#(i MISSED them did you know that i MISSED them i've only said it seventy thousand times i'm gonna say it seventy thousand more)

[softersinned]

@valiantsword / plotted starter.

"Morning, sunshine." She could swear she hears a muffled groan on the other end of the call, and Astoria stifles a laugh. Her one complaint about Arthur's near-constant presence (in her life, in her hotel rooms, in her house, in her bed, in her bathtub...) is that he's thrown her sleep schedule absolutely and entirely out of whack, and she is not so evolved that she doesn't appreciate the turnabout. Fair play, and all that. "Did you get any sleep?"

The elevator would cut off her signal, and she's having too much fun to end her call too early, and so Astoria takes the stairs at a leisurely pace while she listens to Arthur as he gets out of bed, shuffles around the hotel room. Thank god he went for the sixth floor instead of the sixteenth, though she supposes she should thank the medical convention that's filled every hotel in the city to bursting. She gives herself a moment's rest at the landing for the fourth floor, and she stretches luxuriously as she does.

"You miss me yet?" she asks, and then she lowers her voice conspiratorially. "What are you wearing?"

The cell signal isn't great here, either, but she could swear she hears him laugh, and it makes her glow. Quite literally, it makes her glow, her joy at the sound lighting her up like a little sun under her skin, and she wonders idly if there's a patron saint for not being seen doing unintentional magic in swanky hotels in the age of the internet and viral videos. Back to the stairs, and to making idle small talk, and then she gets to the room and she lets out a pleased sigh.

"I arranged with a friend for a surprise," she says, quietly enough that he won't hear her in the hall. The job that took them to different countries has gone shockingly well, which means she can surprise him now, and she knows better than to take advantage of little miracles like that one. Hence hauling her bags up five flights of stairs while holding a phone to her ear and trying not to sound out of breath, or look anything less than perfect. She hunches over, checks her distorted reflection in the small metal placard with the room number on the wall next to the door.

Astoria straightens, and she wonders for a brief moment if she should have showed up in nothing but a trench coat and heels, but, well, it's a bit too late to change her mind on that. "It should have arrived by now. Do me a favor, älskling, and open the door?"

[honeyedmiller]

When in Positano | Javier Peña

javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors do not interact

warnings: light alcohol consumption, smut (fingering, f & m oral receiving, unprotected piv, major breeding kink, ass slaps), talks of starting a family, an insane amount of fluff, javi is a romantic at heart, bits of spanish with translation, frequent pov switching, no use of y/n.

word count: 6.1k

synopsis: honeymooning in italy with your husband is a dream, especially when he reveals he wants to start a family with you.

a/n: this has been in my wips / drafts since january- and then i ultimately decided to change the whole plot of this bc i've been in a soft mushy mood for husband x reader lately. shoutout to @ilovepedro (ily) for beta'ing this baby for me. hope you enjoy <3

It was times like this that you could hardly believe this was your life.

The morning sun had shown her golden rays through the linen curtains that danced with the wind, illuminating your villa brilliantly. The first thing you get to see when your eyes flutter open is your husband, unknowingly basking in the golden light of the morning. 

You stretch your sore limbs, the glint of your wedding ring in the light catching your attention. You can't help the smile that spreads across your lips, eyes shifting down to the man next to you once again. 

You study his peaceful features as if you were sketching him from memory — tan, warm skin; dark, thick hair; a mustache that always tickles the tiniest bit when he’d kiss you anywhere on your body; a strong, angular nose; long lashes that fan his cheeks; and plush, pink lips that were slightly parted as he breathed steadily. 

The only thing you miss dearly in sight at that very moment are his beautiful brown eyes. The same eyes that had you hooked from the very first time your gaze fell upon them. 

Your eyes travel down to his muscular arms — the same arms that always hold you tight and protect you, all the way down to his torso and his naked, but covered, lower half. 

Your eyes snap up to his gorgeous face once more, reaching your hand out to trace featherlight lines over his smooth skin. You cup his cheek, leaning forward in the slightest to kiss his nose. His brows scrunch in reaction as he finally stirs awake. 

He groans softly as he instinctively wraps an arm around you, bringing your bare body flush to his. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, taking advantage of your proximity to him as you start peppering kisses all over his face. 

You pull back and he peeks one sleepy eye open, a half smile immediately forming on his face. 

“Buenos días, mi amor.” [good morning, my love] He whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead. 

“Buenos días, mi esposo.” [good morning, my husband] You beam, and he gently grabs your left hand — the one that decided to caress his face once more — and looks down at it with pride, seeing the wedding band and engagement ring together. It’s something he’ll never tire of. 

“Still can’t believe you said ‘I do’.” He chuckles, bringing your hand up to his lips so he can kiss your ring. 

“I’d say those two words in a million lifetimes with you, Javier.” You whisper, and his soft brown eyes look up at you in pure adoration. 

“Mi vida.” [my life] He shakes his head in disbelief, an undeniable grin etching itself upon his plush lips. 

You said I do to each other just seventy-two hours ago, and you both have been luxuriating in the blissful feeling of forever. 

Javier surprised you with your dream vacation destination as your honeymoon, and you cried in happiness on your twelve hour flight as you both made your way to Italy. 

You don’t know what you did to deserve such a man as Javier, and you truly don’t think you’ll ever comprehend how you got to marry him. What you do know, is that you’re the luckiest woman alive. 

Little do you also know, he feels the same exact way about you. 

“I love you.” The words flow naturally, easily, and he gives you a look that makes you want to give him the whole universe. Fuck, if you could, you would. 

This man—the man that has endured so much in his past, only to open up his heart to you and only you—to protect you, cherish you, and love you the way he does, is a man that deserves everything gracious and peaceful this world has to offer. 

And if you told him those exact words, he’d kiss you searingly and tell you that you are his grace, his peace, his god-given solace. You are the reason his heart beats, his days are brighter, his world spins on its axis. You’re everything to him and he’d show you time and time again just so. 

“I love you too, cariño.” [honey] His voice is softer, a voice only reserved for you. Underneath the harsh exterior and the stern brow he always wears, there’s a softness that he carries when it’s just you two in the confines of your own space. You always greet him at the door when he comes home, pressing a kiss between his furrowed brows, wrapping your arms around him before telling him “welcome home.” He always relaxes under your touch, and knowing you’re his peace makes pride bloom in your chest. 

Your heart aches in the best way possible with how much you love your husband, and your faithfulness and devotion to him will never, ever waver. 

Javi buries his face into your neck and leaves a trail of kisses up to your jaw, mustache hairs tickling your skin as he nibbles on your chin playfully. 

“What’s on the agenda today, baby?” He asks, hand gliding up the soft skin of your torso, thumb brushing just beneath your breast. The ghost of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you grin lazily as you look at him. 

“I was thinking about the street market we passed yesterday, and maybe a new restaurant?” You say, running a hand through his thick brown locks. You twirl a longer piece at the nape of his neck around your finger, and he begins to kiss your collarbone languidly. 

He hums in thought, kisses trailing down to the swell of your breasts. You cradle the back of his head gently, not particularly wanting him to stop, but also aware that you should really get out of bed and enjoy the beauty of Positano while you can. Your fingers release his head and skate down to his back, gently double tapping the space between his shoulder blades. 

“We should really get up, amor.” [love] Your tone isn’t convincing enough even to yourself, and Javi rests his chin on your sternum as he looks at you with a glimpse of mischief in his eyes. 

“Can I enjoy the sweet taste of my wife first?” His tone is more of a statement than a question, and you can’t help but laugh at his eagerness. Truthfully, if it were up to him, you two probably wouldn’t leave the bedroom very much in the week and a half you get to spend here. To you, Italy was paradise, but to Javier, you were his. 

He could spend days with his face – or cock – buried between your thighs, savoring every moment of your addicting taste and tight cunt. 

“Only if you let me pick the restaurant.” You negotiate poorly, and even then, Javier sports a grin that lights up the whole room. The sun and her radiance doesn’t even nearly hold a candle to your husband’s smile. 

“Deal.” He murmurs, lips marking their territory down your sternum. Before he gets any further, he kisses both of your breasts before enveloping a nipple into his mouth. You suck in a breath at the feeling, the sensation shooting straight down to your already needy and aching core. 

Something of a whine escapes you, tugging on his hair as you arch your back off the mattress. You can feel his smug smirk against your skin before he switches sides, relishing the other pert bud before letting go with a small pop. 

The anticipation is building up much quicker than you expected, and you’re squirming beneath Javi as his lips ghost your stomach, moving down the bed before uncovering your bottom half. 

A lazy grin appears on his lips as he takes in the sight of your puffy, glistening pussy, ready for his tongue to drink you up like you’re the finest nectar on the planet. 

Javier tsks at the sight teasingly, swiping his middle finger through your folds, preening at your receptiveness to his touch as your hips buck toward his mouth involuntarily. “Now who made my beautiful wife this wet and needy, hm?” He asks, moving his face down to kiss the supple skin of your thigh before biting down gently. 

You yelp in surprise, looking down at him only to find him sporting a shit-eating grin. The word wife makes you even needier, loving the fact that you belong to him. 

“You, mi corazón [my heart]. Solo tú.” [only you]

Javi closes his eyes at the endearment, nestling his cheek to your thigh as he breathes in a few times. He feels like he’s in an alternate reality where his dream woman just dropped out of the sky, and he gets to spend the rest of his life with her. 

But this is real, you’re real, and he nearly has to pinch himself to prove that you aren’t a figment of his imagination. He gets to spend eternity with you, and he deems himself the luckiest son of a bitch alive. 

He opens his eyes and his gaze meets yours once more, and you can’t help but reach out for his face. You look so ethereal to him as the golden rays fall upon your body, making you glow like a goddess. Your head is back against the pillows as you watch him with an adoring gaze from above, and he truly has no words to ever conjure up just how much he loves you. 

And, for a moment, as he’s watching you watch him, his eyes flicker down to your stomach. Javier never thought he’d be a man who wants to have kids in his life. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d ever be able to get married, let alone to a gem such as yourself. 

You’ve given him a softer life; a life full of love and happiness—a complete one-eighty from his time in Colombia—and a house to call a home, albeit you being his home no matter where you two are. You’d also be the one to be able to give him the ultimate gift: fatherhood. 

He sweeps his reeling thoughts to the back of his mind for now, his main focus averting back to you and pleasing you until you’re screaming his name. 

With that thought in mind, he wastes no more time before he gives your pretty, glistening pussy a kiss, delving his tongue into your folds right after. 

You gasp at the sensation, eyebrows pinching together as his muscle works your nerves expertly as he’s done countless times before. He traces the tip of his tongue through your folds, up to your clit and flicks it a few times before moving back down to your entrance. He prods the muscle inside and dutifully fucks you with his tongue, the pace delicious as his nose bumps your clit repeatedly in the process. 

You grip onto his hair, hips bucking into his face in tandem with the stroke of his tongue. 

You can’t help but cry out his name repeatedly, and he feels prideful that he’s the only one that can make you feel this good. 

Javi’s mouth separates from your dripping cunt, bottom half of his face shiny with the taste he loves oh so much. 

“Taste like a dream, muñequita.” [doll] He breathes, sliding his hand down to grip your thigh as the other toys with the slick on your pussy. He kisses your thigh again and he looks up at you trying to catch your breath. Your head already feels fuzzy at the immense pleasure your husband’s tongue brings you, and to top it off, he slides his middle and ring finger into you. 

He keeps his eyes on your face and watches as you unravel, pumping his fingers in and out of you. He makes sure to curl his fingers to hit the very specific spot he knows you like, and when he does, you lose all resolve. You crumble under his touch as your arousal seeps out of you and down his fingers, coating his wedding band in your juices as they flow down to his wrist. 

“So fucking pretty, baby. You like when I fuck you with my fingers?” He asks, and you nod without hesitation. 

“Words, corazón.” [heart] 

“Fuck–fuck, yes, Javi, oh, god-” You cry, and he squeezes your thigh before diving back down to lap up your pussy once more. The combination of his tongue and fingers is absolutely lethal—you know you aren’t going to last much longer. 

Javier is the matchbox to your match, dragging, dragging, dragging you along. The coil in your core is wound up so tight that within seconds, you break and light aflame. 

You cry out his name, the sound of your own desperate plea reverberating off of the four walls of the villa’s bedroom eagerly. 

You feel like you’re gushing everywhere—his fingers, his mouth, the bedsheets—and it’s pure ecstasy when he blows out the flame, your body the smoke as you dissipate into the luxury of a devastatingly euphoric bliss. 

Javi drags his lips up your thigh, to your torso, all the way up to your jaw before capturing your lips in a searing kiss as you both share the taste of you on his tongue. 

He hums into the kiss and separates from you, bringing his slick-coated fingers to your mouth. You huff a laugh as you eagerly lick the arousal off of his wedding ring and up his digit, popping both of them into your mouth and suck them until they’re clean. 

Javi’s cock is impossibly hard now, but he knows how badly you want to explore the beautiful city. So, he pushes his urges down for now, though you’d likely gladly take his cock into that pretty mouth of yours and suck him dry. 

He groans as he gets up from the bed, giving you another chaste kiss before he trudges to the bathroom to retrieve a towel to clean you up. Your eyes follow him as you lay on your side, head propped up by your hand. You study his figure unashamedly, admiring your husband and his bare form in all of its glory. Long legs, toned arms, tan skin, and of course, that insanely cute ass of his—and he’s all yours. Every inch of his beautiful body, face, and mind is yours. 

He walks out of the bathroom with a towel in hand, and you can’t help but admire his impressive length. He teasingly throws the towel at you and you catch it, and before you can protest, his body is hovering over yours. 

“Someone can’t keep their eyes to themselves, hm?” He quirks a brow at you. 

“Well excuse me for admiring my husband and how sexy he is.” You retort, and he can’t help the guttural laugh that escapes his belly. 

