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bonitanightmxres · 1 year ago

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Haunted (Part III) || SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

MINI SERIES SYNOPSIS: It was hard trying to move past Simon's death, but it’s even harder when the third anniversary is looming and the nightmares are back.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: After the revelation from your therapy session, you confront the man responsible for it all... only, it doesn't go according to plan.

WARNINGS: angst, some fluffy moments

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

a/n: in honor of early access day, here y'all go! [no spoilers]

–THEN–

It’d been only a couple weeks since they brought his body home. They were torturous weeks of living in an empty home, and you were ridden with denial. It really wasn’t true… was it? This was all some horribly messed up dream that you couldn’t wake up from. But you remembered the day that John Price knocked on your door. Confused when you answered it to find that Johnny and Kyle stood back behind John. They were all dressed in proper uniforms, like they took their time with their appearance. You’d never seen them look so prim, and it brought a small, teasing grin to your face.

“Where’s Simon and his little uniform?” You joked, knowing that he’d do anything to get out of looking so sharp and clean. Peering around the door, and the sides of the house, you look for him. Obviously, he would be hiding from you, but none of the men laughed—not even Johnny. Price barely looked you in the eyes. Every time he opened his mouth, it seemed like he couldn’t put a sentence together. Kyle seemed to avoid your gaze too, finding more interest in looking at his boots than at you. Your smile faded when you realized that you’d never seen any of them at such a loss for words. When it was obvious that Simon wasn’t hiding in the bushes, your stomach dropped…

“What’s wrong?”

John cleared his throat, “Simon Riley was killed in action…”

To this day, you don’t even remember the rest of what John told you. You had zoned out, your ears ringing, and your head spun so much that you almost fainted. Or maybe you did. You didn’t even really know. Despite your lack of memory, Johnny, Kyle, and Price remember it all. The way you collapsed to the ground, and Price catching you; the way the other two rushed to your aid. And the way they’d never heard such a blood-curdling wail. Johnny remembers it loud and clear; Kyle shivers just thinking about it. And Price wanted nothing more than to forget the permanent stain your tears left on his heart.

So, now, weeks since then, it was the first night you were going to have to accept the fact that you were alone for good. You’d just come home from his funeral services, finally putting him to rest. Everything seemed to go by in a blur–the drive there with Price, the whole hours-long service, handshakes and condolences from random soldiers and superiors who you’d never met… and the drive back. Today you hadn’t shed a single tear, you assumed because your body’s production couldn’t keep up with the pace you were letting them flow. Johnny and Kyle were already at your house when you and Price pulled into the driveway. They stood awkwardly around quiet as can be, as if noise would somehow bother you. It was funny, really; the way they rivaled statues.

“I-uh… I think I’m just gonna go lay down. Take a nap, maybe.” Your voice was hoarse and raspy, and your eyes nearly went blind from the brightness of the house when you took off your dark sunglasses. As you set them down on the counter, you give each of them a quick hug, thanking them for their support, and disappear into your bedroom. You hated it now, in all honesty. You hated the way Simon’s bedside table would always be neater than yours, the way his shoes still sat on the rack in the closet, or how his clothes would forever stay folded in the drawers next to yours. You wondered if leaving them untouched would preserve their smell. With the curtains closed, you kick off your shoes, and don’t even bother to change before you lay down. You lay on your side of the bed, out of habit, and bring your knees to your chest.

It would be okay, right? Tomorrow you’d wake up, and everything would be fine…

Though your eyes were shut from sleep, you could feel the tears burn and the sobs escape your throat. The sudden feeling of two strong hands grasping your arms and trying to shake you awake.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” the voice says softly. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“S-Simon?” You bolt up, sitting against the headboard of your bed, rubbing your eyes.

“N-no, it’s me… It’s John, sweetheart.” It hurts him to tell you, you can tell by the look in his eyes and how they’re full of sorrow. “You were havin’ a nightmare.”

You’re still dressed in your black dress and matching cardigan. From a quick glance to the mirror hanging on your wall, you can see the mascara painting a psychotic look underneath your eyes.

It kind of looked like Simon’s face paint…

“From the looks of it, I still haven’t woken up,” you trudge to the bathroom, washing away the ruined makeup before looking for comfortable clothes. John turns his head respectfully while you change. “It’s nearly four in the morning, John, what are you still doing here?”

“I planned on spending the night on the sofa.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you insist, “You’ve been spending a lot of time here, lately. I’ll be fine, trust me, and–and the girls–I–”

He offers a comforting smile accompanied by a small chuckle, “Sweetheart, you know I’d do anything for my girls, right?”

“Yeah…I-I know…”

How could anyone not know that? John was always a good dad, a great one at that. The look of pride he had whenever he talked about his daughters or the way he always looked at his wife like there was no woman more beautiful. His little family was picture-perfect, and nothing made you happier than seeing them all together.

“And you know that when my girls get scared in the middle of the night, I stay with them until they fall back asleep? Until they don’t need me anymore?”

“Yeah…”

“So that’s what I’m doing,” he kicked his shoes off and sat in your bed. With a pillow lying against his lap, he tapped it with his hand, gesturing for you to go and lay down. “I’m staying until you don’t need me anymore.”

Arguing with him would have been pointless, and to be honest, you didn’t want to. John Price might not have been your father, but he was the next best thing. As you lie down, he takes a hand and gently rakes it through your hair. How had he known to do that? Something so small and comforting. Laying there, you felt like a little girl again. His daughters were each aged 7, 5, and the youngest was nearing her first birthday; and you wondered if he comforted them in the same way.

He stayed every night for nearly three weeks.

Kyle and Johnny rotated shifts during the day, keeping you company while John went home and tended to his family. During the night though, John came back to ensure someone was with you especially while you slept. Guilt ate away at you for all the attention they gave you, putting their lives on pause just because you’d had a few nightmares. You’d apologized profusely–to John especially, since he was the one with a wife and kids; surely Mrs. Price was growing tired of taking care of the girls on her own. Still, John had reassured you by saying that he “made it up to her every day” and winked. It was really no wonder why they had three daughters, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they ended the year pregnant again.

