouldn’t be a stain if you were quick enough to run it under cold water. You looked at yourself in the mirror as you let the cold water flow over the skirt. Annoyance read on your face. Tears of frustration prickled in your eyes.

“Fuck, I am so so-” Daniel exclaimed as he burst through the closed bathroom door. He immediately stopped in his tracks as his eyes landed on you standing over the sink in your underwear and the light sweater that covered your chest.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Daniel, what the hell! Have you ever heard of knocking?” you chastised.

He quickly turned around and covered his eyes, “I just wanted to apologize again and see if there was anything I could help you with. I did not expect you to be naked.”

“I am not naked,” you snickered.

“Well, you are not exactly dressed.”

“True. And if that is the case, why are you still standing there?”

You could hear Daniel gulp, the lines of his back flexing under his sweater. He slowly turned around to face you, his hands still covered his eyes. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. There was a tinge of warmth on his cheeks, “Umm, well, I want to help.”

You chuckled. He sounded so innocent that you were half tempted to let him. But, you were in a state of undress that you did not need him witnessing. He had embarrassed you enough for the night. You did not need him to humiliate you further. On the other hand, it was his mess, and he should be the one to fix it.

“Fine,” you sighed, “you can take over trying to get this stain out.”

Daniel peeked through his fingers, “Really?”

You nodded and backed away from the sink, which put you closer to Daniel in the confined space. Daniel dropped his hands and shuffled around you to occupy the spot you once resided in and got to work. You sat on the closed toilet while he ran more cold water into the basin. The two of you were silent while Daniel massaged the material, trying to encourage the wine to leave the skirt. You caught yourself mesmerized by the way his fingers flexed and slid against the fabric. Being both extremely gentle and firm.

“The stain is better, but I do not think we are getting it out,” Daniel stated, which brought you out of your trance.

You got up from your place on the toilet and took a couple of steps over to him. You leaned over the sink to look at the ruined skirt and deemed your attempts as a lost cause. You sighed as you rested your back against the sink. Your arm pressed against Daniel’s. He looked down at you. His eyes were apologetic as well as something else you could not place.

“Sorry. As I said, I will get you a new one,” Daniel apologized.

You shook your head, “It is fine. Shit happens.”

“No, no. I fucked up, and I will get you something to replace it.”

You nodded in response, knowing there was no chance of winning against Mr. Nice Guy.

“What am I supposed to wear now? I cannot walk around in my underwear.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind that,” Daniel joked.

You slapped him in the chest, “Ha ha, you are so funny. I am serious.”

“So I am I,” his face completely serious.

You both looked at each other, willing the other to back down. The staring contest continued until you could see the exact moment a thought came to him. A few seconds passed before he spoke his brilliant plan out loud.

“I could give you my sweater to wear,” he offered, almost sheepishly.

You were silent as you debated the pros and cons of that offer. And before you could contemplate any farther, you were tossing off the sweater you had on. It landed with a gentle thud on the floor. Daniel’s eyes widened in shock, but there was a fire that simmered beneath the surface as he looked over your now exposed skin, resting to ogle at your breasts a beat longer than what was considered polite.

You held out your hands for Daniel to give you the sweater. He fumbled to pull it over his head, messing up his curls in the process, but he did not hand it over to you.

“Arms up,” he whispered as if not to scare you.

You narrowed your eyes at him, head cocked to the side, but decided not to argue. The faster this was over the faster you could get out of the cramped room. So, much to Daniel’s pleasure, you followed his command and raised your arms. Daniel slipped the fabric over your head, his fingers trailing down your arms as he guided them through the openings, goosebumps left in their wake. Once your head and hands were through the holes, Daniel shifted the sweater over your body. His hands grazed your sides until the bottom of the top rested mid-thigh. You shivered as his fingers played with the hem, accidentally caressing the fullness of your thighs. An inaudible whine fell from your parted lips. The clothing smelled like him, something warm, expensive, and, for some reason, comforting. You shook your head in an attempt to clear your mind. You should not be having these thoughts about someone you despise.

“Thank you,” you coughed as you pressed further back into the sink, trying to create space between you.

“You’re welcome,” Daniel croaked, hands falling to his sides, “It is the least I can do.”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to move from your personal space. But, he did no such thing. He continued to stare at you. As if he was debating something in his mind. His right hand reached out as if he wanted to grab you but thought better of it.

“Umm, are you-”

“Can I kiss you?” Daniel interrupted.

Your mouth snapped shut, shocked by his request. Like Daniel has to know you do not like him. So why is he now asking to kiss you? And you know for a fact you cannot stand him, so why are you not slapping him in the face for merely suggesting it? But, you were thinking about humoring him and letting him kiss you. No, you could never. It would only make him even more unbearable. Though they do say hate sex is some of the best you can experience, could that be the same with just a kiss? So, before you could think too much you were nodding your head.

Daniel, pleased with your response, reached out to gently cup your jaw. His thumb ran along the skin there while his other hand rested on the small of your waist. The fabric bunched up beneath his fingers. He leaned in and looked down at you, locking eyes and giving you a chance to back out. You did not. So he closed the short distance and placed his lips against yours.

The moment his lips met yours, it was fire. Everything burned but in the best way. You panted as Daniel pulled you closer, his tongue slipping past your parted lips. His tongue brushed against yours in a delicate but firm massage reminiscent of his hands ringing out your skirt. You threw your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. A moan left your mouth, and Daniel bit your bottom lip before diving back in. Kissing you deeper. After what felt like hours, but it was only seconds, Daniel pulled back. His thumb reached up to run along your wet, full lip. His eyes were ablaze. The once honey eyes now looked like molten glass.

Then his lips were back on yours. He kissed you with such force that you were convinced he was going to leave a bruise. His tongue fought yours for dominance, neither wanting to concede to the other. You were in no mood to give him the upper hand. You tugged at the hair laced in your fingers, silently urging Daniel to back down. Unsurprisingly, doing so did the complete opposite; Daniel groaned into your mouth as he doubled his efforts. The whimpers he coaxed from you proved how much you enjoyed it and spurred him on. He pulled your body flush against his, slotting his knee between your legs, and pressed his thigh where you needed it most. Your body automatically ground against his with want. Daniel bucked his hips as your thigh brushed along his hardening cock. Daniel removed himself from your lips. His mouth moving to place gentle kisses along the length of your neck. You whined as he nipped at the skin there.

“You better not leave any marks,” you scolded breathlessly.

Daniel snickered but did not stop his ministrations. His hand that was once on your waist had made its way down to your thigh. Fingers slipping under the sweater, lightly touching the skin there. Teasing you, running along the length of your underwear before dipping beneath the band and snapping it back against your heated skin as he continued his way up your side until he reached just below your breast. His fingers danced along the edge of your bra. His lips were at your ear when he whispered, “I want to fuck you.”

The noise that you made was sinful.

“Fuck, Daniel,” you muttered.

“Is that a yes?” he prompted, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“Right here?” you questioned.

“Right here,” he confirmed, his body pressed against yours.

Your eyes shifted to the unlocked, closed door, “What if someone walks in or can hear us?”

Daniel shrugged, and that arrogant smirk graced his lips again, “Who cares? They would only be jealous that I am the one fucking you.”

That comment went straight to your pussy. You could feel the wetness begin to coat your underwear. You were so turned on at the idea of someone catching you guys that nothing could stop you from going through with it. You needed Daniel. So, you found yourself nodding your head once again.

“Okay, but we are going to have to be quick. We have already been gone for a long time,” you expressed.

With you in agreement, Daniel quickly captured your lips with his before pulling his undershirt over his head. Your eyes scanned his ink-covered skin, taking him in. Your hands reached out on their own accord and ran over the smooth planes of his chest. Your fingers brushed over his hardened nipples as they wandered. Daniel hissed at the contact.

While your fingertips danced over his body, Daniel pulled a condom out of his pocket before ridding himself of his pants and boxers. Then he was standing in front of you naked. An absolutely delicious sight. As if your hands had a mind of their own, you followed his happy trail to where a dusting of pubes rested above his beautiful cock. Possibly the most beautiful thing about him. His cock was hard and flushed and oh so tantalizing. That you immediately wrapped your fingers around him, and ran your hand up his length, giving him a couple of pumps. Daniel moaned. Precum leaked from his swollen tip. Mouth-watering. You just wanted to sink to your knees and take him in your mouth. To taste him, to have him grip your hair while he fucked your wet, open mouth. But, as if he could read your mind, Daniel removed your hands from him.

