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☞ Hiya! My name is sunset , This blog is solely for my writings/original work. (it is my only blog) I mostly write afab! X amab! No discrimination will be tolerated.
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⌞ Jackson, Wyoming isn't what you thought you’d call home, neither is the house that smells like pine and old cologne. After being discovered by a group of survivors, you're offered a home and sanctuary. The only catch, you won't be living alone.⌝
⌞tags: intro/backstory, character origins. plus-size!reader x jackson!joelmiller all the enemies to lovers. joel being a dick head ⌝
masterlist | nav.
Joel didn't like this. Housing a woman, having someone other than him in his home.
All due to the fact Tommy was insistent about letting you stay with him. Jackson was filling up quickly as the years passed on. Where once empty homes stood, they were now filled with blooming families and rowdy neighbors. To put it another way; Joel didn't have a choice.
Which led him here, sitting on his couch, watching as you and Tommy bring in the handful of items you owned. It wasn't much, two bags.
Joel hated stuff. He liked it neat.
You were going to be anything but neat.
He could already tell.
Tommy led the way upstairs, by way of greeting. Joel watches as you follow excitedly, your hands grabbing at the finished railing he put in last winter. It was a busy project he put himself up too.
“Dont mind the grumpy fucker sitting on the couch.” He uttered, leading you to the small hallway on the second floor. It was almost cozy, with the smell of pine lingering in the air. If the outdoors had a smell, Joel's house is what it smelled like. Rustic, dare you say, you enjoyed it.
It brought back memories of the city, the one you used to call home. Even through the outbreak, you made it yours.
Tommy placed your things in the untouched bedroom upstairs, placing them on the neatly made bed and sighing, wiping his forehead. He had been with you every step of the way, you appreciated the company and the reassurance, making home somewhere that isn't out in the confines of the city was odd for you.
Having a home was odd.
“Joel's bedroom is across the hall, he should stay outta your hair, hell’ I'll make him” Tommy gave a hearty laugh, turning to you; “If he gives you a hard time let me’know.” You nodded quickly, heading the disguised warning.
Tommy gave a once over of the room, “If you need anything else-"
"Let you know?"
He nods, "You got it,"
Tommy's boots retreated to the doorway, before your voice halted him,
Your worries needed to be spoken, “He’s not the get-angry and I'll kill you type is he?”
Tommy gripped the door handle and smiled, “He sure is.”
Great. Tommy put you with a psychopath.
When he noticed the disdain washing over your features, his smile creased, “But don't worry, I'll make sure his anger isn't directed toward you”
Tommy nodded his goodbye, shutting the door with a rusty click. His boots retreated downstairs, leaving you with your worries and the heavy silence of bags needing to be unpacked. You were excited, still.
Somehow.
Your torn bags had been unpacked hours ago, the two shirts you had now rested in one of the slightly broken drawers. Your journal clutched in your hands, the box of pads you managed to find stuffed away underneath your bed frame. Everything you owned now had a spot.
The room you had been given was, slightly deteriorating, the light blue walls reflected the snowy weather outside, the chipping paint only added to its character. It wasn't perfect, it didn't feel like home.
But with time, you hoped that would change.
A small platform had been carved out under the window, allowing pillows and blankets to rest there. Decidedly, you grabbed one of the threadbare blankets Tommy had gifted to you and your journal, joining the window.
The people of Jackson were out and about this afternoon, all the laughter from children playing in the streets echoed through the glass of your watching position. The old leather book clutched in your hands, filthy with dirt and dried blood was the single most important item in your life.
You had kept it for years, making sure you always had it when you moved zones. The half broken pencil tucked in the spine too, you fished it out with ease like you had done so many times before. With the outside world as background music, you started to write
A week had gone by in Jackson, its residents left you to get settled for the most part. A kind woman had baked a few muffins as a welcome gift, which you devoured happily. You had barely seen Joel, he had always been coming or going. Whatever he did, he was always doing it.
Not that you minded, having the entirety of the house to yourself wasn't terrible, you particularly liked the very end of the couch, where the blazing fireplace heat hit the skin of your thighs at just the right angle for maximum coziness. So far, Jackson amounted to a version of safety.
But you still couldn't sleep.
Which left you here, after a particular rough Friday night of tossing and turning, You had enough. The light of the hallway turned on as you groggily made your way downstairs, Comparable to that of a literal zombie.
You found yourself drifting toward the finished cabinets, opening every one, searching for a glass. Maybe a cup, anything you could drink out of. Finally, after rooting through the last one, a chipping mug had been tucked behind a couple of dusty plates.
Guess Joel didn't exactly have family dinners often. In the darkness of the early morning, you reached for the hardware of the sink faucet, your mouth begging for water. Fortunately, turning the handles had given you a stream of cool water.
The chipped mug caught the remnant as you lifted it to your mouth, enjoying how your lips had just resigned from the Sarah Desert and ventured into the Rain Forest region. The creaking of the second floor broke through your wave of bliss, pulling your attention to the man now making his way down the stairs.
“What are you doin’?” It wasn't a question, but a demand. Joel's voice was cold as he drug a hand through his uneven curls,
“Drinking water.” Your heart hammered, Only half of the man's features were visibly in the dim light. Still, you noticed, he did not display a nice face.
Joel ignored your response, as if he had not asked the question, instead he sidestepped you to pull open a wooden drawer just beside your hip. You moved instinctively, taking your mug with you.
“Your shirt doesn't fit.” He said, the back of his head facing you as he continued rummaging through what looked like a junk drawer. What did he expect? It's not like you had unlimited access to the highest fashion in the city, or here for that matter.
Your placed your empty mug on the table, focusing on the man. “Listen, asshole. I know you might not like this living situation, but you don't need to be a dick about it” Your surprised at the tone you took up with Joel, and so is he, judging by the way he slams the drawer and turns to you, abandoning his mission.
“Got quite a mouth on you for someone who's livin in my home.” His studded eyes were creased with age, it didn't stop the way he glared at you, the frown etched into his face seemed more prominent now.
“It's not like you're ever in ‘your home’ ” Your arms crossed, your spine had been riddled in defense mode, making your back rigid. Joel’s head tilted,
“Too busy avoiding you.” He shrugged, his tone sharp enough to cut ice.
“You don't even know me.” You quipped back, narrowing your eyes.
⌞ Jackson, Wyoming isn't what you thought you’d call home, neither is the house that smells like pine and old cologne. After being discovered by a group of survivors, you're offered a home and sanctuary. The only catch, you won't be living alone.⌝
grab your coziest blanket fuckers!
⌞ tags; roommate!joelmiller jackson!joelmiller x survivor!reader plus-size!reader no ellie au (ily bella ramsay i promise ) age gap + reader is 19 joel is in his fifties eventual smut + more tags soon⌝
a/n - oh hey. its been a minute *maybe a year* I'm into cod now, don't ask, I'm blessing you with drunk captain price AND ghost headcannons. enjoy u freaks <3
warnings - dirty talk. older men. praise. freaky!drunk price (for a quick second) ghosts possessive ass. code names but no physical descriptors. clif hanger (sorry not sorry!)
drunk!captain price who’s tells you to bend over in the middle of your living room after coming home from a night out with his men at the bar
drunk!captainprice who is pulling those delicious purple panties off to reveal your soaking cunt
drunk!captain price with every thought evacuated from his head besides eating you out
drunk!captainprice who is pressing his head into your pussy like he’s a starving man who needs to have his fill
drunk!captainprice price who makes you come 3 times on his tongue with words like “soak me” “good girl, grind into my beard” and “let me drink you down”
drunk!ghost can’t stand the fact your getting shit faced drunk right now
drunk!ghost who is currently holding a can of beer sitting tightly on a semi-questionable stained sofa
drunk!ghost who watches you flirt and fumble through every man in the house, until somehow you end up outside
drunk!ghost who sees your wobbly steps and facade of confidence as you stroll over to him
drunk!ghost who tilts his head to look at you like he doesn’t have any idea what your about to do
“LT.” you greeted him, “Red” he greeted back, quick and gruff, emotionless.
he was always strictly orders and command, even when the entire squad celebrated a mission win, ghost would always separate himself from the rest. you didn’t know if it was because his usual brooding-bad boy vibe needed to be upheld, or he just didn’t like drinking all that much
either way, YOU like drinking, and you’ve had a lot this afternoon, and ghosts lap looks very comfortable and-
“Red? Fuckin, hell…” somehow, between your drunk thoughts and curious feet, your body ended up in ghost lap
both your legs were situated on either side of him, your hair brushing the sides of his face. Ghosts head tilted up instinctively
but whether he wanted to get away from you, or pull you in closer was still a mystery, the grenade was on his turf and he was taking a very long time to throw it back
in a rushed movement, ghosts tactile-glove had reach out to pull at your hips, beckoning you to press your body to his
“watched your pretty little ass talk to every one of those men in there” ghost whispered into your ear, it made you shiver he sounded angry
possessive.
