Joel, Get Up. Joel, Fucking Get Up! THE LAST OF US 2.02 | Through The Valley

BED PEACE — m afton

you’d love to stay in bed with michael without interruptions. it’s too bad some people have impeccable, or horrible, timing.

warnings – sex while on the phone, riding, slight jealousy

© MILL3RD 2023 — all rights reserved. mature content. please do not steal my works.

a thin, singular streak of orange cast into the bedroom, barely enough to fill up the room with the sunrise but enough so that you and michael could see each other. it was no surprise he had blackout curtains since when he wasn’t working the night shift, he was sleeping. usually.

you let out a sigh of content, wrapped nicely between your boyfriend and the covers. he was behind you, kissing your shoulders and back while his hands roamed underneath the silk sheets. you moved your hair over your left shoulder and turned around to face michael, bringing your hand up to redirect his head to face yours.

the two of your lips met, both of your hands cupping michael’s face while his still continued to bury themselves in forbidden territory. they remained on your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh.

you kissed for what seemed like a while, losing track of time as you both had the weekend off of work: michael as a night guard and you as an office assistant. two boring jobs, but you two could get by well enough together.

michael turned you around, getting you to straddle him so your core was flush against his own. you both let out a breathy sigh, your lips meeting again while your boyfriend rocked you against him. the fabric of both your’s and michael’s underwear created the perfect friction for the two of you, the materials dampening quickly.

you let out needy whines here and there between gasps for air and michael ate up your noises with just as needy kisses. your nails scratched his shoulders soothingly, you knew he enjoyed the sensation. michael’s hands left your thighs, trailing up the curve of your ass to the small of your back and so high that his palms comforted the base of your neck and his fingers massaged the back of your head.

pulling away, you opened your eyes and huffed. now letting your nail circle his chest, you pouted at michael and spoke barely above a whisper, “i can’t cum like this..”

“oh yeah?” michael murmured, his hands remaining in your hair. you nodded, your nose scrunching how it always did when you were frustrated and your eyes watering with want.

“can’t keep my girl waiting then, can i?” you grinned, giggling after michael told you to lift your hips. your thighs ached slightly as you squatted, hooking your arms around michael’s neck. he moved his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring up, bumping your clit. you huffed impatiently before michael pulled your panties to the side. he lined himself up and you finally let yourself sink down on him.

the two of you let out similar moans. you took a few seconds to enjoy the feeling of michael inside you before you started moving. the room was filled with groans and moaning in no time. the two of you barely had time to yourselves before the telephone rang. a collective groan fell from your mouths’ as michael leaned sideways and felt around for the box on your nightstand.

“hello?” michael asked as he wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, the wire curling around your finger as you played with it in boredom. his eyes met yours, an annoyed expression falling upon his face. he gave the phone to you and you shook your head with a tiny smile. your friend was on the phone.

“hi trisha,” you greeted, listening to your friend rave about a possible outing. as a habit, michael’s thumb maintained circles on your hip, “yeah, i think that’s a great idea, when?”

trisha mentioned that she wanted you to meet her boyfriend and that michael could tag along if he wanted to. however, michael was starting to get bored. his hands gripped your hips and began to move you manually on his thighs. your free hand fell onto michael’s chest and you glared at him, but he just grinned.

“keep talking,” he mouthed and you rolled your eyes at him. she continued to talk about places to go later that day. your brows furrowed as michael hit a good spot inside you and a sigh left your mouth. you could hear trisha’s frown through the phone, especially when she asked if everything was okay.

“yeah, i just don’t think today’s a good day,” you excused, “me and michael planned to spend the day together, y’know with it being our weekend off and all that, maybe tomorrow? if that works with you..”

trisha sighed, yet she agreed that tomorrow would give you all time to plan out where and when.

you pinched michael’s collarbone and he winced, thrusting up into you to try catch you off guard again. this time, a scarcely audible moan left your open lips. but it was into the phone and trisha gasped, asking if you were okay.