“As much as I want to take my time here, we have to be quick remember?”

“Right,” you responded.

Daniel returned his lips to yours as he pulled down your underwear, forcing them down your legs until they hit the floor. His left hand grabbed your thigh to hook your leg around his waist. You moaned as your now bare, wet pussy glided along Daniel’s length. Your hips lustfully rocked against him as the head of his cock caught against your clit. Daniel swore under his breath as he gripped your hip to stop your movements.

“Babe, I want to last long enough to fuck you,” Daniel groaned.

“Then hurry up,” you demanded.

With a chuckle, Daniel reached between your bodies, his fingers ran down your wet folds. Collecting the juices that leaked from you, teasing you as he gently circled your clit. Barely providing any pressure, giving you just enough for your cunt to pulse around nothing.

“Daniel,” you whined.

That prompted him to press two fingers into your dripping core. You moaned at the intrusion. Daniel pumped his fingers into you at a quick pace. Wanting to loosen you up enough to take his cock. The sound of your wetness mixed with the moans that came from your mouth. Daniel pulled his fingers out of you, so he could quickly roll the condom on his leaking cock.

Once sheathed, he ran the tip of his cock through your wetness. Coating himself in you. Then without warning, he fucked into you. You moaned as he filled you up. Loving the way he stretched you. It was orgasmic. Daniel groaned as you clenched around him. Then he was thrusting into you deep and hard, unrelenting as he was trying to get both of you to orgasm. You chanted his name as he rhythmically pumped into you. As you began to come undone beneath him, Daniel returned his hand between your legs to rub your clit. Doubling the pleasure. You shoved your hand in your mouth, muffling the sounds of pleasure that you could not contain. You were going to come embarrassingly quick and by the sounds of it so was Daniel.

“I am going to come,” you moaned.

“Me too,” Daniel responded.

He picked up the pace pushing you closer to the edge. Daniel leaned forward to quickly kiss you before he commanded, “Come for me.”

That is all it took. A scream ripped from your throat as you released over his cock. The squelch of wetness echoed against the tiled walls. As your pussy constrcited around Daniel’s cock it was more than enough to have him come. Fucking his dick deep in you as he released into the condom. The guttuaral sound he made caused your release to drip down his cock as your pussy coaxed more cum from him. Wanting him to empty everything into you. You both were panting as Daniel pulled out.

Daniel untangled your leg from around him in order to wrap you in his arms. An innocent kiss was pressed to your lips before Daniel stepped back to remove the condom and tossing it in the bin.

Daniel’s arms quickly returned to pull you into his chest. A sweet kiss was placed on your forehead as he held you for a moment. You both stood there, breathing each other in as you came down from your highs, before Daniel removed his arms so you could clean yourself up.

Once clean, you shimmied your underwear back up your body while Daniel got dressed himself. Looking in the mirror, you tried your best to fix your appearance so it did not look like you just were fucked in the bathroom, but you are sure it was useless. Neither of you was quiet, you are positive everyone heard.

Once your clothes were back in place. Daniel wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your temple. Undoubtedly cuddly after an orgasm.

“Next time I am going to fuck you properly,” Daniel declared. You shivered. Pressing your thighs together just at the thought.

“Oh, so you think there will be a next time?” you challenged.

Daniel laughed that cocky laugh, “Babe, I know there will be a next time.”

With that, he kissed you one last time before grabbing your hand and leading you out of the bathroom. The both of you made your way into the living room, where everyone had moved to after the incident. All eyes turned to the two of you as you walked through the doorway.

“I guess the bathroom has been christened,” your friend joked.

Your face heated up with embarrassment, your neck and cheeks turned a fiery red. Daniel just pulled you closer and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Next time I will just bend her over the dining table and have everyone watch,” Daniel retorted.

“Daniel!” you exclaimed, smacking him.

All he could do was laugh and guide you to an empty place on the sofa. Pulling you onto his lap, though there was enough space for you to sit next to him, and he joined the conversation. Maybe Daniel was not so bad after all.

#daniel ricciardo #danny ric #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo fic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x y/n #daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

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crystals-cave · 5 months

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PAC: Your Hidden Talents

Happy Holidays! Here’s a reading on your hidden talents before the December reading 🖤

Pick a pile that sparks a memory in you - it could be a person/place/music/ object etc. If more than 1 pile sparks a memory in you, pick the pile that evokes the strongest emotions in you. However, if you feel strongly for both, you may go ahead and read more than 1 pile.

As this is a general reading, do take what resonates for you and take the rest with a pinch of salt.

Warning: This reading will be rather blunt and honest. Do proceed with caution❗️

Note: all pictures used in this reading are taken by me

Pile 1

The Fool (rx)

The World

6 of Pentacles

10 of Cups

7 of Cups (rx)

Hi Pile 1👑

At a glance, I see that your hidden talent lies in your ability to manifest material abundance. I would not say that this talent will bring you wealth or make you a billionaire, but you’ll be able to live in comfort.

Another talent I see is the ability to know what people actually need. You have no trouble reading between the lines of what people are saying. And you also know what people truly desire - even when they do not say it.

Overall, I would say that you are happy with what you have but you also constantly desire for more. The desire for more is a fine line to being greedy. At times, you may be a little vain and ignorant of others. Maybe you are so comfortable that you often forget that there are others out there struggling to feed themselves. Remember to be thankful for the abundance you have and be more sensitive to people less fortunate out there.

Summary

Your hidden talents: manifest abundance, read between the lines, know what people trule desire

To take note: be less ignorant, be more sensitive to others

Pile 2

6 of Wands

Ace of Swords (rx)

Wheel of Fortune (rx)

The Star (rx)

Death

Page of Swords

Hello Pile 2 ☁️

Welcome to your reading.

Your hidden talent lies in your luck. You are who is quite lucky in general. Even if you’re not, you somehow always get what you want - especially if it’s something you care about.

You are likely somebody who thinks you’re just an ordinary guy/girl-next-door, but I would say that you often avoid the worst of outcomes. There are people who are lucky in material abundance, or lucky with people, but you are someone who is lucky in situations. You are likely to come out unharmed during a disease outbreak (covid, perhaps?). And you are likely to have experienced multiple “blessings in disguise” where you thought you lost a job offer - but in reality you avoided being a victim of a job scam.

Despite your lucky talent, I feel that you tend to act without deliberation. Sometimes, you just want instant results but do not care to read and think through properly. I advice you to calm down and think through before following through what you do. Your luck may bring you to greater heights when it does not need to save you from your carelessness.

Summary

Your hiddent talent: luck, able to avoid unfortunate situations

To take note: think before acting, be less impulsive

Pile 3

Queen of Pentacles

7 of Wands (rx)

Judgement (rx)

Queen of Swords

4 of Pentacles

Hey Pile 3 🌸

Your hidden talents are stability and intelligence. You are someone grounded who prefers simple stability than risky wealth. You are someone who gains more living honestly than taking big gambles. You have likely felt the burn when you took a risk in the past. Feeling comfortable and stable is a talent that many do not have, given how numerous people may have acquired wealth but feel like they can topple over like a house of cards.

Pile 3, you are also someone deeply intelligent. You are often able to make sound and wise decisions to protect your stability. Even if you think otherwise of your smarts, people around you have definitely noticed it.

Something to note will be your high chance of singlehood. Your talent for stability and intelligence will likely bring you wealth, however, potential partners may feel threatened by it. They likely feel inadequate or out of your league when they compare themselves to you - although you have never said anything to make them feel this way. My advice will be to expand your social circle and befriend those who would not feel threatened by your accomplishments.

Summary

Your hidden talent: stability, intelligence

To take note: singlehood, people feeling threatened by your wealth/accomplishments, expand your social network

Pile 4

2 of Swords

Judgement

The Empress

The Fool

3 of Wands (rx)

Hi Pile 4 🌹

Right off the bat, I see that you’re a multi-talented pile.