–NOW–

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as the cold evening wind nipped at your cheeks and blew your hair into your face. As you walked toward the cafe around the corner, you open the message:

JOHN PRICE: I’m here. Hope you don’t mind I brought the little devil with me.

JOHN PRICE: [Attachment: 1 Image]

The youngest of the Price clan sat in his father’s lap, smiling widely with a cup of hot chocolate—the evidence all over his top lip. He looked like a cherubic angel, with his rosy cheeks from the cold. The little boy took after his mother in looks, but he had John’s eyes.

YOU: How cuuuuuuute!! I’m almost there :)

When you walk in, you’re greeted with the sweet aroma of pastries and savory breakfast items served at the tables around you. John smiled as you approached the table he saved, getting up to give you a hug and kiss on the forehead. Immediately, the boy reached his arms out to you, wanting to be sat in your lap instead of his own father’s. You took the little two year old without a second thought, having always loved to babysit and play with John’s kids whenever the couple needed.

“You should have told me you were walking here,” John says, sliding a cup of freshly brewed coffee toward you. “Could have given you a ride.”

“It would’ve been the shortest ride ever. I don’t live very far,” you argue. “Besides, the weather’s nice.”

John agrees, watching you happily stir the cloud of sugar and cream in your mug with his son mimicking your actions with an empty spoon in his hot chocolate. “I already ordered for us. I hope that’s alright, they should be coming out with them soon.”

“Thank God you did,” you laugh. “Everything smells good, I think I’d have trouble making a decision.”

John chuckles, and you spend the beginning of your cafe date catching up and filling each other in on the news. You thought it was cute, the way John’s life seemed to be filled with events and his childrens’ firsts— first falling of baby teeth, first straight-A report card, first concert—you wondered what that felt like. To be a parent hiding money under the pillow, buying a treat as a reward, or applauding the loudest and buying flowers. While you loved the Price family, and accompanied them to important events, you couldn’t help but feel like you were on the outside looking in… When it came to your life, there wasn’t much that he didn’t already know. Part of you didn’t think you’d ever find out what it would feel like to be the one with the busy family schedule.

Before you can get too lost in thought, a waiter comes by with your plates, and before you can take a bite of your own, John is scolding his son lightly for grabbing off your plate, “That’s not yours, lad. You have yours in front of you.”

“Let him be, John, it’s okay,” your eyes might as well have been shaped like hearts with the way you treated his son as he sat contentedly on your leg. You fed him small bites from your food and helped him slurp hot chocolate by bringing the mug to his little mouth. The smile he gave you once he licked the remaining whipped cream off his lips was enough to make you melt right there.

“I swear you spoil these kids more than they deserve.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

“That’s my job.”

“So,” John began, cutting up the food on his son’s plate into bite-sized pieces before digging into his own breakfast. “Not that I’m complaining, but we usually plan our little cafe get-togethers with more time in advance… so y’know, we can talk without interruptions. Something on your mind that can’t wait?”

“It was John Price.”

Dr. Fernández’s words replayed on loop in your head over the next few days, wondering how and why he thought it was a good idea to go to some therapist when you knew perfectly fine why and how your nightmares started. It wasn’t like they’d come out of nowhere. Plus, you’d always spared John the details. But Soap was the only one who really knew the gritty details, and only because he’d coerced them out of you.

“I saw Dr. Fernández the other day.”

“And how did it go?”

You shrug, “About as good as a therapy session can get, I guess. But she did have something interesting to say.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, raising a brow while taking a sip of coffee. “And what’s that?”

“She said that you’re the one who set up the meetings between us in the first place. That you’re the one told her about the nightmares starting again, which is impossible because I hadn’t told you about them yet. Now, MacTavish has a tendency to open his mouth and—”

John laughs abruptly, catching you off guard. Your blank stare makes him laugh even more, which only sends you further into confusion. “I don’t need Soap to report back to me with intel about you, sweetheart. I’m a father of four. A father of three girls. I know when you’re not being truthful.”

You can feel your cheeks turn red from embarrassment. If Johnny ever found out that you’d wrongly accused him of spilling your secrets, you’d never hear the end of it. Having someone as caring and thoughtful as John, who clearly was concerned enough to set you up with a therapist made you feel lucky. Of course Soap had been concerned and loving enough too, but that was besides the point.

As the three of you finish your meal, you use wipes that you carry in your purse to wipe the hands and mouth of the littlest Price who looked like he was ready for a nap. An elderly woman approached, smiling warmly, “Your son is just the most adorable thing I’ve laid eyes on,” she tells you.

Her poor observation makes your cheeks flush red, and you stutter, laughing nervously, “Oh! I–uh, no–I-I’m not–”

“He’s actually my son.” John intervenes, noticing the way you’re caught off guard. “Oh, I knew you were too young to be a grandfather!” She laughs, patting him on the shoulder, then turns to you, “ Do you have any children?”

Your cheeks turn redder by the second, “I–no.”

“That’s too bad,” she says. “You’d make a great mother, I can tell.”

With that, she walks out of the cafe, waving.

Waiting for John to pay the bill (since he swore he could never just let you do a nice thing for him), you wonder if the old lady was only one of many who thought that John’s children were your own. It wouldn’t have been far-fetched either; you could often be spotted out and about with them… maybe people had passed by and thought they’d simply be laying eyes on a mother with her kids. You didn’t want to admit how much that made you feel a kind of warmth inside that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Fatherhood on John had looked like a longer and grayer beard and defined little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Four kids would do that to you, you guessed. You wondered what motherhood would have done to you. Premature gray hair? Lots of wrinkles? No no, you definitely would have been a MILF. Simon would have been the one with premature gray hair and wrinkles, you knew that for a fact. With the way he stressed over things? Yeah, he’d need regular hair appointments to keep the gray in check. Then again, graying hair on a man… oof. Especially on Simon?? Maybe you would have been those hot parents whose teenage kids had friends that always wanted to come over because they had a crush on either of you. The thought made you giggle to yourself.

“Want me to take him?” John asks, as he stuffs his wallet into his pocket and reaches out for his son. He’s nervous about how the interaction with the lady settled with you. This could only go one of two ways… and your emotionless face is making him believe you’re gonna react that way.

But you smile and say, “It’s okay, I’ve got him.”