“You’re something else, you know that?” His tone is playful, snatching the towel from you as he cleans you up. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows as you give him a stern look, and he meets your gaze with a boyish grin. 

“You’re the one who married me. That’s on you.” You say, and he grabs your shoulders after tossing the towel onto the floor before giving you a light shake. 

“And it’s been the best decision of my life, muchas gracias.” [thank you very much]

You roll your eyes before leaning up and giving him a kiss, tapping his thigh as you pull apart. 

“Up and at ‘em, baby. Italy is waiting for us.” 

-

You watched Javi as he bought some fresh fruit from a vendor at the street market, patrons bustling on the side as they enjoyed the beautiful weather and scenery before them. The water was a brilliant hue of blue, tying in the bright colors and coastal landscaping Positano had to offer. 

Javi holds out his arm for you after he purchases the fruit, and you gladly cling onto his bicep as you make your way down the street. You stop for a moment to look at him and admire his outfit—bright blue shirt that contrasted beautifully against his tan skin, and some white pants paired with brown loafers.

 He gave you a face when you originally suggested the shoes to him because it simply wasn’t something he’d ever wear, but they were insanely comfortable and undoubtedly great for walking, deeming you right once more. 

“Mi esposa always knows what’s best,” [my wife] He’d said. 

Javi peels an orange for you both to share, splitting it in half and hand feeding you the slices. You bite the tip of his finger playfully, and he can’t help but admire the buttery sweet sound of the laugh that emanates you. 

You hum at the citrus taste of the orange, closing your eyes in delight at how fresh it is. 

“That’s delicious.” You say aloud, and Javi looks at you while sliding his aviators down the bridge of his nose. 

“It is, but nothing compares to the taste of you.”

Your face heats up at his words, hiding it in the crook of his neck for a second while letting out a mumbled ‘behave’ from you. 

He’s smug when you pull your face back from the warmth of his body, and you lightly swat his chest in mock-chastise. 

“You hungry, mamí?” He pulls a food guide of local restaurants out from his back pocket, and you nod eagerly. 

“For more than just food.” You murmur, slotting your arms onto his broad shoulders, letting one hand dangle and the other play with the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands instinctively grab onto your waist and he pulls your body flush to his. 

“Now who needs to behave, hm?” 

“Still you.” You beam.

“Smartass.” He retorts with a chuckle. 

“Maybe. But you love me.”

“That I do, bebita,” [baby girl] He leans in for a kiss before handing you the food guide, and you briefly scan the options. 

 “How about some pizza?” 

-

The restaurant reminds you of your first date with Javier. You remember how much he tried to impress you, and even then, you knew he was someone special. To end up here with him in Italy eating the most delicious pizza and drinking the crispest glass of wine four years later seems like a total fever dream. 

Javi raises his glass up to you, giving you his infamous puppy dog eyes and the softest smile you think you’ve ever seen on him. “Cheers to you, amor de me vida,” [love of my life] “You make me the happiest man alive. You’ve given me everything I could wish for and then some, and your beautiful heart and soul never ceases to amaze me.” 

Tears prick your eyes as you raise your glass to clink against his, sipping the Prosecco in your glass. You reach for his left hand across the table, bringing his knuckles up to your lips as you kiss them and his wedding band repeatedly. 

“I love you, Javier Peña. Thank you for giving me a life well beyond my wildest dreams. I’d do anything for you. It’s me and you against the world, baby.” 

“I’ll never know how a bastard like me got so goddamn lucky. You’re a godsend, corazón,” [heart] “What if we had an addition to our world?” He asks, voice almost shy as he tries to gauge your reaction. 

“What do you mean, mi amor?” [my love]

”How do you feel about starting a family? With me?” 

He’s hopeful with the way he stares at you, squeezing your hand as he awaits your answer. 

“Is that something you want, baby? I know a while back you said you weren’t too sure.” 

You’d love to have a family with Javier. The thing was, he wasn’t too sure of that awhile back when things really got serious between you two. You were a little crushed by the prospect of not having kids with the love of your life, but you’d learn to make do. It was never a dealbreaker for you specifically, but you’ve always felt like you were meant to be a mom. 

“I’m sure now. I love the sound of having a little one of us running around. We don’t need to rush into it, though. I just—I want this with you, and I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Well, besides asking you to be mine para siempre.” [forever]

You try to not let your emotions overwhelm you in the moment. The man sitting in front of you has you in pure awe, with the way a softness has wrapped itself around his heart, showing him that this side of life is full of warmth and love. He’s gradually learned to accept it, unlearning all of the harsh stoicism that seized his being in the past. 

“You’d be the best daddy, Javier Peña. No doubt in my mind.” 

His face gleams with joy as he brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle individually. 

“And you’d be the best mommy, Mrs. Peña.” 

Your heart flutters at the sound of your new last name. You still genuinely cannot believe you’re married to this man. 

“Chucho is probably going to ask when we’re going to give him grandbabies.” 

Javier can’t help but laugh, knowing full well his father would undoubtedly ask that question as soon as you two get back to Texas. 

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you. “We should start practicing now then, mamí. Wouldn’t wanna keep him or the rest of the family waiting.” 

-

A sheen of sweat coats your brow and chest as you arrive back to your villa with Javi. The walk itself wasn’t far but the warm weather was starting to get to you. And yet, as soon as you walked through the doors of the bedroom, he was on you. 

He was kissing your pulse point while his hands roamed over your body with fervor, skimming over the cotton material of the sundress you were wearing. You giggle as his mustache tickles your neck, playfully nudging him.

“Javi, baby, I’m all sticky and sweaty. Let me take a shower first.”

He hums at your words, continuing the assault of his lips down your jugular before nibbling on your hot skin. His grip on your waist tightens before he leads you backwards into the bathroom, hands moving down to your ass before giving it a playful slap. He spins you around so you’re both facing the huge mirror above the double vanity, and his hands settle onto your stomach. 

His eyes travel down to where his hands are as he starts to rub his thumbs back and forth. The look of pure love in his eyes was enough to tell you how badly he really wants to be a father. You reach an arm back to cradle the side of his face, craning your neck to the side to give his cheek a kiss. 

“Can you just imagine growing a life that’s half you and half me in here? Nuestro hijo o hija. You’d be glowing even more than you do now, mi amor.” [our son or daughter ; my love]

Your gaze snaps back up to his face, his usual stoic brow softened at the idea of you carrying his child. You didn’t think you could fall in love with this man even more, but picturing him taking your newborn baby out of the carseat after coming home from the hospital and seeing their tiny body resting against his chest in comfort, against someone so loving and so familiar, gives you an indescribable amount of butterflies. 

His eyes meet yours in the mirror once more, and you can’t help but give him a soft smile. Both of you are well aware that no words can ever come close to describing the emotions that flow through your minds and hearts, but somehow still connect perfectly like a puzzle piece.

It’s sacred, your love with Javi, and it’s something you’ll both pour into your future child endlessly. 

Javi’s lips find your neck once more, fingertips skating over the sticky flesh of your arms before settling on the straps of your dress. His lips move to your shoulder as he slips one strap off, then the other, and tugs down gently so the fabric falls and pools at your feet. 

You’re bare on top, and Javi takes advantage of the beautiful sight and kneads your breasts with his hands. You can’t help the way your head lolls back onto his shoulder, biting your lip as he tweaks both nipples simultaneously. 

“My beautiful wife.” He whispers, trailing a hand down your torso and over the fabric of your panties, teasingly rubbing you through the thin material. A gasp evades you as the familiar low ache bubbles in your core once again. 

“Javi,” You gasp, hand flying up to steady yourself as you grab the side of his neck. 

“Fuck, I love the way you say my name.”

Your ass presses against his front, and you feel his cock harden in his pants. You turn around to face him and he grabs your hips instinctively before pulling you forward so you’re flush to his body. He leans in to kiss you ferociously, hands sliding down to grab your ass as you toss your arms over his shoulders. 

You stay like that for a minute just enjoying the simplicity in the art of kissing your husband before reaching down to unbutton his shirt. You slide the material off of his shoulders before moving down to his pants, palming his cock teasingly. He groans into your mouth and kisses you like a starved man, backing you toward the shower. You slide his jeans off of his hips once he’s stagnant and he steps out of them, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. 

Before you two can continue your escapades, he gives your forehead a kiss before turning on the shower to a temperature comfortable for you both. You slide your panties off and he mirrors your actions, sliding his boxers off before you both step inside. 

The lukewarm water cools your skin briefly before Javi steps under the stream, face up toward the water. You watch as the droplets stream down his face, to his neck and shoulders, down his torso and down down down into the dark, wiry hairs that sit below his navel and above his delicious length. 

Your mouth is practically salivating at the sight before you, and you need to have a taste of your husband. 

Your hands are gentle on his torso before they drag down, your body lowering with them until you’re on your knees. Javi looks down at you with his lips parted and a wild look in his eye. 

You lick your lips and smirk at him before pushing on his thighs, backing him up so he sits down onto the bench in the shower. You scoot forward on your knees, admiring your man from below as his thighs spread wide and his hard cock is already furious and leaking pre-come, slathering itself onto his torso. 

Your nails scratch his thighs lightly before you lean down to kiss them each once, looking back up at him before taking his cock into your hand. You pump his silky flesh a few times before swiping your thumb over his slit, spreading his arousal over the head of his cock before lowering your mouth. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the taste, absolutely entranced by this man and his cock that you love oh so much. 

“My wife is so pretty with my cock in her mouth.” He says, stroking the side of your face with his thumb. 

You separate from him as you sit back on your heels, pumping his length as you quirk a brow. “I think I look prettier when your cock is in me, papí.” 

He groans and squeezes his eyes shut, thumping his head against the shower wall. “Got a dirty fucking mouth, bebita. Christ.” [baby girl]

“Just wait to see what it’ll do to your cock.” You can’t help but giggle at the way your words were easily affecting him, but you decide to cease your teasing. 

You slowly take him into your mouth, gagging as you reach the hilt. You swallow around him as best as you can manage before bringing your mouth up once more, swirling your tongue around his tip before taking him all the way into your mouth again. 

He’s heavy and warm against your tongue, twitching with every bob of your head as you set a steady rhythm. You squeeze your lips around him and he cradles the back of your head, guiding your movements up and down his cock in haste. 

“Your mouth feels so– fuck– fucking good, corazón.” [heart] 

He struggles to vocalize a coherent thought, babbling on about how good you make him feel and how much he loves you. 

The broken praises only spur you on further as you begin to deepthroat him with every pass, tears pricking your waterline as you control your gag reflex. He’s nearly bucking his hips up into you at this point, fucking your mouth at a pace that drives him insane. 

“Shit– yeah, baby, just like that. Fuck you’re so perfect, I’m gonna fucking come—”

You hum around him and squeeze your lips even tighter, gripping his thighs as he tenses up. His spend shoots onto your tongue and he can’t help the loud groan that rumbles through his chest, the feeling of your mouth so heavenly around his cock. You swallow everything he gives you, enjoying the view of your husband’s post-orgasm glow. 

The late afternoon sun seeps into the bathroom and illuminates him in such a way that even the Greek Gods have nothing against. He looks picturesque like this; mouth parted and panting—a wild and untamable rasp, eyes shut as he comes down from the orgasm he’s been pining after all day long. His wet curls stick to his forehead in disarray, but it suits him. 

His eyes slowly peel open and peer down at you, and you know better than to give him a smug smile. Instead, you lean down and kiss his inner thigh a few times without breaking his heady gaze. 

“C’mere.” He murmurs, pulling you up by your elbows. You’re standing now, and he leans forward to kiss your stomach a few times before he pats his thighs. You straddle his hips, hands landing on his chest as you trace small patterns. 

His hand slides down and in between your thighs where it’s slick with your arousal. You were so lost in pleasing your husband that you didn’t notice the incessant need growing stronger by the minute. It wasn’t a low, bubbling thing anymore—it was a full-fledged monstress clawing her way to the surface, begging to be tamed. 

The carnal desire for Javi couldn’t be held off anymore. You leaned in to kiss him, moaning into his mouth as your hips rock against nothing in particular. Javi is already half-hard again, and ever the gentleman that he is, he angles you down to where your dripping core is gliding against his warm, thick length. 

A strangled moan leaves your lips as you toss your head back, and Javi leans forward to nose at your jaw before peppering your neck in kisses. He nibbles on the junction between your neck and shoulder, rocking his hips up onto you simultaneously. 

You whine his name as you loll your head forward, eyes blinking open and gaze locking with his. 

You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to say your next words—maybe it’s the look in his eye, maybe it’s a mixture of desperation and desire, maybe it’s just pure, honest truth. Hell, maybe it was all of the above. 

“I want to make you a daddy, Javi.” Your voice is sultry and sickeningly sweet, dripping like honey. 

And from that point, he was determined. Determined to make you the mother of his child, determined to start a family with you and grow it to both your heart's content, and determined to love and cherish you and your future child, or children—always—and Javier Peña was a man of his word. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you forward so you both are chest to chest, and you’re reeling over the look he’s giving you. He notches his tip at your entrance, fully hard once again with the promising tone behind your words. 

“Say it again.” He says.

“I want to make you,” You pause, moving your lips down to slot between his, pulling back just enough to whisper the rest of your sentence. “A daddy.” You sink down slowly onto him, and you kiss him again as you slowly adjust yourself to him. 

You both moan into each other, pulling apart as he fully sheathes himself into you. You’re so full like this, content in every way possible at the feeling of your husband’s cock stretching you out so deliciously. You rock your hips slightly as a test, moaning at the sensation that surges through you. 

You do it again, this time with more intent, and slowly set a rhythm with your hips. The feeling of his cock is otherworldly. A greedy, selfish part of you thinks that you’ll never be able to get enough of him or the feeling of this—being connected as so. 