You have a natural talent of seeing through people. You do not let appearances fool you and you’re able to hear the bullshit from people’s words. You are able to see people for what they are and will not let others convince you otherwise.

Another talent you have is related to beauty or the arts. Some of you in this pile have the gift of beauty - you may be blessed with good physical appearance. For others, beauty means having a knack for fashion or makeup. For those blessed with the arts, you could be an artist if any form - visual arts, handicrafts, music, perfumery etc. I see that you have at least 3 forms of talent mentioned above.

One more talent you carry is not fearing the unknown. Humans are usually afraid to venture into places that others have not set foot into. However, that does not apply for you. Instead, you welcome the unknown and whatever else it brings along. This can make people steer away from you as it can make you seem unpredictable and volatile.

With so many talents, people tend to be wary of you and some may even try to talk you down. Do not let the negativity affect you. My advice is to filter through who you befriend as those who are accepting of you will not be threatened by your many talents.

Summary

Your hidden talent: ability to see through people, beauty, the arts, not fearing the unknown

To take note: may appear volatile to people when you welcome the unknown too much, do not let what others think weigh you down

#tarot #pick a card #pick a card reading #rider waite tarot #tarot reading #rider waite #divination #pick a picture #pick a pile #PAC #your hidden talents #hidden talent reading #hidden talent tarot reading

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rosepetalsinwinter · 7 months

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Five Years That Felt Like a Millenium — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x reader

Word count: 9,554

Summary: It’s been five years since Thanos snapped his fingers. Five years spent all alone. Now Sam is back and he has a new friend. Will Bucky be the one to uncover the secrets behind the bruises lining her body?

Warnings: illusions and mention of violence, abuse, manipulation, and cheating. Nothing explicit. Protective!bucky.

Note: It's been a while since I've posted. Here's a little slice to get you going before I continue with "Meant to Be." Hope you enjoy! 💜

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Happy reading!!

"Sammy!" A figure barrelled into Sam Wilson, almost making the five-foot-ten man topple over.

The girl's arms wrapped tightly around his bulky frame, hanging on for dear life. Her tears soaked his shirt, and her nails dug into his biceps almost painfully, but he said nothing. He only hugged her back with as much vigour and passion, letting his salty tears mix with hers.

Although no time had passed for Sam, years had passed for the girl—five to be exact—and he could feel all her emotions pouring out of her like a dam broken loose.

"Sammy!" she sobbed while her body shook violently. "You're back!"

"I've been back." Sam stroked a hand over the girl's hair, offering her comfort. "I've been here. Where were you?"

The first thing Sam did after he was blipped back to life was to call his sister, Sarah. Only to be told that five years had come and gone. His nephews, who were babies when he left, were now little men. The second thing Sam did was ask about Baby Girl.

He remembered when he first met her. Her family moved to the bayou when she was just five; Sam was fifteen. When her parents died, Sam's family took her in as their own, giving her the same amount of love they gave their other two kids.

So he was surprised, then, to find that Sarah hadn't heard from her in almost two years. Sam, himself, had no luck in locating her until recently. It took him eight months, but he finally found her. She had moved to New York and cut all ties with previous friends and family.

Sam wanted to ask why. Why leave Sarah and the boys? Why leave the only home she ever knew? His questions could wait, though. Now that she was here, he wouldn't ever let her go.

"Hey, Baby Girl," Sam shushed her when she sobbed louder, "I'm here. I'm not leaving again. Promise."

So fascinated by how she had aged from an awkward teen on the precipice of adulthood into a beautiful young woman, Sam did not notice the bruises lining her sides and underneath her clothes—or the circles under her eyes—from almost two years of interrupted sleep. Or the absence of light in her usually glowing irises.

When she let her entire weight fall on Sam and sobbed as she had when her parents died, he did not question it, only held on tighter and carried her towards the house.

"I've got you now, Baby Girl. Everything is gonna be just fine."

While he did not explicitly say anything, Bucky Barnes found the Wilson Family Residence quite endearing. His house in the thirties had been small, and even his current apartment in Brooklyn was compact—which he liked—but there was something so serene about the land surrounding the Wilson residence, so very peaceful.

After ninety years of constant fights, one after the other, all Bucky really wanted was some peace and quiet. And now, he could easily find it after absolving himself of most of the guilt he was carrying.

It wasn't easy, but Bucky told Yori the truth about his son's death and since then, had managed to cross a few more names off his list of amends. A weight lifted off Bucky's shoulders as everything began to make sense.

The Flag Smasher's fiasco was over with, and while the Powerbroker was still at large, there was no immediate threat. Bucky Barnes could rest for now before trouble found him again—as trouble often did. Sam had asked Bucky to stay over for the long weekend, and Bucky had happily obliged.

"It'll be good for you. Get away from that city life."

Bucky agreed. If all went well, he might end up buying his own house. He had a little... calm in Wakanda, and he missed the solidarity.

The axe was steadfast in his hands as he brought it down towards his target, and the sturdy stump was no match for the combined strength of both, the sharp tool, and Bucky's enhanced strength. In one meagre swing, half the stump broke off and landed on the ground with a muffled thump.

Bucky wiped the sweat off his brow with his right arm. It was the middle of June, and while the days were sweltering hot and sticky, the nights could get cold in comparison. Sam had tasked Bucky to get the logs for the fire, seeing as he was the most efficient.

Bucky continued with his work until he got a steady rhythm, stopping periodically to sip his still cold beer. It was then that his enhanced hearing picked up on the strangest sound. He perched the axe on his left shoulder and looked towards the house where Sam Wilson seemed to be consoling a crying girl.

"Huh." Bucky didn't find the exchange as odd as he should have. Everyone around the bayou was always coming to Sam for something. Whether it was a favour, or a shoulder to cry on. Bucky thought she must be someone special if he was hugging her like that.

When Sam took the girl into the house, Bucky shook his head and finished the last of his beer. He continued chopping more wood until the sun began to set, which is when he deposited the axe back into the shed and made his way inside to crash on the couch. Tomorrow would be a long day, what with the bonfire Sam was hosting, and all. Bucky fell to a dreamless sleep the second his head touched the pillow.

He was a light sleeper. So Bucky immediately woke up when he heard someone coming down the stairs. It took him a second to become aware of his surroundings, as it always did. He was in Louisiana, crashing on Sam's couch for the weekend.

Bucky turned his head to the left to see who it was. Probably the boys; they were early risers and loved pestering Bucky about his metal arm—not that he minded. He found their interest refreshing and loved putting a smile on their faces. He was surprised, then, to find a girl instead. The same one from yesterday.

Huh. The girl looked a mess, with only half her hair pulled back into a makeshift ponytail and black makeup smudged under her eyes. Her pants were unbuttoned, hanging precariously from her hips, and her jacket was falling off her shoulders, a few sizes too big. She was holding a pair of shoes in one hand, her phone and shirt in the other. She was also balancing a purse in the crook of her elbow.

It was the shirt that did it. Because, while the girl's own blouse was in her hands, she was wearing Sam's grey-green T-shirt. Bucky knew because that's what Sam was wearing yesterday. She was someone special then if she was wearing his clothes.

Bucky smirked. He was very aware of what the girl had been doing. He, himself, had been on both ends of the situation before. Though it was very long ago, he still remembered the embarrassment of being caught leaving a girl's room in the early hours of the morning.

The girl screamed when she saw Bucky, not expecting anyone to be up, much less lying on the couch and watching her horrible attempt at sneaking out. "Oh, God!" Her phone slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a loud clatter.

There was a moment of silence where the two merely stared at each other. Bucky, with poorly concealed amusement, and the girl, with mild horror. She moved first, crouching down to pick up her cracked phone.

"Does it still work?" Bucky's voice was raspy from disuse. When tears gathered in the girl's eyes as a reply, Bucky immediately sat up, dropping his amusement in exchange for concern. He knew nothing about her, but it seemed like she cried a lot.

"No," she murmured, though Bucky heard her as if she were beside him. "Oh, God. No, no, no, no, no..."

"Hey, it's alright," Bucky told her as he crouched down to pick up the purse she had thrown in her haste. He hesitated when he saw a shiny ring peeking out from one of the compartments—too fancy and expensive-looking to be something ordinary. He quickly tucked the circle back and ignored it. Had Sam proposed to her? Bucky was offended he hadn't told him. Maybe it was recent. "Is it turning on?"

