This is a page that will be dedicated to the month of April for fic prompts! It's called "Angsty April".
This is my first time trying my hand at managing one of these so apologies if anything seems strange or off.
Prompt list for Angsty April will be released in March so for all those who love writing angst, or those who want to give a try at it, feel free to join in!
Prompts can be used for any fandom, some things that I ask of you are: tag your works correctly, you use "Angsty April" or "Angsty April 2024" within your first five tags, and tag me in your posts so I can reblog them!
When March comes around the prompts for this will go up alongside any further guidelines! Other than that, I hope you all write angst to your hearts content!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
A/N: and weâve come to a close on AA. Thank you to everyone that read, I hope you liked it as much as I liked participating! And thanks to @angsty-april for hostingđ¤
You wake up, breathless, heart racing. The dream was vividâtoo vivid. Thereâs a girl, her face hauntingly familiar, yet entirely unknown to you. Her laughter echoes in your mind, her touch feels like something youâve known forever. You feel her warmth, the way she looks at you with something between longing and love, yet youâve never met her. Every detail of the dream lingers, impossible to shake, like pieces of a life you donât recognize but desperately wish you could.
You try to brush it off as just a strange dream, but itâs no use. The images wonât fade. Sheâs there in your thoughts when you least expect it, her presence like a shadow trailing behind you. You shake the thoughts out of your head as you step onto the train, the rhythm of the commute a small comfort in the chaos of your mind. As the train jerks to life, you grip the pole, trying to ground yourself in reality.
You stumble slightly, shoulder knocking into your neighbor. You look up, and your breath catches in your throat.
Wandaâs wide eyes meet yours, her face flickering with something between shock and recognition. She grips the pole a little tighter, knuckles going white. Her voice is barely above a whisper, uncertain, but warm, when she finally speaks.
â...Do I... know you?â
You canât tear your gaze away. Her eyes are filled with something familiar, like sheâs been waiting for you, like she knows exactly who you are. But youâve never met her.
âI⌠I know you,â you whisper before you can stop yourself, the words slipping out. She doesnât answer immediately. Instead, she studies you, a flicker of recognition crossing her face.
Itâs strange, this feeling of knowing her intimately, yet never having met her. Her features are seared into your memory, the same ones you have been seeing in your dreams.
Her eyebrows knit together, her gaze searching your face. She seems to recognize you too, like this should make sense but it doesnât. Slowly, her free hand reaches out, hovering just over your arm, hesitant, as if sheâs scared youâll flinch if she touches you.
âWeâve never..met, right?â You ask, your eyes bouncing to her hand.
She shakes her head. âNo. We havenât. Not here, anyways.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â You blink, and the train stops. Several people get on while more get off, but your eyes donât move from hers.
Her lips part, like she wants to explain, but the words wonât come. The train lurches forward again, and she stumbles slightly, her fingers instinctively curling around your arm to steady herself.
The second she touches you-
A sharp rush. A flicker of images, her smiling at you in sunlight, fingers tangled with yours⌠a battlefield⌠a whispered promise in the dark. And then itâs gone as fast as it came.
Wanda jerks back like she felt it too, eyes blown wide with shock. âYou saw that.â
âI-â youâre breathing too hard, too quickly, and you step away. âMy head hurts.â
âYou- I..â Wanda stutters, and her eyes are wet as she inhales shakily. âI should go.â
She turns to the sliding doors, like she can will them to open and you pale. As confused as you are, the last thing you need for her is to leave. You take a step closer, and she smells like roses.
âPlease donât go,â you whisper as the train slows. âWhat is this?â
Wanda hesitates. You can see the war behind her eyes, conflicted and confused, just like you, a painful sense of longing dancing across her features.
She turns back to you, her eyes locked with yours. Her fingers fidget restlessly, but they seem to want to reach for you againâlike sheâs craving it, even though she just felt it. And it seems to hurt her that she canât. âPunishment. youâŚthe false memories. youâre havenât them, arenât you?â
You canât breathe. Canât move, your feet stuck to the dirty train floor.
She blinks hard with wet eyes, her mouth twisting. âYou need to forget me.â
âBut I donât even know you.â You whisper.
But you do. Somewhere in you, where your atoms combine and your blood twists, your heart knows hers. Your mouth has been upon the pink lips you stare at now, your voice the reason for her laugh. You know it, deep in your bones.
You see her chin tremble, see the way her eyes burn, because she knows it too. She shakes her head, and she looks so unbearably sad.
You feel your heart twisting painfully in your chest. This feeling, the way you ache as she stares at you with that tortured sadness, it isnât something you should be feeling for a stranger.
But thereâs no denying it. You know this girl. Your body and every part of you remember her.
âDonât make me lose you, when I donât even know you.â She whispers, and the words crack against you like a whip. You shake your head, reaching for her again, but sheâs faster. âNot anymore.â
Her hands slides forward, finger tips pressing to your forehead. Your eyes meet hers for one, fleeting moment, and you think you may have loved her in a life before.
A/N: almost finished with @angsty-april! This one really felt more like game!tommy to me⌠from this prompt by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor
The house creaks with every gust of wind, the old wood groaning beneath the weight of time, the tension hanging in the air. Itâs a sound youâve become accustomed to, even if youâve never truly gotten used to it.
Tommy stands at the doorway, his posture tense, jaw clenched. The only thing that moves is his breathing, sharp and uneven. You feel the room grow colder despite the warmth of the fire crackling behind you.
âTommy,â you whisper, but it feels like the words donât reach him. His eyes, darker than usual, flicker to you, and for a brief second, you think you see something soft, something real. But then itâs gone, replaced by the hard edge of frustration thatâs been building between the two of you for weeks.
His voice cuts through the silence, low but vicious. âAll you do is fuck things up! Why do I even keep you around?â
You freeze. Your heart stutters, but the words spill out before you can stop them, a defense mechanism to protect yourself, even if it wonât help. âWell, for starters, youâre unbearably lonely without me, and you think Iâm cute, which gives me more value than you like to pretend.â
The words are a knife to the chest, but theyâre the only ones that fit. You bite back the tears that threaten to spill, and Tommyâs face softens for a moment, a flicker of something regretful flashing behind his eyes. He swallows hard, fists clenching at his sides.
âI donât need you,â he mutters, but the way his shoulders sag betrays him. Heâs lying. He does need you, he just doesnât know how to admit it, how to reach out when everything around him is falling apart.
âYou do,â you reply, your voice quieter now, a tremor you canât hide creeping in. You take a slow step forward, careful, like youâre approaching a wild animal. You know Tommy, and you know the rage inside himâitâs a fire he canât seem to put out, even when all he wants is peace. âYou just canât stand it. Youâre too damn proud to admit it, but youâre miserable without me, Tommy.â
His gaze hardens, but the way his hands shake gives him away. âYou donât know anything about me.â
âI know more than you think,â you answer, your voice barely above a whisper. âYou donât let anyone close enough to really see you, but I do. Iâve seen the way you look at me when you think Iâm not paying attention. I know youâre scared. But you push me away like you think itâll make everything better.â
The room creaks again, as if the house itself is trying to hold the two of you together, its old bones bearing witness to the mess youâve both created. Tommyâs expression falters for just a second before he turns his back to you.
âYouâre right,â he says finally, barely audible, his voice cracking. âIâm scared. Iâm scared of losing you. Iâm scared of how much I need you, even if I wonât show it.â
You donât know how to respond to that. Your heart aches, a dull pain that fills your chest with something like longing, regret, and maybe love. But all you can do is stand before him, frozen, waiting for him to face you again.
When he turns back around, itâs as though the fight has drained out of him, leaving only the vulnerability that both terrifies and draws you in.
âI donât know what to do with you,â he admits, his voice quieter now. âBut I know I canât let you go.â
The words hang in the air, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you donât have to say anything at all. The silence speaks louder than anything either of you could put into words.
You step forward, closing the distance between you. Tommy doesnât pull away. Instead, he lets you in, letting the cracks in his walls show as he finally gives in to the quiet ache thatâs been building between you both.
The house creaks again, but this time, it feels different. Like maybe youâre both holding it together.
Prompt: day 28 - âI was the one who stayed. Not you.â
Pairing: S5!Dean x partner!reader
WC/Tags: 1,196/ self deprecation, shouting, arguments, apologies, established relationships, S5
A/N: Dean pushing away those he loves? Nooo @angsty-april
The hunt went wrong. Dean feels the failure pressing down on him, heavier than normal because someone got hurt. Because of him, someone bled, and if it werenât for Sam, they wouldâve died. The mistake feels like suffocation.
The cold air bites at his skin, but it doesnât numb the feeling settling in his chest. He walks a few steps ahead, head lowered, fists clenched at his sides. His usual confidence is gone, and you follow a few steps behind, your heart tight with worry. His silence is impenetrable, like a wall thatâs built up between you. You want to reach out, to offer comfort, but tonight feels different. Heâs not himself. Thereâs a simmering anger in him, barely contained.
âDean,â you call softly, your voice the only sound in the otherwise silent night. You reach out, your hand brushing his arm, but he flinches, pulling away from your touch.
When he turns to face you, his eyes are stormy, dark with frustration. âI donât need your pity,â he snaps, his voice sharp. âWhy do you alwaysâspace, alright? I need space.â
His words hit you like a punch, stealing your breath. âI just wanted to help.â
âWell, donât,â he fires back, bitterness dripping from every word. âI donât need you to fix me. I donât need anything from you.â
You stare at him. He glares back.
Dean turns away, walking into the dark, leaving you standing alone as the night wraps itself around you.
-
Days blur into weeks. You give him the space he demands, each step away from him feeling like youâre losing a part of yourself. You stop waiting for him after hunts. You stop texting him just to check in. You stop reaching out, and with each action, you feel yourself becoming more and more distant, like a ghost that haunts the edges of his life.
But Dean notices. He feels the absence in the room, in the way you sit on the opposite side of the couch, the distance between you growing wider with every passing day. He sees the way your laughter doesnât reach your eyes anymore. Conversations feel empty, words hollow, silences strained. He watches you, but itâs like youâre no longer the same person to him.
When he fucks you, you turn away, pressing your face into the pillow as his hands grip your hips. He kisses you, or tries to, but your lips stay shut, cold, and your moans are more reflective than actual pleasure.
âThis okay?â He mumbles against your neck, and you nod, closing your eyes. You want to savor this, the feeling of his skin on yours, before eventually this fragile thing breaks.
Itâs nearly a month when heâs finally had enough of the unbearable silence. He watches you from across the room, your head bowed, fingers nervously working over a gun as you clean its metal. You seem smaller, like youâre collapsing in on yourself.
âI⌠Iâve been a jerk,â Dean says, his voice softer than you expect, hesitant.