You fist a hand into his thick wet locks as the other grabs onto his shoulder, ensuring you can keep your balance as you rock your hips back and forth. He captures your mouth in a blazing kiss, groping your ass before slapping it once as he picks up the pace for you. 

You’re panting into each other’s mouths as he increases the pace, now pounding his hips up into you. You cry out his name as your fingernails claw their way down his back and he hisses in pleasure, cradling the back of your head. 

Your mind is fuzzy and your lungs are on fire from kissing him desperately, and the white hot feeling in your core is blazing. 

“I–I love you, Javi– oh, god, I fucking love you. I love you and I want you to be the father of my child and I—” You’re babbling so much that you don’t even have a clue as to what it is that you’re really trying to say, but Javi gets the message, you think. 

He kisses your jaw as you try and match the movement of your hips to each thrust up into you, but it’s genuinely no use. Your body wants to succumb to Javier and his strong body and delicious cock and beautiful face and his big, loving heart—so you let it. You fall limp in his hold, leaning onto him as your orgasm surges through you unexpectedly. 

He can feel you pulsating around him and he knows he’s not going to last much longer. 

“Gonna make you a mama. Gonna be so good to our baby, the best mama ever.” He’s losing all self control, and you cradle his head as you ride out your prolonged orgasm. 

“Please, Javi.” You beg, and that’s enough for him to completely come undone. His hips still as he comes in you, a string of ‘I love you’s’ spilling from his mouth. You’re both breathless and completely dazed, immersed in post-coital bliss. The sound of the shower water hitting the tile floor is a relaxing constant as you both try to control your breathing. 

You sit like this for a while; you're perched in his lap as he leans against the wall, face tucked into the crook of his neck. 

You smatter kisses along his pulse point as a silent plea of love. You’re both pruny and fucked-out, but being here with each other like this is truly a dream in itself. 

The prospect of his dream woman giving him a child has him reeling, so perhaps leaving the room this week is an empty promise that flew out of the door the minute you told him you’d make him a daddy. 

Even if nothing happens right away for the two of you, that’s okay, too. You’d get to relish in the unbelievable life you already share with him a bit longer, built from the ground up by you and a man who loves you unconditionally. A man that would individually pick out the stars from the brilliant night sky for you. A man that still cannot fathom that he gets to share this life with you. 

And if that’s the case, you really wouldn’t mind at all. 

tags: @punkshort @endlessthxxghts @javierpena-inatacvest @ovaryacted @northernbluess @clawdee @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 (since all of you were excited about me posting this. ily)

divider by @saradika-graphics

[ms-demeanor]

So I have vision insurance again which means I was able to go to the optometrist and get glasses through insurance for the first time in 11 years (instead of paying out of pocket and getting glasses from zenni) and here are my notes:

It's *NOT GREAT* that Luxotica is mentioned by name on the insurance card printout

I know everything got more expensive in the last ten years, but frames also got a lot more expensive and for some reason there was a huge gap in prices - my insurance covered $130 for frames and the office had a bunch of frames for $70 and a bunch of frames for $150 but basically no frames between those two price points.

When you say "I can't afford to go over the allowance" on XYZ thing they are not even *considering* the cost of progressive bifocals. So I was like "no coating, cheap frames, no extras" and then they were like "okay so the progressive bifocal is going to be over a hundred dollars more" and I was like "how much is the bifocal with a line" and they were like "oh that's only $15 but we don't consider that appropriate for your age, we recommend this other kind of lens" and it doesn't matter what you consider age appropriate for me, I can't afford that so we're not doing that.

The seventy dollar frames are all kind of trash. Super thin, super bendy, and not in a good "flexible fit" way but more in a "if you fall asleep in these you will wake up with broken glasses" way.

They wrote down my reading prescription wrong? For the last ten years I've been slowly creeping up from +.25 to my current +2.50; they told me it had increased but the printout said +.75 so either my prescription has been wrong for a while or they missed the 2 at the front of that number and my glasses are going to show up with a low magnification. (I noticed after I'd left the office but before the glasses arrived).

Given all of that, with insurance: $25 for a pair of glasses, which included the office copay.

So then of course I went to zenni and ordered glasses anyway because I've been wearing the same frame design for seven years and want another pair that look exactly like that.

Progressive bifocals WERE the most expensive part of the order, and because my prescription is stronger they are getting progressively more expensive - initially the upgrade to bifocal cost something like $30 for a lower magnification, now they're $85 for the stronger prescription.

And that's it, that's the expensive part. Fifteen dollar frames, five dollar anti-reflective coating, total for bifocals was around a hundred dollars; I got a pair of single-vision sunglasses for under $20.

Part of the reason I decided to spend more at zenni than at my optometrist's office was because I was able to get good, sturdy frames that I know fit my face and will survive mosh pits and me falling asleep on them without cracking. In order to get the same thing at the optometrist's office I would have had to pay thirty dollars more for lenses as well as forty more for frames so I would have walked out of there paying more for a pair of glasses with frames that I wasn't super excited about (there was a pair that was *okay* but not great that were similar in construction to my current frames but more bulky and square) than I did for glasses that I know I like and a pair of sunglasses.

I did end up paying less out of pocket for the visit than I would have without the insurance, and $15 for a pair of back-up glasses isn't bad. But it was all-in-all a frustrating experience.

However: I've been wearing the same pair of glasses for three years and the anti-reflective coating is worn away in some places and they're so scratched that they're impossible to actually clean in some places and large bastard looked through them last week and was like "OH! No wonder you can't tell when you need to clean your windshield! You don't get to drive at night until those are replaced" so no matter what glasses I'm wearing next week they're going to be an improvement.

[wellhalesbells]

Ummm was that a dinosaur I spotted in those Meg II gifs??? At first I thought it might have been a crocodile but after absolutely no scrutiny I was like: dinosaur.

I might need to actually watch this. Do I need to watch Meg I for it to make sense? Even if I don’t should I watch them both anyway? I’m not going to lie those gifs make it look incredible…

That is, in fact, a dinosaur because Meg 2 was like: well what's better than a seventy-foot shark? And the answer was watching a seventy-foot shark eat a Tyrannosaurus Rex. And they were right.

Yes, you 100% need to watch this and join me in my delusional fantasies - I have now watched this three times in three days, dialogue skeletoned a 5+1 fic and need to find time to watch it yet again so I can make sure my gestures and content are pitch perfect.

You do not need to watch Meg the first for this to make sense, it will just deepen your affection for the legacy characters, which is never a bad. Plus, there are a few callbacks (that make it more of a gay underwater romance) that I missed the first time I watched it (which obviously did not hinder my enjoyment) and on day two, I watched both back to back and caught them. (3.5. This is a movie about sharks eating dinosaurs, underwater research bases, giant carnivorous octopi, Fun Island, and two dads coparenting a teenager who can run circles around them - so just to note: it also does not need to make sense.)

That said, I absolutely recommend watching Meg the first. It was a hoot and it makes Meg the second more fun because once you start off that strong, you have to go wackier, right? Once you get to two, you're like: okay, I know why we are at this level of wacky and you have my stamp of approval.

It is, in fact, incredible. JOMING 5EVA (I gave them a ship name, I think I can do that when - at least last I looked, which admittedly was last week - I've got the only fic going [granted, it is unposted but nOT FOR LONG] and there are less than ten of us, haha.)

[womanofwords]

The Poisoned Prodigy (Chapter 4)

After school, I went to Sandalwood Institute. I stuck out being the only one not wearing the Sandalwood uniform, but that didn't matter. I was looking for someone.

"Excuse me, have you seen Sally Kinley? I need to talk to her," I said, grabbing a scared looking boy and shaking him.

"Young man, you seem lost," someone said. A kind looking man approached me, hands behind his back as he walked. He walked like my grandpa used to, even though there was no way that he was older than forty. He also dressed like an old man, with a sweater and tweed slacks. Aviator glasses fresh from the seventies rested on the bridge of his nose. "And I'm fairly certain that you are not a student here."

I sighed and decided to be honest before he thought that I was a stalker. "I'm looking for Sally Kinley. She was friends with my best friend, Patton Reynolds, and I would like to talk to her."

A sad look took over his face. "Oh, goodness. By any chance, were you the boy sitting him up while he was on the floor?"

"You saw that?"

He smiled and shook his head. "No, no, I wasn't there. I couldn't make it last minute. I heard about everything from my wife on the local news."

I felt the world tilt. "It's . . . on the news?"

"Yes. The media can be such vultures, you know." Words kept coming out of his mouth, but I couldn't hear them. I was just going

down

down

down

stop.

:-)

I woke up in a white room with the man and Sally waiting for me. "Did I go to hospital too?" I asked, sitting up on my elbows.

Sally laughed. It was melodious, sweet. "No, you're in the nurse's office. You fainted."

"My fault, really," the man said. "Hello, Vincent. I'm Dr Jacobs. We were talking about Patton and the news coverage when you fainted."

Everything came back to me. Patton being poisoned was on the news.

"I've seen Ernest's face all over the internet in the past few hours. More than he deserves," Sally said, toying with the sleeve of her school blazer like a cat toying with a mouse.

"Why is his face on the internet?" I asked.

"He got arrested, Vincent. The picture of him is his mugshot," Dr Jacobs said.

"I hope he suffers for what he did to Patton." Sally's voice was deeper with anger, syllables being growled out. "It's obvious why he did it. Patton was naturally incredible and charming and sweet, and all he had to impress people with was his parents' money."

"Miss Kinley!" Dr Jacobs gasped.

"Everybody knows it! Well, except Vincent here, of course, but he knows now."

"Miss Kinley, there is a time and a place for this kind of talk," the nurse said. I'd honestly forgotten she was there. "If you and your friend really want to talk about recent events, then you can do so somewhere else. Anywhere else, really. Patton was a sweet soul."

I always heard people say stuff like that about Patton. He made a place better. He was so smart. He was the sweetest young man. He was the sort of kid you wanted your kid to be like.

I already knew what people said about me. It used to be the same word every time from different mouths, getting progressively worse every time.

"Who?"

James was meaner about it. "Dude, you're the lamest teenage boy in the world. And I've met some pretty lame ones."

"I'll escort Vincent out of the school once he's ready to leave," Sally said, snapping me back to reality. "Why did you come here, exactly?"

All eyes were on me. "Just . . . wanted to talk about the events that happened with someone who knew Patton in school. Sally's was the only name he mentioned."

"Of course. Do whatever you need to cope with this horrible situation," Dr Jacobs said. "Lots of students have been to counselling over this event. Patton had a wide and strong impact over everyone."

"He's not dead, you know!" I yelled. Everyone stared at me. "He's in a medically induced coma, but he's not dead! He could live!"

"Vincent's right. We shouldn't treat Patton like he's already died," Sally agreed. "Come on. This isn't exactly a nice place to be."

She took my wrist like I was a little kid and dragged me out of the school, people whispering off to the sides as they stared at us. She kept dragging me until we got to a convenience store. "Thanks for getting me out of here," I said, once we were out of sight.

Sally looked at me with a hardened expression on her face. "Why did you really come here?"

"What?"

"Why did you really come here?" she repeated. "I know that you didn't really come here for Patton, no matter what you told Dr Jacobs. Spoiler alert: you look away when you lie. Why are you really here?"

"I wanted to look for you. You know all these people and you've definitely met this Ernest guy already. Also . . . also . . ." My words failed me.

"Spit it out!" Sally grabbed my neck and squeezed for a cruel, hard second. This must be what Patton felt when the poison began to take effect.

"I don't think Ernest did it!" I blurted out. Sally let go of me in surprise. "It's stupid, but it got cleared up so easily! I keep thinking about it!"

Sally stood still. She was giving me a weird look. Then she smiled.

"You know something, Vincent?" she asked, smiling at me. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

:-)

A few minutes later, we had exchanged Instagram details and phone numbers, and I was walking to the bus stop to get home. Something was off about what happened to Patton. Ernest seemed like a prick, but he wasn't a murderer. Maybe he was just an idiot who hated Patton and wasn't very personable. But that just left so many questions.

If Ernest didn't do it, who did? Why would they frame Ernest? And why would they hurt Patton?

If you want to read the other chapters, see Masterlist.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

ooo ooo do you have any fics with groaning/moaning/complaining about being full? Bucky or Steve or Stucky or anyone else even non-Marvel? I LOVE your blog and how you always make your boys so loud and noisy 🤭

Thanks ❤️

I, unfortunately, can't think of any fics specifically like that. As you said, usually I make my boys pretty loud because... what can I say 🫣 I just like them that way 🥵🥴 so a lot of my fics have that as, like, a side thing but...

I can write you something like that 😏

Stucky belly kink, unbeta'd, under the cut. Warnings for belly kink, kink discovery, bloating, belly sounds (gurgles, burps, y'know), dirty talk, etc.

Steve and Bucky are chilling at home in their 21st-century apartment, somehow back where they started after seventy-odd years, and they're celebrating by... well, by doing nothing. After all they've been through, they don't need to do anything. So, they're just lazing on the couch, watching pop culture shit they missed. This afternoon the only reason they're getting up is to go to the bathroom, or, more interestingly, mill around the kitchen. Refilling their snacks.

Steve has to use the bathroom this time, which means it's his turn to go get something to eat. They're not intentionally stuffing themselves or anything (not yet 😏), they're just grazing. Mouth-to-hand while catching up to the current day, y'know? Besides, neither of them had lunch today. They're just snacking enough to keep themselves from feeling hungry. So, when Steve comes back from the kitchen with more drinks and some sweet candy instead of savory chips or whatever, he's not expecting to be told no.

"What do you mean we can't have these?" Steve hugs the 2-liter of coke to his chest like a little kid, pouting because he's an asshole when he's not posing as propaganda. As he squishes the bottle to his rock-hard chest, his fist tightens around the roll of mentos he grabbed with it. "Are you saving them for something?"

"What? No," Bucky furrows his brows, "you just can't have coke and mentos."