"Oh God! N-no," the girl stuttered through her tears.

Bucky was convinced that this girl—who cried a lot—only knew how to say "no" and "oh, God."

"I'm sure Sam can get you a new one, no big deal. What's your name?" Bucky offered the girl his right hand, which she promptly ignored.

She shot up on unsteady legs. "I have to go."

Bucky mimicked her. "Okay?" It was turning out to be a very unusual conversation.

"I have to go," she said again, more slowly this time, as if he were a little kid who couldn't understand a word of English.

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his legs before giving the girl her purse back. "Right."

The tally was now up to "no," "oh, God," and "I have to go." At least she wasn't crying anymore. Bucky hastily stepped out of the girl's way when he realized he was blocking the hall that led to the front door.

She moved as if someone lit a fire under her. One second, she was there, and the next, she was out the door with her pants still unbuttoned, her jacket still falling off her shoulder, and her shoes still in her hand.

"Nice to meet you..." Bucky dropped his hand and trailed off when he realized she couldn't hear him anymore.

Huh. Either Bucky still didn't know how to talk to people, or that girl was on something. A lot of youngsters nowadays did drugs for fun. Bucky didn't understand it, nor did he want to. He could just ask Sam about it later.

Bucky stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck. A couch was considerably comfier than the floor but still gave him a stiff back. No matter, a quick run could swiftly solve that problem. Bucky turned on the coffee machine and was biting into an apple when a shirtless Sam came barreling down the stairs.

"You sleep good, man?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Bucky shrugged, wiping some juice from his chin, "I slept good. Well, as good as I can, considering..."

Sam hummed before opening the fridge and taking a swig of the orange juice. "Nightmare?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't remember it—Listen, you didn't tell me you had a girl up there."

"A girl?"

"Messy hair, pretty face. Was crying yesterday?"

"Baby Girl? You saw that?" Sam stopped peeling the banana in his hand to look at Bucky.

Bucky merely shrugged and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

"Sorry I didn't tell you she was over," said Sam, taking a bite of his now-peeled banana. "We were up talking real late. I guess I forgot."

"Yup. Talking," Bucky muttered with a smirk as he poured his coffee. "I bet."

"What?" Sam implored.

"Uh, nothing. Just, the girl seemed nice."

"She is nice," Sam retorted. "You met her?"

Bucky nodded and took a sip of his coffee. Black, just as he preferred it.

"Didn't think she'd be awake," Sam said with a yawn. "She barely slept."

Bucky had to try really hard to keep himself from laughing. "Well, she was."

"She was?" Sam asked suspiciously. "What do you mean she was? Did she go back to bed?"

Bucky shook his head. "She left."

"She left?" Sam scoffed, propping a hand on his hip. He had never looked more like Steve.

"That's what I said," Bucky confirmed, taking another sip. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Sam grumbled. "Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam's accusing behaviour was really starting to irk Bucky, making him think the girl's sneaking out was not mutual. Shit.

He laughed uncomfortably and put his mug down on the counter. "Your girl came running down the stairs, half-dressed. She dropped her phone, cracked it, didn't let me help. Then she said she 'had to go' and practically ran out of here, I dunno."

"When?" A vein popped in Sam's forehead as he grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry near the stairs.

Bucky hastily checked the watch on his right arm. "Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops."

That made Sam utter a series of colourful swears as he finished his breakfast and found his wallet.

"Wait, Sam, what's going on?"

Sam didn't answer Bucky, too busy looking for his keys in the wrong place.

"Sam!" Bucky asked louder.

"We talked about this!" Sam scoffed. "I told her to at least stay for the weekend. I can't believe this! We sat down like adults and came to an understanding." He finally found his keys on the key hook.

"Where are you going, Sam?" Bucky countered.

"I'm going to get her," Sam snapped before sighing dramatically and letting his shoulders droop. "Shit, I do not have time for this, Baby Girl."

Bucky moved over the kitchen counter and stood in front of Sam. "What about that meeting you've got?"

"What meeting?" Sam asked.

"That meeting about that thing," supplied Bucky.

"What thing?" Sam grumbled.

"You know what thing," Bucky countered.

"Oh. That. I'm gonna have to reschedule—Man! Where are my shoes?!"

"Why?"

"Why?" Sam echoed. "What's with all the questions, Buck? Because I have to get Baby Girl before she skips town and disappears on me again."

"Sam."

"I haven't seen her in eight months, man, and she hasn't seen me in five years. I'm not about to let her leave—"

"Sam!" Bucky shouted loud enough for his friend to hear. He grabbed his wallet and his keys and put on his jacket. "You're going to that meeting, Sam."

"Like hell I am," Sam retorted passionately.

"I'll go pick up your Baby Girl," Bucky said after downing the rest of his coffee. "You, go to your meeting."

Sam stopped for a moment and seriously considered Bucky's proposal. It was an important meeting. "She'll probably be at the taxi stand," he finally relented. "You know the one?"

Bucky nodded, tying up his shoelaces. "Yeah, I know the one."

"Buck?" Sam called when Bucky was stepping out the door. "You better bring her back, or else I'm gonna light a fire under your ass."

Bucky chuckled, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Understood, Sam."

The taxi stand was abandoned. Really, what did the girl expect so early in the morning? It was a long weekend, and the residents of Delacroix rarely needed a commute into the city on an ordinary Friday. She was arguing with the lone taxi driver, pleading with him, really, to take her to the nearest airport. But the man kept denying her. He had been up all night and insisted on napping, telling her to wait another twenty minutes.

She didn't have twenty minutes, damn it. If anything, she needed more time. Time she didn't have.

Her phone could be blowing up right now, and she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't know the consequences of her actions until she bought a new phone. But maybe—just maybe, a voice inside her reasoned—Quentin would be too busy with his work retreat to notice her absence.

The girl tried getting the driver's attention again, who shot her the most hateful look she had ever received before starting his cab and driving away. "Hey! Wait!" she called out, but he had already turned the corner.

A laugh made her spin around. It was the man from this morning, the one on Sam's couch. He stood before her with his arms crossed, a big smile overtaking his face.

"You must not be from the city," he mused, "if you're that bad at hailing a cab."

Bucky had no trouble locating the girl, what with her being the only person in a one-mile radius demanding to be taken to the nearest airport. Her feeble attempts amused him, and frankly, Bucky was having trouble believing she was Sam's girl. He didn't think Sam would've gone for someone as... difficult as her. But hey, it was Sam wanting to spend the rest of his life with her, not Bucky.

Bucky surveyed the girl from head to toe. Her hair was settled, her pants buttoned, and most of her composure seemed to have returned. However, she had gone pale once he revealed himself, her eyes wide with guilt. She was caught red-handed; now, he would be the one to deliver her to Sam.

Bucky pointed at her with his left arm. "Sam wants you home."

He was surprised to see that when she looked down at the shiny metal, recognition flared through her eyes rather than shock or disgust. Good, he thought. She knows who I am.

"No, thank you," she managed to squeak out, and Bucky was pleased to know that the girl's vocabulary extended past the three phrases he had come to know her for.

"You seem smart," he told her when he saw her looking behind him, "but not that smart."

"Yeah?" she challenged, gaining a rare bit of courage. "What makes you say that?"

"You know who I am and what I'm capable of. Smart. You think you can run from me. Not smart."

"Is that right?" she asked. Bucky nodded, and the girl took a deep breath. "I must not be too smart then."

He raised a brow in challenge, wondering where she would go from there.

Suddenly, the girl threw her arms above her head and waved them with abandon. "Mr. Thurow!" she shouted, running past Bucky. "Mr. Thurow!"

Bucky slowly walked towards the girl, unhurried in his steps. He wanted to know what she would do.

"Mr. Thurow!" the girl panted. "I need your help."

"Jesus Christ!" Mr. Thurow bellowed. "As I live and breathe! Is that you, Baby Girl?" He was a stocky man with a kind smile and welcoming eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Thurow," the girl began confidently, "it is. I need your help, please. This man," she pointed behind her at Bucky, "is—"

"Carlos!" Bucky interjected with a smile. "How are you?"