You look up, surprise flashing across your face. âItâs fine,â you say, but your words sound empty, robotic.
âNo, itâs not.â He steps closer, his frustration finally breaking through. âThat hunt⌠I messed up. I let someone get hurt. I pushed you away when all you did was try to help. I didnât mean it. I didnât mean any of it.â
You donât answer right away, your gaze dropping to the floor. The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy with everything left unsaid. You feel the gap between you both, the distance that has only grown.
âI know that,â you whisper, your voice trembling. âMaybe youâve outgrown me.â
âNo,â Dean says immediately. âNuhuh, no. I could never, that- no.â
Heâs breathing hard as you blink up at him, pain cracking across your face before you stand up, walking to the opposite side of the room and away from him. You need space to think, to digest.
Deanâs breath catches in his chest. The guilt, the realization of what heâs done, hits him like a freight train. âI miss you,â he admits, his voice barely a whisper. âI miss us.â
He walks up to you, pausing for a moment before his fingers brush against yours. âYouâreâŚfading. Disappearing and I know thatâs my fault. Iâm sorry.â
You donât realize youâre crying until the tear falls to your chin. You swipe at it quickly before folding your arms across your abdomen. âIâm the one who stayed. Not you. Iâm right here. I just wanted to be there for you,â you whisper, your voice breaking. âI wanted to help you. I didnât realize Iâd become such a burden.
âYou were never a burden,â he says urgently, his hands running up your arms and you shiver. âIt was, a lot and I took it out on you. I shouldnât have.â
Tears streak down your face, relentless, as if your soul is being cracked open with each drop. âDo you know what itâs like?â you whisper, voice trembling and barely above a breath, âTo feel like youâre never enough? To give everything you have, and still be told youâre too much?â The words hang heavy between you, thick with a rawness that rips at your chest. âAll I ever wanted was to love you.â
Deanâs breath hitches at your words, a crack of pain slicing through his chest. His grip on your hand tightens, desperate and aching. His voice is thick as he leans forward, and your back presses into the chipped drywall.
âIâm sorry,â he breathes, the weight of his guilt crushing him. âIâm so damn sorry.â
The room is still, save for the sound of your breathing. He pulls you into his arms, and you donât fight him, his chin slipping atop your head like it was made to.
âYou were never too much,â he whispers, his voice soft against your hair, the weight of his words heavy with regret. âIâll make it right. I swear, I will.â
You lift your eyes to his, your voice barely a breath. âI donât know how to go back to what we had.â
His hand cups your face gently, his touch steady and warm, as though trying to ground you both in the midst of everything falling apart. âWeâll find a way,â he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours, filled with a quiet determination. âWeâll rebuild, piece by piece.â
Dean leans in, his forehead resting against yours, the once suffocating silence melting into something hopeful. When his lips meet yours, itâs slower. A tender press, a quick swipe of his tongue that sends a shiver to your spine.
Heâs asking for forgiveness.
You wonder if you can give it.
âI need you,â he breathes when he pulls back, his voice like ground up chalk. âMore than anything. Come back to me.â
Tears still cling to your lashes, but a small, trembling smile forms despite the ache in your chest. âWeâll be okay,â you whisper, your voice a quiet resolve. âIt wonât be easy, but⌠I want to try.â
âYeah?â His eyes have a gleam of hope that makes your stomach flutter. You nod, and encircle his waist once more.
A/N: this is likeâŚa spark of a blurb lol @angsty-april
You stand in the quiet of the afterlife, the air thick with an eerie calm. Itâs different here, peaceful, yet unsettling in its stillness. Blinking hard, you feel your heart stutter in your chest, because you see him. Eddie. His hair falls messily around his face, rings glinting on his fingers, his guitar pick hanging around his neck.
His gaze locks with yours, and that familiar spark of recognition flickers in his eyes. You take a step forward, heart pounding despite the peace that surrounds you. He smiles, a small but genuine thing, like heâs been waiting for you, like he never truly left.
âYou made it.â Eddie says, his voice steady but full of that unshakable warmth. You move closer, tentative, unsure of whatâs real and what isnât. He reaches out, the distance between you shrinking until itâs just him, the softness of his hands, the scent of his denim jacket. His fingers brush your skin, a whisper of forever in a place where time no longer matters.
âI missed you.â you whisper, not knowing if he heard you, but it doesnât matter. Heâs here, youâre with him again. Everything is exactly as it should be.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
A/N: inspired by this prompt from @promptsforthestrugglingauthor . Title from a Joe Goldberg monologue, and day 26 of @angsty-april
You watch him from across the room, heart racing as he talks to Steve, that effortless smile of his lighting up the space. He doesnât notice you, of course. He never does. But youâre here, every time, watching. You want to call it love. You want to call it passion. But deep down, you know itâs simply unrequited obsession.
Your fingers twitch at your side, nails digging into your palms as you fight the urge to approach him. You know better than that. Youâve learned to stay in the background, hidden in plain sight. The way his eyes flicker with laughter as Steve jokes, the sound of his deep, warm laugh that you could recognize anywhere. It fills your chest with a tight, hollow feeling.
You hate that feeling, and yet you crave it.
They leave the bar together, Steve slinging an arm around Buckyâs shoulder. You stay back, follow at a distance, watching the two of them laugh and joke, just like you once did. Your mind fills with images of what could be, if he only noticed you. If he only saw you for what you could be for him. But you know those thoughts are nothing more than fantasy, just like your dreams of when you were together.
You tell yourself youâre not obsessed, that itâs just a harmless admiration, but then you find yourself at his apartment door again. You donât have to knock. You know when heâs home. Youâve memorized the pattern of his comings and goings. Heâs inside now, sitting in his kitchen, unaware that youâre standing just outside, hidden in the shadows.
Itâs always like this. Watching, waiting. You canât help yourself. The desire gnaws at you, an ache that you try to ignore, but itâs too much to suppress.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you jerk slightly, startled. You glance down at the screen. Itâs a message from Steve.
Bucky asked about you today.
You smile faintly, your heart skipping a beat. Maybe, just maybe, thereâs a chance. But then reality sets in, and the bitter truth cuts through the fleeting hope, because Steve is lying. He knows how hard the breakup hit you, how difficult you found it to move on. He doesnât know that you havenât moved on; not really.
Still, you canât help but think of that small flicker of hope â the thought that Bucky has noticed you. That maybe heâs wondered about you. But you know itâs a stretch. Itâs always been a stretch.
You wait for him to leave the apartment in the morning, as you always do. As the sun rises, painting the city in pale light, you watch him walk, the heavy weight of his boots echoing on the stairs as he walks toward the alley. You count the steps, memorizing his every movement. Youâre careful not to get too close, not to let him see you.
But today is different. Today, when he walks past your hiding spot, he pauses. His eyes flicker over you, and you freeze. Your breath hitches in your throat.
âHey,â he says, voice low, guarded. He says your name, and you swear your heart sings.
You blink, startled. The sound of his voice, directed at you, sends a jolt through you. You force yourself to smile, to appear casual, to seem like youâre not dying inside, but you can feel the tremor in your fingers, the rush of blood to your head. âHi,â you say, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you.
He tilts his head slightly, studying you with a curiosity youâve never seen before. Itâs a feeling youâre not used to. Itâs not affection, not yet, but itâs something. A flicker of something youâve only dreamed of.
âYouâve been around here a lot,â he says, his voice a little softer now. Thereâs no suspicion in his tone, just a simple observation, and you realize heâs known, this entire time.
You nod slowly. âI like the neighborhood. Itâs⌠quiet.â
He watches you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. You canât read him, canât tell what heâs thinking, but you know that this is your moment. The moment youâve been waiting for, that youâve been dreaming of, your chance to win him back.
âI should get going,â he says, his voice trailing off. âYou should get some sleep.â
Your heart plummets, but youâve learned how to bury it. Youâve learned how to hold it together when all you want to do is scream. You watch him walk away, wishing you could reach out, grab his sleeve, pull him into your arms. Tell him everything. Tell him how much youâve missed him, that youâve watched him for so long, how you know him better than anyone, but you donât. You never do.
You watch until he disappears around the corner, and then you turn back to the alley where you always wait.
You know that you canât keep doing this. The ache in your chest is too strong, too painful. You know itâs unhealthy, this obsession, this need. But you canât stop it. You canât stop yourself from wanting him, from needing him in ways you know heâll never understand.
Maybe one day, heâll look at you and see more than just an ex. Maybe one day, heâll see you for who you truly are, but until then, youâll keep watching.
WC/Tags: 1.2k / infection, character death, last words, love confession
A/N: title from âWhen itâs rainingâ by Borderline. Kind of lost steam for this at the end so it someone wants to try a rewrite I wouldnât deny! @angsty-april
Heâs dying.
He knows it, and you know it.
Youâre holding his hand, fighting to keep the tears at bay, his skin clamy against yours; you raise it to your lips anyways, pressing a kiss to his hand.
The infection is spreading rapidly, you can tell. The black strips under his veins bulge and pulse, and heâs sweating, shifting in pain with shit eyes.
âGo,â he whispers, the bed creaking under him. âNo point in youâŚseeinâ this.â
You shake your head, pressing your lips together. âIâm staying right here.â
His fingers twitch weakly in your grip as he lets out a hoarse chuckle, though there's no real humor behind it. âStubborn as hell... Always were.â
A sharp intake of breath as another wave of pain hits him, jaw clenching hard enough to make the muscle jump. But even now his gaze locks onto yours with that same stupid, stubborn intensity. â...Fine. But if I start turninâ into one of those things, you better put me down before I embarrass myself.â
The corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, just for you.
âItâs my end of days, gorgeous,â his voice is cracked as his eyes find yours. âDonât start lying to me now.â
âLeon,â you whisper, blinking hard because he canât die. Not now. Not like this. âPlease.â
His thumb brushes weakly over your knucklesâgentle, like heâs trying to memorize the shape of them. âHey... I've cheated death more times than I can count. Maybe it was always gonna catch up.â
A ragged breath, then his voice drops lowerâbarely there, but still steady. âBut listen... You don't beg for me. Not ever.â His grip tightens slightly, as if he could will strength into you through touch alone. âYou walk outta here when it's done. Alive. That's the deal.â
The faintest smirk tugs at his lips again, even as his eyes start to lose focus, always having to have the last word.
âYou canât, Leon you canât just- not when I-â you stop, because you hadnât said the words yet. You hadnât been brave enough, and even now as death stared at you through his eyes the words caught on your tongue.
âI know,â he murmurs, his eyes closing. âSâokay baby. You donât have to say a thing.â
âI want to,â you whisper. âI really do.â
He lets out a bitter laugh turned ragged by another sudden wave of pain, eyes squeezed shut as he leans his head back against the pillow for a moment. It feels like eternity while you wait for the wave to pass. When he finally looks at you again, there's a softness thereâpain, yes, but something like tenderness, too.