And John lets out a little sigh of relief. He hadn’t known the extent to which Simon had ever talked about kids with you, but it was something he wouldn’t shut up about when they talked about families.

“One day, when she’s ready…” Simon had said. But that didn’t stop him from running baby names by John whenever he thought of one.

John had just laughed, telling him that he needed to run it by you.

The lady from the cafe was right though, he thought. You’d make a terrific mother one day; and as he watched you carry his son in your arms like he was your own, he couldn’t help but start to feel a little guilty inside…

a/n: i have a feeling of where i want this story to go, but i’m conflicted😭😂

tag list!

@angelic-dreams13

@ilovehyperfixating

@titaniasfairy

@ghostlythots

#simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley imagines #simon riley angst #codmw #cod modern warfare #cod ghost #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost #simonghostriley #simon ghost riley fanfiction

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poisonedpowder · 2 months ago

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@zaunfather asked:

peony 🙂‍↕️

❥ 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 peony : what would a ‘ happy life ’ look like in your muse’s eyes ?

Her version of a happy life has changed over the years. As a child, her idea of a happy life involved her being able to make something of herself that made her family proud of her. That made her no longer feel like she was a burden. Doing something that made Vi beam at her. Just being a person that people could acknowledge her for who she was without needing Vi as qualifier for why she was worth mentioning at all. That, and, of course, having opportunity in general for her family to live well and no longer be under anyone's thumb. And for herself, the opportunity to explore what fascinated her and to make things that worked. If she could have that, it would have been bliss.

After Vander's death, for a while it wasn't about being happy. It was about proving people wrong. She didn't have it in her to think of something that would make her happy, she just needed to make a point, to prove herself. She couldn't fix what she had done, but she could prove she could do something. If she could dream of a happy place then, it would just being acknowledged beyond the trouble she caused-- and for a while, she saw a glimpse of that. Silco was actually taking interest in the things she tried to do, helped her honed abilities, let her see that she had something to offer.

It felt like she was being accepted, all of her, not just what people hoped of her, but the first time she truly got scolded by Silco (incidentally the same night ekko tried to take her away), the ghosts came knocking harder than ever before and the burden of her past fell heavy on her shoulder. She thought she had been shedding anything she didn't like about herself, but all she had been doing was burying it down without realizing how quickly it could rise to the surface. It was so heavy. So suffocating. The voices never stopped taunting. The memories never stopped feeling any less real.

So she leaned fully into doing whatever she could to not fall out of Silco's favor. She worked hard to make sure the one person that she still had would never find a reason she wasn't good enough to keep around. If she at least had that, she had some semblance of happiness, but it always felt so fragile. So ready to crumble if she felt he was doubting her. At this point, her idea of a happy life was total acceptance of her and constant reassurance that she wasn't going to be thrown away, but most of all, a happy life would remove the shackles of burden that constantly anchored her to everything she'd ever done wrong. If she could be free of that burden, if she could just breathe without something reminding her of what she did wrong, that would be a happy life.

After her escape, she was attempting to look towards a happy life and that meant letting a lot of things go. To her, if she was ever going to get a chance to breathe without feeling like she was fighting to do so at every turn, she needed space. She needed time. She needed a chance to be tied to nothing at all. She needed burden to finally give her a moment of reprieve. It meant saying some goodbyes she had never really gotten to say before. It meant cutting loose her ties to her home and those that were there living, and those that were there haunting it.

She needed to be removed from it all if she was ever going to find peace. At least for now. She needed to know how to live without relying on someone else to deem her worthy of it. She needed to chart her own path without looking at someone else to give her a reason to do it. Her happy place involved working towards listening to her own voice in her head more than the ones that always had something to say. Eventually, a happy life would look like having people that made her feel like she had a home somewhere, even if it was just in their hearts, but for now her idea of a happy life could be summed up quite simply: she needed to feel free. Truly free.

#II HC II Hit the nail on the head!

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yutasenpie · 1 year ago

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we don’t talk anymore.

warnings: situationships dont work.

it was so thick.

the tension you mean.

it was almost as if the summer never happened - at least that's how you wanted to remember it. two months gone, passed in a blur, maybe with your friends once or twice.

how lucky he was to be able to remember it that way, to walk past you not reliving a single moment.

but you couldn't. how could you forget when the feeling of his fingertips still ghosted your skin. how your lips still tingled, waiting in anticipation as they remembered the feeling of his; soft, 'loving'.

when you could still practically feel sunlight's kiss, as its rays set on the two of you, drunk in a park. the wind blowing through your clothes, music still blaring through your ears - heart racing on as you peddled even harder alongside him, riding into the horizon.

you really thought you could die, happy. he made you happy. from the stupid grin you shed when staring into his eyes - how blue his eyes really were! or how you felt so grounded, safe in his arms.

would you be wrong to call it love? you laughed at the thought initially, he was your bestest friend, but the thought always choked you up in the back of your throat. you would have never let him know, of course. no possibility or 'implied' look would ever be worth losing the love you felt with him there, even if his heart was someone else's.

but why did he?

you didn't care if friends didn't know how the deepest crevices of each others beds felt, because being in his just felt so right. you didn't care if friends didn't hold each other - not the way you did. but who are you to say what's right between friends?

especially knowing that friends wouldn't just leave each other the way he did either.

that's what really hurt. friends fall out, oh you knew they did. but friends didn't leave each other after doing what felt like so much more than just friends. they didn't stay silent while the other was hurting, or be the very sole reason of the other's sleepless nights.

and he sure as hell shouldn't have been the reason that your tears filled your pillow with sadness, body so weak, so numb to point where you felt like nothing more than a vessel, bearing the worlds weight in sorrow. to the point where the migraines you had, your brain feeling as though it would split from the mere thought of him, every waking day, felt incurable by advil; the breath of life that you took whenever you were with him, now barely passing your lips without getting silenced by sobs and distant memories of what you thought was love.

would you be wrong to call it love? no, you wouldn't. but was the love worth it, if it only meant you lost the one person that made loving feel real again? even if it being him was wrong, was it worth it for it to be, for you to be so naïve, and allow yourself to burn for someone that couldn’t even bare a flame? was it worth feeling alive, if it only meant you would sink to your knees, begging to be unburdened by the sin of loving a heart that was never yours?

you wouldn't know. because as much as you could convince yourself that you were over him. as much as you could spare him glances without your heart hurting, you knew there was always a part of you that prayed to have never felt it in the first place.