“And you still found your way to me”
“You let any of em touch you, red, or are you just a tease?” Ghost pulls at your hips, attempting to bring you closer.
ೃ⁀➷ It's the dreaded time of month and all you want to do is curl up in bed. Your soldat has other plans.
ೃ⁀➷ p in v sex. dirty talk. soldat!bucky. mentions of blood. period sex. (soldat not giving a fuck). breeding kink. mentions of pads/pain. fingering. possible typos.
ೃ⁀➷ 1.2k
i hate my period so much, writing about this brute helps me cope🧸
seb masterlist
Oh no. No. No. Not today. Not now.
Fuck, You hate mother nature.
The sheets of your bed are stained a red hue. Little spots and specks paint the white fabric and your thighs are sticky with blood.
Your fucking period. If you had enough energy you could just slam a fist into the wall, broken bones be damned.
You whimpered and whined all the way to the shower, stomach aching, legs weak. You made sure to tear off the sheets and add them to the heaping pile of laundry in your room.
As soon as you stripped yourself of your clothes and felt the steaming water hit your skin, all was forgiven. The sound of water hitting the cheap chipped tile was so relaxing you would give everything you had to be in this state forever.
Unfortunately, a girl has a water bill.
ღ
You changed your clothes, put on low-cut shorts, and bought a shit ton of pads. It was only the first day and your flow was already heavy.
The cramps were bearable, but you could tell they were going to get a whole lot worse. Which led to your current state, in bed, lights turned off, head against a cold pillow, and blinds drawn.
An unbreakable fortress of cold pillows and snakes you managed to hoard in anticipation for this day's arrival.
You couldn’t turn on the tv, the light was harsh and irritating. So you just sat in darkness, eating Resses and groaning in pain.
Your only thought was “when would he arrive"?
ღ
“Кролик” (Bunny) a heavy voice woke you from your sleep. A familiar musk of gunpowder and him filled your head.
“You're bleeding.” He says from the shadows. You find your fingers gripping your blankets in both anticipation and fear. Your breath hitches.
He smells it, smells you.
“You need to be bred.”
Fuck.
The Winter Soldier, soldat, in his six-foot-tall frame, rounds the side of your bed. The harsh fabric of his suit, made to withstand all kinds of obstacles was now in front of your vision.
The soldat didn’t bother to take his combat boots off before sliding into bed with you. He kneeled on the mattress, denting it.
You waited in anticipation, legs slightly parted, breath coming in slow gasps as heat filled your entire body.
“Remove your shorts. Or is it too painful?” In a way, he’s mocking you, a way of saying you will always need his help. If you weren’t drunk off him right now, you’d recoil. Sober you would not have heat pooling in her core right now.
“Hurts- Soldat. Please take them off.” You wiggled your hips to emphasize. The soldats mask covers his face, muffling the groan he made when sliding the fabric off your legs.
Your body jolted when cold metal fingers met your clothed core. You tried your best to hold in the moan you held in your throat.
“Shh…quiet, кролик” You know there’s blood on your panties, you know the soldat does too.
Except, he doesn't seem to give a shit. His fingers prod at your entrance before removing your panties entirely, along with the pad stuck to them.
The soldat looks at your cunt, the mask hiding any real facial expression. You shiver from the cold air hitting your exposed folds.
He takes two metal fingers and slides them through your folds, gathering both blood and slick. The soldat purrs as you whine. “Relax -Going to hurt, stay still.”
You do as you are told, unable to stop the soldat as he places a flesh hand against your stomach, while two metal digits slide into your cunt.
"Beautiful, sweetheart.” The Soldat hums, pushing down just a little on your tummy as the digits slowly slide in and out of you. The pain eases at whatever he’s doing to you, and pleasure becomes more prominent.
You can hear the sound of your slick as he fingers you, your back arching off the bed as he picks up the pace, adding more pressure to your stomach. “Good, кролик. Right there.”
“Doing so well for your soldat. -think you can cum for him? Hmm?”
Fuck. The edge is so fucking close and your itching to barrel over it. The soldier can feel your cunt squeezing his fingers and can see the look in your eyes as you're about to come.
His metal digits speed up, going at a pace that is sure to push you over the edge. He releases his flesh hand from your stomach to pinch your aching clit.
It’s over from there. “Soldat! Soldat- fuck ” you cry out, heart pumping and legs shaking as he works you through it, pumping his fingers in and out of you.
“So good for your soldat. Look so pretty when you come for him, so beautiful.” The soldat slides his fingers out of you, wiping your juices on his pant leg.
The soldier undoes his belt buckle, sliding off the weapon-studded pants and throwing them into the darkness of the bedroom. His cock is throbbing, angry, and red.
“Ready to be bred, Кролик? Take all you're given?” His boxers are next, his metal hand wraps around the waistband. The fabric is torn from his body in one snap.
Your legs shake and your hips squirm as he lines his cock up with your entrance, his body crowding over you, balancing himself with a hand on the headboard. “You're so wet. I bet I’d just…”
His cock nudges your fold, “-Slide right in.” The pain hits you immediately as the soldat bottoms out. You can hear him curse in Russian under the mask, as he rests his head on your shoulder.
Skin meets skin as he gives time for you to adjust to his size. You’ve taken him many times before, but it’s different on your cycle.
It’s like your womb opens up a little more for him.
“So good, sweetheart.” He moans, sliding out to just half of his length before snapping his hips to you. You can feel everything. Every throbbing vein on his cock, every breath he groans through his mask.
The Soldat always has a primal urge when you're bleeding, he needs to come inside you, needs to breed your cunt.
He wants to mark you as his.
“Soldat-" you moan, feeling his cock slide out another couple of inches, until he’s balls deep again, kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock.
The entire bed shakes with the force of the soldat fucking you, and he fucks you hard. He’s so needy, desperate to fill you up with his seed. His moans and groans do not go unheard as his flesh hand presses on your stomach.
“Watch me fuck you, Кролик. See me sliding in and out?” All you can do is nod your head, words do not come easily.
Winter Soldier presses that hand on your tummy, pushing down as he stills, balls pressed to your skin as his cock twitches inside of you. “Feel me in your guts."
A few more thrusts has you clamping down on his cock, and when the soldier feels it, he goes fucking feral.
“Milk your Soldat's cock while he fills up your pretty pussy.” The soldier does exactly as he promises, shooting rope after rope of cum inside you.
Later, he flips you on your back so your pressed to his muscled chest, cock stuffing you full, keeping his load inside you. The Soldat mutters something like, “helps with the pain.”
ೃ⁀➷ Synopsis: ex!doctor!buckybarnes x ex!reader. Bucky's lost a patient today, and he's calling you for help, but do you want to offer it?
why do i keep writing sad things
Bucky’s lost his first patient today. It’s a weird feeling, truth be told, you feel as though you’ve known them all your life. It’s like he’s lost someone so close to his heart, it aches.
His gut hurts. His stomach clenches like it's trying to regurgitate but nothing is coming up. Bucky knows what this feeling is, he’s felt it time and time again.
Panic.
A few of his colleagues ask him if he’s doing alright, he nods though it’s something of a perfectly crafted lie.
Dr. Feldmore sees him in the waiting room, eyes distant. Seemingly lost in the shiny tile floor. Her irises match his own, sad.
She taps him on the shoulder, he doesn't look up. “Go home, James.”
He will. Just not yet.
⋆ ★
“Baby…”
Your voice echoes in the darkness of his kitchen floor, Bucky's head resting against the tile wall. He’s been thinking for quite some time, his mind has not shut up since he’s been delivered the news.
Bucky didn’t know what to do, and as always, he turned to you -his ex-. He picked up his phone and dialed your number.
“James, I told you about calling me, didn’t I?” You don't mean to be harsh, if you aren’t he’ll continue to resort to you as an outlet.
You tried that once, it poisoned your relationship.
“I know, but it’s just-“. His voice is cracked, you can viscerally hear the pain in his tone. You can’t help it, the sudden urge to ask him what’s wrong, to make sure he’s alright takes over you.
Bucky’s a doctor, his job is saving lives, but he’s prone to losing them too. You can only assume that’s the root of his call, his voice, his pain.
You both stay silent for a long while, you stare at the buttons on your phone, the red end call silently urging you to push it.