"Well, why not?" Steve relents, setting the coke down on the coffee table and keeping the mentos in hand as he sits. Apparently, he's really invested in having both, at the same time... or he's just investing in being an annoyance. Wouldn't be the first time in Bucky's stupidly long life.

"Clint told me your stomach will explode," Bucky huffs, no longer paying any attention to the film on screen, "those candies-" he points to the mentos in Steve's hand "-make the soda extra fizzy and it's, like, some chemical reaction. You can't."

Steve makes a face.

Bucky knows what he's thinking; Clint? Really? It's not that he's unreliable or unbelievable but... he's also not the first person Steve would trust.

"When did this come up?"

"Nat was trying to convince me to try pop rocks when I was at SHIELD last week, saying that they weren't actual bombs but they did explode in your mouth. She likes them for some fucking reason. Then, Clint walked in and said he hoped she wasn't going to make me drink soda afterward. Apparently pop rocks and soda or mentos and soda, especially coke, both make you explode."

"I don't believe that for a second," Steve smirks, leaning forward to grab the 2-liter again, unscrewing the cap and taking a few gulps straight from the bottle. When he starts unwrapping the little tube of candies, Bucky makes a squawking sound and smacks his hand.

"No!"

"Buck," Steve turns his big, blue eyes on him. Somehow making them even bigger. Even bluer. A fucking kicked puppy. "C'mon, I'll be fine." He's whining, because, well, he's Steve. "Future candy is weird, yeah, but... it's not gonna make me explode. If they did, they wouldn't sell 'em! And I've got the serum! Whatever chemical reaction happens I bet my iron stomach can handle it," Steve pats his flat, defined stomach.

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, fine, he won't stop this bad idea. If Steve wants to explode, let him.

"I've had these before too," Steve finishes opening the package and pops a few into his palm, holding them out for Bucky to see.

They do look pretty harmless. But...

Bucky has also seen less than a few small, round candies and a few swallows of soda do massive damage. He looks at them with distrustful.

As he crunches them between his teeth, Steve says, "'ey taste good 'oo!"

Bucky wrinkles his nose. And-

Tries not to visibly react when the second after Steve finishes chewing, he opens the bottle of coke again. Drinking.

Ugh.

"Stupid-" Bucky mumbles under his breath without heat.

Steve just laughs.

...

Steve knocks back some more coke, somewhere, somebody told him that when you drink soda because it's not really hydrating your body, not like water does, so your brain keeps you drinking, wanting hydration. Soda makes you more thirsty than you'd be otherwise. Steve feels that now. Mouth wanting more. These days coke doesn't taste the same as it used to, but it's still good.

As Steve is swallowing his last sip, his belly gurgles. Carbonation shifting around in his stomach. Steve can feel it. It doesn't matter what it feels like though. It's mostly what it sounds like.

It's fucking loud.

In fact, his belly gurgles loud enough that it's louder than the movie they have going.

Sheesh.

Bucky turns to look at him, and he can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of his face. He can feel how Bucky's eyes immediately drop to his stomach, where the sound had come from. And where another gurgle, just as loud, comes from. Actually. The second might be even louder than the first.

But, before Bucky can say anything (probably I told you so, followed by more mother-henning, worrying about him actually exploding) Steve burps.

He doesn't mean to but, oh, jeez, whatever his stomach did to make that sound brought up the gas from the carbonation to the top of his gut and the pressure demands to be let out. Steve can't even try to swallow back the next burp building up in him. It just comes out. It's loud and surprisingly long.

Bucky is still looking at him.

Steve looks back, sheepish. Not because he's suddenly convinced he's gonna explode, but because, well, his Ma embedded manners somewhere deep in him. And they're still there.

Bucky's mouth is hanging open.

Steve shrugs, "soda fills you up with bubbles, y'know? I don't feel anything." He smiles. But... he's lying. He kinda does feel something... he felt that pressure but it's practically gone, it must've just been those burps! He's fine! So fine that he's going to have another mento. He likes the way they crunch between his teeth.

"St-" Bucky starts, never actually making words though. He just stutters over the start of a few more words.

Steve laughs at Bucky's reaction. But. Fuck. He swallows two of the three mentos he popped whole. Oops. Now, he can feel them in his throat. He coughs a little and gestures to his throat. Now he has to wash them down with coke.

Bucky mumbles something, probably something like, "serves you right."

Steve chuckles a little at the thought.

Finally, he feels the candies slide down his throat, into his belly. Then, as he sets the bottle down, he realizes just how much of it is gone. Woof. Has he really finished 3 quarters of the bottle? By himself? When?

Oh, well.

Thoughtless eating. It's fine. Everyone does it when they're not paying attention.

He's fine.

...

Steve may not be fine.

His gut sounds like a washing machine. It's gurgling and groaning and complaining. Steve is trying to not burp despite the pressure and sloshing happening. Yeah, Steve knows Bucky can hear his stomach, his gut is so loud he'd be able to hear it without his enhanced hearing, but... Steve doesn't want to admit, more than his uncontrollable body functions, that he's beginning to maybe have some problems. So. He's not burping. He's...

He's blowing up.

Steve sneaks a look down from the TV screen, playing a movie he's pretending to pay attention to, to his own body. His stomach. All that noise and...

Yup.

Uh-oh.

His stomach is bulging.

Steve's...

Steve's never seen it do that before- his stomach.

His stomach isn't flat anymore. It's rounding out. And. It feels tight. Steve feels tight. All that soda and snacks, it's pulling his abs taut. He wouldn't be surprised if when he pulled his t-shirt up (which is suddenly clinging to him ever more like a second skin than normal 🥴) his abs wouldn't be as defined as they normally are. He feels all stretched out.

Oh.

Steve... Steve is feeling it.

He doesn't... it doesn't hurt. It kinda,, it kinda feels good? Like. Like when he manages to work out hard enough to get his muscles to ache from use.

It's tight and Steve knows if this keeps going it's going to hurt but, for now, it's... heavy. Present. Steve feels... Steve feels his body.

Bucky clears his throat.

Steve realizes he's been spacing out, staring at his own stomach. His-

His growing stomach?

Yeah. His growing stomach. Because. His stomach is growing.

Bucky clears his throat again, "you believe Clint now?" He doesn't sound thrilled about being right. For once.

Steve shakes his head after a second of hesitation. He's finding it hard to pay attention to anything but the bubbles in his stomach. He can feel his stomach pulling tighter.

"What? You're not gonna admit defeat yet?"

"No." Steve taps his gut with his right hand, then tries to hide his gasp behind his left. He's so tight. It's like thumping a watermelon. "I'm fine."

"You're so fine." Bucky deadpans.

"I am."

"Fine. Suit yourself." Bucky says.

Silence spreads between them. Well. Silence other than the movie and then, of course, other than his gurgling, sloshing gut. It sounds angry.

...

Steve sits until he can't take it. He sits with one hand on his gut, feeling every added inch of swell in excruciating detail. Inching forward. Becoming rounder. Steve slowly realizes he's sweating. He's panting a little. He feels huge.

And he looks huge, staring down at his belly.

How much bigger can I possibly get? How far will the serum let me stretch?

A shiver goes down Steve's spine, but, he doesn't know if he's feeling pricks of fear or... arousal? His cheeks heat just thinking that- that this can possibly feel good. He feels like a shaken can of soda... just waiting to pop.

It's maybe another two seconds before he's opening his mouth and admitting, "Buck, Buck," he shifts under his swollen tummy, "I- wait... I'm getting so big," his voice is an embarrassing whimper.

Bucky is looking at the TV still.

"Okay," Steve whines even more, "maybe you were right. Maybe- maybe I am gonna explode." He can't help but rub his belly with both hands now, trying to soothe it but also... trying to feel it. Tighter and tighter. Hotter and hotter. Bigger and bigger. "You," Steve swallows, "can you look it up? On your phone? It's... it's like I can feel myself swelling up. Oh, God."

Bucky is now looking at him, pleased with finally hearing him call 'uncle'. But also, Bucky is looking at him. And Steve suddenly becomes aware that his tight shirt has rolled up to expose the bottom half of his gut. Pale, freckled skin pulled taut. His poor abs! Stretched. Trying their hardest to hold him together, holding the mass of soda and candy and snack food back.

"Oh, God," he whines, rubbing frantic circles on his gut, pulling his shirt up higher incidentally, "I'm so big."

Bucky frowns, then he bites his lip. Silently, quickly, reaching for his phone and typing as fast as he can.

A few moments pass between them.

Bucky murmurs out loud to himself as he reads. Steve makes uncontrollable noises. His gut gurgling as well as his mouth letting go of little moans and groans.

He still is swelling.

Bucky blows out a relieved breath, "fucking Clint," he says under his breath. Then, louder, "it's a myth. You're not gonna explode-" Bucky eyes his stomach heavily "-probably."

Steve whines. Petulantly adding, "probably not but... it doesn't feel-" that good. Was how he was going to finish that sentence. Except. It kinda does. Under the heft of his gut, his dick is swelling too. Something about the fullness. The pressure. It's. It's not the same as being full of Bucky's cock when he's being fuck but it is fullness and it is weirdly erotic.

"It's your own damn fault," Bucky teases. Now that it's apparent he's not in danger, Bucky is perfectly fine to take the piss out of him.

"Ngh," Steve puffs out a noise that he doesn't have control over. The bubbles are driving him insane. Fuzzy and fizzy inside him. Ticklish,, kinda.

It's a weird feeling. Weird good though.

Steve shifts this way, then that way, trying to get comfortable under the dome that his abs have suddenly turned into. It doesn't work. Moving only makes more bubbles appear. Bloating him more, making it harder to sit upright.

His gut doesn't have enough room!

"I," Steve can't swallow back a small moan. A moan! Because, somehow, despite all the gas building up in him, he can't burp. "I think I might have to go lay down. I- I'm so bloated I can't breathe."

It's true.

Steve isn't even being dramatic!

It's like there's no room for his lungs. His gut is taking up all the space in his body. He feels a bit like there's a watermelon attached to his front- his gut is just as hard as the outside of a melon would be. But. It's just the inside that's different. Sloshy liquid. Not soft fruit.

He wants to go lay down, go give himself room to grow (why does that thought make him shudder?), yet... the idea of trying to get to his feet by rocking, heaving, himself up. Oh, fuck. He doesn't think he can do that. Like, God - embarrassment stains his cheeks - like how a pregnant woman can't get up once she's sat down.

Swallowing another stupid noise, Steve finally bites the bullet and asks, "help me up, Buck? Please?"

Bucky jerks his eyes up from his belly to his face. He's also blushing. Huh. Interesting. "Yeah," he licks his lips, "yeah, sure."

He gets up. Even the shift of the sofa changing with Bucky's weight leaving makes Steve groan. He's so full. His belly is so sensitive.

"You, uh, ready?" Bucky asks, looking down at him, hands held out, watching with heavily lidded eyes.

Steve is just rubbing his exorbitantly swollen gut. Nothing, too exciting, unless...

Maybe.

Maybe Steve isn't totally weird for being into this 👀

Any teasing thoughts about testing the water instantly leave his mind as he stands up though. Bucky grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet. Taking one arm and draping it over his shoulders like Steve is battle injured and not just enormously bloated.

Gravity... gravity is a thing.

Steve can't not moan loudly, obscenely at the change.

He quickly grabs his gut, hand slapping down onto the side unexpectedly. He's dizzy. He... he feels weird. All sensitive. He moans again.

"Dramatic," Bucky tells him, trying to be teasing but sounding... God. He sounds turned on. Voice rough.

Steve wants to tell him that it's not being dramatic when his whole center of gravity has shifted. His stomach is swollen. Bulging. Still swelling. Growing. And pulling him forward. Wanting him to crawl on all fours if he needs to go anywhere.

Oh.

Steve's knees feel weak at the idea of crawling like this. His gut pulling heavily on his spine, making it arch. His gut, full of liquid, swaying back and forth as he ponderously moves. All that swaying and jiggling and moving would make more bubbles. Steve would grow more.

More.

"I'mm so round," comes out of his mouth without him even meaning to say it. All breathy and weak, the wind taken out of his sails by how hard he is. So turned on.

It feels good to be so round. So full. It really does. Steve is reveling in it. Right now. Walking so slowly. Bucky warm against his side. Taking care of him, one of his arms around Steve's waist... so close to his gut. So close to touching.

Then-!

Yes!

Bucky pokes the side of his gut, voice matching his. They both have to be into this. It's not just Steve anymore. "And so tight. Your gut is all shiny, pal."

Steve wants to whine and tell him to shut up, cheeks flaming. But all that comes out is a burp. Long and low. His sore belly deflates probably half an inch. From being prodded.

Bucky chuckles, "well, maybe not so tight now."

Steve hisses out a few more baby burps. Gasping as it happens. His knees really are weak now. Its lucky that they've made it to the bedroom.

As Bucky is helping him onto their bed, his voice gets reeeal low and dark, mismatched hands coming up to pet his stomach, "I bet you could fit more soda now, huh?"

Steve shakes his head. But, he also, he moves from lying completely flat to putting his weight in his elbows, sitting up... looking up at Bucky, he bites his lip. "There- oh, boy," he pants, feeling all that added weight, "there was some soda left in the bottle?"

Bucky doesn't say anything. He turns tail and practically runs to go get it.

When he returns, he's got a dirty look on his face. He has the bottle in hand and he snatched the last few mentos from the roll.

"Buck-"

"You said you'd be fine. You can't pop. The serum." He flushes a dark red. Softly adding, "I wanna see how big you can get, sweetheart. I... I don't know what this is doing for me. It's just- doing something."

Steve nods, still precariously balanced on his elbows. He opens his mouth.

Bucky settles on the other side of him on the bed, resting a gentle hand on his tummy and using the other to feed him two mentos.

Steve swallows them whole. That seemed to speed things up last time.

"Jesus Christ, baby."

Steve whines.