“i’m.. ah, i’m fine,” you panted, your nails creating marks in michael’s jawline while he smiled, “it’s just a bit hot in here, haven’t managed to open the windows yet.. how does tomorrow at seven sound?”

you wanted to celebrate when your friend agreed to your arrangement but now she began to list why she knew you’d accept her boyfriend. michael was as impatient as ever and your eyes rolled back as he began to bounce you himself. your hold on the phone grew weak and little hums buzzed in the base of your throat. trisha took it as you agreeing with her. with every movement michael forced upon you, the phone slipped from your hand gradually until it fell into the sheets and your friend probably, surely heard the mattress squeaking.

michael grabbed the phone before you could, thrusting up into you quickly and spoke into the phone, “hey trish, we’re a bit busy right now, can you call back later?”

you could hear the familiar laughter through the phone before a few words and a buzz indicating she hung up. throwing the phone to the side, michael chuckled, “she knew the whole time!”

laughing along with him, you shrugged, “that’s trish, anything to frustrate us, gotta love her though..” your boyfriend rolled his eyes, “sure.. i think she just likes keeping you away from me..”

you giggled, leaning down to kiss michael a few times, “maybe, but now we can continue with no interruptions.”

michael grinned, stealing a longer kiss, “fuck yeah!”

ʚoɞ

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

he’s such a hard worker. he’s got to get this flavor just right, has to keep making adjustments so you’ll absolutely love it. he’s so focused, and there’s a certain determination to him. his hands were sticky and sugary when he wrapped them around your waist. it’s cute to see him try to be so careful about touching you, trying his best not to get sugar everywhere. he’s got some of it on his apron. it got on your skin too, but you don’t mind.

he pulls away just for a moment, and you’re able to watch his face this time. his face is flushed, sugar and white chocolate staining his lips and face. his lips look so pretty, his cheeks are soft pink, and his eyes are hazy. “gotta get it just right.” he manages to say before he’s diving back in again to get another taste.

your soft thighs jerk against his cheeks, and it doesn’t help that he’s also being so sloppy. the way he’s licking and kissing is rough, like he has no idea the effect he’s having on you. he’s so focused and desperate to get the taste right.

he grips your thighs just slightly tighter, his fingers sinking into the skin hard enough to leave little indents, he seems to be getting into a rhythm, his face pressing between your thighs, his mouth so eager and messy. like he doesn’t know how hard you’re clenching, how you can barely keep your thighs open, or how you’re trying to stop all those pretty sounds from leaving your mouth. a long, shaky exhale drags out of your throat, soft and breathy as you cum. your thighs jerking and your fingers curling into the mess of his hair, gripping the tangled curls without thinking. he pulls away, his cheeks flushed and his face a mess with the sweet combination of sugar and you.

his voice is a soft whine when he speaks. and he’s still gently massaging your legs, just wanting to touch you but also trying not to leave a trail of sugar and chocolate all over you. “good?” was all he asked. the softest little syllable, and he already made it sound so pleading.

a shaky sound came out, "uh-huh", barely more than a breath. he smiles at that, his expression turning sweet and soft the moment you show any signs of approval. he loves you, just so much, and he can’t ever get enough of hearing you say you’re satisfied. he pushes himself up just a little more to rest his head on your stomach, letting the top of his head just barely touch your chest, before he lets out a content sigh.

“yeah?” he asks, but you can hear that it isn’t really a question, he also starts writing down some things in his notebook, writing down certain flavors, how you tasted, to get this chocolate perfect.

ʚoɞ

a/n: this is my first ever time writing x reader smut lmao neverrr thought it would be willy wonka but timothee..... mhm mhm mhm

i’ve watched that landy goal probably 50 times already

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

you hear the soft whir of the vibranium arm before you see him. "kitchen’s closed,” bucky says behind you, voice quiet but firm.

you turn, caught halfway through raiding the fridge. “didn’t think you’d still be here.” he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. that arm glints under the low light, metal fingers tapping lightly against his bicep. "didn’t feel like sleeping.”

you nod slowly. “yeah… same.” his eyes hold yours for a little too long. there’s something unreadable in them, like he’s working something out. then he pushes off the wall, steps closer.

“you always make this much noise sneaking around?” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to the open fridge, “or just when I’m here to catch you?”

you close the fridge door slowly, the soft thunk of it echoing louder than it should. bucky’s still watching you, that unreadable expression etched into his face like it’s been there for years. "i wasn’t sneaking,” you say, trying for nonchalant. “i was hungry.”

“mm.” he doesn’t sound convinced. “middle of the night kind of hungry?”

you shrug. “the insomnia kind.”

recognition flickers across his face at that. understanding. he steps closer, not quite invading your space, but close enough that the air shifts. that vibranium arm brushes the counter as he leans just slightly. “you’re not the only one.”

for a second, silence stretches out between you, thick, a little charged. you notice the way his jaw ticks, like he’s holding something back. maybe a thought. maybe something else. you nod toward the cabinets behind him. “you guarding the tea now, or am i allowed to pass?” he doesn’t move. just looks at you for a second like he’s trying to read something in your face.