His hand lifts to brush a strand of hair away from your face, the calloused pad his thumb tracing along your cheekbone.
âHey... I can be selfish, right...?â
âBe selfish with me,â you whisper, clasping his hand and keeping it to your face. You scoot closer to the bed with your chair, your knees pressing to the edge of the mattress. âFight for me. Donât die, for me. Fuck umbrella, and Racoon city, and everyone that made this world your problem. Be selfish, and love me.â
âI already do.â
His response is quick, a knee jerk reply, and you still, your eyes widening and his hand is warm on your cheek as it keeps a grasp on your face. His expression softens further, his gaze never leaving yours, steady and intense, that familiar stubbornness in it, even now. It makes your chest ache, because he never changed and you don't want him to. He'll always be Leon.
He's quiet for a moment, just studying your face, his thumb stroking gently over your skin with what must be the last of his strength.
Then in a hoarse whisper, he's making a demand. âCome closer.â
You lean forward, pressing your elbows to the mattress so you can lean on your palms, your face closer to his. The tears prick at your eyes before you inhale, finding the scent that is so clearly him under the gun powder and antiseptic.
His breath hitches, just once, as your face hovers just above his, his grip tightening ever so slightly in your hair before he exhales.
âTell you what,â he murmurs, rough with pain but still so warm. âIf I make it through this... you better be ready to say those words back to me.â His smirk is weak now, but it's there, barely. Teasing. Like always.
Before you can answer, he tugs your face down the last inch and kisses you like he's got nothing left to lose.
Which, well... he might not, but hell if that stops him from making sure you do.
You close your eyes, committing the feel of his lips on yours to memory. Theyâre chapped but smooth, cool against your warm ones. Even with the pain and the fever, he still kisses you so gently, almost reverently. As if you're something fragile or delicate, instead of a trained agent who can put a bullet in a zombie's head at a hundred feet, but then, he's always treated you as if you were something rare. Something he never deserved.
He breaks the kiss but only just, his forehead presses against yours, a shaky exhale leaving him as he breathes in the scent of you, one that reminds him always of home.
Youâre crying now, salty tears slipping down your cheeks and wetting his skin. He makes a soft sound, shaking his head. âDonât cry for me.â
âCanât help it.â You pull back, taking in his face, the lines of black that crawl up his neck and your eyes crinkle as you blink rapidly. âI love you. Oh god, Leon I love you.â Your voice cracks and you break, your head falling to his chest as you sob. âPlease. Please donât do this.â
His arm comes around you, weak but insistent, pulling you as close as he can manage, his hand cradling the back of your head like he's trying to shield you from all of this.
âDamn it,â he rasps, pressing a rough kiss into your hair. âNot how I wanted to hear that for the first time.â
You can feel his heartbeat under your cheek, too fast, too uneven, but still there. Still fighting, because Leon Kennedy doesnât know how to do anything else.
âWe can fight this,â you whisper into his chest. âI know we can. The doctors said-â
âDoctors donât know everything,â he says softly and you sit up, wiping at your eyes. âTheyâre guessing, at best.â
âThey could be right,â you insist. âAnd Iâm not giving up. Not on you, never on you.â
His gaze sharpens, a flicker of that old fire in his exhausted eyes, and he exhales through his nose like you're being particularly difficult.
âStubborn as hell,â he mutters, but fondness laces his tone.
With a slow inhale, he nods once, sharp and decisive. âFine. We try, but if this shit goes southâŚâ His thumb brushes under your eye again, wiping away another stray tear before it can fall. âYou still walk out alive. You still live.â
You chew at your lip but nod nonetheless.
Leon Kennedy never was good at surrender; not even now.
A/N: title from âmuscle mermoryâ by Charley. for @angsty-april
You had fucked up.
Standing by the window, staring out at the night sky, you can feel Wandaâs presence looms behind you, tense and quiet. You can sense her eyes on you, waiting, watching for any sign that you understand why sheâs upset.
You know why sheâs upset. You just donât know how to fix it.
âYouâve been texting her again,â Wandaâs voice breaks the silence, her tone heavy with something you canât place. Itâs not anger, but it feels like something worse. Something cold.
You turn to face her, your heart sinking at the look on her face. Her arms are crossed, her eyes narrow as she waits for you to explain, to offer something, anything, that will make her understand.
âSheâs just a friend, Wanda,â you begin, your voice soft, but thereâs a hesitation you canât shake. âIâve told you that.â
âJust a friend,â she repeats, her laugh devoid of humor. âHow many times do I have to hear that? Youâve been texting her in secret, behind my back. And now Iâm just supposed to believe itâs nothing?â
âI didnât mean to keep it a secret,â you rush to say, stepping closer to her. âI never wanted to hurt you. I didnât think it mattered. Itâs justââ
âJust what?â Wandaâs voice rises, cutting you off. âIt matters. Why wouldnât it matter? Youâre telling me you didnât think Iâd care? That I wouldnât wonder why youâre still keeping in touch with someone who hurt you? With your ex?â
You take a breath, the words sticking in your throat. âI didnât think about it like that. Itâs just⌠weâve talked a few times, as friends. Sheâs not the same person she used to be. Andââ
âAnd you didnât tell me,â Wanda interrupts, her voice thick with the weight of her disappointment. Her eyes glimmer with something close to betrayal. âYou didnât think I deserved to know? Or maybe you didnât trust me enough to be honest about it?â
The sting of her words cuts deeper than you expected. The room feels smaller now, the space between you filled with unsaid things. The tension suffocates you both.
âI never meant to make you feel like that,â you say quietly, taking a step forward, hoping sheâll let you in, that sheâll let you explain. âI should have told you. I should have been honest from the start. But it wasnât anything. I promise. Just texting, checking in. Thatâs all.â
âBut itâs something,â Wanda snaps, her hands trembling as she reaches up to push her hair out of her face. âYou hid it from me. And that something makes me wonder if thereâs more youâre hiding. If thereâs more I should be worried about.â
You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper. âIâm not hiding anything, Wanda. Not from you.â
She looks at you, eyes full of hurt, and the sadness in her gaze is almost more than you can bear. âHow can I ever trust you again when you keep things from me? When you donât even give me the chance to understand? How could I?â
Her words hang in the air like a challenge. Your heart aches, the knot in your stomach tightening with every second that passes. You step toward her again, this time more carefully, not wanting to push her away any further.
âI know I messed up,â you admit, your voice rough. âI should have told you. I shouldâve trusted you with everything. You deserve that. You deserve my honesty. All of it. And Iâm sorry for making you feel like you didnât.â
Wandaâs gaze softens for a split second before it hardens again, and she shakes her head. âItâs not just about the texts. Itâs about trust. Itâs about knowing youâre not going to hide things from me, even if you think theyâre small. I need to know youâre with me, that youâre all in.â
You bite your lip, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall. âI am, Wanda. I am all in. I want to be with you. I justâI didnât want to make you feel insecure about something that wasnât anything.â
She looks down at the floor, her chest rising and falling with each breath. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter, almost a whisper. âI donât know if I can believe you. Not right now. Youâve given me no reason to.â
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel your world slipping, the weight of the truth settling in your bones. You canât undo the hurt, canât take back the lies, but you have to try. You have to show her that sheâs worth the fight, that youâre ready to be honest with her, no matter how hard it is.
âIâll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again,â you promise, your voice shaky but determined. âI swear to you, Wanda, Iâll make it right.â
She doesnât respond right away, and the silence stretches between you both like a chasm. But then, after what feels like an eternity, she looks up at you, her face softening.
âI need time,â she says, her voice quiet but firm. âI donât know if I can just forgive you for this. Not yet.â
You nod, the hurt still fresh, but you understand. âIâll wait. Iâll wait for you.â
She gives you a sad, thin smile. âDonât hold your breath.â
Warnings/tags: established relationship, past smut, angst
A/N: soo we all saw bits and pieces of those leaks right? @angsty-april
You wake with a start, the soft rustling at your window pulling you from sleep. The room is dark, the only light coming from the pale moon filtering through the curtains. You blink, heart racing, and thats when you see them.
His eyes. Bright, red flames dancing in the dark. The same eyes that watch you from across the throne room while you clean. The same eyes that hover above you as he stuffed you full.
Zuko says nothing, just watches you as if heâs reading your sleep-addled brain.
You sit up, confusion and fear mixing in your chest. âZuko?â Your voice is barely a whisper, as if saying his name out loud will make him disappear.
He doesnât move at first, scanning the room like heâs making sure itâs safe to stay. His movements to you are slow, and when he kneels at your bedside, his knees hit the floor hard. He doesnât wince.
âWhy are you here?â you ask, voice trembling, more fear than surprise in your tone.
Zukoâs gaze flickers toward the window, toward the distant mountains, and something in his eyes shifts; pain, guilt, and a whole lot of regret. âIâm being banished,â he says, the words almost flat, like heâs said them a thousand times in his head but never aloud to anyone else. âAgain.â
You blink, your chest tightening. âBanished?â you repeat softly, almost disbelieving. âBut⌠why? Youâre the goddamn Firelord. They canât just-â
He looks away, jaw tightening. âItâs not up to me. The Fire Nation has spoken. Iâve done too much⌠failed too many times. This is the price. It was a unanimous vote.â
You watch him closely, his words sinking in like stones in your stomach. His shoulders are slumped, the fire in his eyes dimmer than youâve ever seen it. You want to ask him how long heâs known this was coming, how long heâs been carrying this on his own, but the words feel too heavy, too final.
âIâm sorry,â you say quietly, your voice breaking slightly, a lump forming in your throat. âI wish I could help.â
His eyes meet yours, his hand trembling slightly as it hovers near your fingers, like heâs unsure if he should touch you.
âI never wanted this,â he murmurs, the regret and sorrow so thick in his voice it nearly cracks. He raises his hand, his fingers brush against your cheek, a soft, fleeting touch. âI only wanted you.â
He stands, steps back slightly as if to put some distance between you. You lean forward, grasping the sleeve on his arm and you shake your head.
âYouâll come back,â You whisper. âYou always do.â
âWill I?â
The knot in your throat is so large you find it hard to swallow, to speak, so you simply nod. His brows knit and he hinges at the waist, his movements slow before his lips gently brush the corner of your mouth in a kiss so light, so careful, that you almost donât believe it happened at all.
The tenderness of it hits you harder than any words could and you freeze, your heart pounding, your breath hitching as you stare at him in shock. But Zuko doesnât give you time to speak, doesnât give you time to process.