"Sergeant Barnes! Back again already?" Carlos turned his attention away from the girl.

Bucky watched with amusement as the girl's face scrunched with confusion. Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked rapidly. "What can I say, Carlos? I was missing your potato salad."

"Hell yeah, you were," Carlos guffawed.

The girl stood there dumbfounded as the two men embraced each other.

"You know, it was my great nan's recipe?" Carlos asked. "Been in the family for generations."

"I didn't know that. You bringing it tonight?"

"For the bonfire?" Carlos confirmed. "You bet I am."

"Well," Bucky gestured to the girl, "I was just taking Baby Girl here back home. She got a little lost, and Sam was starting to worry." Bucky made sure to make himself sound condescending on purpose.

He heard her scoff. "I was not lost."

"Well, you get her home safe, then. Understood, Barnes? I want to see both of you tonight." Carlos mockingly glared at the girl and winked at Bucky before departing.

"See you, Carlos!" Bucky called out to his retreating figure. "Well?" he questioned, turning his attention to the girl after a moment of silence. "Are you gonna run and embarrass yourself again, or are you gonna come with me?"

"I am not going anywhere with you!" the girl scoffed.

"I will take you kicking and screaming if I have to," Bucky warned.

The girl took a step back hastily, believing his threat. "You're a heathen."

Well, Bucky shrugged. He had been called worse. "Sam threatened me with fire, and that's not how I'd like to leave this world if it's all the same to you."

The girl seemed to consider his words for a moment. "Fire is a painful way to go," she finally mused.

"It is," Bucky agreed.

"I don't like you," she told him bluntly.

"Okay." A lot of people didn't like Bucky. One more wouldn't hurt.

"But no one deserves to die like that."

It seemed the spawn of Satan had a heart.

"Does seem excessive," said Bucky.

The girl paused again. "If I run, you'll catch me." It wasn't a question.

"Always," Bucky promised, and the girl must have believed him because her shoulders deflated, and she hung her head in submission.

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice," she whispered, though Bucky heard her all the same.

"You don't."

"Okay," she relented.

"Okay. Let's go." Bucky led her toward where he parked, and the girl followed silently.

Good, she isn't being insufferable any longer, Bucky thought. Though, luck must not have been on his side that day because not a second later, once his bike came into view, the girl started complaining.

"No. I'm not sitting on that death trap."

Bucky turned to her with an annoyed groan. "Really?"

"I hate bikes!" she told him.

"What? You rather walk?" Bucky crossed his arms.

"Yes, please," the girl replied, mimicking his posture. "I walked all the way here, didn't I?"

"Well, too bad!" snapped Bucky. "We're taking the bike." He grabbed his helmet and handed it to her. He groaned again when she didn't take it and only looked at him like she'd never seen a helmet before. Maybe she hadn't. He wouldn't be surprised. Bucky rolled his eyes and placed the helmet on the girl's head, securing the straps and confirming it fit snugly.

"It's loose," she complained.

"Your head's a lot smaller than mine..." Bucky took his previous statement back. He could definitely see the girl and Sam together. Both of them were insufferable shitheads and obviously perfect for each other.

"Sit," he gestured to the bike. And when the girl turned to him with the same blank look in her eyes, Bucky merely huffed in annoyance. He picked her up and deposited her on the seat as if she weighed nothing. And she didn't. He ignored her shouts of protest and sat in front of her.

"Where's your helmet?" She sounded worried for him.

Bucky laughed. "I don't need one."

"Yes, you do," she chastised him. "You could die."

"I'm a super soldier," Bucky said as an answer.

"Even super soldiers die," the girl retorted.

"I won't die," Bucky responded blandly before revving the engine. "Hold on tight."

"I am not touching youuuu..." The girl ended her sentence with a sudden shriek when Bucky unexpectedly released the throttle and speedily drove away. Her arms wrapped around his torso in a vice-like grip, and she hid her face in his jacket. "Oh, God!" she screamed. "Oh, my God!"

She took her flailing legs and tried wrapping them around Bucky's hips, which made him laugh in surprise. She was holding onto him like a koala bear, all while screaming bloody murder in his ears. Her nails dug sharply into his chest, but he ignored the sting. He couldn't wait to see her face once they stopped.

And eventually, they did. Bucky parked his bike in the back and told the girl to get off, which, of course, she didn't do. He got up anyway, taking her with him, though she didn't let him go once he was standing.

Bucky tapped on the hand around his shoulder. "You can let go now. It's safe."

The girl obediently unwrapped herself from his body, falling indiligently to the ground.

"See?" Bucky smirked. "We didn't die."

"Oh my God," she groaned, shaking on the ground. "I can't feel my legs."

Bucky laughed, extending his metal arm towards her, which she took without complaint. "Let's try again," he suggested once she was steady on her feet. "I'm Bucky."

The girl told him her name, and he repeated it with a smile. "I still don't like you," she said.

"The feeling's mutual, doll." And if she blushed at the pet name? Well, Bucky simply chose to ignore it.

He was on his third beer, a shame, really, since he couldn't feel it. But Bucky had developed a liking for the taste. It reminded him of better times. Before the war, and before his life completely changed.

Sam plopped down on the chair next to Bucky, a happy but tired smile on his face. Bucky turned to Sam and took a s'more from his outstretched hand, biting into the gooey center with a groan. "Man, this is good. I can't remember the last time I had one of these."

"Probably before Christopher Columbus discovered America."

"That's not funny, Sam," Bucky frowned. "Besides, everyone knows the Clovis people got here first, twenty thousand years ago."

"I didn't know that!"

"Because you're stupid," Bucky retorted.

"Whatever," scoffed Sam. He slid down in his chair and muttered "nerd" under his breath.

Bucky was preparing a retort when something caught his eye. The girl was playing with AJ and Cass, trying to catch them as they ran around the fire. Bucky cracked his knuckles and prepared to confront Sam. "You're really mean, you know that?

"Why? Because I called you a nerd?" Sam scoffed. "Well, it's true."

Bucky shook his head and levelled Sam with a glare. "Because you didn't tell me you're getting married."

A long silence followed. "Who's getting married?"

"You are!" Bucky exclaimed. "I didn't even know you had a girl."

"Because I don't!" Sam straightened. "And I'm not getting married."

"But—" Bucky was at a loss for words, then a thought struck him. "Holy shit, Sam! Don't tell me you—" Bucky leaned forward, lowering his voice considerably. "You slept with a married woman!"

Sam's face screwed up. "What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't sleep with anyone!"

Bucky was stunned, realizing a moment too late that he had completely misread the situation.

"Start from the beginning," Sam urged. And so Bucky told him what happened that morning, how the girl came down half-dressed and wearing his shirt. Bucky thought she was a one-night stand until he saw the ring in her purse, and Sam brought her back to his house.

"So, she's not your fiancé?"

"No! She's like a sister."

"But you call her Baby Girl!"

Sam rubbed his temples. "Everyone calls her that. Listen," he sighed, "maybe I should've introduced the two of you before, but I was overwhelmed by seeing her after so long. Besides, I didn't think you would start jumping to conclusions!"

Bucky rubbed his neck in embarrassment. Perhaps he was too quick to assume the girl was Sam's significant other. But if she wasn't involved with Sam, then who exactly was she?

The girl was sitting across from Bucky and Sam on the other side of the fire pit, nibbling on a s'more. The two men watched her as they talked.

"Her family lived in the plot behind ours. They were good people."

"Were?" Bucky questioned, feeling like there was more to the story.

Sam seemed to dissociate for a moment as if he were somewhere else. "Eleven years ago, my dad woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to run to town and wake as many folks as possible. There was a fire down the street, and the trucks had broken down on the highway."

Bucky tensed, hating the direction the story was taking.

"The smoke was so thick I was choking on it from a block away. Over half the house was up in flames by the time I got back. Three men went in and came right out not a second later. Folks were throwing bucketfuls of water to try and contain it, but I remember thinking that was useless. It's like the flames had a mind of their own."

It was then that Bucky accidentally made eye contact with the girl. She frowned at the intense look on his face, jerking her head as if to ask, "What?"

"What happened next?" Bucky asked without removing his gaze.