#angst #angst drabble #drabble #reader insert #angst imagine #needed to get this out of my drafts #instead of being emotional over him now im emotional over how beautifully i can execute feeling hurt

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hehosts-moved · 1 year ago

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— what are you seeking?

REN: ACCEPTANCE

"i look in the mirror and don't recognize the face staring back." // oh, little songbird, when did you stop singing? why do you let yourself fade into the background, so sure you're not worth seeing? who convinced you that you are nothing but empty air? for as long as you can remember, you've screamed at the sky to be noticed, to be seen, but that never quite worked, did it? so you accepted your role. you learned to bite your tongue, to watch, to fade away. it's easier that way, isn't it? better quiet than ignored. at least this way, you have some control over the situation. but it stings, doesn't it? the more you quiet yourself, the more you force yourself to fade away, the harder it is to reach you. you're losing yourself...and that terrifies you, doesn't it? what you seek is acceptance, to be seen and loved and listened to. and, little ghost, you deserve it. you are worth knowing. i see you. now let others do the same. step into the sunlight and sing, little one. i believe in you.

YORI: FORGIVENESS

"what should i apologize for; what i am or what i'm not?" // oh, little hero, how close are you to crumbling under the weight on your shoulders? how heavy has that heart of yours gotten? how deeply has the guilt burrowed into your bones? how permanently has the grief been seared into your soul? you were so tender, and the world so cruel. loss after loss after loss, each another chip on your shoulder. because you deserved it, didn't you? if you could be better...faster...stronger...smarter...then maybe it wouldn't have happened. right? the blood stains your hands, and it won't wash out will it? but darling, it's never been your fault. you've learned to turn the rage and the regret, the guilt and the grief, inwards. if you're hurt, it's your own fault isn't it? because then there's a reason for it, because it gives you some semblance of control, doesn't it? what you seek is forgiveness, for your perceived wrongs. but oh, little skeleton, you do not need it. stop blaming yourself for what was beyond your control. let go of the past. grow. and learn to breathe with both of your lungs. stop choking on your own self hatred. the weight will ease, i promise. i love you.

JI-HUN: PEACE

"i survived because the fire in me burned brighter than the fire around me." // oh, little soldier, how long have you been at war with yourself? how much of yourself have you lost to the fire that's made its home in your heart? oh, but who can blame you? for as long as you can remember, you've had to face the world alone. all bared teeth and bloody knuckles. you learned young the only person you could rely on was yourself, didn't you? learned that the others would leave you to the wolves? and so you learned how to fight, how to stand tall even if you stood alone, how to shed the softness that wounded you before. but that isn't very sustainable, is it? the embers you swallowed, the fire you cloaked yourself in, it doesn't just burn the world around you. you have watched piece after piece of you go up in smoke: your hope, your smile, your mercy. what you seek is an end to the seemingly endless burning. and, little phoenix, you deserve it. please, breathe out. lean on me. the world isn't as cruel as you've made it out to be: it is okay to stop fighting. it is okay to let go of that anger. there is so much more to you, so much more that you have. the serenity you seek can be granted, but only once you are willing to work on letting go of the hate you've harbored for so long now.

TAGGED BY: taken from @vonerde TAGGING: you!

#i love doing these #i would have done goro and deng but it was getting long rip !! and hina too rip rip #these are all very fitting :'((

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lire-casander · 2 years ago

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#36 feeling bad when the other is having a hard time

feeling bad when the other is having a hard time original prompt list here

Robert’s health is rapidly deteriorating. Everyone can see it, and now even his daughters are aware of it. Apparently, Owen’s brother had told them before their trip to attend the wedding, and they’d taken to the news quite well.

Probably, Carlos thinks, because they hadn't seen until that moment what Huntington’s disease does to a person.

It’s not just the deterioration of Robert’s physical condition — the tremors that are harder to hide and the difficulty in remembering certain things. It’s also that, some time along the way, and not that far from that very moment, Robert will cease to be himself, becoming instead a ghost of the man he once had been.

But the disease is also taking its toll on Robert’s family. In the short time he’s known her, Carlos can tell Sydney looks exhausted; it’s the caretaker curse, he thinks. The girls don’t seem to understand what the illness is doing to their father’s health to its full extent, but Carlos is sure they will soon enough. Although it’s not only the girls he’s worried about.

TK thinks he can hide his pain from Carlos, but he’s got a trained eye on soul battlefields. He can tell when TK’s hurting, and this is one of those times. They’ve talked a lot in the past few weeks, ever since they found out about the hereditary condition Owen’s estranged father had gifted them all with. Finding out both Owen and TK should have been a relief, but TK hadn’t really looked happy about it. Instead, Carlos has noticed that his fiancé doesn’t really finish his food anymore and that he fidgets much more than before.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks one night, the day before their last family dinner as fiancés.

“Talk about what?” TK answers without another question, raising one eyebrow at him.

“About what’s stressing you,” Carlos says, pointing at the way TK’s been pushing his vegetables around his plate. “And don’t tell me it’s wedding jitters. I know it’s deeper than that. I know you.”

TK takes a moment to himself, as though he’s pondering whether or not he can trust Carlos with whatever this is. And to Carlos’ utmost panic, he suddenly drops his fork and begins to cry.

It takes Carlos a second to stand up and rush to TK, pulling him into his warm embrace. “I’m here,” he whispers into TK’s ear. “I’ve got you.”

He rocks TK back and forth gently as his fiancé cries, TK’s tears wetting Carlos’ shirt where TK’s face is pressed against Carlos’ chest. It’s an almost unbearable feeling; Carlos’ heart breaks a little with each tear that TK sheds. He resorts to humming the song his mother always sang to him when he was a little kid and he was hurting, but not even that stops TK’s wails from echoing through the loft.

“I’m sorry,” TK hiccups. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“I think you do,” Carlos says softly, “but you’re scared to tell me.” When he feels, more than sees, TK nodding, he continues, “I’m here. I’m your soulmate, remember? You can tell me anything.”