“you always come down here when you can’t sleep?”

“only when I’m trying to avoid people.”

his mouth twitches, more a shift than a smile. “guess i’m not people now?”

you raise a brow. “didn’t say that.”

his eyes flick away, then back. “i can move.”

“you could,” you say, stepping closer. he doesn’t back off. the air between you tightens. “but you’re not going to,” you finish, voice quieter now.

he shakes his head once. “didn’t really feel like being alone tonight.”

his mouth found yours like he'd been thinking about it for longer than he'd admit-slow at first, careful, but that didn't last. now, you're backed against the wall of the kitchen. one of his hands braced beside your head, the metal one gripping your thigh. his metal arm was warm from contact and strong-so strong. his touch both calculated and desperate, like he didn't know where to put his hands because he wanted to be everywhere at once. he’s holding you so tight it almost hurts, the line between rough and tender blurring and disappearing. the warm metal of his fingers slips under your shirt, against the bare skin of your stomach, and you realize your back is arched against the wall to keep him against you.

his mouth moves against yours desperately. his stubble scrapes lightly against your chin, a sharp contrast to the soft, warm feel of his lips. he moves again, the hand on your thigh shifting, sliding to your hip, his thumb brushing over the bone there. his breath stutters against your mouth at the same time you gasp softly, your fingers grasping at his shirt. his hand covers your left breast, the metal sending shivers through you, and you try to hold back another gasp.

he pulls back just a fraction, watching you as his thumb brushes over your nipple—once, twice, slow. he does it again, this time pressing harder, grinding his hips against you at the same time, and you whimper against his mouth. he kisses down to your jaw, his teeth scraping against your skin. “shh."

the sound of your breathing fills the room as he teases you, moving his hand in slow, maddening circles. one moment he’s kissing your jaw, the next, he’s sucking a path down your throat, his touch everywhere. the metal of the vibranium was almost burning against your skin. he drags his thumb over you again, making you buck your hips against his. bucky leans against you, the tension in your hips pressing his hardness into you. his mouth is against your neck, his breath and beard sending tingles of pleasure through you with each movement. his hips find a slow, steady rhythm, he presses a trail of kisses down your neck, stopping against your collarbone. your head drops back, hitting the wall behind you with a soft thunk. he presses a kiss to your jawline before leaning up to look at you. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, his expression a little uncertain. “is this-” he pauses, breath hitching as you rock into him. “--is this okay?”

your hips roll against him, your chest rising and falling hard as you try to catch your breath. you find his eyes, and your breath hitches when you see those pretty blue eyes staring back at you like a puppy, his eyes dilated. “this is okay,” you say, voice low, “god, it’s more than okay. please-” he presses his hips to you in a slow drag, his movements languid but calculated. your eyes fall away from his, and a soft whine escapes you as his metal hand trails lazily down your side. he kisses you, deep and hard, his left hand coming up to brace against your throat. he doesn’t press to restrict your air–he wouldn’t do that, and especially not here–he just holds it there, savoring the feel of your pulse moving against his fingers.

his right hand is still sliding across your skin, his thumb brushing against your hip bone. he presses closer, his hips against yours as he guides you up, then down, then up again in a lazy rhythm. he’s still holding your throat with something that almost feels like reverence, the feel of your skin under the pads of his metal fingers is almost hypnotizing. it feels overwhelming and so, so good. bucky’s eyes find yours, his lips parted, his breath coming in little pants. his right hand moves over the lace-adorned fabric, “god,” he whispers, tracing over the hem of your night wear. his hand is still on your neck, the metal so warm from contact.

his metal hand flexes against your neck before trailing down to your lower waist, his hand moves to your warm inner thighs, his middle finger rubbing slowly against the wetness of your panties. he lifts you onto the countertop and his hands go immediately to your thighs, gripping them and spreading them to make room for him. he’s between your legs, his hips rocking against yours as he pulls you to the edge of the counter. his metal hand brushes over the elastic of your panties before gently pulling it off, discarding them somewhere on the counter.