Bucky brings the bottle to his lips.

Steve swallows until tears sting his eyes. He can't breath. He can feel the mentos like little volcanos in his gut. Fizzing. Adding pressure. So so much pressure. He. is. so. full.

Overfull. He's not even just full anymore.

Bucky stops funneling him soda, he pets his gut "you alright?"

Steve doesn't know the answer to that, he can't even see straight. He might be crying, he's so full. But. There's only a tiny bit left in the bottle. There's one single mento left. He... he wants to finish. He needs to finish. Just that little bit left. His shirt has rolled up to the bottom of his pecs. The waistband of his gym shorts has been pushed under the balloon of his gut. He's already so large. His body already pushed to the limits. He just...

Just wants a little more.

"The-" he can barely talk. He's so full. "-The last little, God, oh, God, bit. Please?"

Bucky swears. Eying him carefully.

Steve whimpers, afraid he'll say no. All he wants is that last mento and a few more swallows of coke.

But, he doesn't say no.

He gives it to him.

Tipping the bottle back and letting it pour into his hungry, gaping mouth.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

By the end of it Steve really really feels completely, entirely full. Impossibly bloated. So tight. So much pressure. So fucking hard. He can't breathe. He can't move. He is fucking round. Massive. All he can do is moan, "Jesus, 'm so full it hurts. Unnngh."

Bucky is trembling next to him with repressed, horny energy. Now empty-handed. No more mentos. No more coke. "What-" he huffs, "what can I do? I," he growls, "you're so big. I wanna. Christ. I want you like this so much." His metal hand is at the front of his sweatpants, squeezing himself. He's so hard.

Steve's mouth waters.

Fuck.

Steve shudders as much as he possibly can with a gut the size of an over-inflatdf beach ball attached to me. He whines. Overwhelmed. Overfull. He wants Bucky too. He wants-

"You can't fuck me like this," he pants desperately, "I'd actually pop. God. I want it but I fuckin' can't. If you were inside me. I'd burst! I... I don't care what other than th-that. Just get me off, Buck! I wanna come. I feel so big and full and hard. Please! It hurts and it feels good and I need you. I need to come. Cause. Ohh, I'm so full."

Bucky growls and lunges for him.

His hands press everywhere. Not too hard. But not as gentle as he would be if he weren't drunk on arousal.

He's pressing and squeezing and Steve can't stop saying "oh, oh, oh," with the way his hands are making pleasure shoot through him. He's so sensitive. All over. He also can't help but let out little hisses and burps and groans. He's too full. He feels too good. Bucky is climbing all over him. Worshipping his swollen gut and then taking half of a second to touch Steve's desperately hard cock.

It is no time at all before Steve is coming in his gym shorts with a high pitched scream.

He fucking swears he blacks out for a moment, his muscles tensing for an orgasm but being too heavy and stretched out to do anything. It's like he can't hold himself together.

Fuck.

He definitely blacks out.

But, at some point, Bucky rips down the waistband of his sweats and gets himself in his hand. Fisting his leaking cock for one, two, three- three and a half strokes before he's coming all over Steve's full, shiny gut.

The heat and claim of Bucky's come on his balloon of a belly makes Steve's still-hard cock twitch against the underside of his gut. Oh, fuck, yes, he is going to need to go again.

In conclusion:

I hope you enjoyed 😳

End note: yeah, I know mentos would've been around before WW2, so Steve and Bucky could have had them and coke-a-cola has been around Way longer than mentos BUT... since mentos were only recently released (1932) when stucky went to war... I have plausible deniability that they would not have actually had them (or been able to afford them, since, y’know, The Depression)

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Also on AO3 || Next >

Chapter 1: October 2015

It was, quite frankly, probably the worst day Martin had had since getting moved to the Archives, which was saying something. His alarm hadn't gone off for some reason, so he'd had to rush out the door without eating in order to make his train on time; there'd been trouble on the Northern line that had caused him to miss his connection and have to wait for the next one, meaning he'd only just made it to work before he would be considered late; Tim had accidentally knocked over his tea and it had barely missed the stack of files Martin was trying to research (he just knew that would have been his fault somehow); he'd been hung up on three times trying to verify statements; and when he'd tried to call his mother to wish her a happy birthday, the nurse on duty had been the bossy one who'd never liked him anyway and had told him, condescendingly and specifically and with a spiteful emphasis on the last word, that Miss Liliana doesn't want any calls from you. He was stressed, he was tired, he was strung out. He was on his fifth cup of tea and hadn't brought one to Jon all day, he'd forgotten to pack a lunch and didn't have the money to buy until payday, and at this point he was just counting the hours until he could leave, something he hadn't done in months—not that being home would be any better, just that he could at least bury his face in his pillow and scream his frustration out.

He was the last one back from his lunch break, clutching his cup in both hands. Tim and Sasha were hard at work, Tim frowning and Sasha intent, but she was the one to look up and wave at his desk when she saw him. “We got a statement that mentions a Leitner. Jon wants you to check it against whatever catalogs you can come up with so we can figure out how his edition is different than the original. Says it's top priority.“

Martin made a noise of what he hoped came across as acknowledgment and agreement and sat down at his desk, opening the laptop and reaching for the sticky note with Jon's familiar loopy handwriting on it. He glanced at it, and his day went from lousy to full-on shit when he saw the words Ex Altiora.

“Oh, bloody hell,“ he muttered under his breath.

Tim looked up briefly from his computer. “You know the book?“

“Never read it, but I've heard of it.“ Martin began calling up all the catalogs he could think of, but he knew it was going to be hopeless. They'd never known much about Ex Altiora, but they'd all known it was never mass-produced; there had only ever been one copy, and that much sought-after. The old bag had been furious when…

He terminated that thought quickly. His last encounter with…her…hadn't been pleasant and wasn't one he wanted to relive. Not today. Not at work, anyway.

“How many Leitners are there, anyway?“ Tim asked, sitting back and stretching. “I mean, how many books did he have in that library of his?“

“Nine hundred seventy-eight,“ Martin said automatically. “According to rumor, anyway. Not like he ever let people have access to his collection.“

Tim let out a long, low whistle. Sasha cocked her head at him. “How do you know that?“

“I did my master's thesis on Leitners.“ It was a lie. An old lie, one Martin had trotted out rather a lot in the last eleven years. It had always served him well, but just then, he wished he hadn't said it. Tim knew he didn't have a degree, and he was sure to press Martin about it later.

Fleetingly, Martin gave a thought to cluing Tim in on what was really going on. What was out there. At some point he would need to tell them anyway; they were going to get too close, sooner rather than later, and it was better that they be prepared. Elias hadn't seen fit to tell them, apparently, if Jon's skeptic act was anything to go by (he had to be faking it, nobody could work for the Magnus Institute and disbelieve that hard), but surely he wouldn't have assigned Martin down here if he didn't want them to know. That Elias might not know had never once crossed his mind. It was definitely possible to work for the Magnus Institute without some idea of what it was about, witness the other three people in the Archives, but no way would he be able to head it up if he didn't.

At the moment, however, he put his head down and kept working.

“Martin.“ Jon's voice jerked Martin out of his work haze. He looked up to find Jon scowling at him…or at least in his direction. For once, Martin didn't actually think it was directed at him. Yet. “Have you been able to find anything on Ex Altiora in the catalogs?“

“No, sorry. I don't—it was a pretty rare book,“ Martin hedged. “I mean, there was only one copy.“

Jon's scowl deepened. Now it was for Martin. “Just because it hasn't turned up on any lists so far doesn't mean it isn't on any of them. You're going to have to try harder than that. We can't just give up because it isn't easy.“

Normally, Martin would have apologized, stammered out an excuse, something, but he was tired and overwhelmed and stressed all to hell and gone, and it all combined to make him snap back at Jon in a way he normally only did with people he trusted implicitly not to punish him for it, or didn’t care what they thought of him. “I'm not giving up. It's not just that it won't be on any of those catalogs because it was unique, it's because it wasn't any kind of history or instruction book. It was just a story, somewhere between an epic poem and a fairy tale, about a monster threatening a village that turns out to be bigger than they think every time they start preparing until they throw themselves off a cliff to escape it. The people who understood what it was and what it meant had a vested interest in other people not knowing, so naturally they'd be keen to keep it off of any publicly-available lists, and since there was only ever one copy of the original because nobody ever survived owning it long enough to duplicate it, there aren't going to be other editions out there. Jurgen Leitner's library wasn't all special editions of books expurgated for the general public, you know.“

He stopped, partly because he was out of breath and partly because his brain had just caught up with his tongue and was trying to throttle it. Jon looked rather like Martin had slapped him, and behind him, Sasha and Tim were both gaping at him like he'd just stripped naked and sung a lounge song. His cheeks burned, probably a bright red, but he pressed his lips together tightly to keep himself from apologizing. He hadn't actually said anything he needed to be sorry for.

Finally, Tim reached up and manually shut his jaw, then spoke up in a voice that was almost his usual jovial tones, which told Martin that was as much an act as his own usual soft-spoken awkwardness. “Martin's thesis was on Leitner's library, remember, boss? I think he knows what he's talking about.“

“I—yes, that's right, I'd forgotten.“ Jon sounded slightly off-balance and…almost subdued. “I—I apologize for doubting you. Undoubtedly you're correct about this.“

Was it Martin's imagination, or did he put slight emphasis on the word this? He decided not to mention it. “It's all right,“ he said, and he wasn't sure if it was true or not.

Slowly, he felt himself calming, at least a little. His computer beeped softly at him, telling him he needed to plug it in, and he twisted around to get at the cord. As he did so, Jon turned to Tim. “Have you had any luck in tracking down Gerard Keay?“

Martin fell off his chair.

[atlantablack]

You know, i've been reading a lot of steve/tony fic the past month and i love them both a lot but i've been seething mad all day just thinking about how so much of this fandom treats him and purposely mistreats his character and Steve Rogers is this skinny kid from Brooklyn who signed up for a war over and over again despite knowing it would kill him because he didn't like knowing that other men were out there dying and when Erskine asked if he wanted to kill Nazis he said no and he spent years fighting in alleyways and causing trouble and getting beat up and probably would have ended up dead if Bucky hadn't been there to pull him out of shit because he doesn't like bullies and he refuses to back down and "Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man." and grenade get back get back and azzano and i have to put her in the water and "Yeah, we compromised. Sometimes in ways that made us not sleep so well. But we did it so the people could be free. This isn't freedom, this is fear." and "the price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not." and "we're not at war, captain" "they are" and he gets up and he gets up and he gets up over and over and over and he's seventy years out of time and everything keeps changing and every time he gets comfortable something destroys that comfort and he's always losing people, losing friends, losing soldiers, and there's never a clean break with Peggy because he misses their dance and then has to lose her in a separate more permanent way as well, and he loses bucky and finds him and loses him over and over and wants to trust people and keeps getting betrayed and he's trying to be a good man but it gets so complicated but he's still trying even when it would be so much easier to just not try at all and he hurts people because he's human and unfortunately being a superhuman with superhero friends means the capacity for hurt is wider and deeper than anything you or i could dream of but he keeps going and keeps fighting and loses the biggest fight of his life and lives with that every day for years when there are reminders of the biggest failure ever around every corner and then he just keeps going. He's twenty seven when he's unfrozen in 2014, younger than i am now, and the reasonable thing for him to do would have been to get out. leave the fighting and the aliens and the bullshit to someone else. But he's a good man and to him, sometimes, that means being a good soldier and sometimes good men hurt people but that doesn't mean they aren't still good men, it only means they're human and i think people could stand to sit the fuck down and think about what it would feel like to wake up in a year where every single person you knew is dead or close enough to it that they might as well be. there's no option to go make up with a family member he doesn't like, there's no old friends to become new again, everyone he knew is dead and he is still reeling from the fresh grief of losing bucky and somehow, instead of having a perfectly understandable breakdown, he picks himself up and keeps going.

and while i'm here, Tony Stark wouldn't thank anyone bashing on Steve in his defense. You destroy his character in your defense of him and he wouldn't even thank you for it.

[snowbatsims]

VAMPIRE INTERMISSION #4, part 2

It looks like someone is home.

RUNE: Huh. It's decorated? What day is it?

RUNE: Wait.... it's my birthday, isn't it. How old am I now, anyway? Seventy-something? Eighty? RUNE: ...eh, the number doesn't really matter. I'm old enough to have elderly siblings, I know that much.

RUNE: Hello? Anyone home? MORTEN: Hi!!!! Hello! You're home!! RUNE: I am. What's up? RUNE: No really, what's up with all the party stuff- RUNE: Did you set up a birthday party for me this year? MORTEN: Yeah!!! :D RUNE: Alright. MORTEN: Um, just one caveat though... I didn't know how to contact your family about it. I'm so sorry. I did invite a few other people, but- RUNE: It's fine, I'll invite them myself.

RUNE: Frøya! Hello! We're hosting a-- RUNE: Oh. You can't come?

RUNE: Aha. I see. So Odin and Frigg moved in? RUNE: Babies? RUNE: ...... RUNE: Alright. RUNE: I see. Great. RUNE: Fine, I'll see you all some other day then...

RUNE: Soooo when was this starting again? MORT: Oh, it already did! As soon as you got home... I think the guests should be arriving anytime now. RUNE: Oh. MORT: Also, you look like you just got back from a pride party? That's so perfect, hah. RUNE: Well, maybe I did! Someone at work arranged it. RUNE: Since it's autumn, it was hosted indoors, so I could actually attend for once. Got this shirt for free too. MORT: niiice :D

In the meantime, Einarr is preparing drinks.

And Rune spots a familiar face.

RUNE: ERWINNNN!!! DUDE!! I've missed you!! ERWIN: Me too! RUNE: I haven't seen you in what, ten years now? Man, we really need to talk more often. You have a Social Bunny, right? ERWIN: Yeah!! RUNE: Awesome, I'll make sure to add you then. RUNE: Isn't the trip from Strangerville to Brindleton really long?? ERWIN: Oh, it is! I just happened to be in the area this week.. and then I heard from Mort that it was your birthday, so I figured I'd drop in.