âIâll never forget you,â he says, his voice low and broken, like heâs saying goodbye to more than just you. âTake care of yourself.â
He turns away, his footsteps quiet but purposeful as he fades into the shadows, leaving you alone with the aching emptiness of his absence, a kiss still lingering on your skin, and a heart shattered by the one thing you couldnât stop; loving him.
A/N: think this was angsty enough teehee @angsty-april
Your mom had always hated camping.
The bugs, the heat. Lack of electricity. She hated it.
She liked peach perfume and taking the metro and 24hr servicing diners.
So when the world ended and she was forced to essentially camp for the foreseeable future, it definitely took her by a less-than-enthused surprise.
You think you got it from her, your dislike of camping. Or maybe it was the clickers, or the fact that your mom couldnât go camping anymore because she was buried in an unmarked grave only four months ago.
It was probably that.
The rain pelting down is hard. It smells of pine, sticky and earthy, and you tug your knees closer to your chest. Ellie doesnât seem to register the rain, or the cold. Her nimble hands move over her gun as she cleans it with a dirty rag, her elbow brushing your sleeve occasionally. The water has soaked her head, her short hair sticking to the nape of her neck.
âThink itâll let up soon?â Ellie asks, and you blink, realizing you were staring and she had caught you said staring.
âAh, I dunno,â you whisper. âI hope so.â
Ellie hums lowly as she finishes up with cleaning her pistol. She sets it down on her lap, turning to look at you in the low light. The rain makes everything harder to see; the forest seems to stretch on forever.
She bumps her shoulder into yours. âYouâre pretty quiet tonight.â
You shrug, licking the water from your top lip, and you wonder why you feel frazzled that she noticed. âNothing to say I guess.â
Ellie glances at you sideways. âHeard about your mom.â
You look down, staring at your water stained shoes. You donât want to talk about your mom, not with your scouting partner. Not with anyone.
âYeah.â You say quietly, because itâs too fresh, too new, but youâre still annoyed when the tears prick your eyes.
Ellie hesitates for a split second, as though not sure what to do. She shifts a little, opening her mouth like sheâs about to speak, but she says nothing.
Instead, her hand comes down on yours, and she gives it a gentle squeeze. Her touch is warm, surprisingly so.
She doesnât say a word, doesnât offer you any empty promises. She just offers her silent support, sitting beside you in silence as the world seems to slow down in the pouring rain. Your brows tighten, bottom lip trembling and you slip it between your teeth. With slow movements you turn your hand, flexing your fingers as hers slide between yours, intertwining.
Ellie seems to relax a little, her shoulders dropping and her body slumping back against the tree trunk. Her thumb rubs soft, gentle circles on the back of your hand, her fingertips brushing your skin.
âSometimes I think itâs not worth it,â you say softly. âsurviving. or trying to.â
The rain continues to fall heavily around you, drumming a steady beat against the leaves above your heads. You can just make out the outline of her face in the darkness, the pale skin and the sharp line of her jaw, the freckles that smatter across her nose.
âI get that,â she says after a moment. âCanât lie I sometimes think that too.â
You exhale softly through your nose, the scent of pine clinging to your nostrils.
You fall silent after that, both of you just listening to the rain. Her touch is the only thing preventing you from feeling completely numb, the weight of your grief and the world crashing down like the heavy rain around you.
Eventually, she speaks again. Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper.
âI'm sorry though, about your mom.â she says, and you know that her words are genuine. You nod, squeezing your eyes shut. It's not enough, not nearly enough, but it's all she can give, and youâre more than willing to take it.
âThank you.â You whisper, your throat thick and your eyes stinging. She shuffles closer, her back leaning against the trunk of the tree, and you move back, laying your head on her shoulder.
Ellie tenses for a split second at the contact, but she relaxes quickly. She shifts a little so that you're more comfortable, her arm coming up and circling your shoulders.
Her body is warm and solid against yours, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of her chest each time she breathes. She says nothing, just lets you lean against her, a silent support.
You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath, ignoring the way the pine clings to your nose, and instead focus on her scent. You press your nose to her collar, and her cheek lays lightly atop your hair.
You inhale, and Ellie smells like peaches. A droplet of water runs down your temple, and a smile pulls at your mouth.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Pairing: college!Tommy x reader, college ex!joel x reader
WC/tags: 257 | ex boyfriend Joel, toxic(?) reader poor Tommy
a/n: for @angsty-april
âWe donâtâŚhave to.â
Your hands flex on the collar of his shirt, and you donât look at him. Canât look at him.
Tommyâs hands are on your waist, the warmth of his skin seeping through the cotton of your flannel despite the winter cold. His thumb rubs a pattern that he probably thinks is soothing, grounding, but all it makes you think is how itâs the wrong rhyme, the wrong pressure.
You shake your head, blinking quickly. âNo, I want to.â
He says your name softly, like heâs tired, like he knows you donât actually want to kiss him. The thing is you do. Kind of. You just want this part, the part where you kiss someone else, to be over.
âIâm not my brother,â Tommy says and youâre surprised at how patient he sounds. âYou know that, right?â
âI know.â
âJust because you broke up doesnât mean he wonât come back, you donât have to settle for me.â
Your head snaps up. âIâm not settling. I-I like you, Tommy.â
He doesnât look convinced. Your mouth twists and you exhale through your nose. âI do. Iâm just- nervous.â
At this his face cracks, a boyish grin not unlike the one you love displaying on his features. The siblings had incredibly similar facial expressions that it makes you a little winded as he speaks. âYeah?â
âYeah,â you murmur, and one of your hands drifts up to his neck. âI do.â
And then, for the first time in your life, you kiss a boy who isnât named Joel Miller.
Pairing: DDBAS2!Benjamin Pointdexter x neighbor!reader
WC/tags: 1776 | blood, p in v, light praising, cheating
A/N: Iâve never written for Dex so this was kinda fun! Been watching born again season 2 so heâs been on my mind @angsty-april
The copper is the first thing you smell.
Itâs tangy, deeprooted like a penny at the bottom of a piggybank.
Youâre familiar with its taste. It had filled your mouth enough times, had ballooned under your skin after particular punches, but you hadnât seen this much of it, especially on your floor.
The shift had run late, and you may or may not have taken the longer route to get home. You werenât in a rush to get back to your husband.
You had expected to come to a messy apartment, his beer bottles piled up. Maybe heâd be asleep on the couch, or in a rage the moment you passed the threshold. You hadnât expected the broken glass and the blood, and you certainly hadnât expected your neighbor to be standing in the middle of it, blonde hair soaked red.
He turns slowly, his boots squeaking in the blood and your fingers tighten around the carton of cigarettes.
âTony,â you whisper, hoping you arenât going to be sick. âWhatâre you doing?â
He looks perplexed for a moment, blonde brows furrowing but then he smiles, and you feel your veins thinning with fear under your skin.
âTony, right,â he says, and shrugs a shoulder. âForgot about that name change.â
âName change?â You squeak, your eyes dropping to your husband. Your very dead husband.
âIâve been trying it out,â he continues, like his shoes arenât coated in blood, like he isnât standing in your apartment. You still arenât sure how he got in. âI thought Tony was better than Alfred.â
âSo your name isnât Tony.â You whisper, and what the fuck are you saying? You must be in shock. You have to be.
Not-Tony walks straight up to you, and sticks out his hand for you to shake but you step back, eyes widening.
âIâm Ben. Most call me Dex,â his smile turns a little sheepish. âYou can call me Dex if you want.â
âWhatâre you doing in my house, Dex?â Your voice is so small you wonder if he heard you.
Dex motions to your husband, laying on his back with glazed eyes staring at the ceiling. âOh. Right. Well I was doing you a favor.â
âA favor?â
âYour husband a cheater,â he explains. âAnd aside from that, I wasnât a huge fan of how he hit you.â You pause, now completely thrown for a loop. Dex takes in your confused expression, his jaw twitching as he shakes his head. âThe walls are thin. I could hear you. The yelling and-â
âSo you killed him?â You cut in, hoping Dex hadnât heard everything. Ever bicker, every fight. Every slap. You want it buried, gone. And it was. It had died with your husband.
Dex nods. âYes. I did.â
You look from him to your husband and back again. âHow did it feel?â
âTo take his life?â Dex asks, and if heâs surprised by your question he doesnât show it. âGood. Because he was a sack of shit.â
You laugh, unexpectedly and hollowly. The bruise on your ribs aches from the action. âThat he was.â
Dex steps forward, and you consider stepping back, but he cocks his head and you pause.
âHe needed to go.â
You nod. âYes.â
Dex blinks slowly. âYou wanted him to go.â
âYes.â The truth is like battery acid on your tongue. You had wanted this, had prayed for this. For the pain to end and for him to experience just a little of what he had put you through, of what you had felt. The humiliation and fear to be put on him.
Dex reaches forward and with clumsy fingers grips your face between his thumb and middle finger. He turns your head to the left and then to the right, his eyes narrowing.
âYou have it too,â he mutters. âThatâŚneed.â
âNeed for what?â
He drops his hand. âFor justice.â
Side stepping, Dex moves around you, walking past and out the front door. You donât watch him leave, instead you wait for the click of the door, but it never comes.
âIf you ever want to feel that again,â Dex murmurs, his voice smooth. âthe rush of getting even, you know where to find me.â
The latch clicks and you release the breath youâd been holding. You glance at the closed door, at the half bloodied footprints he had left behind, and then your gaze finds its way back to the body.
It takes you nearly five hours to clean up the mess.
It takes you nearly six days to build up the courage to knock at Dexâs door.
You donât know why you expected to be covered in blood like the last time you saw him, but when he opens the door and heâs clean it catches you off guard.
âDex.â
âHowdy neighbor.â
He smiles and you canât help but smile back. Youâve felt lighter than you have in years this past week. More at peace.
You had to file a missing persons report because others would notice your husband missing, but when the police came by you told them what you knew, which was basically nothing. They didnât seem suspicious of you, cataloging you as a frail young wife, and you directed them back to his job. They had left without much fuss.
âThe police came by.â
Dex raises a brow, his arms exposed in the skin tight wide beater he wears. He doesnât speak, and you realize heâs waiting for you to continue. Your cheeks pinken.
âI filed a missing persons report.â
âWill he be found?â Dex asks, and you shift under his gaze.
âDonât think so.â
âWill he be missed?â
You look up at him through your lashes, and he tilts his head before pushing open his door wider. You walk past, your shoulder brushing his chest and electricity bubbles under your skin.
âHe wonât be missed,â you whisper, taking his immaculately tidy apartment before turning to look at him. âNot by me.â
Dex closes the door to the apartment, and the air shifts. You feel nervously euphoric, almost drunk at the way heâs looking at you, like youâre a goal heâs been working towards and finally obtained.
He takes a step forward.
You do the same.