"I went towards the back, where the fire wasn't as strong. The upstairs window was wide open, and I found Baby Girl lying on the ground with twisted legs and blood oozing from her head." Sam scoffed a laugh, though there was no humour behind it.

Bucky's jaw dropped. "She jumped?"

Sam shook his head. "We found out later that her brother pushed her. My entire family was at the hospital when we broke the news that she was the only survivor."

"Shit." Baby Girl was glaring daggers at Bucky now, though he couldn't take her seriously. Melted chocolate dripped down her chin, and her hair was mussed from the wind. Bucky imagined her eleven years younger, wide-eyed and trembling as her life crumbled around her. He recalled her comment from that morning. "Fire is a painful way to go." "No one deserves to die like that." He looked away.

"She's acting like you're keeping her hostage," Bucky remarked.

"I might as well be," Sam grumbled. "She's dying to go back to New York, and she won't give me a proper reason why."

When Bucky looked back at the girl, she was chatting with Carlos Thurow, seemingly pleading with him. She waved her broken phone, and Bucky could see the cracks on the screen glinting from where he sat. Baby Girl slumped her shoulders in defeat when Carlos took his own phone out to show it had died.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest as he watched the girl run her hands through her hair in frustration. Something was wrong.

Sam whistled beside him, waving Baby Girl over. The effect was immediate. Baby girl plastered on a shoddy smile, exaggerating a laugh as she waved back and made her way to them.

"You seem happy," Sam observed as the girl took the empty chair beside Bucky.

Bucky looked at Sam to see if he was joking. Sam was no spy, but didn't one have to be blind to not see how miserable Baby Girl looked under her fake smile?

"The party's very fun," Baby Girl answered. "It's—" guilt flashed across her features. "It's nice to see everyone after so long."

"Could've been sooner," Sam muttered.

"I told you I was busy!" she exclaimed. "I didn't have time to leave the city."

"But you won't tell me why," Sam countered. The fight seemed to leave his body, and he sighed. "I didn't call you over to argue with you. I won't bring it up again."

Baby Girl turned her nose to the sky in a way that made Bucky laugh. "You better not." And the conversation flowed smoothly from there.

Bucky offered her a beer, which she accepted with a smile, and the three laughed and joked about until tears ran unbidden down their cheeks. However, despite the mirth dancing in the air, Bucky could not ignore the lingering sadness in her eyes.

"You won't believe what this man asked me before," Sam guffawed, pointing accusingly at Bucky. "He asked if we were engaged!"

Laughter burst forth from mirth-kissed lips. "That's disgusting!" she managed between giggles. "What made you think that?"

Bucky felt flushed under her attention. "You were wearing Sam's clothes that morning," he explained sheepishly. "And I saw a ring in your purse."

Her face made a radical transformation. One moment, she was smiling in a way that made Bucky's heart flutter—the next moment, all pleasure seemed to drain away from her body, leaving her looking gaunt and haggard. Sam was too busy laughing at his untied shoelaces to notice the change in atmosphere, but Bucky felt the full force of it slam against his chest.

"I don't have a ring."

"But I—"

"No!" Her words seemed laced with desperation. Her sober eyes flicked toward Sam. "There was no ring," she stressed.

Bucky could see the hopelessness in her eyes. "Right," he muttered. "I must have been mistaken."

Sam, who had overcome his slight scramble with his shoelaces, sat upright. Inebriation laced his every move. "Right. But that made me think."

"That's never a good thing," Bucky interjected, trying to ease the lingering tension.

"Are you dating anyone? Sarah said she didn't know, but you can always tell me. Huh?" Sam teased. "Tell me. Who's the unfortunate bastard?"

Baby Girl's lips were a thin line, and Bucky anticipated the lie before she could open her mouth. "It's nothing like that. I'm not dating anyone." She finished the rest of her drink and immediately grabbed another.

"You can't lie to me," Sam wiggled his finger. "Come on, fess up. Whoever he is, he can't be worse than Beck."

Baby Girl froze, and Bucky's curiosity was piqued too much to ignore. "Beck?"

"Quentin Beck. Biggest asshole on the planet," Sam explained. "Beck and Baby Girl dated on and off in college. I would catch the bastard every other week with a different woman."

Bucky scrutinized the girl for a reaction, but she seemed to be holding her breath.

Sam began to pout like a child. "He always managed to win her over. At least I can die easy knowing they broke up before half the world blipped."

"He's not like that anymore," Baby Girl whispered to herself. Sam was too far to hear her, but Bucky had no such problem. "He's changed." She wrapped her arms around her body. "He's not like that anymore."

Bucky took in her dark under-eyes and trembling frame, her body sickly from stress. He believed her. Beck wasn't like that anymore. Perhaps he had moved on from his days of serial cheating and picked up a different hobby. Beck probably wasn't like that anymore, but he wasn't any better either.

The former spy suspected that Baby Girl was still involved with Beck. He observed her closely. Her eyes swirled with guilt, and her shoulders drooped in alarm. There was more to the story, but before Bucky could voice a question, Baby Girl stumbled onto unsteady feet. She swayed back and forth, betraying her inebriation, and Bucky reached over to keep her from falling.

Baby Girl pushed his hands away. "I'm tired," she croaked. "I'm going to bed." And she staggered away, bumping into people as she disappeared into the house.

Bucky relaxed back in his seat with a tired sigh. On his left, Sam was passed out over the arm of his chair, mouth open in a loud snore. Bucky craned his neck back and stared openly at the night sky. Stars twinkled brighter here than they did in the city. Everything was more serene and calm. However, since Baby Girl arrived, Bucky couldn't help but sense a slight shift in the air, as if the wind knew her secrets and was trying to warn them. One thing was made clear. It wouldn't be pretty.

It felt oddly like déjà vu. A light clambering of feet roused Bucky from his half-sleep, and as always, it took a second for him to make sense of his surroundings. He was on Sam's couch.

The steps were hesitant and controlled—so not AJ and Cass. Excitement and a sugar overload had kept them up late, and they wouldn't wake until a few hours later. Bucky was proven right when a lone woman descended the steps instead of two boys.

She looked a lot better than the last time he had seen her. Freshly showered and reasonably presentable in her own clothes this time—not Sam's. She hadn't seen him yet, so Bucky took the opportunity to observe her a moment longer. Her under-eye area was still dark, though not as sunken as before, and she carried an air of determination around her.

"Good morning," Bucky broke the silence.

Baby Girl shrieked, seemingly slipping over nothing. She tumbled backward, falling in an indelicate heap onto an armchair. "God above!"

Her vocabulary was steadily expanding.

Bucky sat up, regarding her with a guilty expression. "Sorry."

"I forgot you were still here," she mumbled sheepishly, straightening herself into a more respectable position.

There was a moment of awkward silence where neither acknowledged the other.

"I was wondering..." the girl started.

"Yeah?"

"Could I borrow some money? I didn't bring enough with me from New York."

"Uh, sure," Bucky replied, grabbing his wallet from between the couch cushions. "How much do you need?"

Baby Girl looked down at her hands, tracing lazy lines on her palm. "One grand?" she grimaced.

Bucky looked at her with wide eyes. "What do you need a thousand dollars for?"

"I can make do with less!" she rushed to explain. "I can try stretching an eight hundred," she murmured. "But a new phone would be too expensive, and I'm not sure I can find a cheap last-minute flight."

"Excuse me?" Bucky exclaimed. He was fully awake now, leaning forward to hear her better. "What was that about a phone and a flight?"

Her guilty eyes met his confused ones. "I broke my phone," she explained, "so I need a new one. I also need to get back home, so I need to buy a plane ticket."

Bucky eyed her skeptically. "I thought you were staying."

"I changed my mind," she dismissed with a shaky wave. "I already went over it with Sam."

Bucky knew for a fact she was lying. She wouldn't even meet her eyes. "Is that what he would say if I asked him?"

"Of course!" she proclaimed. But Bucky could hear the hesitance.

"Okay. I'll go ask Sam." Bucky made to get up, but as predicted, the girl stopped him.

"Wait! Don't!"

Bucky sat back down with a satisfied smirk. "You're a sneaky little thing."