“It’s just—I’m relieved that I won’t develop Huntington’s,” TK confesses. “But I’m so mad at myself because of that. Because my uncle is dying from it, and my cousins will have to grow up without a father, and he will never see them graduate from college, he will never walk them down the aisle, and they won’t be able to call him whenever they have a problem and I—”

“Hey, hey,” Carlos cuts him off. “Breathe, just breathe. “It’s okay to have conflicting feelings, baby. It’s a difficult situation.”

“I just think life’s so fucked up sometimes,” TK sniffles. “I’ve just found out I have extended family. Uncle Robert is so cool. And Aunt Sydney and the girls. Why do they have to go through it? I know what it’s like to lose a parent, I have a brother who’s growing up without his mother and it kills me. How am I supposed to be here tomorrow night and smile at them and act as though nothing bad’s happening when he’s dying? When he wants to die?”

“I know your father has told you this before,” Carlos says after a moment. He chooses his words carefully through his own pain. “But we all have a death sentence hanging over our heads. We’re not promised tomorrow. So we might as well enjoy life to its fullest while we can. That’s what your uncle is doing.”

“But he’s asked Dad—”

“We can’t judge his decision,” Carlos continues, ignoring TK’s attempt at interrupting. “I know you don’t like it, but we have to respect it. We can’t understand anyone until we’ve walked a mile in their shoes, TK. But I get it,” he says softly, holding TK closer and tighter. “You have every right to be upset.”

TK nods, sniffling heavily until his crying resumes; he grabs a handful of Carlos’ shirt in his fist and squeezes, grieving for what could have been and mourning for what will never be.

After what seems like an eternity, TK’s crying subsides; Carlos tries to move back to see TK’s face, but his fiancé holds on for dear life, his grip almost hurting him, so Carlos does the only thing he can think of.

He holds on right back to TK.

#lire's 40 to the 40s #prompt 36: feeling bad when the other is having a hard time #prompt 36 #tarlos #tk strand/carlos reyes #carlos reyes/tk strand #911ls #911 ls #911 lone star #robert strand #mentions of huntington's disease #mentions of neurodegenerative disease

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curious-minx · 1 year ago

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Hey! Look over here! This is NOT SPAM! Get $$$! Get ORB

I haven’t been on Tumblr.

I haven’t been on even though Deadpool joined.

I haven’t bothered posting about much of anything, because the Internet is made for bots and spamsters; fans and haters. I like to believe I am none of these things and more. I am a depressive, pot smoking, clean water enthusiast. I am constantly recovering from the psyche terrorism that simply being alive in 2023 in NYC can cause everyday. And no, I am not a New Yorker nor will ever be one. I simply don’t want car. Anyway, whenever I open any of my dormant social media accounts whether it is Tumblr or IG all I ever see is the spammy siren call of a mid, never my type, cyber scammer wanting me. Wanting my time, money and attention. Joke’s on them! I am in the red except with time and time allows me to introspectively masturbate away all future and past regrets.

And yet. I must open up and lay my soul to bare. To do it if for nothing else to appease my under heated haters. Haters come out wherever you are! I know you followed me from the atease Radiohead message board where you lovingly photoshopped my picture on a bukake. That kind of cyberbullying took real effort. Dudes rock. Gender dysphoria and depression and late capitalism. Dudes soft.

Jenny Hval somehow is popular as Taylor Swift in my cyber reality and all these girlies cannot stop themselves. Brian Wilson is alive but also a ghost. There are artists painting sunsets that appear better than actual sunsets. Using New Mexico browns, pinks and mysterious blues. Colors that no nail appliqué can even show. Cinema used to be brighter and less dull. I want to live in a world bursting with color where all land privatization has been overturned. I want to frolic and mosey in the woods all my life long. I simply no longer see the desire to labor, to shed myself for any kind of corporation. I used to want to be an actor someone you could really build a parasocial relationship with. Get that branded bag! But now I want to be a blurry sepia photo hiding in your neon hotel bible drawer sans bible. The picture looks like a friend I had back in highschool who lost his tooth in a basketball game gone awry. Aside from the photo there’s only a turquoise flask with a rosy cartoon saxophone in the drawer. Taking up space. Good thing I don’t drink anymore. Too vain for that kind of dehydration. And it’s all been done to death.

I am a proud day into night sleeper. I want to sleep longer than the lady in My Year of Rest and Relaxtion. I want to rip harder than van Winkle. And no one can take away what makes us dysfunctional. Sure, every employer, land owner and any other genteel, fair tormentor knows and claims ownership of what makes you good and special, but the parts of myself that make The Neurotypical, Action Figure Owners, Capital Shakers, Christian Trap and Traitors, And Workaholic Girl Bosses shiver and sick with disgust. Those parts of myself: The vanity, the sloth and dreaminess that can be xeroxed, entered into infinite search engines and reconfigured Bigger and Better. Bigger and better closet space. Bigger and better floor plan space. Oh this annex of the apartment would be perfect for my ring light rig! And you could use this as your crafting galaxy! I can really see me making content in a place like this.

LISTENING TO:

#memoir #diary entry #spam bots #depressing shit #tw depressing thoughts #tw #new york city #joan baez

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alittlebitoftruthcan · 1 year ago

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‘Osho, your jokes are far out! Ease up a little on the priests. I rejoice with existence because of your enlightenment! I feel good to be here, to be home after years of searching.’

Deva Chintana, I am sorry if it hurts you. I know that Deva Chintana has been a nun. She has been courageous. She dropped out of the monastery and became a sannyasin. And my jokes about the priests must be looking a little hard to her, naturally. I should have thought of her. I will be more careful in the future, Chintana.