âIâve been thinking-â
He cuts you off with a look, those blue hazy eyes narrowing before heâs right in-front of you, backing you into the armrest of the couch. You sit on it, and he steps between your legs. One hand slides up your thigh, rough palm dragging your skirt higher, fingers brushing the damp fabric of your panties.
âI know. Too much thinking.â He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and raises a brow, waiting for you to nod. You bob your head quickly and he yanks them down, letting them pool at your ankles. Cool air hits your exposed slit, making you gasp, folds slick and puffy from the past few days of thinking of him.
He shimmies down his jeans to his knees, freeing his cock, thick and heavy, veins pulsing along the length. Your mouth waters, and you reach for him because it had been too long since youâd had Dexâs cock in your mouth, but he doesnât let you fall to your knees. Instead, his spins you around, bending you on the armrest. He rubs his head along your slit and hums, his other hand braced on your hip.
âBeen too long,â he mutters. âFor me and for you, apparently, and yet youâre still so ready.â
He pushes in slowly, lets you acclimate. You sigh, fingers digging into the couch cushions, pushing back on him. Leaning up, you drag his head to yours, pressing your lips to his in a sloppy kiss, your skin heating at the fact that he tastes just like you remember.
The affair had started four months ago. A stolen moment between two neighbors who are more strangers than friends. You had smiled when you saw him, but the walls around you had been highâbuilt to shield you from a home you couldnât escape. One night, after the bruises on your ribs had been too dark to hide, you couldnât pretend anymore. When Dex had seen the evidence, he had kissed you softly, tenderly, but the fire in his eyes had grown hotter.
âHe doesnât deserve you,â Dex had whispered, his voice sharp in the dead of night. His eyes had meet yours with a promise in them, one you hadnât dared to hope. âIâll take care of your little problem.â
And he had.
âThatâs good,â he mutters as you slowly push and pull back against his length. âReal good.â
His hands grip your hips harder, pulling you back as he thrusts forward, bottoming out with a grunt. The fullness has your eyes rolling, your pussy clenching greedily around him before he sets a steady rhythm. His breath fans your ear, cheek pressed to your hair and you moan, knuckles white.
His free hand dipped between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit, circling with rough precision. âCâmon, I gotcha.â
It hits you like a wave, the orgasm crashing as your pussy spasmes around his length, and his hand comes up to clamp over your mouth, muffling your sound.
Wouldnât want the neighbors to hear, after all, the walls are incredibly thin.
âMhm, thatâs it,â he rasps, burying himself to the hilt one last time. You feel the spurts of hot cum flood you, painting your walls deep in only a way he knows how to reach. Dex holds you there, still buried, his cock soaked in you before he slowly withdraws.
You stand on shaky legs, leaning into his chest and his arm comes around to hold your middle. You exhale hard, turning your head to look at him and he kisses you, lips warm before the spread into a grin.
âYou really sold me,â you whisper. âWhen I walked in on the scene.â
âWell I had to,â he replies, pulling up his jeans as you straighten your skirt. âIn case anyone heard or-â
âOr I pussied out.â You interrupt and he rolls his eyes before pinching the flesh of your ass.
âNo, not pussied out. I meant moreâŚif you changed your mind.â
âI wouldnât change my mind,â you murmur, and tilt your face, watching as his eyes drop to your mouth. âNot about this. Not about us.â
He grins, a slow lazy expression and cups the back of your neck, dragging you closer to him.
âHe needed to go.â Dex whispers, breath fanning over your face. You shut your eyes as his lips ghosting across yours as you repeat his words.
warning/tags: tattooing, light descriptions of pain
a/n: inspired by this fic by @engrvers so definitely check it out. For @angsty-april
Steveâs apartment is very much what you expected.
It feels like a time capsule, frozen somewhere in the 1940s, with its mismatched furniture and vintage accents that never quite went out of style. The worn-out armchair in the corner, the old-fashioned lamp casting a soft glow, and the ticking of a clock on the wall all create a sense of quiet nostalgia. Itâs not fancy, but thereâs something incredibly Steve about it â simple, practical, and full of little details that feel like theyâve been left untouched by time. The faint smell of coffee always lingers in the air, and the radio sits on a side table, never turned off, always playing softly in the background, just like it always has.
The space smells like coffee and the faint antiseptic tang of rubbing alcohol. Youâre sitting on the edge of Steveâs couch, your arm propped up on the rest, fingers shifting and you scold yourself, because why are you nervous? Itâs him, and wellâŚheâs your favorite.
Steveâs still adjusting to the new world, uncertain of his place in it. The things heâs seeing, the people, the technology, it all feels overwhelming. Itâs been nearly two years since he came out of the ice, and youâve been by his side the entire time. Youâve fallen head over heels for him, but youâre unsure if he feels the same. You can see it in his eyes, the way he looks at things as if theyâre both familiar and foreign. Thereâs a gentleness in the way he moves, a hesitance, as if heâs afraid of being too much or too little. But the way he watches you, the small moments where his hand brushes yours or his gaze lingers, makes your heart race. Youâve never been sure if he feels the same, but with Steve, everything is nearly hidden, and yet somehow, it feels like youâve already shared everything.
Recently, Steve has picked up tattooing as a hobby. What started as a distraction has turned into something heâs passionate about, and itâs become a part of his daily routine. Youâve watched him practice on fake skin ordered from Amazon, on the old furniture, even on his own ankles, hidden away, and is becoming surprisingly skilled with each attempt.
Youâve asked him a few times to tattoo you, but always hesitated to make it a serious request. Today, however, you find the courage. The idea hits you like a flashâan âSRâ tattoo, right on the inside of your wrist. You tell him itâs for your brother, a small tribute to someone close to you, but in reality, itâs for Steve. Itâs his initials. You canât bring yourself to tell him, not yet.
He looks at you, a bit hesitant. âYou sure about this?â His voice is low, like heâs uncertain whether heâs ready for the responsibility of marking you permanently. Your unoccupied hand drums on the rim of your plastic coffee cup, a leftover from your shift.
âIâm sure,â you say, your heart beating faster than you care to admit. You trust him, and more than that, you need him to understand that you want to keep him close, even if itâs just through something small like this. âI trust you.â
Steve nods, moving to set up his tattoo station. You watch as he arranges the tools, his face focused and serious, but thereâs a flicker of something else in his eyes, something a little shy. Heâs not used to thisâletting someone else trust him like this.
âOkay, letâs get started.â He gestures for you to sit up, your wrist outstretched. Heâs been practicing a lot, and yet, the seriousness of the moment feels different now. As he prepares, you can see him taking a deep breath, as if this is a big step, not just for you, but for him too.
âIâll be quick,â he says softly. You lie back, your pulse racing slightly, both from the closeness and the finality of what youâre asking him to do.
He places the needle gently on your skin, and you wince slightly, the feeling sharp but bearable. The tattoo machine hums quietly as he works, his touch surprisingly gentle as he traces the lines of the âSRâ on your wrist. Itâs a simple design, but it means everything to you. Youâre focused on the feeling of his hands on your skin, the quiet concentration on his face, and the way his brows furrow as he works.
âDoing okay?â Steve asks, his voice steady, though thereâs a hint of concern.
âYeah,â you whisper, your voice thick. âItâs perfect.â
Minutes pass, and Steveâs hand brushes against yours as he wipes away the excess ink. Thereâs an intimacy to the way he works, a tenderness that makes your chest ache. When he finishes, he gently applies some ointment and wraps your wrist in plastic, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
âDone,â he says quietly, sitting back. âYou want to see?â
You sit up, and he wipes his hands. The âSRâ is clean and sharp, just as you imagined, a tiny but permanent reminder of him. You swallow hard, trying to keep the smile from twisting too wide on your face.
âSteveâŚâ you start, your voice trembling. âItâs perfect. Thank you.â
He gives you a shy smile, his fingers brushing over the tattoo once more. âYouâre welcome.â Then, with a soft laugh, he adds, âThat wasnât so bad, right?â
You grin back at him, your heart pounding and wether itâs from him or the coffee, you donât want to address. âNo. Itâs not bad at all.â
Steveâs eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like everything between you clicks into place. He clears his throat, pulling his hand back. âI have to askâŚâ He hesitates, looking down at the tattoo. âIs that for me?â
You look at him, caught in the sincerity of his gaze. You want to tell him, want to say the words youâve been holding back for so long, but instead, you just take his hand in yours and squeeze it. He doesnât need to know yet, not right now, but somehow, he already does.
âIâm notâŚupset about it, or anything,â he says quickly, glancing down at your hand again. âI kind ofâŚlike it. Seeing me on you.â
You feel your cheeks heat, warmth pricking your skin and you look down at the tattoo as well. Itâs stark agaisnt your skin, the simple letters meaning more than they appear.
âIt is,â you whisper, and though the words are simple, they feel like everything. Steve doesnât say anything, but the look he gives you, soft and searching, and you feel closer to him than ever before.
Blinking a few times, he reaches out, his hand gently cupping the side of your face. The warmth of his touch sends a flutter through your chest, and you breathe out slowly through your nose, the tension in your body melting just a little bit.
âI-I donât want to be too much for you,â you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. âI know youâve been through so much already, and I donât want to add any pressure on you. I just⌠I donât know what to do with how I feel, Steve.â
He looks at you with those deep blue eyes, the ones that have seen so much, yet still seem to hold a kindness that makes your heart ache. âYouâre not too much,â he says softly, his voice a little rough but steady. âYou could never be too much for me.â
You inhale sharply, as if youâve been holding your breath all this time, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself truly believe him.
Steve leans in then, his thumb brushing your cheek with the kind of care that makes you feel like the world could be quiet for a while, just for the two of you. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering there for a moment before his nose gently brushes against yours, a gesture so intimate that it makes your chest tighten in a way you canât explain.
âIâm not going anywhere,â he murmurs, his voice a low promise against your skin.
You close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of his touch sink in, the warmth of his presence settling in your heart. âGood,â you whisper, your voice shaky but your chest full. âIâm glad.â
A/N: whys this so soft lolll. Anyways, some farmer!bucky for @angsty-april
Youâre elbow-deep in a clay pot, attempting to rehome a tulip bulb in the basin of your bathtub when Bucky gets home from work, hair sticking to his sweat-glistened skin.
âHey baby.â
âHi honey,â you call over your shoulder, eyes fixed on the bulb as you carefully work, not wanting to damage any root stems. âOne sec.â
He peeks into the bathroom, grinning at the sight of you dirt covered and concentrated. âNew one?â
âNah, this oneâs from the front yard,â you reply, and gingerly you release the plant into the new pot, hoping its fruits will enjoy its new home. â hopefully itâll stick.â You stand, brushing off your soil-covered fingers on your jeans. âYou hungry?â
The sun from the setting day casts a warm glow through the window, illuminating the specks of dirt on your face, your hands, and the floor beneath you. He doesnât mind. Itâs part of you, part of this life youâve built togetherâthis quiet, simple life.