he moves his vibranium fingertip over your entrance before slowly slipping a finger in. his head falls into your neck at how warm you were. his finger dips further in rubbing against your g-spot before slowly pressing in another metal finger. he makes a sound against your skin, a strangled moan that’s muffled by his mouth against your neck. you arch up, but you’re pressed against the counter so all you can do is lean into him, and his hips jerk against yours reflexively. he’s moving slowly, taking his time, the pad of his finger moving in slow circles against your swollen clit that draws a cry from you. he’s watching your face, his flesh hand pressed to your thigh to keep you still. he lets out another sound, and this time it’s a curse that you’re just able to make out between the noises you’re panting out. he hits that sweet spot every. single. time. his forehead pressed against your glistening neck, you can see how hard he is, his hips rocking in time with his big fingers, and he's letting out these mouthwatering whimpers. gently sucking and biting little marks into your collarbone area, his right hand gripping your thigh so hard you know that you'll see some light bruises tomorrow.

you can feel the tension building and building in your lower belly, and when his hips buck particularly harshly one time it presses his thumb into a perfect angle against your clit, making you see white for a second, your eyes fluttering shut as they roll back with a whine, clenching around his fingers, your head lolled back against the wall, you hear him finally say something against your skin, "cum for me– please–" his voice is barely louder than a whisper but you hear him loud and clear. your hips jerk forward before you cum, his name a ragged chant as pleasure washes over you. he works you through it. letting out choked moans, his breath harsh against your skin. he slowly withdrawls his messy metal hand, pressing soft kisses against your neck, you're both a mess, skin slick with sweat, your muscles trembling. he pulls his head away, looking down at his glistening hand before looking back up at you and kissing you.

i just drove by a huge zoo and it hurts to see.

zoos are institutions that cage living, breathing, intelligent beings—many of whom are capable of complex thought, emotion, and social behavior— strictly for human entertainment. the idea of placing animals in cages or enclosures for observation and amusement is something we've inherited from earlier centuries, a time when little was understood about animal cognition or emotional capacity. but today, we know better. we know that elephants mourn their dead, that primates form lifelong bonds, that big cats are meant to roam miles each day, and that even the most "lowly" animals have instincts and needs we still don’t fully understand. yet we continue to imprison them for no reason other than our own curiosity and profit. in zoos animals are stripped of everything that makes their lives natural and fulfilling. they lose their freedom to roam, their opportunity to hunt or forage, their privacy, and often their families. animals that would travel dozens or even hundreds of miles in the wild are confined to enclosures so small they can walk end to end in seconds. imagine the mental toll this takes. it’s no shocker that animals in zoos often develop abnormal behaviors. pacing, head bobbing, excessive grooming, rocking back and forth, behaviors not found in the wild. these are signs of psychological distress, not quirks to be laughed at by passing visitors. one of the biggest myths used to defend zoos is that they help with conservation. but if you really look into it, that argument doesn't hold much weight. the vast majority of animals in zoos are not endangered. many are there simply because they’re popular or exotic. when endangered species are bred in captivity, they are rarely released into the wild. instead, they spend their lives on display, far from the ecosystems they’re supposedly being saved for. conservation in its truest form means protecting wild habitats, funding anti poaching initiatives, and preserving biodiversity in nature. NOT creating artificial environments that barely mimic the real world. education is another claim zoos love to make. and yes, you can learn the names and appearances of animals by walking through a zoo. but what kind of education is that, really? what are we teaching children when we show them wild animals in unnatural, confined settings? are we teaching them to respect wildlife, or to view animals as things that exist for our entertainment? there’s a huge difference between truly understanding an animal’s life and merely staring at one from the other side of a glass wall. and then there’s the matter of profit. for many zoos, especially those in large cities, animals are essentially attractions. flashy exhibits, animal shows, petting zoos, photo ops, these are all designed to increase revenue. the animals themselves become tools in a marketing strategy. they don’t get to choose whether they’re on display. they don’t get a day off. they don’t get to say no. even in zoos with the best intentions, the underlying business model still treats animals as commodities. of course there are people who work in zoos who genuinely care about animals. there are veterinarians, caretakers, and staff members who do their best to give the animals a decent life. but individual compassion doesn’t erase systemic harm. it’s possible to care deeply and still be working within a broken system. the problem isn’t the people, it’s the structure that makes it acceptable to cage living beings for life. there are better alternatives. true sanctuaries focus on rescuing animals from abusive situations and giving them a life that’s as close to natural as possible. they don’t breed animals for profit or allow petting for selfies. they prioritize animal needs over public entertainment. likewise, supporting wildlife conservation efforts in the field, like protecting forests, oceans, grasslands, helps animals live where they truly belong: in the wild, not in glass boxes or concrete pits.

animals are not here for us. they are not exhibits or props. they are individuals with their own lives to live, not behind bars, not in enclosures, but in the vast, complex, wild world where they belong. it’s time WE stop supporting systems that tell us otherwise.

what? oh nothing just thinking about how peter parker is a BREEDER. like itsv movies have him wanting and having kids and then in insomniac’s spiderman, he tapped it without a condom and thought he could’ve accidentally become a father. this man fucks.