A joke for you: The pope died, and naturally assumed that he would go to heaven. So, dressed in all his papal finery, he went striding up toward the Pearly Gates, brushed past Saint Peter, and made straight for the entrance. ‘Hey, you! Where are you going?’ shouted Saint Peter, and two guardian angels stepped forward to bar the way. ‘Look-a here,’ said the pope. ‘I am-a da popa.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Da popa!!! I am-a da popa of da Catholic-a Church-a and I wanna go to heaven.’ ‘The pope?’ said Saint Peter. ‘Never heard of you. We don’t have anyone of that name in our books, do we, Gabriel? No, sorry sir, you cannot come in.’ ‘Hey, come on! I am-a da popa! You gotta let me in. Ask-a God da Father—he knows me!’ Saint Peter calls God the Father: ‘Hey, God, this is Saint Peter—gate duty. Sorry to disturb you but there is a guy here who calls himself the popa and wants to come inside—says you know him.’ ‘Who?’ asks God the Father. ‘The popa.’ ‘Who?’ ‘I think that’s what he said.’ ‘No, never heard of him.’ ‘Sorry, pope—God the Father says he doesn’t know you.’ ‘What? But leesten, I am-a da popa. He must know me! Look-a here, you ask God da Son. For sure he knows me—I am-a his representative on da earth-a, he must-a know me!’ Saint Peter calls God the Son, but the answer is the same: ‘The pope? No, I’ve never heard of him!’ The pope is in despair: ‘Look-a, you gotta help me. Ring-a the Holy Ghost—for sure he knows me! I am da popa—da popa of the Catholic-a Church-a, the spiritual representative of Jesus Christ-a on da earth-a!! He has just gotta know me!’ Saint Peter calls the Holy Ghost. ‘Hmmm, the pope, you say!’ answers the Holy Ghost. ‘Hmm, yes, I’ve heard that name before somewhere. Wait a minute! He’s that bastard who goes on spreading rumors about me and Virgin Mary. Tell him to go to hell!’

Chintana, I will try my best. But the priests are the priests; they are the ugliest people on the earth, the most cunning and the meanest, although their appearance is totally different. I am not saying that there are not some good people. Some good people are also caught in the net, but those good people are childish. Those good people are gullible, those good people are easily exploitable.

Humanity has to get rid of the priesthood, only then can there be religion. They have been very destructive. It is because of them that the world is not religious yet. They have divided humanity instead of making humanity one whole. Much more blood has been shed in the name of religion than in the name of anything else. In fact, I am not really hard on them, I am very soft with them, they need to be hit harder.

When I am hitting them, I am not really hitting them, but simply hitting your conditioning. What do I have to do with the pope or the shankaracharya or the imam or Ayatollah Khomeiniac? I have nothing to do with these people. But when I hit them I am simply hitting the chains inside you that keep you in bondage.

My jokes about the priests are just to help you to come out of the prison, laughing. I don’t want it to become a serious affair for you to come out of the prison, because if it becomes a serious affair you will be affected by your seriousness and you will carry that load with you. And there is every danger that you will start projecting your seriousness on me. I can free you from the priest very easily, but the danger is that you may start projecting all that you have been projecting on the priest, on me. That is not freedom at all; only your chains are changed.

— Osho (The Dhammapada: The Way of the Buddha, Vol. 10)

#osho #priests #conditioning #prison #freedom #jokes #seriousness #lbotca

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spadesolace · 2 years ago

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countdown

pairing: highschool au! minji x fem! reader

warning/s: angst, internalized homophobia

spring cleaning was a chore you hated but also enjoyed, most of the things you put away haven’t seen the light of day for years. to see some old class pictures in high school, cringy letters you’ve received and questionable literary works you’ve done (gosh, were you really that down in the dumps to write something horrific?) digging deep enough, something caught your eye, an item that you probably just threw in to clean up some space. a bracelet with your initials and someone else. who did you know that had the initials KMJ?

Kim Minji.

something feels heavy, clutching for your chest, breathing unevenly. no, you told yourself that you won’t cry because of her again. everything hurts, somehow it feels as if you can’t cry but you’re shedding tears, the room feels a bit smaller, too small for your liking, and everything is closing in on you. countdown from 10.

10.

Kim Minji…

do you remember me?

was our friendship a waste?

what was it that made you push me away?

was it the way I acted?

was it my feelings?

you know I can’t control it.

if i could…

would things be different?

would things be the same?

“Y/N?”

turning around, you saw minji running to you. dazzling smile that would make heads turn and not look away, her melodic laugh, and the way her eyes shined as if they were the galaxy. letting the girl come to you as she started walking next to you, there was no need to rush, it's only a walk to the library for your english class.

“look what i made.” she showed you her bracelet, a friendship bracelet, with her initials. it had the colors of blue, black, and white. cute.

minji started explaining how she learned it within a day, even giving you your own but did you want it? well, yes, but it was a friendship bracelet, shouldn’t minji’s initials be yours? probably not, you’re overanalyzing things again, so you took it despite having doubts.

in the middle of the day, before you could go home, minji stopped you on your tracks. exchanging bracelets because hanni told her it was supposed to be the other way (so, you were right), letting her do her thing as she took off her bracelet and wore it on you. something simple and you’re already blushing, it's not like she’s proposing despite having a few thoughts about it. such a simp.

you were self-aware of your feelings for minji and it was getting a bit harder to keep it to yourself but its not like you’re going to confess. there was no point in confessing, minji wasn’t like that, right?

maybe you were wrong, minji came running to you after hearing certain rumors of hanni liking minji in a more than friends way. she was considering it, actually thinking of giving her a chance and now… you just feel empty. there was no advice coming from you or the coldness in your tone was evident, minji wasn’t dense, she just saw right through you. did you act upon your feelings? as if.

minji wasn’t like that, right? she didn’t like hanni that way, if she did you would have known. you were in denial, jealous, a bit possessive but you didn’t have the right to feel that way. just a friend, best friend, close friend, classmates, nothing more. a relationship with minji was a fantasy that you wished for every time, from a wishing well, a shooting star, the candles on your birthday cake, and holding your breath through a tunnel (which was risky). you knew the consequences, it was made aware to you whenever your emotions get the best of you; holding her tighter, cold shoulder, passive-aggressive statements, and sometimes kissing her hand… you were deep in denial.

until she confronted you, through chat, not even in person.

the rest of the school year, you simply messaged her but to no avail, she ghosted you. sending your goodbye on graduation day, minji became a thing of the past as you finally took the bracelet off and said goodbye to that chapter. she was your first love and it brought you pain, misery, and a lot of trauma.

the second time you fell, you didn’t confess, doubting everything, she showed you the beauty of the world and how to love yourself (as cliche as it is). you would do anything for her, because you actually felt loved.