Your heart says otherwise.
“James.”
He cringes, his mind urging deeper into sadness. Bucky despised his first name, even more when it fell from your lips. “I need you. You are my-“ he struggles to get anything out. There’s so much he wants to say to you, so much he hasn’t gotten the chance to say.
“Everything. You are my everything, and right now, it feels like I’m your nothing.” You listen in the darkness of your bedroom, the room getting colder than before.
Your blankets no longer feel warm and soft, but heavy and burdened. “You know that’s not true, James. You were my everything once.”
Bucky's heart cracks, he’s always loved your voice but when it says words like that, he can’t help but shrivel away. He closes his eyes, tilts his head up so his eyes face the ceiling, and balances his phone on a sagging shoulder.
“I need you right now, baby.” Your heart stretches and beats in your rib cage. This man is the only exception, he’s the only one who can tear down your walls and invite himself back in.
Bucky Barnes has carved his own passageway into your heart and you can’t seem to find it.
Your morals are begging you to hang up. Your lips are pressed together in a thin line as you stare into the darkness. The only light from the phone you're now clutching onto.
“What happened?”
Bucky doesn't smile, he doesn't have it in him. Instead, he lets out a broken sigh. “I lost one of my patients today. She was a sweetheart.”
“What was her name?”
He relaxes on the kitchen floor, hearing you talk eases his tensed muscles. “Polly, she was 70, survived leukemia too.” Your heart aches for the woman you’ve never met, but if Bucky adored her, your sure you would have too.
“I’m sorry, Bucky.”
He smiles a bit at that. “I just wish I was there. I wish I could have made it more-“ he shrugs, “comfortable when she passed, I guess.”
You smile, setting your phone down on your sheets. “It’s what makes you a good doctor, you care.”
Sometimes too much.
“Thank you, baby.”
Your teeth clench, and your stomach fills with butterflies. “Bucky-“
“I can’t stand that name.” The choked-out words are a pathetic attempt at building boundaries.
Bucky’s mouth curves downwards. You used to love the name, used to love being his.
His everything.
Bucky cares so much about you, it hurts. Tonight, he needs you here with him, in his bed if only to act as a warm body.
When he said he needed you, he meant it. Bucky wants to hug you, cry into your shoulder, mourn.
“Come over, please. Just for the night.”
Buckys said similar to you before. Just one night, a couple of hours, a few minutes. It always ended with him inside you, whispering things that should never be repeated aloud.
“If you want sex, hire a hooker.”
Bucky chokes. His heart aches. Is that what you think of him now, a sex fiend? He’s always loved your body, but this need isn’t that type of need.
“I don’t, not tonight. I just want you”
Not tonight.
“But eventually? You’ll need me, you’ll ‘crave’ me. And when I give you what you want, you’ll whisper you love me while you fuck me like you don’t.”
“I won’t come over, Bucky.” You're crying now, you can’t even help it, tears just fall. “This is our fucking cycle, it’s a goddamn wheel that just keeps spinning.”
Your voice hurts, your screaming, you hadn’t even noticed. “Guess what, Bucky. I’m getting dizzy, real fucking dizzy.
“Goodnight, James. Don’t call my number again.”
The call ends when you press the red button, so many words and unstrung sentences hang in the air. You wonder if you should have been so harsh, the man’s just lost a patient.
It doesn't mean you are his outlet, sometimes yelling is the only way to get your point across.
Somehow, you and Bucky both throw your phones across the room. His shatters on his kitchen floor, and yours lands on your carpet.
Either way, you both won’t be picking them up any time soon.
Synopsis: bestfriend!bucky x female!oc, At a Christmas party, you and bucky get high, and happen to share some feelings.
hey....been a MINUTE (or a month, *cough*) i hate work. life is annoying, writing is the only thing that brings me joy and i have time to do it like, fucking never?
seb masterlist
“Damn, this shit is good.” Maddie inhales, filling her lungs with the delicious feeling of warmth and marijuana.
“Should be, paid too much for it.” Sam, who she’s never even seen smoke has eyes that are almost somewhere else, like he’s just had a huge revelation and it’s made him so happy.
“Pass it.” Bucky sticks out a metal palm in front of Maddie, who gives him the blunt almost reluctantly. He eyes the long roll of weed before bringing it to his lips. Maddie smiles, she can see it almost instantly.
The way the soldier's broad shoulders relax, and his brooding stare becomes one of content. “You weren't kidding, pal.”
Sam and Maddie both laugh as they continue to puff and pass, the party roaring on in just the other room. The three are all huddled in Maddie’s room, Sam sitting on the floor, and she and Bucky propped up against the headboard.
Sam takes another hit, smiling. “I’m going to grab some drinks, want anything, Buck? Mad?”
“Fruit punch.” She answers quickly eyeing Bucky who just shakes his head. Maddie calls after Sam who’s halfway out the door. “Can you lock the door, I don’t want anyone in here. Knock when you come back, I’ll open it.”
Sam just nods and locks it, twisting the doorknob and heading downstairs. The thrum and almost silent beat of music shakes the whole house. Maddie smiles, wrapping her lips around the wrapper of the blunt and inhaling. Her entire room smells of it, and she can’t seem to get enough.
“What’s wrong, Buck?” She nudges his shoulder, grabbing one of her Christmas-themed blankets and throwing it into her lap. They both look ridiculous with the Santa hats she bought specifically for her Christmas Eve party. His eyes widen as he just stares at her, running over her features, watching her as she runs her tongue over her bottom lip.
Maddie laughs nervously, tensing in the silence. “Buck?”
“Maddie.” Bucky finally answers, looking down to her lap which is lazily covered by the Rudolph blanket. He hates that blanket, he thinks it’s ugly. But when she has it covering her, it's the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“You okay? look’s like you just had a mid-life crisis in front of me.” She jokes, tilting her head back to rest on her headboard, looking up at the ceiling as the blunt rests on the ashtray beside her bed.
Bucky’s voice is hoarse, nearly silent as he whispers. “Can I kiss you?” Maddie’s heart instantly starts to pick up speed, her eyes wandering over his face, searching for something she can’t seem to find.
Bucky just sits there, seemingly content with waiting however long he needs for her answer. Maddie’s so flustered she doesn't know what to say. Bucky shifts in her bed, turning so his back is facing the opposite wall.
“I- Just- You look so hot right now and- Fuck. Please just let me kiss you.” Bucky tumbles over his words, almost running circles around himself. Maddie, almost on instinct leans in and it takes Bucky all but two seconds to capture her cheek and bring her lips to his.
The kiss is mouthwatering, it’s hot and needy. Bucky’s hand grabs the side of her hip, not pulling just resting there. He groans into her mouth, lips grabbing and sucking at hers.
She knows he needs more and Bucky showcases it well. “Your lips are so soft- Fuck.”
Maddie pulls away, placing a hand against his hard chest, almost as if shoving him back. Bucky’s eyes soar. “It’s the weed, Bucky.”
“No, it’s not. It just gives me the courage to act on what I want.”
Want. He says it so thoroughly and meaningfully that she almost believes him. She’s torn, she doesn't know what to do. Maddie has noticed though, a deep need settling in her gut. It’s whispering to her, saying things that are irrational and stupid and-
“There’s no going back from this, you know that?” She looks at her best friend, eyes sliding over to his lips, hearing his breathing. No, panting.
“Do you know how fucking long I’ve waited to do that? I don’t want to go back, I want to go forward.”
Damn it all. This is her best friend, the boy she’s known since fucking forever. The same boy that manages to make a Christmas hat look so damn attractive. “We don’t have to have sex, just please let me taste you again.” Bucky’s hair is tussled, and marijuana filters heavily through her room. Everything in front of her screams regrets and bad decisions.
“When you say things like that-”
His metal hand grasps the back of her head and slams her lips to his again, this time the kiss is fiery. Hot as hell. Maddie can taste him, the faint aroma of mint and Bucky. Her gut clenches and relaxes, the need turning into passion.
“Oh god.” Bucky groans, words muffled as his fingers find their way through her black strands, tugging ever so slightly. Maddie’s stomach fills with butterflies, and her heart aches.
Maddie has to force herself to pull away, their lips still connected with a string of saliva. “Bucky?”
“Hmm?” He answers hands still at his hip, heat transferring between the two.
🎃 This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 8! | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List 🎃
best friends-lovers au + "this fear you feel? it won't last."
Synopsis: Your heart has been broken, and your best friend Ransom has made it his mission to make you smile, with all your favorite things of course.