"Don't tell Sam," Baby Girl pleaded. "I'm sorry I lied. I didn't have another choice. He locked my credit card. Otherwise, I wouldn't be asking you for this favour."

"Hmm," Bucky hummed, crossing his arms and getting comfortable. "I'd be willing to help you—Only..." Bucky stressed when she tried to interrupt. "If you answer a few questions first."

Baby Girl mimicked Bucky's posture with a frown. "That hardly seems fair."

"I can always call Sam."

"Fucking fine," Baby Girl grumbled.

Satisfied by the flow of things, Bucky started his interrogation. "Why are you in such a rush to go back home?" Bucky asked, deciding to start small. He could tell Baby Girl was thinking hard about her answer, trying not to give too much away. She squinted her eyes as if it were putting strain on her. He decided she would make a horrible spy.

"I left in a hurry. I only planned a day trip. I don't have any clothes or money on me."

Bucky shook his head. "That's not what I asked."

Baby Girl glared at him. "I don't understand the question."

"What's waiting for you in New York? Do you have a job? A prior commitment? A boyfriend?" Bucky stretched that last word, giving the girl a smirk.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she frowned.

"Fiancé, then," Bucky concluded. "I saw that ring in your purse." He suddenly leapt forward, grabbing Baby Girl's left hand and pulling it toward him to inspect.

She initially squeaked a protest but stayed still as he prodded her ring finger with his eyes. "Tan line," he observed, and she snatched her limb back, throwing the most menacing glare she could manage toward him.

"No fiancé," she hissed.

"I don't believe you," Bucky shrugged. "Job, then? What do you do?"

It took too long for her to answer, making it obvious she was concocting a lie in her head. "I work in the... customer field. Where I work with customers."

If Bucky wasn't on the verge of laughter, he might've cringed from the secondhand embarrassment.

"And... books." She was obviously lying. Even she didn't believe what was coming out of her mouth.

"I think my cat might be a better liar than you," He remarked drily.

The girl huffed but stayed silent.

Bucky decided to try a different tactic. "What year is it?"

The girl regarded him strangely. "2024."

"How many sides does an octagon have?"

"Eight."

"What's Sam's last name?"

"Wilson."

"Who was Iron Man?"

"Tony Stark."

"What colour is the sky?"

"Blue."

"Who locked your credit card?"

"Quentin Beck."

Bucky laughed. The girl stared at him, horrified. She gaped at him like a fish, only managing to make senseless sounds. "Y-you—w-what!"

Bucky laughed harder. "I told you that day. You seem smart, but not that smart."

"How dare you!"

"Last question. Does your boyfriend know you're here?" If looks could kill, Bucky would be dead. He raised his arms in surrender. "I won't judge. And I won't tell Sam. I'm just trying to understand the situation so I can help."

Her glare slowly softened to fatigue. "No. He doesn't know."

Bucky bobbed his head. "I figured as much." He grabbed his unlocked phone and tossed it to her, assuming she would catch it. She didn't. The device smacked her in the chest before falling on her lap, which she stared at dumbly.

"Call him," said Bucky, standing up to stretch. "Let him know you're safe. Tell him no one kidnapped you, and he can unlock your card."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Bucky beat her to it. "I can't get you a plane ticket out of here, so this is the next best thing. You want to leave? Tell Sam about Quentin Beck, and he'll let you. He isn't that big of an asshole to keep you hostage here. There's hope for him yet." Bucky stepped out of the living room but turned around and stopped to add one more thing. "Sam's been different since you arrived. He's happier. You're all he talks about to anyone. Do him one last favour; stay the weekend, and don't choose that Quentin Beck guy over him." With that, Bucky strode to the bathroom to freshen up, missing the first teardrop.

His phone was returned to him an hour or so later, accompanied by an uncomfortable smile and words of gratitude. "I told him I'm safe, and no one kidnapped me."

"Is he mad?" Bucky asked.

"He's a little upset," she confessed. "Promise you won't tell Sam?"

"Only if you promise not to run away." They stared at each other for a long moment, daring the other to disagree.

"Fine," the girl finally conceded. Bucky gave her a stiff nod and turned to leave. "Wait!" she exclaimed urgently. "He's still upset. Just ignore any other messages from him, okay? He should cool down after a while."

Bucky looked into her eyes. She was beautiful and unsuspecting looking. Fiery and transparent. He scrutinized her for deceit and instead found veiled resignation. He agreed and went to the backyard, leaving her in the kitchen.

It was an especially hot day, and there was much to do. Sarah wanted to landscape the back garden, and Bucky had volunteered. He didn't know the first thing about construction, but the boys had recently introduced him to YouTube, a magical place with the answers to all his questions. Bucky began to work, moving piles of dirt, levelling the uneven ground, and placing heavy slabs of concrete to form a pathway from the back porch to the lake.

Hours later, Bucky finished with the last slab of concrete, moving further away to admire his work. There was more to finish, but Sarah would be happy with his progress. Bucky wiped his brow, groaning at the sticky feeling of sweat dripping down his neck.

He grabbed his phone from the table on the porch to check the time, surprised at the number of notifications waiting for him. Bucky was by no means popular. The only person who contacted him somewhat regularly was Sam, but these notifications were all from the same unknown number. Bucky realized with a start that the barrage of missed calls and messages he was being attacked with were probably all from Quentin Beck.

Curiosity grabbed hold of him. He did promise the girl he would ignore any messages from him, but really, this was excessive. What if something was wrong and Beck urgently needed to contact her? He tapped on the message icon without another thought.

Bucky froze when he read the latest message.

You're dead when I find you.

He immediately scrolled to the top, reading the conversation from the beginning to try and gain some context to the threat. The thread started with a long paragraph from the girl detailing her situation, followed immediately with an exhausted apology.

I'm so sorry, please don't be mad. I'll be back as soon as I can.

Where the HELL are you?

Sam was asking questions. I tried to leave, but he got suspicious. I'll be back in a couple of days. I'm sorry.

You shouldn't have fucking seen him in the first place. I warned you.

Sam's career is in my hands. It'll only take one call to ruin him. I fucking warned you to never go near him.

He's trouble. He doesn't care about you like I do. He doesn't love you like I do.

The messages got progressively worse, teetering on the edge of insanity. Promising pain and broken bones, blaming it all on her.

Why do you make me do this?

Typical narcissist behaviour.

You're dead when I find you.

Baby Girl hadn't seen any of the messages after her rushed apology, but Bucky had a feeling she wouldn't be surprised by them either way. He clutched his phone tight, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

What a bastard. What a self-entitled, psychotic prick. Everything came into clear focus, painting a detailed painting for Bucky to observe. Her behaviour started making sense. The bags under her eyes, the lack of light in her irises, the unworn ring... the secrets.

He decided then that he wouldn't tell her about the messages if she asked. Bucky would wait for the right time tonight to bring up the topic of Quentin Beck as innocently as he could, and offer her his help. She didn't need to know the extent of Beck's threats against her life.

Plan laid out, Bucky made his way inside for a well-deserved glass of cold water when the back door swung open. Baby Girl walked out with two lemonades and a plate of sandwiches balanced between the crook of her elbow. Some lemonade spilled over her hand when she abruptly stopped ahead of him. Bucky took the drinks from her and placed them on the small table.

Baby Girl put the plate of sandwiches next to the drinks and proceeded to lick the spilled lemonade from her hands. Bucky swallowed thickly, feeling flustered at such an innocent act. "You good?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I made us lunch and lemonade. Figured you could do with something cool."

"Yeah," Bucky was suddenly parched. "It's a hot day."

Baby Girl sat down at the table and took a large sip of her drink. "Sarah and Sam went to run some errands in the city. Said they'll be back late."

"What about the boys?" Bucky inquired, sitting down and taking a sip of his own. He groaned as the cool drink washed over him.

"They're having a sleepover at the neighbours." She handed him a sandwich, which he took with a smile.

"So it's just us today," he said, aware that the perfect opportunity for a less-than-pleasant conversation had just presented itself.

"Yup, just us."

An awkward silence fell over them, broken occasionally by the sound of chewing.

"The yard looks nice," Baby Girl blurted.

Bucky turned his neck to observe his handiwork. "Thanks. Still a lot to be done."

"You must be tired."