“Y/N?” now, you’re back in your closet, holding your chest, while the bracelet was now on the floor. did you fall asleep?

“its ok, take deep breaths, what happened? another panic attack?” slowly opening your eyes, finally seeing your girlfriend soothing your back as your breathing finally went back to normal.

“y-yeah… just saw this and things went to shit.” you tried laughing at it but she only looked at you concerned, finally noticing the bracelet, you heard her curse under her breath.

“its ok, haerin. i’m fine… how long was i out?”

“about 10 minutes, your mom panicked and called me immediately.”

after that, haerin helped you with spring cleaning, letting her finish the one with your high school items to avoid any more incidents. your mind wandered, does she miss you? did she regret what she did? or was everything nothing to her?

minji is the past, haerin is your present and your future. still, you wanted to send your thanks to minji for helping you grow as a person. wherever she is, you hope not to see her again.

“y/n, come on, let’s get some ice cream.” minji was right, you and haerin really had a thing going and you regret not taking it early.

#minji x reader #kim minji #kim minji newjeans #kim minji x reader #newjeans #newjeans imagines #newjeans x reader #kpop x reader #kpop gg #angst

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years ago

Text

—lay me in the tall-grown grass in a shallow grave; steve rogers & bucky barnes

pairing: steve rogers x black!reader x bucky barnes

word count: 14175

warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, rough sex, threesome, throat fucking, anal sex, butt stuff, face slapping, hand jobs, blow jobs, male masturbation, size kink, degradation, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, cum play, double penetration

squares filled: @buckybarnesbingo C5: bucky/steve ; @steverogersbingo B1: the serum enhances his senses beyond measure ; @star-spangled-bingo G1: "well, home is home, you know"

request: "there's no way anyone is that innocent" + breeding kink + praise kink

author note: so, this is a month overdue but this is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 2 years of darkness challenge! this kicked my ass, but it finally came together thanks to some porn (please familiarize yourselves with owen grey and small hands) and @tropicalcap beautiful imagination. please enjoy :)

line divider by @whimsicalrogers ; title inspired by lord huron long lost

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Steve tosses the two slices of wood towards the rest of the pile and places a new log on the tree stump in front of him. The sun beats down on his bare back, sweat dripping from his brow, down his nose, slipping right off the tip and splatting on the wood underneath him. He shakes his head slightly and then wipes at his forehead out of irritation with the back of his hand to get the long blonde strands of hair out of his face.

Hot air pushes out of his mouth before he heaves the axe back into the air, his right hand sliding down the handle as the blade slices through the air. Thwack. The wood splinters in two, throwing small, broken pieces into the air as the halves fall to the ground. He bends to pick them up, tosses them into the pile and starts all over again with a new log.

There’s movement in the corner of his eye— an ornery Bucky Barnes moving past, pulling a tattered old shirt over his head as he heads towards the stream. He had a long night. Nightmares filled with old ghosts. The countless faces and screams of his victims. A rather harrowing fight with Steve after Bucky shot up out of his bed, unfamiliar with his surroundings. Unfamiliar with Steve. Now they have a broken kitchen table, two chairs— each with a random amount of legs— four busted doors, and now he’s got to figure out how to board up the windows.

Bucky seems better this morning, quiet, but that’s not unusual— even apologized over his bowl of corn flakes for slipping the night before. Not that it’s his fault, and Steve would never blame him, but getting rid of the seventy year HYDRA influence is proving to be harder than what he thought.

“I thought you wanted to cut your hair?” Steve calls, cutting his eyes towards the rotting tree stump as Bucky sheds out of his pants.

Steve tosses his eyes back in time to catch Bucky shrug before he steps into the cool water, hissing soft at the abrupt temperature change, “I’m not rushing,” Steve answers quick, “It’s just… we can’t go around looking like Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes anymore.”

“America’s golden boy and his unstable, untrustworthy, can’t be rehabilitated, murder buddy, you mean?”

Steve places a hand on his hip, eyes furrowing as he watches Bucky float aimlessly in the water, blinking slow towards the sky, “That’s not who you are, Buck.”

“That’s exactly who I am,” Bucky bites back, cutting his eyes back to Steve, “No matter how bad you want to, you can’t—” Bucky’s words stick in his throat when Steve turns away abruptly, then holds up his hand to silence him, “What is it?”

Steve turns his head slightly, listening. Bucky stands, pushing the water off of his head as he runs his hands over his hair, “What is it?”

Steve takes a breath, something sweet— perfume— filling his nose, “Someone’s here.”

“How many?”

“Just one,” Steve mumbles, his breaths getting deeper as the smell intensifies, “But it’s not—”

“How far?”

“A couple of miles, maybe three or four,” he reaches out, catching Bucky by the arm as he rushes by, “Buck, wait.”

“I can take one guy, Steve. I just don’t want to do it naked.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s not someone from the Government.”

Bucky huffs, clenching his jaw as he stares at Steve, “HYDRA then?”