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings: Throw on this ambiance and spend a day with Ransom as he attempts to cheer you up: tooth-rotting fluff. flirty friends. obvious friends with benefits. a cameo from all my favorite books. sweet!ransomdrysdale x nerd!reader. all the fall vibesss. like alot of fucking angst. Part 2 "We fell in love in October?" maybe?
Baby I'm A Project Lovin' Me's A Mistake.
“Hey sweetheart, How are you doing this morning?” You expected this. Your best friend called you every morning, asking about your plans, checking in, and seeing if you were alright. After, he hung up and went on with his day.
Ransom was like that.
But today, your only reply is a muffled sniffle. Your head is buried deep into your white pillow, both dry and wet tears staining the surface. “Sweetheart? You okay?”
“Yeaaaahhhh” You grog, putting the phone on speaker. You were in fact, not okay. Your boyfriend of 3 years decided to break up with you, he didn’t give a reason, but you're almost ninety percent sure it has to do with a girl you saw him flirting with weeks ago.
It was a red flag, but when you're in love you ignore them.
You wish you hadn’t.
“What happened?” Ransom asks urgently, the sound of his voice is comforting, to hear something then sniffing and silent sobs.
“Nothing, Ransom. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine, sweet girl.” You never knew how much you missed his little nicknames until this moment
“I am-”
“I'm coming over.” Ransom rushes out, and embarrassment fills your aching body. He has seen you like this a dozen times, always comforting you, but this time you felt so stupid, How could you not see the signs?
“Please, no-”
The line goes dead, and Ransom disconnects his end. All you can do is scream into your pillow.
🍂
“Shortcake, you have to get out of bed sometime today.” Ransom stands over top of you, his sunglasses hanging by his shirt collar, an expensive-looking jacket on.
“Mmph!” A pillow goes hurdling across the room, heading right for Ransom. Unfortunately, he catches it, launching it on the opposite side of your bed.
“Shortcake.” He says seriously, Ransom's eyes look over your crumbled frame, the blanket covering your half-naked body.
“Ransom. Please. I’m fine.”
“Why don’t I take you out, just you and me? How does that sound?” Your head perches up at his offer, seeing the smile blooming on his smooth features. “Yeah? You like that idea?”
Finally moving your head away from the pillow you’ve been face to face for the last three hours, you nod your head in agreement. Spending a day with your best friend is exactly what you need.
“Get dressed, Shortcake.” He laughs, snatching the blanket off your body, you screech as the cool air caresses your thighs. You throw the blanket in his face, running towards the opposite end of the room to your closet.
“Sneaky little-” You crack a little smile, Your mood is lightning just a bit, but it’s going to be hard to fill the hole your ex left, Ransom would make you forget, for the moment at least.
He would make sure of it.
🍂
The weather was beautiful, auburn colors swirled inside the tree’s leaves, yellows and oranges and red collided to make bursts of colors. It was magical.
Autumn had always been your favorite time of year, the Halloween music, the movies, the pumpkin spice lattes. Everything about this season was extraordinary. Ransom’s car matched the leaves, a light orange, its convertible roof folded down.
It allowed you to smell the Autumn wind, feeling it flow through your hair, wiping it around your face. Ransom fingers find the radio, switching it to the nearest station.
The acoustic version of Boris Pickett's “Monster Mash” blares through the station, and Ransom would be damned if he missed the smile that blooms on your face. Although a weak one, he would take all you had to offer.
“Go ahead, I won’t judge. Sing it, shortcake.” Ransom offers, tapping his fingers against the wheel to the beat, turning left on G.R Drive, heading for town. You shrink back, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.
Ransom keeps one hand on the wheel as his other presses into your jaw jokingly. You rear back, “Stop it.”
“Sing it then.” He bargains, his finger poking at your chest. Ransom wanted so desperately to see a true smile from you, even if it meant forcing you to sing Monster Mash.
“Fine! Stop poking me!” Your buck against his hand, telling Ransom to keep his eyes on the road as you tune into the music, listening to the lyrics.
“He did the monster mash.” You start quietly, twirling your fingers in your lap. Your hoodie is drawn over your knees. Ransom is trying very hard not to burst out laughing, he keeps one eye on you, watching your mouth sync with the lyrics, and one eye on the road, going straight for a place he knows you’ll love.
“From my laboratory in the castle east…” You started again, tapping your foot to the beat, the wind settling your nerves for the moment.
“To the master bedroom, where the vampires feast.” You pick up now, moving in tune with the beat, moving your hands, joking with your body, swaying your hips against the seat belt.
“Sing it, baby!” Ransom laughs, his face was practically red from holding in, and with it you join him, listening to the rest of the song play out.
What is with the fall and happy memories?
🍂
“The bookstore? The fucking bookstore!” You squeal excitedly, watching Ransom’s own features bloom in enjoyment, seeing your cheeks puff. The bookstore's front was decorated with paper leaves, stringing a banner across the glass windows.
Its exterior was black and gold, the perfect place for a sad girl. Books heal all wounds. Ransom’s already by the door, pulling his scar tighter as he holds the frame open for you, urging you in.
“As much as I love seeing you toggle, we have books to buy, sweet girl.”
“I love you, you know that?” You say playfully, although not exactly a lie. Ransom had always been like this, ever since you met in college.
“I love you too.”
Books. So many books. It took all your energy not to scream right there and then.
“Good morning!” An employee greets you both with a small smile, and you return it with glee, going straight to the new release stand, not even bothering to wait for Ransom.
Every book released in the past month was here, you wanted to get all of them. You circle around the table, seeing authors ranging from Nicolas Sparks to Ana Huang. A hand grabs your shoulder, spinning you around. Ransom greets you with a smile, handing you a black basket.
“Go crazy, sweetheart.”
“Ransom…” Because he knew you were going to protest, you always do, he places a finger to your lips, cocking his lips in a grin. “I’d rather spend my money on my shortcake.”
Did you already say you love him?
Because you really do love him.
And you do exactly what Ransom tells you, you go crazy.
Your basket is almost filled to the brim. You had insisted on stopping at three books but Ransom wanted you to fill the whole basket. You wanted around now, taking in the spice scent of hair and the smell of freshly printed paper-backs.
It’s not until you see Ransom, a book in his hand, flipping through the pages, that you truly start to panic. The cover, although rather innocent looking, displayed woods, and the name “CREDENCE” sprawled over the cover.
You have never run faster in your life. You attempt to snatch the book out of his hands, surprising him with your speed, but he grips it nonetheless, laughing as you fail to stop him. Halting completely, you watch in terror as Ransom’s back faces you, blocking your sad attempt at receiving the book he begins to read…
Ransom's voice is extracted, dark and husky. “That’s it…Noah says in a strained voice…” Your thighs clench at his words, not because of Ransom in particular, but because you know exactly what scene he is reading.
Oh god.
“Ransom! Shut up-”
But he ignores you, continuing on.
“-Holding my face as he kisses my nose, and then my lips. Good girl”. Ransom doesn't stop despite your pleas, and the more he reads, the more your thighs clench, maybe it wasn’t the book or the scene, maybe it was-
“I feel his fingers slip under the waistband of my shorts, and he starts to pull them down.” He faces you now, reading the pages, his lips pursing to make his voice seem seductive. Ransom is doing it to piss you off, but you are far from it.
“I look at him, pleading” He looks up for dramatic effect, allowing you to hang onto his every word, “No.”
“Yes”.
“He pulls my shorts and panties-”
You snatch the book out of his hand, carefully trying not to crease the cover. “We're done, let’s go.”
“These are the types of books you read?” He whispers, clearly poking fun. He plops the book from your gripping hand, putting it back on its stand. You try to hide the blush forming on your cheeks, Your best friend or not, that was embarrassing.
“An innocent girl like you?” Ransom smiles, grabbing your basket and heading for check-out. Your lips are slightly parted, looking distraught in the middle of a bookstore.
“Ransom!”
“Come on, Shortcake. We have more places to be.”
What the hell just happened?
🍂
“That fear you feel? It won’t last.” Ransom states, his tone a bit more serious. You quirk your brows as you walk down the street, your books stashed in the back of Ransom's convertible.
“Fear?” You question, look to where he walks next to you on the cracked sidewalk. Leaves crunch unearth your feet as you lose your arms in your hoodie, letting the fabric hang.
“You're afraid to trust again, aren’t you shortcake?”
You closed your mouth quickly. Ransom wasn’t entirely wrong, it had only been a few hours, but you truly thought it would be the last time you would ever love again.
“I trust, Ransom.”
“Who?” He asks, stopping in front of a little coffee shop just around the corner of the bookstore. It looks fairly empty from what you can see in the window.