âI could eat,â he says, pushing off from the door and walking toward you. His boots clack on the tile floor, the sound grounding you in the moment as he closes the distance. His rough hands, calloused from the farm, gently tug you into his arms. The heat from his skin, still sticky with sweat from the dayâs work, feels comforting.
âYou look exhausted,â you murmur, feeling the tension in his muscles as you run your fingers along his shoulders. âHow was the field today?â
âSame as always,â he replies, but his voice has a hint of something else in it. A weariness, maybe, or the weight of another long day spent tilling the earth, feeding the animals, working hard for what you both cherish. âBut itâs worth it, coming home to this.â
You smile up at him, brushing a strand of hair from his face, his dark, sweat-dampened locks sticking to his forehead. âYouâre the hardest-working man I know,â you say, your voice filled with a quiet reverence for him and the life heâs chosen.
He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âNot as hard as you, garden queen,â he teases, and you can hear the affection in his words.
You both laugh softly, a shared, intimate sound that fills the space between you.
âAlright,â you say, stepping out of his embrace to grab a towel. âLetâs get dinner started. I think Iâm in the mood for something simple tonightâmaybe a stew?â
Bucky moves toward the kitchen, peeling off his muddy shirt and tossing it into the laundry basket. You watch him for a moment, taking in the way his muscles flex as he moves, the raw strength of him that makes your heart swell.
As you both fall into the rhythm of preparing dinner, chopping vegetables, stirring the pot, it feels easy. Quiet. No words are needed between you, just the soft sounds of the kitchen and the occasional hum of a song playing in the background. You move around one another with practiced ease, each movement comfortable, familiar. Thereâs a peacefulness in it that you treasure, a calm that comes with knowing youâve found your person.
âHey, Bucky?â you ask softly, handing him a bowl of chopped carrots.
âYeah?â He looks over his shoulder, his blue eyes catching yours with that soft, tender gaze.
âIâm really happy,â you admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. âIâm just really happy with this. With you. This life.â
Bucky's eyes linger on you for a few moments after you speak, his gaze filled with a deep affection. He sets the vegetables aside, turning fully to face you.
âIâm happy too.â
His voice is quiet, but there's a note of sincerity that makes your heart flutter. He takes a step closer to you, his hands finding your hips, pulling you gently to him. The smell of sweat and dirt hangs in the air, an earthy, natural scent that reminds you of the hard work he does on the farm.
âYou know, sweetheartâŚâ His thumb brushes away a smudge of soil from your cheek, the roughness of his skin a stark contrast to the softness of yours. âSometimes I look at you,â he says quietly, his voice a soft rumble. âAnd I just... I can't believe we get to have this. This gift.â
His gaze drifts around the room, taking in the cozy kitchen with its worn-in furniture, the pot simmering on the stove, the plants you've dotted throughout the house.
You smile at the softness in his voice, feeling a warmth spread through you at the sincerity in his words. His gaze lingers on the life youâve built together, and you can see how much it means to him.
âYou make it so easy,â you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. âItâs all these little moments that make it so perfect.â You reach up, your hand cupping his rough cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath your fingertips. âI never imagined life could feel this right⌠with you.â
Bucky leans in, his forehead brushing against yours, his eyes closing for a brief second as if savoring the moment. âI didnât either.â
You can feel your heart swell with the simple truth of it all. The quiet moments, the subtle exchanges, they were everything you needed.
âTogether, weâre building something perfect,â you whisper, your thumb tracing along his jaw, a quiet promise in your touch. âAnd Iâm so grateful to be here, with you.â
His lips curve into a soft smile, his hand gently brushing through your hair as he pulls you in for a kiss, one that speaks louder than any words ever could. The kiss is slow, the kind that tastes like home. When he pulls back, his expression is so tender it makes your chest ache.
âMe too,â he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours again. His fingers trace idle patterns along your waist, calloused but impossibly gentle. âEvery damn day.â
A comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the bubbling of the stew on the stove and the distant chirp of crickets outside. After a moment, he presses another quick kiss to your lips before turning back to the counter with a small, content sigh. âBetter finish this stew before we burn it,â he teases lightly, picking up the knife again.
You watch him for a second, the way his shoulders relax when he's happy, the quiet rhythm of his movements, before joining him, your side brushing against his as you reach for the spices.
âOh god.â You whisper, your chest bubbling and Bucky looks at you, his brows raised.
âWhat?â
You smile, feeling breathless. âNothing. I just- god I love you.â
He had been through so much. Too much. Sometimes when you think about it it makes you dizzy, knowing the pain he went through. The fear. But looking at him now, it makes your heart skip a beat.
Bucky smiles, full and bright, and when he reaches for you, he murmurs against your lips. âI love you too.â
Warnings/tags: dirty talk, PinV smut, oral (reader receiving) reader is insecure due to inexperience, praise, strangers to lovers(?), pet names
A/N: this one turned into a beast but Iâm so happy with it. Literally wrote it throughout the work day so itâs barely edited oops @angsty-april
All things considered, youâd handled your first breakup incredibly well.
At 29, you shouldâve already experienced all this. You should have known what you wanted in a man, you shouldâve been well versed in dating and breakups and bad sex. But you arenât. You havenât dated, havenât explored many options. Not that there were many avenues in the QZ. You donât know what you like, if prefer being on top or bent over, but the one thing you do know youâve experienced is bad sex.
You didnât really blame your boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. He wasnât well versed in the act either, and you both had been eachothers first when you fell into his bed three years ago.
He had triedâŚyou think.
As you stuff your cunt full with your fingers, you realize youâre just as bad at trying as he was.
Itâs hopeless and your fingers ache from all the different speeds and angles you had tried and with an irritated groan, you shove of your blankets from around your waist and ready yourself for the day.
Youâre still aching, or you think you are, still swollen in your underwear, and you have to hold back frustrated groans as you walk back and forth, carrying the disease-ridden corpses to the large fire in the middle of the square.
When you break for lunch, youâre sweaty, pent and beyond irritated. Picking at your lunch tray, you press your chin into your palm, trying to ignore the way the brush of your denim sends jolts down your spine.
âAll day.â
You pause, the unfamiliar voice catching you off guard and you look up, squinting in the summer sunlight at the figure that stands across the wooden table.
Joel is easily recognizable. You canât say you know him but you know of him, a prominent worker and figure in the QZ. Heâs broad, the fabric of his shirt spreading over his shoulders tight, the line of his mouth pressed even tighter.
âHuh?â You say after a moment when he doesnât reply, just stares at you. Joelâs frown deepens.
âYou got dumped,â he states, and you can see his fingers flex within his pockets. âWhat, nearly three weeks ago?â
âA-a month,â you whisper, bewildered as to why heâs talking to you and how he even knows that. âWhy?â
âA month.â Joel hums, and sits down across from you. Beneath the wood, his knee brushes yours and you jolt, fingers tightening around your fork, and he pauses before templing his hands infront of his face.
âWhat?â You snap after several long seconds of silence, and Joel blinks, slow and contemplative.
âI have a good nose,â he says, dropping his hands. âAlways have. And Iâve been smelling you all day.â
Your cheeks heat, and you subtly dip your nose to your arm. Joel laughs, the sound gravely and odd coming from a man like him. âI donât mean like that.â
âWhat?â You say again and you feel stupid. Joel leans forward, a hand braced on the table as his eyes move up and down your frame.
âThat stickiness between your thighs,â he murmurs, his voice now low so only you hear. âBeen smellinâ it all day, darling. Guess you havenât been properly fucked in a month.â
His words send you realing, your heart lodging into your throat and any type of response is lost to you. You stare at him, and he stares back, his jaw working as he drinks you in.
A smile spreads across his skin.
âOr maybe you havenât been properly fucked, ever.â
You can feel the embarrassment crawl up your neck and you release your fork, folding your arms and shifting. You have to school your features not to display the buzz that jolts between your legs.
From his tan skin and seasoned eyes, you know Joel could, in his words, âproperly fuckâ. You arenât sure why but you know this is a fact, you know his woman rarely leaves the bed unsatisfied and youâre suddenly too warm, too swollen under his gaze.
He raises an eyebrow. âGuess Iâm right.â
âCould you do better?â
You arenât sure where the boldness came from. You just know that you need to know the answer.
Joel doesnât respond right away, but thereâs a shimmer in his eyes as he rises to the bait. âWould you like to find out?â
You donât give yourself a chance to think about your answer, about the consequences it could invoke. You nod, a singular movement of your head. He tilts his head, a small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth and your skin is practically buzzing.
âMine or yours?â You ask, if not just to make the silence not so thick.
His grin grows wider, a lazy expression that has your blood heating. âYours. Iâll be there around eight.â
Joel stands up just as easy as he sat down, and when he tosses you a wink, your thighs clench.
-
True to his word, Joel is in your bedroom, his head tilted and hands in his pocket as he stares at you at 8:03.
Youâre dressed in cotton shorts and a buttoned up flannel, and despite the night air, youâre sweating. He stares at you like youâre already bare, already naked for him, and you shift uncontrollably under his gaze.
âHoney,â Joel says and itâs the softest heâs ever spoken. âYou donât have to do this.â
You shake your head. âNo I- want to. I just- um. Donât know a lot.â
Joel exhales through his nose, slow and measured, like heâs fighting the urge to roll his eyesâbut not at you. At himself. âYeah, I figured,â he mutters, more to himself than to you. Then his voice drops lower, rough but careful. âWe don't have to do shit you don't want.â
His hands stay in his pockets as he takes a step closer. He moves like itâs nothing, like this isnât making your heart thud so loud you're sure he can hear it.
âTell me what you know.â he says instead of touching you right away. His voice is gravel under boots, quiet but impossible to ignore.
You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat before answering: â...Not much.â It's honest if nothing else.
Joel hums again like this isnât news either before nodding toward the bed behind him with a jerk of his chin, sit down. When your legs carry you there on autopilot, wooden steps until fabric meets bare thighs, Joel drags one knee onto the mattress beside yours and pauses just long enough for nerves or anticipation, you can't tell which, to coil tight in your gut.
âFirst rule.â His fingers catch under your jaw without warning,not hard enough to hurt but firm enough that flinching doesnât free it from him either when warmth floods up beneath skin where callouses scrape against softness there instead; thumb pressing gently along pulse point beneath ear while dark eyes hold yours prisoner just as easily. âDon't lie about what feels good.â
The words settle heavy between breaths drawn too quick already because Christ alive even this simple touch burns hotter than anything else has ever had.
Exhaling through his nose, Joel raises his hand to your face, fingers brushing your lower jaw before settling onto your neck. Heâs warm, the callouses on his hand rough on your skin as he angles your face to the side, eyes tracking up the column of your throat.