TW!! THUNDERBOLT SPOILERS!!

my HUSBAND’s pretty cool

credit: elizditss

wip !! :D

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

the walls were humming again.

old brownstone in brooklyn, refurbished under tony’s sardonic generosity, always kept a low electric thrum in its bones, like the ghosts of forgotten circuits whispering secrets only bucky could half understand. you stood in the kitchen, brewing chamomile tea, because caffeine might nudge him too close to that frayed edge. and tonight wasn’t about vigilance. tonight was about the slow reassembly of someone who’d come apart in the public square.

"you're up," you said without turning. you knew his footsteps by now, they were measured, controlled, like a dancer trained by violence. the tea kettle clicked off. you didn’t look yet, you didn’t have to.

"didn’t sleep," came the reply, low and rough, as if spoken through gauze. there was a lilt of apology buried in the words, though he would never say sorry for something he couldn't remember.

"nightmares?" you asked, pouring two mugs, yours black, his with a generous slosh of milk. bucky didn’t answer right away. you finally glanced at him.

his face bore the aftermath, not of a battle, but of the war within. a gash, hastily closed with someone else’s field kit, reopened across his temple. the left sleeve of his shirt was torn and soaked dark from shoulder to elbow. blood. his or someone else's, you didn’t ask yet.

he looked at you like you were a mirror he was afraid to believe in. "i—" he began, then faltered. the words, you imagined, must have choked like wires tangled in the gears of his mind.

“it wasn’t you,” you said, not kindly, not cruelly, just truthfully. that mattered more.

bucky lowered himself into the old leather armchair, tony’s, once, back in the MIT dorms when he'd had enough ego to furnish a living room like a billionaire. you smiled faintly at the memory. tony had been your friend first. before the fame, before the arc reactor. before everything.

"you heard what happened?" bucky asked.

you nodded. “i did.”

it had started three days ago, a hidden hydra outpost in the carpathians had released a dead protocol, something ancient and buried in binary. a psychic landmine, they called it. bucky, standing too close to the detonation, had turned before anyone could react. in twenty minutes, he nearly killed sam, cracked nat’s ribcage, and left steve unconscious in a crater the size of a van. the winter soldier had returned. perfect, brutal, remorseless.

he’d disappeared afterward. the avengers had looked, of course. you hadn’t.

you knew he’d come here.

“i thought i’d locked it away,” he whispered. “i thought it was done.”

“no one ever locks anything away,” you said, handing him his tea. “not really. we just learn to live beside it.”

bucky took the mug with his left hand. the vibranium fingers trembled just slightly.

you knelt in front of him, grabbing the first aid kit from beneath the table, white with a red cross that had faded to a tired pink. like most things in this house, it carried the wear of use and memory. your hands were steady as you pulled gauze and antiseptic. his eyes followed your movements, but he didn’t flinch. not at the alcohol, not at the sting. that was its own kind of progress.

“tony would’ve been pissed,” bucky said, voice flat.

you smiled softly, not looking up from where you were dabbing at the gash above his eye. “he would’ve had you in a magnetic net before you blinked. then he’d get drunk and make you apologize to his suit.”

bucky chuckled, barely, but it was a laugh, however hollow. “you miss him?”

“every day,” you said simply.

there was a silence then, not empty but full. the kind of silence that grows between people who don’t need to fill it to know it matters.

the fire crackled in the hearth. outside, snow began to fall in soft, unhurried spirals. in here, there was warmth. in here, he was just bucky. scared, wounded, healing. and you were here too, mending more than wounds.

he looked down at you, hair falling into his face, lips slightly parted as if to speak but afraid of the shape of the words.

“thank you,” he said, finally. two syllables, but they carried centuries.

you finished with the bandage and sat back, legs folded beneath you on the rug. “don’t thank me yet,” you said. “we’re not done. i’ve got soup and a lecture on post traumatic mythologies lined up. you don’t get to brood until we finish both.”

he looked at you like you were light seen through fog. dim, far, but steady.

a/n: literally wrote this at 3:00 AM so cut me slack 🙏 hope u enjoy regardless tho

I DONT THINK IVE EVER LAUGJED THIS HARD THEY GOT THE OOMPA LOOMPA ARMY ON THE RESCUE