“I trust you.”
That’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.
You order the first pumpkin spice menu item you read. A latte with whipped cream and real pumpkin. Ransom ordered a black coffee, because… of course he did. You both find an orange booth to settle in, sitting across from each other. Candles are lit throughout the shop as baristas call out orders to the other customers.
You bring your lips to the steaming cup, not caring if it burns your tongue or not, you feel the whipped cream gather on your flesh, smelling the cinnamon rooted throughout the substance. Ransom laughs, reaching over the table, and swiping his thumb across your nose to wear the whip cream sets. “You're a messy girl, shortcake.”
“That’s what your dad said.” You joke, laughing as Ransom shakes his head.
“I’m taking the books back.”
“No!”
He tilts his head in a way that says “Now who’s laughing”.
Unfortunately, it was not you.
You two sat in the coffee shop and converse, ordering drink after drink and dessert after dessert, loud laughter could be heard from one source,
Your table.
🍂
It had been a long day. The night sky rose above you, the air now having a layer of coolness to it, enough to bite you if you went outside. As soon as you got into your apartment, Ransom started you a bath, fiddling with a lighter for a few minutes, trying to light your favorite fall-themed candle.
He poured a generous amount of bubble bath into the tub, watching the hot water steam, turning the liquid into white bubbles.
“Shortcake, Bath’s ready!” Ransom calls, and you put your books down, having about ready to organize them. Your stomach ached from all the pumpkin you practically inhaled today, and a warm bath was just the thing to relieve every taught muscle.
You lean against the door frame in nothing but a towel, smelling the bubble bath mixed with the scented candle. You smile, looking at Ransom, “Thank you.” It dissipates from your lips with more appreciation than you could imagine.
“Of course.” Ransom goes to exit, but your fingers wrap around his wrist, turning him around. “Are you going home?”
“I’ll still be here when you get out of your bath.” He whispers, leaning forward to place a soft kiss against your temple, you don’t think much about it, now when it makes you want to melt.
“You're full of surprises today, huh?”
“Anything for you, sweetheart.”
Anything.
🍂
The feel of your best friend's lips against your temple, the sound of his flirty comments and funny resolve, you were starting to look at Ransom in a different way.
A way you both desired but pushed away.
“Ransom!” You call, and in an instant, he’s walking into the bathroom, shielding his eyes as he stops in front of the tub. You smile, heat blooming in your gut.
“Come here, silly.” The hesitation in his steps chips at your heart, but you pursue with it regardless. Ransom kneels by the tub, and carefully you unshield his eyes, holding onto his fingers.
“Shortcake, I don’t want to do anything you're uncomfortable with-” You grab his hand from where it rests in yours, and despite begging to be able to pull away, Ransom doesn't do it. He watches as you glide his hand, being held by the wrist, across your shoulder, bringing his fingers lower to slide down your breast, as your unoccupied hand splashes water upward, making the movement easier.
Ransom’s breath catches as his fingers meet a hardened peak, his eyes locking with your own. “Sweet girl-,
“You showed me what it was like to feel good again, Ransom.” A pained look blossomed on his cheeks, looking to where you sit in the bathtub.
“It was my pleasure.” You see clearly he’s fighting with himself, how far should he go with you? He didn’t want you to think he was using you. You and your ex just broke up.
Ransom also couldn’t deny the burning sensation that settled deep inside him, did he have feelings for his best friend? His best fucking friend of four years?
“It’s too soon-” He pulls away, unsure of his wariness, you sigh, feeling his fingers leave your chest. Perhaps it was for the better, it was so soon, and the last thing you wanted to do was use Ransom for pleasure.
If there was one thing you had known, the one thing that interaction did clarify, You loved him.
【 Synopsis: Curiosity was never supposed to comfort the cat 】
Word Count ꨄ︎ 1.2k
Warnings ꨄ︎ TATTOO TRACINGGGGG. skin tracing. soft negan. platonic comfort. (regardless of negan saying kiddo reader is 18) age gap obvi. IM IN MY NEGAN ERA YOOOOO. Fwuff (fluff).
Negan's Master-List
"So Trace The Lines Of My Tattoos, Whisper That You Love Me Too"
This morning wasn’t going well, it was the type of morning you just want to run away from. To bury yourself deep in the blankets of your bed and hide from it all.
Unfortunately, there’s work to be done.
Which included giving a certain Alexandrian prisoner his breakfast. Why you were in charge of this particular task was a question you couldn’t answer, but nonetheless, it had to be done.
You walked into his holding place, letting the door slam behind you, a large frown on your face. It was hard not to cry. You kept replaying this morning's events, how you had been embarrassed when you weren’t allowed on a run, or when Michone had yelled at you for forgetting to clean your room.
It was the littlest things that made you so upset, and those were just two events that took place out of your shit-hole morning. You can see Negan sitting against the bars, reading a book he doesn’t even look mildly interested in.
You place the tray of food down next to the small opening in the bars. You can’t order him to eat, you are afraid if you open your mouth you’ll break into tears. Negan closes his book with a coy smile, looking down at the plate of food.
Like his book, he doesn’t look interested.
“Thanks, kid.”
You don’t look at him, you just nod once, careful to keep your tear-stained face out of his view. The sound of a book gliding across the floor echoes throughout the small room. You turn to leave, heading straight for the door just a few inches ahead of you.
Negan’s gruff voice stops you right in your footsteps, making the hair stand from the back of your neck. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”
How did he know?
“Nothing.”
Your voice quivers despite it all, even as you try to keep it neutral. The events are evading your mind again, making you relive your morning. “I may be in a cell, but I sure as shit know how someone acts when they're upset. It used to be a full-time job.”
You shudder but turn around regardless. You’d never thought you’d be this desperate for comfort you’d take it from Negan, but so far everyone seems like they despise you. Like they hate your existence and your only purpose is to make things difficult.
Negan’s deep voice cuts through the air, his fingers hitting his rusted cell bars. “Sit, tell me. I’ma guessing dear old Dad doesn’t care to listen?”
“Don’t you have enough problems?”
He scoffs, chuckling a little. “The only thing I have to worry about is whether one of those assholes is gonna remember to feed me or not.”
You turn around, keeping your eyes glued to the floor, avoiding Negan’s gaze as you come to a halt next to him. Before you can stop, your body is sliding down the wall, sitting on the opposite side of the bars.
You can feel the cold metal biting into the side of your hamstring as you lean up against them, in the same exact position Negan’s in. One leg out, one knee bent. You can feel his stare cut through the holes of his confinement, even as you refuse to meet it.
“Start talking.” The demand is so thorough it should have been cold, but somehow it holds no expectations. Like if you wanted to just sit in silence next to him, he wouldn’t mind.
You twiddle your thumbs as you attempt to find the right words. The reality of this situation hasn’t dawned on you yet, you are about to tell your problems to a prisoner. One’s that he may very well use against you.
“I feel lost, not empty…but-” You can feel the tears threatening to resurface again, but you keep them down, focusing on the cold ground of the concrete room, the feeling of skin sliding against skin as you twirl your fingers.
“It’s like I'm living just to live. You know? Like the world is one big movie and I’m watching myself participate in it.” You look at the floor, counting the cracks running through it as your voice breaks. You can hear the sound of Negan’s attentive breathing, and the thrum of his heartbeat as he listens.
“It feels like I’m a burden like no one wants me around. I’ve been yelled over and over again. All for little things too-” You take your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it nervously. Your heart is cracking as you say the words, and your voice is filled with uncertainty.
“It shouldn’t affect me as much as it does. The little side comments or weird glances. But it does, it ruins my-” And here come the tears. The one thing you hoped to avoid during this interaction.
You feel the wetness, and before you know it, it becomes a proverbial puddle of emotions. All stirring inside of you. “Hey, Hey.” Negan’s voice is softer now, a tone low and almost caring.
You ignore him though, in your mind your replaying those same events again. Walking through your morning like one would a DVD, fast forwarding and replaying, pausing ever so often to zoom in. You feel the tears gather in your eyes, and then your breathing stops.
You feel a pulse underneath your fingertips. Your fingers are being moved by someone else's, skating along a muscled forearm. Your pulled out of your auto-biography, as you watch what’s happening. Both of Negan’s arms are protruding from the metal bars.
His left is expanded in front of you, and his right has your fingers clasped in his as he drags your digits across a tattoo in the shape of a cross, whispering little things, almost to himself.
“That’s it”
“There you go, kiddo.”
“Breathe, relax.”