RUNE: Oh, come here you-

RUNE: Anyway... alright, just wanna make sure: you're not still mad at me, right? ERWIN: Wha-- oh, that! ERWIN: Yeah, no, Strangerville has been fine for years. It's all good, there are no mother plant zombies in sight, besides the Roswell guy, but we all agree he's the resident weirdo. ERWIN: We're fine. I think. RUNE: Only mostly. ERWIN: Hm? RUNE: Kvikindi got infected. Again. While she was at college. ERWIN: Kvikindi? RUNE: The green alien kid we brought along with us. See, she went back, and now she needs a cure again. ERWIN: Oh... ERWIN: How did that even happen?! RUNE: She said she drank from some guy... ERWIN: OH. ERWIN: THAT'S GOT TO BE, ERWIN: TED ROSWELL.

RUNE: Damn, of course somehow we forgot to cure the weirdest one of them all... ERWIN: Ah, don't worry! ERWIN: I've done a lot of research since then, and I've found that it's not exactly contagious, unless you literally ingest the spores, which can only be found in the blood of the infected these days... We will take care of this, right? RUNE: Yeah, we really need to craft up another set of cures somehow... ERWIN: You're always welcome at my place, my man.

RUNE: Wait, you have a place to call your own now? ERWIN: Well, kind of! Mr. Cahill died recently, and he left the Old Penelope in his will, to me. It's mine now. RUNE: Wait, that was the local plane wreck, wasn't it? ERWIN: Yep! RUNE: Oh, you live in a plane wreck now? ERWIN: Yeah! Isn't it cool! Definitely beats living in a dusty motel room! RUNE: I can imagine. Morten, downstairs: THERE'S FOOD!

MORTEN: Are you sure you want to eat that cake? I mostly made it for the human guests- RUNE: You made this cake for my party, and also I would feel really rude not to. RUNE: Also I'm curious. MORTEN: No seriously, you really don't have to!

RUNE: I still have tastebuds. I want to try something other than blood for once. MORTEN: Your weak stomach though?? RUNE: I can handle it.

He could not, in fact, handle it.

MORTEN: Dude... don't tell me you tried that cake too. EINARR: Apologies, curiosity for your baking got the best of me as well. Sadly, all I'm finding out is that my tastebuds are really not what they used to be. MORTEN: Einarr PLEASE- EINARR: Alright, no. I cannot stay here. Just excuse me for a moment-

MORTEN: ...Einarr? MORTEN: Good lord what have I done.

Rune discovered his pile of gifts!

RUNE: Oh?? Is all this for me? NEAT.

RUNE: No way... An embroidered rainbow! Cute!! RUNE: Einarr, did you make this? Thank you!!

RUNE: Wait, is he here at all? MORTEN: Last I saw him, he had to excuse himself for a bit... BAT: ????!

NICOLE: Hey, where did all your hair go? EINARR: Eh, just had an incident. Figured it would be quicker to simply chop it all off for a bit, instead of awkwardly taking a bath during a party. NICOLE: That seems a bit drastic, man. EINARR: It's really not. NICOLE: You sure?? That braid of yours looked like years of growth. EINARR: Not for me. It will all be back by tomorrow. I am serious - do not worry about it.

EINARR: Wait, did anyone here even want macaroni and cheese? EINARR: Why did i start doing this again? EINARR: Eh, too late to stop now.

ERWIN: Wait... you were that infected alien kid, weren't you? KVIKINDI: Who the hell told you that :)

MARIA-ELISE: Hey, so I've been thinking - since I'm your mother, and am also honestly getting a bit too close to the elder stage, would you mind if I moved in with you guys? MORTEN: Oh?? I'd love that! MORTEN: I do think I would have to check with the others before making any final decision, though. MARIA-ELISE: Great! I'll stay around when the party is over, then. MORTEN: Sounds good.

After the party was over, Einarr decided to pick up every stray plate around the house, which somehow included running outside.

Overall, a pretty successful evening.

Continue ->

[alice--pallas]

Abraxis' question didn't surprise her one bit and truthfully, she thought it was sweet how concerned they seemed about her request for, of all things, Aspirin. She couldn't really blame them for feeling confused but she also realized that if ever there were a time to be honest, it was now. Letting out a small chuckle, she said “Believe me, I would love some morphine right about now. But, uh… I can’t.” Looking up at them, the smallest of smiles crossed their lips. “It’s not just alcohol. I really don’t partake in…anything. At all. I used to be an addict. Heroin, to be specific. I don’t take chances. So unfortunately…that means Tylenol and Aspirin. And believe me, it’s painful, but… It’s also worth it.” Or more so, relapsing wasn’t worth it—and especially on difficult days, Rhea helped to remind her what was most important. That felt most prominent now, since she'd sincerely been so afraid of dying and leaving her daughter behind. To be clear, Alice had no problem with opening up about her past to Abraxis. She hadn’t been hiding it from them but instead, she simply hadn’t found the right moment to tell them but now, post up in this hospital bed, seemed just a good a time as ever.

I missed you. Their words set a small whirl of butterflies through their stomach, unsurprised at her own reaction. After all, though she'd become much wiser in her years, there was no denying that deep down, she was still a hopeless romantic. The only difference now was that instead of being desperate and hungry for love, she was content in her life and instead, was open to the possibility of making room in her already busy life for someone special, for someone who she was almost certain deserved it. "I missed you, too," she said with a small smile. "I knew you'd come visit once you were allowed."

I do. Very much. This confirmation wasn't necessarily anything surprising--they'd both been quite clear about their feelings for one another. Besides, at this point, Alice had too much going on her life to play silly romantic games. She knew what she wanted and it seemed that Abra did, too. As always your investigative approach has merited you valuable information to use at your own discretion. Alice chuckled at their words, though she couldn't help but worry that her 'investigative approach' is what had gotten her here in the first place. Of course, Abraxis was merely flirting--they didn't know of Alice's suspicions, not yet.

I had to come see you, I’ve been going a bit crazed thinking about you. The blonde smiled up at them as they took the rose in one hand, their other intertwining with Abra's. She'd missed their touch and the smell of their cologne. "Oh?" she said, teasing them a bit. "Are you saying you'd go crazy without me?" she chuckled, the flirtatiousness of their conversation making her feel better already. It was nice to smile--though this joke was quite bold, given the fact that just a mere seventy-two hours earlier, she'd be legitimately terrified that she was experiencing a bout of psychosis again, after all these years. Turns out, apparently it'd simply been blood loss and shock.

When they kissed her forehead, she looked up at them and beckoned them forward a bit, pressing her lips against theirs. Even in this hospital bed, exhausted and cranky, they still managed to make her feel sexy--though she wasn't surprised that her next words changed Abraxis' facial expressions from passionate to worried. What makes you feel this targeted? Giving a small shrug, part of her felt stupid--other than what had happened the other night, she hadn't really received many threats, if any. At least, not outright blatant ones. But then again, wasn't getting shot enough of a threat on its own? "I don't know, I... Abra, some of the things that I've been researching for the Diem..." (Or rather, been researching outside of what she was supposed to be covering at the paper). "I'm worried that I'm...on the right track. But I think I may have gotten to close... I know this isn't really...helpful, or...coherent, even, but... Abraxis, someone put a gun in my face and shot me--they did not hold back and I believe that they were shooting to kill. It didn't feel random, it felt...intentional. And... I don't know where to go from here." Sure, she could just let the story go--but where was the integrity in that? Then again... If someone really was out to kill her, did she have any other choice?

protracted in the doorway, abraxis lingered as though fate itself had stationed them there, poised perfectly to pluck the delicate wishes from those cherished lips. with a faint tilt of their head, they momentarily breached the hospital room's entrance. their gaze fell upon a nurse wielding a clipboard. clearing their throat—an axiom of calculated civility demanding attention—abraxis summoned an understanding nod from her before she disappeared down the hallway, presumably to fetch a remedy for alice’s pain.

while never doubting alice’s ability to discern her own needs, the question loitered like a ghost in the stillness. “aspirin?” abraxis’s voice, low and lilting, slipped through the silence. the query betrayed their concern: why, amidst the endless resources of a modern hospital, was the simplicity of a saline drip absent? “is there a shortage in their stocks of, say morphine?” its a gentle inquiry, but with Alice’s sobriety they wonder if there is something more to the case.

“i can only imagine how chaotic it’s been…” their voice faltered momentarily, the weight of dread dragging against their throat. the hospital’s inadequacy gnawed at their thoughts, but more pressing was the specter of loss—the unbearable possibility that they might never see her again. a sheen of that worry lingered in their eyes, dark irises clouded by an ever-present fog. “i missed you.” their gaze fell, betraying a flicker of vulnerability, yet their lips curved upward in a quiet smile, its warmth still fragile in its vulnerability. satisfied the nurse would tend to alice, abraxis turned their attention to the bouquet. they placed it carefully on the counter near the window. their smile devoid of contrition remains.

Damn, that is a hell of a bouquet. You must really like me. to say they were shameless in their affections for Alice would be a flagrant understatement. they were of the succinct notion that to win her over fully, they were obliged to spoil her in every sense of the notion. “i do,” they murmured, their voice imbued with a gravity that resonated with finality. “very much.” while their relation to one another was still confined to the privacy of their own volition, abraxis would not retain verity from her. “as always your investigative approach has merited you valuable information to use at your own discretion.” 

 I suppose you're forgiven. they pluck a singular rose from the bouquet, white in its elegance, as they make their way closer. the heart in their chest finally feels like it can breathe and it pumps with delectation as they hand her the flower. “i had to come see you, I’ve been going a bit crazed thinking about you.” unable to fully quell their anxieties, abraxis reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers in a gesture of quiet reassurance. the simple act grounded them, tethering them to the reality of her presence. a moment later, they leaned in, their lips brushing her temple in a brief yet fervent kiss, as if the gesture could dispel the shadows of doubt.

still, something lingered—a dissonance in alice’s demeanor as she explained the situation, each word laden with implications that unsettled them. they listen with ease, a brow arching in a slight confusion upon hearing the notion. I'm afraid that someone's after me.

abraxis paused, letting the revelation settle like a stone. a flare of protectiveness ignited in their chest, tempered only by the dread of contemplating a second attempt on her life, and yet they comfort her first. “hey…” searching for her eyes to meet their. and again, "hey," their voice is low as their fingers traced the delicate curve of her hairline, tucking errant blonde strands behind her ear. “i’m here," their tone was a whisper of solace, tender and unwavering. "and you’re safe here. no one’s going to harm you—not without facing a camera or the full weight of security.” a humorless chuckle escaped them, brittle and fleeting. “believe me, I know." they tried. "whatever it is, we’ll face it together. just tell me—what makes you feel this was targeted? has someone been following you? have there been… signs?”

[quacka-quacka]

What was Paul’s relationship with his father ? And his brother ?

Although Paul's realtionship with his dad didn't seem awful according to Paul's own account, there's something weird about it besides the description from his stepmother Angie and stepsister Ruth:

'Paul wanted to smoke marijuana in the house. Dad gave him a hard time, but he still did it. In Paul's mind, it was his house and if he wanted to smoke, he could. But dad disapproved. Paul would blow hot and cold when he did drugs. He could be lovely one moment and nasty the next.'

[...]

'Jim was the only dad I knew. He got rheumatoid arthritis. Paul came over one day and flung open all the windows even though Dad was so frail by then he needed to sit by the fire to ease his pain. He told Dad, 'Don't be a cripple, get out of that chair and walk.' 'Poor old dad had tears plopping down his face, and he said, 'Back off son, leave me alone.' It sounds cruel, but I don't think he meant it to be. Dad got into debt towards the end and Paul bought back the house to allow him to pay his bills. He bought that house twice and, as far as I know, he still owns it.'

[...]

'Mum and I struggled [after Jim's death]. At one point I was holding down five jobs, including working as a barmaid and as an office cleaner. Looking back, I think he cut us off because we were part of his dad's world and when he died, that was the natural break for Paul.'

— Ruth McCartney

Ruth and Angie are not considered reliable sources, certainly not by Paul's fans. I don't know if they were telling the truth either, but after recollecting Paul/Beatles interviews and books I've watched/read, there's one thing I found pretty strange - he barely mentioned Jim's death.

It's such an unnatural thing for a person who's so used to taking about death in public (Mother Mary, John, Linda, etc. He may not good at handling death but he certainly talked a lot about it) choose to avoid the topic when it comes to his dad, especially after he missed Jim's funeral - what exactly make Paul, who never tire of justifying his motivation about John's death remark "it's a drag" feel no need to give a proper explanation about why he absented his own father's funeral? (neither European tour nor avoiding mob were mentioned by Paul himself, the only thing he said was *Jim hated funerals*, and it was said only once as far as I know.) In Many Years From Now, Paul's most important semi-autobiography, he did not forget to defend Mal Evans who was shot dead for pointing a gun at the cops and detail his last meeting with Robert Fraser who died of AIDS later while not a single Paul's word about Jim's death can be found but a summary by Barry Miles:

Shortly afterwards, Paul's father, Jim, died of bronchial pneumonia at his home in Gayton in the Wirral on 18 March 1976, at the age of seventy-three. He had been ill for several weeks.

Is Jim's death less important than Mal's and Robert's? Or is Paul deliberately avoiding the subject? If so, why would he do that?

We will never be sure what happened between Paul and Jim unless we can read Paul's mind. All we have are fragments of past from here and there, some of them indicates that the intimate Liverpool working-class family life he tried to maintain in public was not so idealistic because it's doubtful that Jim - his only parent after age 14, was a good father.