âBreathe.â he commands, and he dips his face, his nose brushing your neck. You shiver, your spine ramrod straight.
âI am.â Your voice is a squeak of a whisper, and you think you can feel him smile against your skin.
Joel hums, amused, like he knows youâre lying. His breath is warm against your neck as his thumb presses a little harder into your pulse point, making your breath hitch again.
âNo, you ainât.â He murmurs the words right against your skin before pulling back just enough to catch your eye again. His gaze is dark, unreadable except for the faintest glint of something that makes heat pool low in your stomach. âYouâre holdinâ it all in like someoneâs gonna hear.â His other hand comes up and drags a single fingertip down the side of your throat until it rests over the hollow at its base. âBreathe,â he repeats softly before adding with just enough roughness to make you tremble: âOr I'll make ya.â
And God help you if that doesn't send another jolt straight through you. You exhale fully, breathing out your mouth and he runs his thumb along your jaw in quiet praise.
âAint gonna rush,â he mutters, and his teeth graze your skin. âUnless thatâs what you like.â
âI donât know what I like,â you whisper, and you feel the shame of inexperience coloring your cheeks. âNot really.â
Joel pauses at that, pulling back just enough to study your face. His fingers stay where they areâanchoring, rough in a way that shouldnât be soothing but somehow is.
âThen we figure it out,â he says simply, like itâs that easy. Like he hasnât just taken the weight of your uncertainty and shouldered it without blinking. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, testing, before his voice drops lower: âYou tell me to stop anytime.â
The way he says it isn't a request or even really an order; more like a fact carved into stone between you both.
He waits until you nod before sliding his hand from your jaw to the back of your neck instead, firm but not unkind as he guides you forward into a first real kiss shared between basically strangers.
Joel tastes like coffee, his lips a little chapped but softer than you wouldâve thought. He cradles your face, almost tenderly, and you open your jaw, licking at his tongue as he licks at yours and you feel the heat pooling in your belly, the need rising like a palpable thing on your skin. When he pulls back, his eyes are glassy and he stares at you. You blink back, uncertainty like an electric charge over you.
âI- sorry,â you whisper. âWas that bad?â
The edges of his lips kick up as he lets out a huff of a laugh, not unkindly. âJesus Christ,â he mutters, staring at you for a long moment, something in his eyes you can't quite decipherâthen he shakes his head, a smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. âYou ain't got no idea just how pretty you look like this, do you?â
He runs his hand through your hair before cupping the side of your face again. âDon't go apologizing for nothing just yet.â
His hands move to your shoulders and he pushes you down until youâre on your back, skirting over your hips and squeezing. You watch him quietly, chewing at your lip as his thumb brushes the skin of your lower stomach.
Your breath hitches, and his eyes flick to yours.
Heâs really handsome. Like you just realized that fact.
Joelâs palm slides under the fabric of your flannel, cupping your ribs just below your breast and you exhale with a shaky breath. He removes his hand, fingers dipping to the buttons of your shirt.
Joel works the buttons open with a kind of easy efficiency that you can only get with practice, and it hits you that this is something he probably *is* practiced inâthat your inexperience isn't going to make him shy away. His eyes roam over you hungrily, like he's studying every inch of skin he reveals. He's silent, too. Silent and focused. His fingers work with single-minded precision, until your shirt hangs open and he slides his palms up your belly, warm and firm. His hands are rough and bigâcallouses scraping softly against your skin as he spreads them flat against your ribs.
He lets out a low whistle at your naked chest, and you hope you arenât blushing.
âKnew youâd be pretty.â he murmurs, and you are barely able to digest his words before his head dips and he takes a nipple into his mouth.
His lips are soft as the suckle, releasing with a light pop before his tongue licks slow strips on the skin. You gasp, hands gripping the sheets by your sides and his eyes track the movement. He pauses before shaking his head.
âNuh uh,â he hums, and grabs your hands, moving them to his hair. âHold here.â
âOh.â You whisper, because words are hard to gather when he kisses and licks your skin like that.
You grip his hair without being told twice, fingers tangling in the strands. Joel hums against your skin, his hands moving lower as he trails kisses down to your belly button. He circles it with his tongue, his fingers playing lightly across the soft expanse of skin at the edge of your shorts, before his gaze flicks to yours again: âLift your hips.â
His voice is a little rougher this time, his dark eyes darkening even further as you do exactly as you're told.
Joel removes your shorts and panties in one clean tug, and youâre naked beneath him while heâs still fully dressed. âThis doesnât seem fair.â
He glances down at himself, a smile on his lips as he sits up and tugs off his shirt. You sit up, and are nearly on autopilot as you run a hand down his bare chest.
Heâs tanned and scarred but beautiful.
Warm to the touch, thereâs a healed cut from his shoulder to the top of his peck, and you run your fingers over it lightly. Youâre so enthralled with touching him that you forget youâre bare, forget that heâs watching you and that heâs only the second person in your life to see you naked.
Joel's eyes follow your touch, an almost indulgent gleam in them as he watches you trace the map of his skin, tracing every mark and scar without judgement, only curiosity. He doesn't say anything, doesn't tease you like a man with his ego might, he just lets you look. Lets you touch.
But when your fingers brush the waistband of his jeans, his hand catches your wrist, stopping you. The gesture is gentle but firm, and he tilts his head to meet your gaze, his voice even but lower than before: âNot yet.â
âOh,â you breath, feeling exposed under his gaze. âOkay.â
You lay back down, your eyes never leaving his and Joel releases a slow breath. One hand on either of your knees, he slowly separates your legs, exposing your center to the night air.
You flush red hot, arms instinctively coming up to hide some part of yourself, and his mouth quirks.
âDon't,â he says simply, and it's hard to argue with that gravelly voice of his when it dips into an order you find yourself wanting to follow. His hands tighten on your knees, just enough to keep your legs where they are. His eyes are fixed on you, watching every nuance in your expression. âDon't cover yourself.â
You let your head fall back, staring at the ceiling above as your chest rises and falls too quickly. Your heart is beating so fast you're sure he can see it through your skin.
His left hand skates down your inner thigh, pausing before his eyes flick to yours and you break.
âJoel?â
âHm?â
âTalk to me.â
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest as his fingers trace idle patterns on your thighâclose enough to where you want him that itâs maddening, but not close enough yet.
âTalk to you?â His thumb brushes higher, teasing along the crease of your leg before dipping just barely inward, not quite touching where you need him, but close enough to make your breath hitch. âWhat d'you wanna hear? That you're goddamn pretty laid out like this? That I've been thinkin' about how you'd sound when I finally got my mouth on ya?â
His other hand slides up to grip your hip as he leans down slightly, still watching you.
âOr,â he murmurs against the inside of your knee before nipping lightly there and making heat spike straight through already-overheated skin below. âHow bad I want ya shaking before we're done.â
A moan slips past your lips, quiet and shaken and you squeeze your eyes shut. You barely knew him, and yet he was face first in your most intimate place. You want to please him. You want him to want you.
âIs it good?â
Joel exhales against your skin, warm, damp, so close to where you need him, before answering in a voice rough enough to drag shivers down your spine: âFuckin' perfect.â
His thumb presses firm just below where you ache most before dragging upward in one slow stroke that makes your hips jerk off the mattress. He clicks his tongue at the movement but doesnât scold, just tightens his grip on your thigh with a low, âEasy.â
He leans down and licks a slow stripe up through slick heat like heâs savoring it. His groan vibrates straight into you as he does it again, slower this time before pausing to murmur against trembling skin: âYeah. You taste good too. Think you donât?â
Youâre panting, and you look down at him between your thighs. His pupils are blown and heâs so handsome you wonder how you never noticed before.
âI-â you swallow, not sure if you should share this because itâs too emotional. Joel is here for your body, not your feelings. You squeeze your eyes shut. âN-nothing.â
His attention flicks back up to your face, sharp and focused in a way that makes the air feel too heavy to breathe. âBullshit,â He says flatly. âLook at me.â
You open your eyes, and Joel is staring at you, gaze steady and dark. He's watching you with a kind of intensity you can't remember a man ever giving you before. âYou were about to say something.â His voice is even, but there's an edge to it now, a command. âSay it.â
He's got you spread wide open on the bed, knees pushed apart, completely exposed for his hungry gaze.
âHe wouldnât say things like that,â you whisper, and you hate having this conversation while his tongue is inches from your cunt. âHe talked but not, not like you.â
Joel stills completely for a heartbeat before exhaling sharply through his nose. His grip on your thigh tightens just enough to make you aware of the strength in those calloused hands before he deliberately relaxes it again.
âWhatâd he say?â
Your cheeks burn and you exhale, rushing the words out. âwasnât good enough. I was never good enough at things like this,â You donât look at him, letting your head fall back and your thighs shake in his hold. âbut youâre nothing like that.â
âGood.â The word is rough, almost guttural as he leans back in without breaking eye contact. âAin't him here right now.â His mouth brushes against overheated skin, making your breath catch all over again before adding with a low hum. âAnd I ain't ever gonna half-ass this for ya.â
Then he does what his words promise, shuts you up thoroughly by dragging his tongue through slick heat slow enough that you feel every damn second of it, pausing only to murmur against wet flesh when your hips jerk helplessly upward: âYeah... there ya go.â
Joel doesnât rush to get you off. Hes slow, taking his sweet, filthy time with long, deliberate licks that catch every nerve ending.
You squirm beneath him, your lips parted and eyes tight as his large arm drapes over your waist, pinning you in place. Chin lifting he stares at your puffy slit, fingers spreading you open so he can see just how needy you are.
âLook at ya,â he murmurs, a southern drawl rearing its head. âAbsolutely good enough.â
He plants a closed-mouthed kiss to your cunt before working up your frame, his beard scraping your chest and chin before his lips slide over yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue.
His hand cups your jaw as he deepens the kiss, his other sliding down between your bodies. His fingers are rough as they trace your folds againâtesting, teasing, before circling tight over where you need him most.
âJoelâŚâ Your voice cracks on his name when he rubs slow circles just right, pressure toeing the line between not enough and too much. Slow, lazy strokes. No rhythm that would finish you, just selfish enjoyment of how your body responds to his touch. He swallows every sound you make like it's something special.
âTell me what you want,â he murmurs against your lipsâbut his fingers don't stop moving. âUse them pretty words.â
Your head is fuzzy.
You blink, try to string words together in a coherent fashion. âInside.â
âInside?â He hums, withdrawing his fingers and pressing his hips to yours. Heâs hard in his pants, and you give a broken echo of a moan at the pressure before you nod.