Once he sees he’s grabbed your attention, he lets go of your fingers, but you keep tracing the tattoo, running them up the faded ink, tracing its forgotten details. You love the way he groans just a little at your touch, a shiver coursing through his body.
It calms you, the simple act of going around in that t-shape over and over again, letting the tears fall freely now, not ashamed. Negan keeps his arm through the bars, letting you get lost in his other ink portraits.
However, he can see your chest still rising rapidly, and the soft sniffles of your crying. “Kiddo. Please. I need you to breathe.” He begs, and for some reason, you listen.
“Count with me, yeah?”
You nod slightly, focusing on another tattoo, this one is in the shape of a coffin. You trace the front line and then follow the other awkward diagonals. You breathe in once when you fully trace it and release the pent-up oxygen when you trace it again.
“One,” You both say in unison.
You continue to draw invisible lines across Negan’s skin for what feels like hours until your breath slows and your tears stop. You felt better, dare you say. The dull ache in your chest has vanished completely.
“Care to pass me that tray?”
“What-” You realize Negan’s pointing at his breakfast tray, and so you do, a little confused. He pulls his arm away from you to pull it to him. You start to stand, seeing this interaction is done with.
“Where you going? Sit down.” He demands as he props up the tray on his lap.
You dust off your jeans, “Why?”
“One of those assholes fed me today, figured I share it with someone.”
You chuckle lightly, smiling for the first time in a while. As you wipe away the dampness from your red cheeks, it’s hard not to miss the way Negan smiles to as you finally meet his eyes. “Yeah?”
"A little bit older, A black leather jacket, A bad reputation, Insatiable habits"
Nav.
ೃ⁀➷ Dirt Crossroads 【 Synopsis: a morning filled with taunting and teasing ends on the side of a crossroad, and it seems you don't have a choice in the path you take. 】
ೃ⁀➷ Curiosity Killed Comforts The Cat 【 Synopsis: Curiosity was never supposed to comfort the cat 】
Synopsis ꨄ︎ The truck pulls over quickly, and you know, you fucked up.
Word Count ꨄ︎ 1.7k
Warnings ꨄ︎ unprotected p in v sex. dirty talk. negan being negan. creampie. forced sexual interaction? Kinda? negan smith x fem reader (no y/n as always) (school and work are kicking my asssss folks, apologies for the week late fic)
You’ve been squirming ever since you stepped foot in his truck. A massive calloused hand splayed across your thigh. No matter how many times you shift, he never gives up.
“Negan” your voice is reduced to a low growl, clenching your thighs together as you both continue down a deserted road. Negan asked you to accompany him on a run, and although he never did them himself, he thought he might as well get some fresh air.
“What’s wrong, baby doll?” His coy smile appears on his unshaven features, making the heat worsen in the pit of your stomach. Negan knew what was wrong, but he’d be damned if he didn’t force you to admit it.
A gasp exits your throat as his fingers itch ever so close to your pressure point, sparks shooting through your body as you see his twisted smirk in your peripheral. “We're almost home, hang in there baby doll.”
Hang in there? After all his teasing he wanted you to “hang in there”? And before you could even think, your eyes moved away from the deserted roads, your fingers flying right to Negan’s belt buckle.
“No.” The words are so small, but when they come from Negan, they hold the weight of a spiked baseball bat. No? After he started the teasing?
Hell. Fucking. No.
Without accounting for his warning, you continue with your actions, not caring that Negan is driving, walkers could be anywhere, and the fact he just denied you. Your fingers loop around the buckle until you hear the satisfying click.
A sharp pain shoots through you as the truck comes to a stop, shooing you forward. Negan stops your body from contacting the dash with a large arm, the other on the steering wheel.
“Get out.”
You spin around, confused. “What?” You swear you can feel the hair on your neck stand up. “Negan, why are we stopped?”
He ignores the question, his lips forming a frown, his brows deeply etched into his face.
“Get out, baby doll.”
Negan reaches across your small body, making sure to graze your nipples with the sleeve of his leather jacket.
He pushes the car door open for you, letting the cool morning air coat your small frame. Negan says no more, and after a few milliseconds of sitting in silence, you obey him.
The hair is standing up everywhere, and your spine is even more straightened now. Whatever you just did, made Negan really upset.
His car door clicks shut with a slam, and you with nothing but the dirt of the crossroads, the slow burn of morning sun, and the wide expanse of muddied fields.
You can hear the zipper on his leather jacket rattle, the stomp of his boots as he rounds the truck, and the sudden laugh he lets escape as he sees you.
Small, vulnerable.
“Baby, now what happens when you disobey me?” Negan starts, deploying that pristine smile, one you both love and fear.
He settles against the truck, he towers over the vehicle's top, making him seem that much more intimidating. Negan’s eyes downcast on you, waiting for your response.
“Negan…you.”
Started it. You wanted to say, but his word came with a sharp delivery, comparable to a bark.
“Let’s go” He barks, waving his hand for you to hurry. In this moment you had two options, you could play dumb, act as if you didn’t know what he was referring to, or you could get this over with.
Either way, you shouldn’t have touched his goddamn belt buckle.
Stupid, stupid girl.
You quiver just a bit, fear sinking into your bones. You know Negan would never hurt you, but it didn’t stop the feeling from prickling in your stomach. “Now, Now, Dolly.” He hushes, bringing a single digit to his lips. “Don’t be scared.”
“Negan…” Your voice shakes
Negan’s voice is high-pitched, filled with amused excitement.
“There’s no getting out of this, baby girl.”
“Go on”. Negan motions to the floor and then the truck, clicking his tongue like a shepherd would his herd.
You gulp, “Against the truck…?”
So much fear is being instilled into your body right now, it’s scary. But Negan doesn’t mind, he’s made that quite obvious.
“Nope,” Negan says with a pop. “I want ya’ just how I like it.”
You knew you fucked up now. When Negan said he wanted you “just how he liked it”. Meant you on your back, legs bent up to your head, and your pussy open, ready to take him.
“Here?” You were hesitating now, trying forever to avoid this interaction, but as he just said there’s no getting out of this.
A yelp escapes you when he grabs your elbow forcefully, bending you over the hood of his truck, face pressed into the cool rusty metal. “Yes. Here.”
“Dirty slut, just couldn’t wait could ‘ya? Now look at the mess you got yourself in.” His digits move quickly over your pants, the other hand pushing you into the car’s hood. “How you lookin’ under here, sweetheart?”
“Fucking soaked, I hope.” The sound of fabric ripping fills your head, and the sharp snap of the elastic band of your pants hits your now bare thighs. Negan had completely ripped your pants off, leaving your thighs exposed to the cold air.
Negan elicits a dangerous chuckle, one finger running circles over your bare thighs, all the way up to the fabric of your underwear, replacing the digit with the pad of his thumb, pushing against your slick core.
You can’t help yourself, you buck at the feeling, moaning.
“Oooo!” Negan whistles, mocking your every move with more tantalizing touches. He moves the pad of his thumb, releasing the pressure of his hand and pushing you into the car’s hood.
“Come on, baby doll, get all sprawled out for me.”
And without any bone in your body left, you don’t protest. You are almost in tears when you obey him, Negan watching your every movement as you go around the truck, nothing but ruined panties to cover your ass, you kneel in the cold dirt.
It’s crumbled, staining your skin with mud. You hated the feeling, of being humiliated like this, but deep down someone inside of you liked it. They liked the feeling of Negan standing over her, unzipping his pants slowly with a brooding smirk as he nudges your ass with his foot.
“Legs over your head, you know the deal, baby doll.” You obey him once again, fear still racking throughout your body. You try desperately to keep your eyes open as you grip your ankles, forcing them to the side of your head, your knees up against your stomach.
“Good girl.”
Negan drops to his knees in front of you, and with the sound of dry mud being pushed around from the contact, comes the clinging of his belt buckle coming loose completely.
You can't help but wince as his fingers come up to your dirty core, and with both relief and terror, he rips your panties away, revealing your slick folds to the cold, autumn air.
“My, my, my!” He clicks his tongue, eyeing your pussy. You can’t wait any longer, you need something inside of you.
You squirm, and Negan takes that as a subtle yes. A single digit circles your folds, gathering your slick as the man above you smirks.
“You look magnificent, baby girl. And your pussy…” His pace quickens as his finger finds your entrance, and he pushes in.
You yelp at the sudden intrusion, expecting something slower, hoping Negan would allow you to adjust to his finger.
But no this was a punishment.
“She’s so dirty, isn’t she?”
You clench as Negan continues to pump his digit in and out of you, hearing the crude noises you emit, he couldn’t get enough.