Jim had to be a father and a mother after Mary died. Bring up two adolescent boys on his own was not easy. It's too much to ask Jim to be a perfect parent. The things he did to his sons may not considered unaccpetable back in 1950s, though marks had been left on Paul and Mike after all these years, like corporal punishment. It was told several times by Paul and Mike that Jim used to bash them.

Even Jim himself admitted that he hit his son:

'I was once hitting Michael for doing something,' says Jim. 'Paul stood by shouting at Mike, "Tell him you didn't do it and he'll stop." Mike admitted he had done it, whatever it was. But Paul was always able to get out of most things.'

— The Beatles authorized biography by Hunter Davies

I'm surprised Paul didn't sidestep the issue most of the time even if it contradicats his *happy family* image. Maybe 1) the matter is too painful to rationalize that the perfect family image doesn't matter any more when he thinks of the physical discipline or 2) as a Scouser grown up in 1950s, he thinks corporal punishment is pretty common that it did not affect his family become *amazingly optimistic* even if he doesn't like it.

Physical violence is somewhat unbearable but I don't think it's the only reason for Paul's weird manner in late years. To Paul, Jim isn't "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named". On the contrary, he is not only mentioned a couple of times on Paul's soical meida accounts but an essential element in Paul's version of his upbeat Liverpool upbringing that *not everyone can live like they did*. However, Jim barely existed beyond Paul's childhood and adolescence in Paul's account when it comes to something specific, even if he lived to his 70s when Paul was married with three children. Maybe he dosen't have much to say after not living with his father, but avoiding his death?

There's another thing Paul never mentioned - Jim's gambling problem.

Mike wrote in his book that Jim is an insatiable gambler who was seriously in debt. It's not a good news for a family whose only income source was one parent earning under £10 a week. I suspect Jim didn't quit gambling when his sons grew up - according to the authorized Beatles biography, Paul bought him a race horse as a birthday present in 1964. I doubt Paul would like it if he continue consuming large sum of money till the end.

As for Mike, maybe he's not that close to Paul but not hostile either? Family interest is much of his concern that he would insist on getting back Paul's award-winning primary school essay. Although he's not often mentioned by Paul, his photo was used as the cover of Chaos and Creation and The Lyrics. BTW, he has the sense of humor his brother lacks, I like him.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hi wendy ! Would you do a cheating angst as you did for Sanzu and the Haitanis, but a longer one just with Kaku? 😊 also can you add a little bit of comfort please?

Take You Back: Kakucho Hitto x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.5k

tw: NSFW if you squint

masterlist

song recommendation:

Something's off.

You know it the moment you walk into your empty apartment.

You've rationalized these thoughts before; you've hashed them out with yourself over and over again, explaining your intuition away.

But something keeps nagging at you: No, no. Something's really off.

You consider that you're just nervous after Kakucho's been gone for so long. This isn't out of the usual - his long absences - but this time...

You grunt once, dropping your purse onto the dresser and sitting on the bed you share with your husband. Maybe you should give him a call. But the instant you pick up your phone, it begins to ring, lighting up with the name: Sanzu.

"Hey," you breathe. "Is everything okay?"

"Um," Sanzu pauses. "Yeah. I'm only calling because I haven't been able to reach Kakucho. Is he there with you right now, or..."

"I thought he was with you all on a business trip."

The pause between the both of you belies nothing positive about the situation.

"Business trip?" Sanzu finally mutters, and you hold your breath. Sanzu's words rip through your chest, but you try to explain anyway.

"Kaku said you all were taking a five-day business trip. Were you not included in this?"

"Y/n... we're all here in Tokyo. We haven't been on a business trip in almost four months."

"Wait..." Your brain recalls all the times Kakucho mentioned he'd be going abroad or that he'd be staying late or that he was stuck in some city and wouldn't be home. All in the last three months.

"Give him a call," Sanzu mumbles. "I'll follow up soon."

The line goes dead, and you stare into your reflection in the mirror across from you. "Late nights"... "long trips"... "no-phone zones."

You don't remember dialing Kakucho's number, but you press the ear to your phone, hearing the dial tone ring for four beeps.

"Hey, babe."

His voice is enough to soothe your deepest fears, and you exhale shakily, trying to sound as calm as you can.

"Hey, sweetheart... How are you doing?"

"I'm doing alright... We're at the hotel waiting for the next arrival," he murmurs, and you can hear the softness of his voice, the way he's trying to keep it down. He's hiding something - and it looks like it's you.

"Oh? Is everything going well?"

"Just fine. Are you doing alright? How was work today?"

You're about to answer when you hear a female voice holler,

"Kaku! The bath's going to go cold!"

You freeze and hear Kakucho suck his breath in sharply.

You two don't speak for what feels like an eternity, and you hear the woman - much closer this time - state:

"Get off the phone and into the bath. I've been waiting all day to ride your dick, and you're making me impatient."

You can only imagine what his face looks like, how wide his red eye has blown, how unstable he now seems.

"What's wrong with you?" The woman mutters, grabbing the phone out of his hand. "Listen, Kaku can't talk right now. Can I take a message?"

"Tell him that I want a divorce," you breathe and then hang up the phone. When you drop the device onto the bed, you can feel every nerve in your body die; your body stuck on the edge of the bed, and mind going completely blank.

_____________________________________________________________

Seventy-six missed calls.

Twenty-five text messages, each more desperate than the last.

Forty voicemails.

All of them are pleading with you to answer, pick up, and discuss everything with him, that he was coming home, that he needed you.

But you're barely moving, finding a spoonful of strength to use the bathroom here, a cup of courage to make breakfast there, a milliliter of motivation to brush your teeth and wash your face.

But most of the day, you sit in the bed, wondering what you could have done. What you could have said.

Fingers trail across the crumbs of a stale cracker, brushing them off the bed in memory of the time you ate and then threw it back up.

Kakucho sent Sanzu, Kokonoi, and even Takeomi to come and check on you, but you never answer the door.

You just sit in the bed, wondering why.

A commotion at the door doesn't startle you at all, and you look over your shoulder at the figure bounding through, out of breath and out of time.

"Babe," Kakucho huffs, his hair wild and eyes full of anxiety. "I'm home. I'm home." He approaches you without concern for your fragility, pulling your chin toward him so you can look him in the eye. But when he finds your dead stare, something in him shakes violently, like an earthquake that'd been held at bay for too long.

"I want to separate," you whisper. "I want to be alone for a while."

Kakucho starts for a second but then kneels at the side of the bed, looking into your eyes.

"I understand. I'll get some things and go."

While he packs, you have the feeling that Kakucho is waiting on you to say, "No, wait. Stay." But you never do.

It's only when he's walking out the door that you inhale to speak.

"How long?" you ask, looking up at him sadly. Kakucho's guilty gaze tells you that he's been at this longer than you'd care to know, and some part of you wonders if he'll just go back to that woman and not give a damn.

You don't know the answer, and part of you doesn't care.

_____________________________________________________________

Kakucho showed up at your door needing something from his closet.

You let him in.

He looked disheveled and rugged as if he'd been sleeping in his car for the past six weeks. You had finally cleaned up, begun wearing nicer clothes, and got off your ass to take care of things around the house. You're still a homemaker, even though you're not entirely a wife anymore.

When Kakucho sees the place well-kept and beautiful, his eyes flood with tears, and he collapses on your couch in a heap of sobs and hiccups.

"Life isn't the same without you," he blubbers, his snot-covered lip trembling. "Babe, please--"

"What do you need from the closet?" you say, ignoring his pleas. "I'll get it for you while you get yourself together."

"Y/n!" Kakucho falls onto his knees, hands clasped together as tears course down his cheeks. "I'll do anything to come back. Anything. Please, I'm begging you."

"Beg," you snap. "Do it. But that's not how I'll forgive you."

"It's my fault," he huffs, leaning down to hold your ankles in his hands. "I'm a terrible husband. Give me another chance."

"Why?"

Kakucho looks up at you, his red eye rimmed in blood vessels. "I took you for granted; I know that now. Let me treat you like you deserve. Like a wife." Your heart wants to burst, but you keep your cool, inhaling deeply.

"You have one month."

"That's all I need."

_____________________________________________________________

"It's so nice to have you with me," Kakucho murmurs, his hands on your hips as you overlook the city below. It's not Tokyo, and it's not Japan, which is more than enough for you. "Can I get you something else to drink?"

"I'm okay," you reply softly, looking over your shoulder. "Maybe we should go inside." You abandon the view of the metropolitan landscape and shut the balcony door, exhaling.

"Are you tired?" Kakucho wonders, but you shake your head, shuffling into the bathroom. It's a month to the day, and you'd made up your mind - whether to stay or to go. Kakucho knows what day it is, too, and you can feel his anxiety through the door as you shut it softly. In that month, you hadn't made love, hadn't spent a day apart, and hadn't heard about any trips or late nights.

And tonight, you had a surprise planned.

You strip out of your clothes and find the robe and lingerie set you've stashed away, slipping the lacy thing on and then covering it back up. When you exit, you hear shuffling around in the living space and peek into it shyly.

"Kaku?"

"Oh," he whispers, tucking something into his pocket and straightening back up. "Come on; I have something for you." You sit on the couch next to him, and for a second, he admires your robe silently. But then he remembers his task and clears his throat, hand on your knee.

"I'm either about to make a fool of myself or be the happiest man alive." When Kakucho gets down on one knee, your eyes widen, shocked and slightly unsure of how to respond. "You gave the ring back at the beginning of the month," he begins. "And now, I want to know if you'll accept it again." Kakucho reaches into his pocket and pulls out the box, flipping it open to reveal the sapphire ring, reset, surrounded by aquamarines, and a silver band. "Will you be my wife? Again?"

Your answer is whispered among the sheets as Kakucho takes you for the first time in a long time, his hips driving into yours while he leaves sloppy kisses down your neck.

Your ring finger is heavy yet again with the band that ties you to Kakucho, your lover. And you're full of him, his scent, his cock, his kisses - all of them driving you insane.

"Yes... Forever, yes."

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

A Spring Wedding

They had been having this argument for approximately thirty-six hours now - only, arguing with Nomi was pointless, because she always insisted that she never argued outside of work hours. It was a debate, she said. A spirited but loving debate.

Tamlin was prepared to tear his own hair out - with the claws.

"I'm just saying," said Hart, stabbing listlessly into a bit of toast, "do you have to be debating at breakfast?"

The Day Court apparently did not believe in table manners or polite small talk. Nomi had caused a stir with more than one gathering of the small council by simply refusing to state her opinions in a way that made them feel like opinions. So, Tamlin was not the least bit surprised when Nomi turned to Hart and matter-of-factly replied:

"We can and should. This is too important to go unanswered another day."

At least the members of Tamlin's own household were used to this by now. Bronn merely rolled his eyes and muttered about more bacon before he meandered off to the kitchens, leaving Donatella and Fiacha to stare somewhat pitifully at his empty seat. Rosheen merely smiled and sipped at a spun glass full to the brim with juice.

"We have decades to resolve this," said Tamlin, for what felt like the millionth time. "Decades."

"Hardly! I'm nearly two hundred years old now, and we're not getting any younger."

Tamlin glared at Hart, who immediately concealed his smile.

"Are you suggesting that I'm getting old?"

"I'm suggesting that only one of us requires a legal heir to their throne," Nomi replied.

Unhelpful, Fiacha chose this moment to thoughtfully reply: "Well, Lord Tamlin is still very active! That's always a good sign, isn't it?"

"A very good sign," Rosheen murmured. "But don't take my word for it."

"Thank you, Fiacha," said Tamlin, while Hart snickered. "I'm not worried about heirs."

They'd discussed having children at length, multiple times. This was so far beyond the point - and besides, Tamlin simply refused to make any further allusions to his sex life at breakfast.

"You're legally bound to the other six Courts," Tamlin reminded Nomi. "I won't have you jeopardizing your entire life's work for the sake of some hypothetical scenario."

"Its very much not hypothetical," Nomi continued, gesturing with her fork as she spoke. "And I do have an apprentice."

Tamlin snorted.

"An apprentice who is quite adequate!"

"Do you really want the next Keeper of Laws and Scales to be just adequate?" Tamlin shook his head. "Enough, already."

"Speaking of hypothetical -" Tamlin groaned as Nomi pressed onwards. " - what in the nine worlds makes you think I'd need to give up my position in order to get married? My duties are -"

"You can't afford to take that risk just to -"

Donatella raised her hand as if they were in a classroom. "Forgive me, but I'm confused."

Everyone looked at her.

"Don't be confused," said Hart. "Its fine if you missed the start, they'll circle back round to it in a few minutes."

Tamlin opened his mouth to admonish him but Donatella looked anxiously at Nomi.

"No, no I understand the point but - I thought - aren't you two already married?"

Rosheen smiled widely as Fiacha's jaw dropped.

Tamlin shook his head. "We've discussed it numerous times, as I've said but -"

"But - but you're handfasted! Haven't you?"

The realization hit Tamlin like a clap of thunder. He sat back in his chair.

"What," said Nomi, tilting her head, "is handfasting?"

"Its - well -" Donatella seemed somewhat distressed by the reaction she'd caused, and gestured vaguely with her hands. "Its - you know? It's a type of marriage -"

"An old Spring Court custom," said Rosheen, helpfully now. "Essentially, it refers to a private commitment between two individuals that takes place outside a temple - you might know it as a common marriage or some other name."

"Yes!" Donatella seized this, and explained, "You've been publicly committed for the last seventy five years and between all your visits here, you've more than satisfied the ten year cohabitation requirement, and basically all of the other priestesses already recognized it so - so I just assumed -"

"So, you're saying that..." Nomi frowned as she worked it out. "Legally speaking, at least where the Spring Court is concerned, I'm already recognized as Tamlin's wife?"

Dona and Rosheen both nodded.

Nomi visibly relaxed. "Oh. Good. Well, then, I suppose that settles that."

She picked up her silverware and began to eat.