Bucky shrugged. "Not really. The heat is worse than anything else."

"Is that because of the serum?" she asked, immediately flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry! That's so insensitive of me. And it's none of my business."

"You're good," said Bucky. "I don't mind. Yeah, it's because of the serum. My stamina's through the roof."

"Wow," she admired.

"Could've been real handy with the ladies, back in the forties." Bucky flushed at the silence that followed. "During the war, I mean!" he corrected. "I could've used the stamina during the war."

The girl finished her lemonade in one long sip. "Right, of course."

"For battle. On the battlefield." Bucky finished his own drink, then stuffed another sandwich in his face to keep from further embarrassing himself.

Bucky's phone lit up with a notification, and the girl flicked her eyes toward the screen. "It's my neighbour," he told her. "He's looking after my cat."

Baby Girl visibly deflated. "That's nice," she smiled. "What's its name?"

"Alpine." Bucky decided this was as good a time as any to ask a few questions. "Listen, did you tell Quentin Beck where you are?" Bucky hated the scared look on her face.

"He knows I'm at Sam's," she started slowly.

Bucky took a deep breath and willed his expression to remain neutral. "Does he have an address?"

She shook her head in denial, and only then did Bucky find himself relaxing. He wouldn't need to worry about Beck showing up announced, which gave him more time to come up with a proper plan.

"I'm gonna take a dip," Bucky gestured to the lake. "Wanna join?"

"Maybe later."

Bucky stood up with a shrug. "Suit yourself." And he took his shirt off with one pull.

He felt Baby Girl's stare burning through his skin as he jogged toward the small lake, discarding his pants along the way. He entered the water in a running dive, letting gravity pull him to the bottom before kicking away and breaking the surface with a loud whoop. His body temperature slowly stabilized as he ran laps along the perimeter. He could still feel her stare as he stopped to tread.

"The water's amazing!" he yelled. "Join me!"

She threw her arms in the air. "I don't have a bathing suit."

Bucky floated on his back, arms crossed behind his head. "Who cares?"

After a moment's hesitation, Baby Girl laughed. "You're right. Who cares?" She grabbed the hem of her top and lifted it over her head, revealing a white camisole underneath. She stopped near the edge of the lake, fixing Bucky with a faux glare. "Well, turn around. You're crazy if you think I'm undressing in front of you."

Bucky smirked at her teasing nature and turned away, listening for a splash. After a moment, the water rippled, followed by a shrill scream. "Can I look?"

"Go ahead." Baby Girl laughed when Bucky whipped his head, sending a stream of water flying her way from his hair. "Damn, the water's cold."

"Feels good, though."

"Yeah."

They settled into a comfortable silence, floating on their backs and sneaking glances at each other. Her white camisole had turned see-through, giving Bucky a delicious glimpse of her skin and pale blue bra. He averted his gaze, trying to calm his racing heart.

"I'll miss this when I'm gone," said Baby Girl softly. "The peace and quiet."

"You don't have to leave," Bucky urged. "You could stay."

She turned to face him. "I can't," she replied sadly.

"You're scared for Sam," he observed, remembering the texts. "Why? He's the fucking Falcon. He helped defeat Thanos. Beck is nothing compared to that."

The girl's eyes widened in alarm. "How do you know that?"

Bucky didn't tell her he read the messages. He would've come to the same conclusion sooner or later. He ran his hand through his wet hair. "I used to be a spy." He fixed her with a pointed look. "And you're a horrible liar. Seriously, you are worse than my cat."

She huffed but didn't argue. After a moment of silent contemplation, she settled on her back and regarded him doubtfully. "Quentin has connections with the CIA, FBI, NSA, and Homeland Security. Any government official out there, he's probably on a first-name basis with them." Her face contorted in pain. "He could ruin Sam's life with a single phone call. I swore I would never give him a reason to."

Bucky's jaw clenched tightly. "What's the worst that bastard could do? Sam knows people too."

"Not enough. He could pin a drug charge. It wouldn't even have to stick. The bad press would be enough to ruin Sam's reputation."

"That's illegal," Bucky pointed out dangerously. Quentin Beck was turning out to be worse than Bucky imagined.

"He doesn't care about that when it comes to me," she dismissed. "Quentin can do no wrong when it comes to love."

"That's not love!" Bucky snapped, losing the last of his patience. They were floating dangerously close to one another, elbows brushing.

"Regardless. There's nothing to be done."

"You could stay," Bucky implored. "I'd keep you safe."

They were even closer now, both on their backs, faces turned toward the other, lips dangerously close. For a moment it looked like she might say yes. She opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of a car door slamming shut interrupted her.

"That must be Sam," she said, and the moment was broken.

Bucky moved first, swimming to the deck to grab his discarded pants. "I'll give you some privacy," he said, dragging the fabric up his legs. He left without another word.

Incessant knocking at the front door stopped Bucky in his tracks. Sam always carried a key. Bucky dropped his shirt and went around the house to the front. The car parked in the drive was unfamiliar and out of place. Sleek and shiny and black. Expensive. The man waiting impatiently at the door looked more out of place than the car. Dressed in a gray suit, brown loafers, and black shades, the man looked like he belonged on the cover of a real estate advertisement.

"Can I help you?" Bucky snapped, feeling on edge.

The man lifted his shades to regard Bucky with a look of contempt, eyeing his exposed chest and metal arm with barely concealed disgust. "Yeah, maybe you can. Is this the Wilson residence?"

"Depends on who's asking."

"A friend," the man replied.

"Funny. I didn't know Sam had any friends."

"That's because I'm not Sam's friend," he scorned. "I'm looking for a girl."

Bucky inched closer to him. "I know lots of girls," he quipped.

The man smiled dangerously. "I'm looking for a very specific one. Yay high, unchecked temper, tendency for trouble."

Bucky laughed without humour. "Doesn't narrow much down, buddy. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"You must be the Winter Soldier," the man mused.

"I go by James Barnes," Bucky snapped. "You must be Quentin Beck." Bucky had recognized him right away.

Quentin Beck spread his arms in a wide gesture. "The one and only. I suppose she told you about me."

"She didn't have to. I can smell a bastard from a mile away."

Beck clenched his fists, face contorting nastily, and stepped forward. "You little—"

Despite the sweltering heat, Bucky felt a coldness wash over him. His advanced senses picked up on footsteps coming from around the back. His head whipped to the side just as the girl rounded the corner. She wore jeans and nothing else, her white camisole still wet and slightly see-through. Bucky watched with dread as she took in the sight in front of her, blinking confusedly. The colour slowly drained from her flushed cheeks, and she froze as her brain caught up with her eyes.

"Sweetheart?" Beck's demeanour rapidly changed, and he stalked forward with his hands raised non-threateningly. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Bucky blocked his path with a glare.

When Beck noticed her state of undress, he became angry, clenching his fists at his side. He noted Bucky's bare chest, his low-hanging jeans, and the girl's see-through top. "What the fuck is going on here?" Beck demanded.

When he fixed his icy glare on her, she reanimated, staggering back with a loud gasp, Baby Girl tripped over a rock but continued scooting backwards as she fell over. The raw fear emanating from her was enough to undo Bucky. Bucky shoved Beck as hard as he could—without using his super strength—and slammed him against his car.

"Motherfucker," Beck hissed, clutching his side.

"I suggest you leave before you really piss me off," Bucky threatened, stalking closer.

Beck staggered away, putting his car between them. "Not without my fiancé," he seethed.

"Fiancé, huh?" Bucky turned toward the girl. She was still on the ground, carefully watching the scene with wide eyes. He waited until she looked at him, then gave her a soft smile, silently urging her to trust him. "Are you his fiancé, Baby Girl?"

She jerked her head in denial. "No."

"There you have it. You heard the lady." Bucky's voice lowered dangerously. "Now leave. Before I make you leave."

"She's lying!" Beck screamed. And Bucky got the impression he was used to getting his way. "I gave her a ring."

Bucky had cornered Beck against the hood of his car and was looming dangerously over his crouched figure. "I don't see any ring. Now leave!"

Beck unlocked the car, jerking open the driver's side and inelegantly lumbering in. "This isn't over yet, Winter Soldier," he spat, and with one last seething glare toward the girl, he sped off.

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