“Wanna cum, honey?” Despite being pressed into the mud, on the side of the road, legs bent in an awkward position and Negan kneeling over you making sure you take everything he gives you.
He yells his next words, and you are very tempted to tell him to quiet down. But a command like that, no.
You’d be in something a lot deeper than mud
“I said, do you want to cum!”
You moan, needing more than a single calloused finger, “Yes! Please!” Negan pulled his fingers out of you, making you watch the quick movement, wincing in pain.
He uses the same hand to retrieve his hardened cock from his pants, a wet spot tainting the front. Negan eases closer to you, and the anticipation returns as he lines his tip with your entrance.
“You have 2 minutes to cum, and if you don’t, I’m gonna leave you here high n’ dry, baby girl.” Negan pushes in, bottoming out immediately. You cry out in pain, fisting nothing but dry mud as you attempt to find support.
“Look at you, this is what you wanted. My cock fucking that dirty pussy.” He thrust once, ignoring the pain elicited from your lips.
“Rub your pretty little clit for me, baby doll. Remember, you're on a time limit.” Despite the pain from Negan's cock stretching you, and the fact your eyes are rolling back into your heads, you find your fingers going to where Negan's cock pumps furiously in and out of you.
You moan from the pleasure, rubbing sloppy circles over your bud, watching the imaginary clock tick by.
You need to cum.
If you don’t, you might just explode.
Negan groans, watching the way you clench around him, the wet sloppy noise coming from where your bodies connect.
“You close? 30 more seconds.” He grunts, and you are so close to the edge that it feels painful. And you know Negan is drawing his cock in slow strokes on purpose, trying his best to delay your orgasm.
You rub your clit harder, focusing on the pleasure of the action alone. “Come on, baby girl. Give it to me, make a mess on my cock.” His words are rushed, pushing you further, past your breaking point
And with those words, you cum, your whole body convulsing as Negan's own release rocks through him, and without asking he cums inside you, filling your stomach.
if u dont acknowledge the fanfics u read, the writer won’t think anyone is actually taking the time to read their stuff, which makes our effort feel wasted and our passions feel worthless
Synopsis: Let me paint you like a masterpiece, baby. Will you be my Mona Lisa?
Word Count: 1k
Warnings: artist!steve rogers x little!reader. cock humping. paint play? cum painting? cum kink? idfk? cock veins. paint play. big softie steve. MINORS DNI, both characters are consenting ADULTS. (its been 6 days since my last fic, I hate fucking classes. me just want to write, me do not want to sit and take notes.
Chris Evan's & Co. | Sunset's BLVD
“Hey best girl, what's wrong?” A soothing voice asks from behind a canvas. The sound of a brush gliding across the stretched hyde seeps through your veins. You could listen to it all day, the way Steve paints.
The way he creates.
“Steve.” You whimper, clutching your hoodie, your thighs crossed, your palms slick with sweat. He glances up from his painting, he’s wearing nothing but his apron, his abs peeking out behind the fabric.
Steve stops at the sound, seeing your saddened face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
Before you can answer, Steve assesses you, his features turning soft as he lays the paintbrush on his cart full of paints, disregarding his masterpiece altogether.
“Sit in my lap, c’mere” He stretched his arms out, his hands motioned for you to join him. You don’t think twice, your tiny feet scurry across the floor of his studio, as he grabs your hips, lifting you up to rest in his lap.
Steve supports your back with a large palm, while the other keeps your hips against him. He places a small kiss against your cheek, hoping to see your smile return. “What's bothering my little girl today?”
Steve’s tone makes you grind against him instinctively, and apparently, he returns your excitement, you can feel his trapped cock grow hard against his sweatpants. “Oh, are you horny? Is that it, sweetheart?”
A blush rises on your cheeks as a light smile blesses your features. “Yes…”
“That’s not a problem, sweet girl. We're gonna take care of you alright?” You nod your head with so much force it hurts, you curl your toes, your stomach bottoms with anticipation, and Steve,
Oh, Steve.
He’s looking at you as if you're a fresh painting he just created, his eyes bright with new ideas, admiring the masterpiece in front of him. His long fingers come up to fiddle with the strap of your tank top. “You're ready for me, aren't you sweetheart?”
“Mhmm. So ready.” You babble, the words are almost incoherent, and you know by the smile on Steve’s face, that he loves you in your current state.
He wastes no time in reaching into his sweatpants, making sure you don’t fall, supporting your back with super-soldier strength. Steve allows his length to spring free, and you groan, feeling the hot appendage hit your stomach.
“I’m ready for you too, baby. Lift those hips for me, alright?”
Your hips lift instinctively, allowing Steve to position his cock right at your pussy, although you can’t feel anything, your shorts make it hard to gain any friction from his cock. You scrunch your face, and Steve smiles.
His palms grab at your hips and force you down onto his cock, still keeping you both supported on his painting chair.
Steve can see you're still confused, so he grabs your hips and moves your clothed folds to glide along his bare cock, and then you feel it.
Oh. You feel it.
“Make yourself feel good, sweet girl.” He instructs, keeping a hold on your back, as you rut against him, going slow at first, still getting used to this new sensation. It’s like having a barrier between you, and you want more, need more but you aren't allowed to have it.
You just have to make do with what he gives you.
Steve groans, looking at the way your shorts grow with a wet spot, seeing how wet you're getting from such a simple form of foreplay.
“You're doing so good, keep humping my cock, just like that. Have you found what you like yet?” He asks, but you're almost too breathless to answer. You can feel the fabric growing with your slick, making it easier to glide along him.
“I like when one of these-” One of “these” hits your clit just as you're about to finish your sentence, making you lean forward, grinding your clit hard against the pulsating vein.
“Aww, you like my veins, sweetheart? They're all for you, every last-” Steve thrust ever so slightly, letting his cock, along with its veins rub against you just the way you like it. The way he knows you like your clit stroked.
“Fuck. One” Steve’s breath speeds up, matching your thrust, You're both so close to the edge, and you both love it. Steve, seeing you hump his cock and getting off on it, seeing how drenched your shorts are becoming, feeling the fabric and your slick grind against his bare cock.
And you, humping him, feeling your orgasm grow tighter and tighter, begging to be unwinded, to be set free.
Steve reaches for something behind you, and you realize, it’s a paintbrush dipped in blue paint. A gasp falls from your parted lips as he brings it up to your shoulder, painting a stroke across your shoulder, over your tank top.
You first his apron, trying to steady yourself against the burning hot sensation of humping his cock, and the ice-cold paint on your skin. He does it again, loving to draw those moans and gasp out of your pretty lips.
He runs it over your chest, reaching behind you for more pain each time he runs out. Steve paints another stroke over your hardened nipples, creating a messy portrait on your shirt.
“Steve-”
He chuckles, “You close, sweetheart?”
“So am I.” Steve paints your curves, sizing you up with each cold stroke of his brush, running the bristles over your most sensitive areas, your breast, your throat, your stomach.
“Let me paint you like a masterpiece, baby. Will you be my Mona Lisa?” Steve huffs out, dropping his brush to the floor when he sees you're thoroughly painted, even getting a little of the substance on himself when he splattered dots across your smiling face.
You can’t answer him, your orgasm is right there, begging to be released. “That’s it…good little girl.”
You stop, your clit pressing against his cock as you explode, and Steve does the same. His cock twitches underneath you, his breaths shortening as he coats you in his cum. “Take all of it, Gonna paint those thighs too, pretty girl.” Steve does exactly as he promised, coating your stomach and your thighs in his release.
no because idk how readers don’t get excited or feel giddy about commenting on a writers work. like after i’m done reading something i’ve loved the thought of going crazy in the comments or the tags of the rb and knowing that it’s going to make the writer smile but also i need to let them know how much it made me smile how much i enjoyed it how much i’m going crazy over it like???? how can you not want to do that?? experience that and make someone else experience that and thus leading them to write more stories that will keep the feelings going. i will never understand you serial likers and ghost readers.
This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 12! | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List
nurse au
Synopsis: Nurse Levinson knows her, and for as long as he can remember, he wants to help her. And tonight, his plan is going to work.
Word Count: 1.8k
Trigger Warnings: THE LAST DAY OF #HAUNTEDHOEDOWN, this is a bit late. nurse!ari levinson x unnamed f!oc. suicide attempt. HEAVY CONTENT<please read with caution> . Self-Harm. relaspe. feeling numbness, no emotion. pain. (lots of fucking pain). im so in love with ari saying "mama". comfort. psych wards. angst. (i fucking hate those places, and this was written with every ounce of hate i could muster) this is fiction, you obvi cant just walk out of a ward. (i wish someone just picked me up and carried me out of that hell hole.)