"Oh... well, then, I suppose..." Fiacha considered this, and then smiled. "Thats wonderful news! Congratulations are in order, my lord!"

"Indeed," said Rosheen, and toasted to him with her juice. "May the threads of your life form a glorious tapestry."

Tamlin felt like he was about to faint.

Bronn chose this moment to reappear, a wide plate of bacon steaming in his hands. "Did I miss anything good?"

Hart burst out laughing.

Notes:

Tamlin you big dumb idiot who didn't realize that you'd been married for decades until someone else pointed it out to you -

Handfasting is a traditional custom similar to a trial marriage - a couple might live together for a year, and if at the end of the year, they decide that they like each other, they are then considered married. I'm sort of fudging it to be combined with the concept of a common law marriage, some.version of which exists in many cultures all over the world. Basically I think it would be funny if Tamlin was the last person to realize that he was actually married.

My computer is busted and I haven't had a chance to take it in for repairs! In the meantime - enjoy the snipet of Tamlin's future. (For explanation: Rosheen is the captain of Tamlin's sentries and Donatella is Bron's younger half sister.)

[poguestvff]

Used To The Cold — S. Cameron

In which Sarah Cameron comes to a realization after her girlfriend moves across the country.

taglist | main masterlist | 2.0k words

warning(s): none, fluff, i heart sarah <33

Have you ever lost something that held either so many memories or brought a sort of happiness that just warmed you immediately even at the sight of it? Most people have something like that. Such as for children when it comes to losing stuffed animals or action figures that were a source of comfort, they missed it like hell. Said children grow up and look for a new source of comfort. Some teenagers found it in weed and alchohol, others in sports. For Sarah Cameron, she grew out of the beautiful pink blanket her father had gotten her as a toddler. As she grew into a teenager, she found a new solace.

Her girlfriend.

Sarah made it very apparent to show her love to her girlfriend who, at one point, was just her best friend who she could hardly even bare to be away from. Sarah had known she'd loved Y/n before they even got together by the way Sarah had never felt claustrophobic in the friendship that she held with the other girl. She said the three words within the first six months of being with her, words she had never spoken to another being other than her family. It was a word she, personally, took seriously. For her to say it to Y/n showed the amount of trust she held within her. Trust to not feel so closed off with Y/n.

At the beginning of the relationship, Sarah was glad that not much had changed between the two of them. That Y/n let her have her space whenever she needed it without the dependent need to be together all day though it quickly became backwards. Sarah grew even more clingy to Y/n, hardly able to deal without her hands being stuck to her girlfriend like glue. Whenever they went out to lunch, Sarah played a one sided game of footsies that only brought a smile upon Y/n’s features, one of Sarah’s favorite traits about her. Sarah loved the idea of always having a person to call her own, Y/n seeming to be the one person who could bring out her newfound touchiness. Though, sometimes she pondered on whether Y/n herself was even handling it or if she just ‘put up’ with it. If she did have an indifference towards Sarah’s actions, she surely never showed her disinterest in it.

Though the last time Sarah had held on to her girlfriend felt soul crushing and gut wrenching. As the two of them stood on the creaky, wooden dock just before the ferry, Sarah felt drained. Between the amount of crying she’d done in just the past few days had been enough to make her want to sleep forever and the comfort of her girlfriends arms around her hadn’t helped that feeling. Tears held a steady stream down both of their faces though Sarah was the one who was unable to contain her sobs. People passed around them, solemn looks given to the two of them as they listened in on the sniffles and soft wails.

Y/n didn’t need to be a genius to understand that this was twice as hard for Sarah as it would be for her. Y/n was leaving, miles away that Sarah couldn’t even pin on when the next time she’d being able to hold on to her would be. All she knew was that this embrace that Y/n held on her would be the last one for months and there wasn’t a thing that would be able to make up for it between now and then.

It evoked an indescribable sort of fear within Sarah but she knew it was immutable. If Sarah could, she'd even drop her whole life within Outer Banks to follow her girlfriend across the world. There wasn't much Sarah wouldn't do and there wasn't much Y/n wouldn't do for Sarah either, including the moving date having already been pushed back a month because of Y/n's several arguments with her parents.

"I don't want you to go." sarah whispered as y/n kissed her neck. She could hear the blonde's pained and wavering voice, how affected she already was even as Y/n hadn't even stood on the boat yet.

"I know, lover." the y/h/c girl spoke in a low tone, only sarah able to hear her words of affirmation. Y/n was first to pull back, placing her hands on Sarah's cheeks. The sight of Sarah with puffy eyes and a quivering lip made y/n's heart throb and a guilty feeling blanket over her like a raising tide. "i'll visit. Every chance I get, you know I will."

"It won't be the same." she lamented. Y/n placed her lips against Sarah’s, delicately as if the blonde were made of porcelain. When Y/n's parents had called for her and Ward and Rose had called Sarah away from the dock, Sarah only seemed to want to cling further, fingers pressing further into the thin jacket Y/n worse, but their time had finally run out. Even after weeks of pretending that they had all the time in the world, like nothing could pull the two of them apart, it had happened.

The first few weeks, the whole Cameron house had known Sarah spent most of her nights crying herself to sleep and the entire Y/l/n house knew Y/n was not going to be speaking to them for a little while due to their newest decision. Both groups of parents hadn't known that pulling the duo away from one another would become such a quagmire for each of them.

When Y/n did finally decide to talk to her parents, it was usually to say she was leaving to explore the area in which she refused to get to know the first few days. With a driver license, it gave her just a bit of freedom from her parents who's impromptu decisions had still caused for a tearing in their familial relationship.

Y/n sat in her parked car, a hot beverage in hand to adjust to the cold in which she'd just stood in for five minutes. All of it for a drink that wasn't even that good in her opinion but she dealt with it. With the hand not holding the steaming drink, she opened her phone, smiling immediately at the photo of her and sarah as her background. She unlocked it, scrolling around to find Sarah's contact and setting her phone up against the dashboard. While it began to ring, Y/n situated herself to begin to drive. "Hi, Y/n/n!" Sarah shouted excitedly the second she'd answered.

At her tone of voice did Y/n laugh. The enthusiasm was no surprise but it was funny to Y/n every time. "Hi, baby." She replied, fhe smile remaining on her face as she looked towards the screen. Sarah sat at her desk, her hands under her jaw though a pencil between her fingers. She had focused all of her attention from the papers in front of her to the driver on the other end of the phone. "What are you doing?"

The sound of whizzing paper had made Y/n glance to the phone seeing a math sheet now replacing Sarah's face before she placed it back down, a frown appearing on her features. "Math."

"Didn't you just start like two days ago?" Y/n asked, taking a sip from her drink.

"Yes and this teacher is an absolute bitch. You're just lucky you don't start for another week. You would hate Mr. Henley."

Y/n let out an awfully dramatic gasp. "Um, hello, Mr. Henley was literally my home room teacher last year, I'll have you know. Show some respect." She said, almost missing Sarah's chagrined look as she smiled.

"You're supposed to be on my side here."

"Sorry, i don't believe in biases, Sar." She joked for sarah to let out a small snicker.

"So tell me, how's minnesota?" Sarah asked, trying to spark up a conversation even if the distance was the same thing she wanted to keep her mind off of.

"Oh, it's so great. So many hot people." she remarked.

"You're not funny, no one has ever found you funny." Sarah replied though unable to hold in her laugh along with her girlfriend. "I'm serious. we haven't talked much about it and i don't want to like... avoid your new life now."

Y/n sighed, looking towards the phone to see Sarah looking back down at her work in front of her. "Fine. Well, it doesn't particularly suck. The no surfing part definitely does, though, but what can you do. And the coffee here... no, its just so bad, babe. granted, i only had one, and it's in my cup holder right now but it's gross."

"My coffee making is better, right?" Sarah asked as Y/n gave a hefty nod.

"So much better, even if it is the only thing you're good at making." Y/n laughed and Sarah attempted to refuse a smile, her cheeks quivering from trying to keep it down. "But the weather dropped today, randomly. It was seventy yesterday, fifty today but i think i'm getting used to the cold."

Sarah lifted her head back to the phone, watching Y/n focus on driving, her eyes diverting on places away from the screen. Sarah but at her inner cheek, drumming her fingers against the white wood that rested under her forearms. "Used to it?" Sarah asked. She knew Y/n's move was permanent at least until she was eighteen but something about those words made it seem more realistic. She was getting used to a place that wasn't home.

Y/n hummed. "Yeah, i'm probably being dramatic. I saw a guy walking around in a tank top and shorts while i'm wearing double pair of socks right now." she grinned at her own comment though picking up on Sarah's sudden discomfort when she replied with a small 'wow'. "Lover?"

"Yeah?"

"What's going on?" Y/n asked, the car slowing to a stop at a red light.

Sarah quickly shook her head. "No, it's nothing. Just... the work. Keep your eye on the road."

"Sarah." The blond recognized the tone of voice quickly.

"Just... I just fully realized how permanent this is. I won't see you until, what? December? That's a long time, Y/n! And, i get it, it's your home now and i can't do anything about it but—"

Y/n was quick to cut her off. "I never said this is home. Sure I live here but it's just a couple walls and a roof. It's not home, Sarah." Y/n began. "Home is you. And trust me, i've been missing home the second i got on that ferry."

Despite them having to look at one another through a glass screen the feeling—the connection between the two of them was still felt. Sarah could feel the normal warm feeling she would've gotten whenever Y/n would simply hold her hand or brush her hair over her ear. she held that much of an effect on Sarah in person and somehow even thousands of miles away.

Sarah hadn't even realized she had been staring for a total of twenty seconds until a singular tear fell down her blushing cheeks. she quickly sniffled, recomposing herself as she wiped it away. "Are you seriously making me cry right now?" She muttered with the way the atmosphere had become though relishing in the way Y/n laughed in response.

"Yes, thank you for ignoring everything i just said, lover." Y/n put the car back in drive as the light went green. Due to the steets being relatively empty in her new small town, she took the time to look back over at the phone to Sarah. "I love you."

Sarah's smile widened in thag very moment, pursing her lips before pushing them out. "I love you more."

"And don't worry. I won't get to used to it. I'll be back home, to you, before you even know it." Y/n took a small glance to the phone, enjoying Sarah's gaze that showed even with the distance put between the two of them, they'd be fine.

[matchesarelit]

Imagine if you will...

Attempting to still enjoy your stay with your family friends despite the tension that is still going strong after 70 odd years.

Part two to 70 Years

Warning: This is basically pure angst and some exposition.

Fluffly part 2 is here

"Hi"

Upon hearing that familiar accent you struggled to compose yourself, it hadn't taken long working alongside other magical beings to realise the importance of hiding emotions.

Looking towards the robe-clad warlock you painted an apathetic glare on your face, allowing him to stew in the silence for a few moments.

"Hi. Look I'm here to spend time with Zelda and Hilda, and this" You spoke gesturing between the two of you, "Will not get in the way of that!"

After saying your piece you started towards the staircase, suddenly feeling ice cold and craving a warm cup of tea.

He stood stiff as a board, gaze fixed on where you had stood, until the high pitched screech of the kettle barrelled up the stairs towards him. Soon after, Ambrose entered the parlour, his robe flying behind him as he paced the length of the room, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly.

Honestly, you would have been lying had you said you didn't get the smallest amount of pleasure from seeing him this frazzled. So really it shouldn't have been a surprise when the question; "Something you want to say?" fell out of your mouth.

However, it stopped Ambrose in his tracks, rooting him to the spot as he looked to you.

"What are you doing here?"

"I-"

"Yes, I know you wanted to see Hilda and Zelda, But why now? What changed? IT HAS BEEN OVER SEVENTY YEARS!"

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT! THEY ARE SOME OF THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN MY LIFE AND I MISSED THEM! BUT THE THOUGHT OF SEEING YOU TORE MY SOUL IN TWO! SO I WILL TAKE NO CRITICISMS! NONE! ESPECIALLY FROM YOU!"

"I FAIL TO SEE HOW THIS IS ALL MY FAULT!"

"OH NO? WELL LET ME REMIND YOU; YOU ALMOST GOT YOURSELF KILLED, ACCUSED ME OF NEEDING YOUR PITY AND THEN SAID THAT I WAS MEANINGLESS TO YOU! HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO LOOK YOU IN THE FACE AFTER THAT? OH AND HERE'S SOMETHING; YOUR AUNTIES DIDN'T WANT ME VISITING FOR THE FIRST DECADE, THEY WERE TOO ASHAMED OF WHAT YOU HAD DONE, NOT TO THE SAFETY OF YOUR COVEN BUT TO ME."

You waited for his reply, for anything, minutes passed in silence before you scoffed. "I never told them I loved you, Zelda said they just knew. Saw the way I looked at you; like you hung the stars in the sky. They swore that you looked at me the same. But not to worry your speech informed me otherwise."

"I'll tell you where I've been Ambrose, with no connections anywhere I was assigned to work by the council, jobs of any kind. Killing, protecting, stealing, I had no say in what I did. Until I got assigned to a little town. The Hell Mouth; thought to be a rumour but seen in prophecies, I was to be there to see its closing." Clutching the chain around your throat you continue; "From there I was to assist with prophecies, and I have done so for the past three decades." You walked closer to him as he stared searching your eyes, "I doubt there is a bone in my body that hasn't been broken or an organ I haven't lost. In that way, I am further from humanity than I have ever been. Everything was remade and fabricated, some improvements were made but every positive change reminded me of what had been lost. There is no part of me that existed alongside you, only ones that had to endure the fallout." You turned to walk away, tired from drenching up the past. "So, Yes, It is your fault but the woman you hurt is long dead."

[amonrawya]

The Greatest Gift of All

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

*

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town. 

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky. 

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning. 

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out. 

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast. 

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

*

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief. 

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being. 

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now? 

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

*

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life. 

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

*

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them. 

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition. 

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her. 

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.