Joel exhales sharply at the nod, something hot and primal flashing in his eyes as he leans back just enough to yank open his belt buckle with one hand, teeth gritted. The sound of leather sliding free is loud in the quiet room.
âYeah,â he rumbles, eyes dropping when denim finally gives way, shoving fabric down just enough to free himself without breaking contact for longer than absolutely necessary before pressing close again: âInside where, sweetheart?â
His palm drags up your thigh possessively while calloused fingers tip your chin up, forcing you to meet that dark stare even as heat floods deeper between already-slick thighs below from sheer tone alone. No room left for doubt now about what exactly kind of man has crawled into bed with you.
âSay it.â
âMe,â you whisper, and he grips his length, the head red in his fist. âInside me.â
Joel groans, a ragged, gravelly sound that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck, He's watching you like he's ready to eat youâwill eat you, if he has his wayâand the thought makes your skin tingle in all the best ways, and all the worst.
He adjusts positions, hand moving from your jaw to your neck, calloused thumb brushing over your throat as he leans down over you, lips just a breath away from yours.
âYeah, sweetheart,â he murmurs, shifting closer until you can feel the heat of his skin against your inner thighs. âThat what you want? Wanna feel me in you?â
The blunt head of his cock brushes over your clit and you jolt, mouth falling open and then heâs pushing in, your walls cradling him like a vice.
You choke on a gasp, feeling a stretch you hadnât felt in weeks. Itâs different than with your ex, and you feel warmer, tighter, brighter as Joel begins to move his hips. A hand braces by your head while the other paws at your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers.
You have to look away, the intensity of his gaze, the look in his eyesâit's like he's trying to memorize every detail of how you look in that moment, searing the image into his mindâand it's like he's reaching right into your chest to grasp at something in youâthe words escape against your will, âGod, why are you soâŚ?â
The hand at your breast moves to your chin, guiding it back to him, making you look at him. âNo, don't hide from me.â
You scrunch up your nose because you donât know him. Heâs a neighbor, a passerby, a fellow survival. Someone youâd never considered all that deeply til now. Now heâs all you can feel; all you can want.
He kisses you and you close your eyes, bathing in the touch of his affections, your legs wrapping around his waist.
His mouth moves and he kisses and licks and bites everywhere he can reach, like he's trying to consume you through skin instead of food, desperate to get every scrap of everything he can from this. His hand slides down your body and you can feel callouses, rough and warm everywhere he touches. He pushes your leg higher, changing his angle so he can get deeper.
The kiss is more teeth than tongue, but you don't mind. It's everything you want, everything you didnât know sex could be.
Theres a heat at the base of your spine, and your thigh twitches, your nails scraping lightly down his chest and he lowers himself, balancing on his elbow so heâs closer.
âCome on, sweet girl,â he murmurs into your hairline. âI know youâre close.â
You're shaking, hips twitching, begging in silence, but Joel just hums and keeps kissing you, completely lost in the filthy bliss of touching, stretching, and causation of making you this wet. This needy.
He's all coiled-up muscle, a coiled-up beast of a man, and you can feel how much he's trying to restrain himself, to not let it go too fast.
He nips and nibbles at your jaw and your throat, and his body is all heat and friction and power and weight, pressing you into the mattress. His hand finds its way back to your breast, his hand fitting over the curve of it as if it's made to be there and you snap.
Your legs tighten and back arches as waves and waves of pleasure explode over your skin. Youâve never felt an orgasm like this, not with your ex and certainly not with yourself. Water pricks at your eyes and you moan, loud and deep and Joel murmurs into your ear, praising you quietly as he fucks you though it.
Joel is murmuring things that barely register through your haze, telling you you're âso goodâ and âso prettyâ and âcan take it like such a good girlâ, and you can feel yourself getting overwhelmed again, getting lost in him in a way you don't quite understand.
He kisses you again, and you can feel the change in his movementsâfrom gentle to taking, his breath coming out a ragged rasp against your mouth, and you can't think about anything besides him, all his weight pressing on you, all you can feel is youâve never felt this good.
âThought Iâd last longer, sweetheart,â Joel murmurs, and his thrusts become ragged. âDidnât know youâd be so damn sweet.â
He groans, and your lashes flutter as you crane your neck, nipping at his lower lip. Pressing his face into your neck and braving one hand by your head, Joel pulls from you, his opposite hand fisting his cock until his spend shoots on your thigh.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is your mingled breathingâheavy and uneven. Joel exhales roughly against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. His dark eyes are still glazed over, but there's something soft in them now too.
âAlright?â He murmurs as he drags a thumb through the mess on your thigh, almost absently, like he can't help touching you even now.
You nod dumbly because words still feel impossible when he's looking at you like that. Like heâs seeing something more than just skin-deep.
Joel hums approvingly before shifting off of you, but instead of getting up or rolling away completely, his arm tugs you into him until your back is pressed against his chest. His fingers trace idle patterns over the bare skin of your hip like this is normalâlike falling asleep tangled together after sex isnât entirely new territory for both of you.
Itâs quiet for a beat, and your heart begins to slow, your temperature returning to normal as understanding begins to dawn on you.
You had just fucked an essential stranger.
And it had been the best sex of your life.
You squirm, his arm warm around you and Joel grunts. âWhat?â
âNothing,â you whisper, too quickly, and you feel him pause. âI just- that was-â
Joel makes a low sound in his throat as his nose brushes behind your ear. âGood, huh?â
There's a smugness in his voice beneath a rough, rumbling quality. You can feel his chest rumble with what might be a silent laugh as you squirm, and his hand tightens on your hip.
âyes.â
He presses a kiss to your shoulder as he says, âJust 'goodâ?â
It had been amazing.
âNo, not just good,â you murmur, and you turn in his arms to face him. âBut I think you know that.â
Joel grins, the expression stretching lazily over his features. You smile back before sitting up and tugging your flannel over your arms, button the first few to give yourself a little bit of decency.
âAndâŚme?â You keep your tone quiet and your eyes down lest his disappointment be evident on his face.
Joel watches your fingers fumble with the buttons before catching your wrist, a grounding weight. His thumb strokes over your pulse point absently as he studies you.
âBetter'n good,â he says simply, like that's all there is to it. But then his voice drops lower, rougher: âDidn't expect you to feel like that either.â
It's not flowery praise or sweet nothingsâjust honesty that lands somewhere deep in your chest anyway because Joel Miller doesn't seem like the kind of man who lies about things like this. His hand releases yours only to push back into his own hair with a tired sigh before falling back against the pillows behind himâbut when you shift uncertainly beside him, half-wondering if this is where polite strangers say their goodbyes, one arm snakes out and drags you firmly against his side again without ceremony.
âStay put,â he mutters into the dark. âChrist.â
You laugh lightly, and lay your cheek atop his shoulder. âYou donât um, have to stay. If you donât want to. You donât..owe me anything.â
Joel snorts, the sound rough with amusement, or maybe just exhaustion, as his arm tightens around you. âAin't about owing.â
He shifts slightly beneath you, his free hand coming up to brush a thumb over your cheek in what might be an absent gesture if it werenât so deliberate.
âIâll stay," he mutters, quieter this time. Like it's that simple for him too.
Maybe it is.
The room settles into something quiet, the kind of silence that doesnât demand filling as Joelâs breathing evens out next to you, warm against the back of your neck while calloused fingers trace idle shapes over the fabric of your flannel where it rides up at the waist.
Your eyelids grow heavy, and before you begin to drift, you feel his lips press a kiss to the slope of your neck, and you bite back a smile as you close your eyes.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Wanda floats through the infinite expanse of space, surrounded by the cold, dark nothingness, her heart a hollow echo in the void. Each passing star is a reminder of the life she once had, a life that now feels like a distant memory. She recalls the softness of Visionâs touch, the way his voice would calm her in the chaos.
She closes her eyes, and for a fleeting moment, sheâs back with him. She can almost feel the warmth of his hand, tenderly caressing her cheek, his cool fingers brushing against her skin as if grounding her to the present. His eyesâthose deep, intelligent eyesâwould always soften when he looked at her. âI love you,â he had whispered once, in that quiet, peaceful way he did, as though no one else existed in that moment but them. The memory lingers like a sweet, aching melody in her mind.
The ache in her chest intensifies with every thought of him, of the love they shared, so pure and undeniable. How many times had she leaned into his touch, how many nights had she fallen asleep in his arms, safe in the knowledge that he was by her side? The tears threaten, but she fights them back. She had once believed that no distance could sever what they had, but here she is, alone, floating through the universe, searching for a glimpse of him in the stars.
She opens her eyes and stares into the endless dark, wishing, hoping, believing. She imagines him out there, somewhere, his steady gaze watching over her even now. With every light in the sky, she whispers into the void, hoping her words will reach him. âIâll find you, Vision. I wonât stop until I do.â
A/N: this is so short lolll but day 15 for @angsty-april gonna be changing my set up style of my posts soon, so keep an eye for that!
The night drags on, heavy with the weight of a long, frustrating day. The streets are empty, the quiet only broken by the distant hum of city lights and the occasional car passing by. Youâre stranded, a little lost in both mind and space, when Frank Castleâs presence looms in your periphery. Thereâs an edge to him, something jilted, but you feel it: a strange, undeniable safety in his company.
When he offers you a ride home, a quiet voice inside you warns against it, but exhaustion and the isolation of the city streets pull you toward him. Thereâs something about the warmth of his car, the low rumble of the engine, that feels safer than the cold night air.
You thank him, your voice hesitant, unsure how many times youâve said the words since you climbed into the passenger seat. Each âthank youâ feels hollow, but itâs all you can manage. Frank doesnât reply, his expression unreadable, only acknowledging your gratitude with a brief, silent nod.
Youâve seen him once or twice around the prescient, before the murders. Before he lost everything.
Heâs different now, you can tell even though youâre a stranger. Heâs tauter, sharper. Devastated.
The ride to your apartment is quiet, filled with a tension that neither of you dares to break. You give him directions, your words stilted, trying to keep the silence from overwhelming you.
When he pulls up outside your building, you feel a sudden rush of gratitude mixed with reluctance. Youâre about to open the door when Frankâs deep voice stops you.
âIâm gonna be blunt,â he says, his tone direct, unwavering. âYouâre⌠well, youâre a sight. Too pretty to be on your own like this. So Iâm telling you to get a gun.â
The words catch you off guard. You blink, unsure of what to say, your heart skipping in a strange rhythm. âI have no one to teach me to shoot.â
He doesnât hesitate, his gaze unwavering as he reaches across, turning your palm upward with a deliberate gentleness. His fingers trace over your skin, and with a fluid motion, he writes his number inside your hand. âI will.â
You stare at the number as you walk inside, feeling the heat of his touch still burning through your palm, your chest tightening before you close your fingers, the blunts of your nails digging into where his hands had touched.