I miss my body.
The version of my vessel that remains unscared and unbroken. It's gone now, battered with bruises and self-inflicted scars.
I miss my home, the one I inhabited before I was caged with white walls and prescription pills.
I miss myself.
I can't describe myself, oddly. I can barely remember what I used to look like other than dull eyes and sunken cheekbones.
I’m dying in this place. Slowly, mentally.
I stare up at the white tiles, the same ones I’ve been looking at for months. They never change, I wish they would. The sound of a door clicking open, the noise bouncing off the walls, notifies me of the time.
“Hey Mama, how are you feeling today?” Nurse Levinson greets me with a small smile. I glance at him from my lying down position, seeing him follow with a cart of medication. I groan, turning away.
“Mama’s, Answer me.” The nurse demands, but I just sigh, sitting up to grab my medication, each colored pill placed in separate clear cups. There are five. Before I can wrap my frail fingers around one, Ari snatches the cart away.
“Mama.”
“I’m fine,” I answer bluntly. Although I’ll never say it aloud, Ari is the only nurse without evil intentions. He’s a good man, one I would have been friends with when I was still…
Me.
His tall frame comes to the side of my white bed, his large fingers cupping my chin. It’s nothing special, but it makes me feel for just a sliver of a second, feeling the heat from his palm press into my cheek.
“Not feeling group today?”
I shake my head, grabbing the first of five cups. “No”. He lets me this time, knowing my reluctance is evident. He should be used to it by now. I put the pill onto my tongue, making sure the appendage is flat. I don’t need a liquid, I’ve done this hundreds of times before.
I close my mouth, and close my eyes. My mouth wants to spit it out, wants to reject the medication like always. Ari stands in front of me, his fingers grasping gently at my chin as I’m forced to look into his eyes. “Swallow” He orders, My throat obeys him, forcing the red pill down.
I don’t gag, never have. Ari smiles with approval. “Good girl.”
I don’t feel anything by the words, although his presence offers me some form of my old self, which I haven’t seen in a while.
I don’t know if she was ever there.
“How about we skip group, and go straight to our lessons? What do you say?”
“No,” I answer him placidly, taking another pill and popping it into my mouth. This one is blue, it tastes no different.
“No? Mama, are you feeling alright?” I hate the way he speaks to me, as if I'm an animal in a cage, waiting to attack. I’m a grown adult.
“I’m not going to slit my wrist.” Ari's face turns into a wince at my sudden harsh words. I don’t care, they treat me like a weak little girl. I smile weakly, swallowing another pill in between dry gulps.
“I have to dull down the truth, I forgot, Nurse Levinson.” I began again, changing my words to the mandated ones we always use here. “I will not cause any harm to myself or others.”
Ari is battling with himself, I can see it in his features. He wants to feel bad for me, but just like the rest of us, he has a job to do.
“Mama-” He pleads, silently yearning for me to stop talking so plainly. Ari and everyone else here always want to cover up the truth, want to sugarcoat it in red and blue pills and select dialogue.
Screw that shit.
“I don’t want to go to the group, but you will take me anyway. I don’t want to go to lessons, but I'll be dragged there regardless” I turn towards him, moving off my mattress to stand in front of his tall form. He’s wearing blue scrubs, the same every day.
For I don’t know how long.
I lost track of time a while ago.
“Why do you ask me the same questions, as if I’ll have another answer?” He runs a large hand through his long blonde hair, sighing.
“It’s-”
“Required?” I finish his sentence with a silver tongue, my face unmoving. I’ve looked like the same frowning woman since I arrived here.
Nothing ever changes.
“Leave, Ari.” I start to walk by him, not going anywhere in my bedroom, The doors lock from outside, I could run, but I'd end up right back where I stand. I learned that the hard way.
His fingers grab my wrist gently, he’s careful to avoid the white scratches. He knows where my scars are, and he knows I hate them being touched.
I almost smile.
“You know I can’t do that.” He gruffs, I have to look up to him every time he talks, I'm much shorter.
“Because it’s required or?” Ari stops short, his fingers still grabbing gently at my wrist, the medication cart still off to the side. I could grab something.
I could.
He pulls me to him unexpectedly, and I let out a small whimper at how quickly he does it. His heat warms me up, although I’m just skin and bones against him, it makes me feel something. Ari always makes me feel.
It’s why I hate him.
I run my hands down his back, looking for something. Something very specific. He stills underneath my fingers, palms my head and brings me to his chest, our position resembling something of an awkward hug.
“I’m not required to care about my patients.”
A disappointed smile appears on my lips as I grab something from his pocket. He doesn't notice, my little fingers make it impossible. I recognize the tube immediately, and with all my strength, I push the man back, taking the tube with me.
He barely stumbles.
“Liar,” I whisper, holding the syringe in front of my face, Both I and Ari can see it, and the color that drains from his features makes the truth worth it. The tube has a label with a word I can not pronounce, but the number of times I’ve had one injected into me, I know what they do.
A sedative.
“Come on, mama. I have to carry them”. Ari pleads, his eyes wide. I circle him, watching as he flinches when I move closer.
I hate Ari Levinson because he feels like home. I hate him because I’m upset at the fact he carries a sedative when he walks into my room.
Normally, I wouldn’t care if a nurse carried a sedative, but because it’s Ari, a piece of my non-existent heart cracks. He stares at me. I stare at him.
I smile.
Ari knows he’s just lost me.
Not physically.
My broken vessel remains where It stands.
He’s lost my trust.
And we both know in here, that’s worth more than a life.
ꕤ
I don’t know how this happened.
After my chat with a deceitful Nurse, I went to a group, went to lessons with him, didn’t talk, and now somehow I’m running.
I did something, something bad.
There’s blood on my paper clothes.
My socks make it easier to run, they are good for something. I turn down another hallway, an alarm blaring loudly. They’ve announced a lockdown.
Everyone and their mothers are going to be in this hallway in about 3 minutes.
I didn’t mean to etch glass into my scars, allowing them to re-open, but I’ve never had an urge so strong in my entire life. After Ari left my room, taking the syringe and medicine cart with him, I felt again.
It’s weird, almost like flipping a switch back on but having to dust it off first, maybe fiddle with the wires. I can’t explain the true feeling of having consciousness of your body again, numbness turning into pain, feelings burning throughout you.
I was hurt by Ari carrying that syringe, he turned my switch back on.
And my mind went into pain.
I relapsed.
My feet hurt, I can’t stop running though, I feel a set of booths stomp behind me. They're coming for me, it’s only a matter of time.
I don’t know why I ran to begin with, they would have walked into my room, seen my bloodied wrist, bandaged it, and then sent me to a padded room. To “ensure” my safety, of course.
“Mama?” I hear his voice echo through the hallways, and I stop in my tracks. I don’t hear any other footsteps unless they're trying to ambush me. Why would they send Ari after me?
I don’t fight it when he finds me, I stopped running when I heard his voice.
My body just did it, even as I tried to move my feet, they wouldn’t budge.
“Sweet girl…” His voice is taut with emotion, I know he notices my wrists, but he pays no attention to them.
“Come here.” Ari holds his arms out, and with the same reluctance, my body is attracted to his, like a magnetic force field pushing us close together. I settle into his arms, feeling his heat as he lifts me up, grabbing my ankles and wrapping them around his waist.
I look like a little girl with her father.
His fingers run through my hair as I bury my nose in his shoulders, his other hand holds me up as I cling to him. We stand there, in the middle of the red-lit hallway, alarm blaring, and he just holds me.
“Shh… You're with me, sweetheart.”
Ari keeps me supported against him, whispering words into my ears as he leads me down a hallway. I don’t recognize this one, I’ve never been down it.
But then I see a large red sign, spelling the word
“EXIT”.
I lift my head from his shoulder, my face unmoving as I ask, “Exit? Ari-”
“The sedative wasn’t for you, sweetheart.”
“It was for anyone who got in my way.”
My heart cracks as he glances down both ends of the hallway. They trusted him to come and find me, but really, he’s freeing me.
“This was your plan, to free me-”
“You were never supposed to hurt yourself, Mama.”
The sunlight hits my skin immediately, and I bask in it, I haven’t felt it in months. The doors shut behind us, and security cameras can surely see me wrapped around his waist, his large hands placed at my back, and my little fingers, running through his long blonde hair.
My wrist hurts, but the guilt never comes, even as the blood starts to dry and the aftermath is revealed. Ari wanted me to find that syringe, that’s why he pulled me to his chest. He knew it would upset me, and he knew when I got upset, I ran.