All Steve can do is shake his head, “HYDRA doesn’t wear perfume.”

~~~

You squint as you drive slow, pinching the handwritten directions between your fingers and the steering wheel. The paperweight you call an iphone lost its wifi connection hours ago, and then actually died several miles back, so it’s just you, a sheet of paper with half ass instructions scribbled on it, and your car venturing down a gravel, overgrown road. You’ve lost count how many times you’ve literally prayed to every God you know that you don’t get a flat— because, you know, that happens to stupid girls like you that just take off without telling a soul you’re leaving.

The radio fades in and out as you go, more static than music. Quick eyes dart around from side to side, finding nothing more than the lush of trees and grass and a few pops of color from random wildflowers. A frazzled mind screams at you. This is crazy, you’re crazy… but you dull the voice and just grip the wheel harder. You blink, cutting your eyes to the passenger seat, the deed to your new home staring back at you.

You tear your eyes away, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you press numb fingers into your temple and rest your elbow on the door. Funerals always made you queasy, no matter whose it was. This one happened to be for a long lost aunt, who you knew nothing about but she somehow knew a lot about you. Her love for you, a child she never laid eyes on physically, shown through every word she wrote in her will.

To my beloved niece. I leave the oldest, most precious heirloom in our history. The very house where our lineage began some two hundred years ago. Take care of it, thrive in it, let it inspire you. For you are more than you’ll ever know. Aunt Bea.

For you are more than you’ll ever know

Tears sting the backs of your eyes just having the words flit around in your brain again. With the backs of your fingers, you rub your lips trying to fight the urge to cry. The gravel road and trees in front of you go blurry as you tighten your hand on the wheel. You just need to get there. Maybe fix it up a bit, make it yours, start a garden. Become one with nature… because you honestly can’t handle having life run you over anymore and you’re sick and tired of being sick and tired all the time.

If you ever needed a reset button, it’s now and this house is it.

There’s a slight turn in the road. You take it slowly and then, just like it was dropped out of the sky, there it is. Home.

Long, green vines slither up the sides, the grass and wildflowers probably as high as your hip. An old, weathered rocking chair sits in the corner of the porch, a small flower pot with a long dead plant right next to the door. The roof a little lopsided, weighed down underneath an overgrown tree, and two of the three steps leading to the porch look to be rotted, but a smile covers your face anyway as you stare out of the windshield.

There’s a bond between you and this old house already. A strength is here, a warmth— the air even smells sweeter as you exit your little Volvo. Generation after generation of your family have walked in this grass, worked this land, and now it’s all yours. Even though you don’t know these people, a need to make them proud fills your chest.

You grab your suitcase and move to the front porch, barely navigating the rotten steps before your high heel gets stuck in a hole in one of the boards. Who needs four inch heels out in the woods anyway. The boards on the porch creek and squeak as you move towards the front door, more of them needing to be replaced than not.

One, two, three jams of your hip against the door later, and you’re finally inside. Stagnant dust fills the air from all of the new movement, but you breathe a sigh of relief. The inside is definitely in better shape than the outside. White sheets cover the furniture, and beneath a layer of dust is brand new wood flooring. The kitchen has a new sink, and a relatively in shape refrigerator. A toaster still in the box sits atop the granite countertop.

Great uncle Ernest was busy when this was all his.

You run your fingers over the countertop as you move towards the back door just off to the right of the refrigerator. As you pull it open, the top hinge gives, separating from the rotting door frame, sending rusted nails and the hinge itself to the floor. A loud thud sounds through the house when the bottom of the door slams against the floor, leaving you to jump back and shout, clutching your chest all the while.

“Fuck!”

Alright, so great uncle Earnest didn’t get as far in with the renovations as he’d planned. Nothing you can’t handle.

You push through the screen door (where most of the screen is missing) and find yourself on an uneven, boards missing back porch. With a hop, skip, and a jump for fear of falling straight through, you’re standing in the backyard, pulling off your pumps so you can feel the dirt and grass. You blink slow, hands on your hips, staring back at your fixer upper, the reality of it all starting to swirl.

It’s gonna take a lot— money, time, effort— to get this place livable after sitting vacant for almost five years. You’re also no handyman. How the fuck do you replace a door? Where do you get a door? Does Amazon even deliver this far out?

Heavy hands fall to your sides as you let out a huff. Don’t start, you chide yourself, you wanted a sign and you got one. Take that shit and quit complaining.

Plus, it’s Amazon. They deliver everywhere.

The rush of water starts to fill your ears, fading in as you start to pay attention to the chirps of birds and buzzes of little insects. Bare, manicured feet start stepping through the wild, tall grass, black French tipped fingers brushing it off to the side as you pass through.

Low hanging branches scrape along your head, old apples from a ripening, unattended apple tree litter the ground as you step into damp dirt. Whatever thoughts you had mere moments before, fuck off back into the depths of your brain as your eyes settle on the rushing stream just a few feet away. The water is clear, rippling and burbling, little green and blue fish swimming along.

The earth fills your nose, the grass, the dirt, the water— you’ll learn how to fish. You’ll learn how to install a door, and how to rip up old slats, and replace broken windows.

Because you’re supposed to be here.

~~~

Two sets of blue eyes peer through leaves and broken branches, Bucky standing behind Steve as they gaze.

“You seen her out here before?”

Steve shakes his head soft, eyes trailing down your frame as you stand at the water's edge, “No. I didn’t even know there was a house down this far,” He blinks again, “It’s hidden,” the words hesitate, “By um, by all the trees.”

Bucky slides his eyes to the back of Steve’s head before moving up beside him. He inhales deep, pulling in the sweet rose scent of your perfume, the soft undertones of vanilla and… strawberry? Maybe a concoction of body wash and body butter. It’s enticing, sending him right back to 1943. Dorothy… Dolores… Dot… smelled just like you. Hell, he can still hear that cute little giggle, feel those soft tits pressed right up against his chest as his big hands hugged those hips while she danced.

He knows Steve smells it too— if not more of you. Steve can probably hear your heart beating. Maybe smell the lingering traces of a man; cologne, aftershave, or just the musk of him.

Bucky cuts his eyes towards Steve again and just knows Steve can smell your pretty, sweet little cunt. Smell your slick— can practically taste it on the tip of his tongue. Smell the smallest bit of perspiration on your skin as the sun beats down on you out here. Hear you swallow behind those plump, mauve colored lips.

It’s moments like these that make Bucky jealous. He’d take Steve’s perfected serum over his clipped poison any day.

Then his mind really goes, but that’s nothing new for Bucky. Once a flirt, always a flirt— no matter how much HYDRA is in him. The soft, thick meat of your hips in his calloused hands. Pathetic whimpers stuffing his ears. Nipples hard and piqued as he prods at them. That mouth, God that pretty mouth stretched wide around his cock, tears leaking down your cheeks as you slurp him up.

“Don’t start,” a quick clap on the back brings Bucky back, “Come on, Buck.”

Bucky watches Steve turn and take a few steps before he glances back across the stream, blinking at you as you swish your hand back and forth in the water. Knees drawn into your chest, head lolled just to the side, eyes sad and lost.

His cock twitches in his pants.

Steve’s hushed voice breaks through the rushing water and the rustling leaves again, and Bucky tears his eyes away, turning on his heel, “I’m comin, alright? Stow the mom voice.”

“We have to stay to ourselves if this is gonna work.”

“Did I say anything?” Bucky answers quick.

Steve chuckles, pushing a wild branch out of his way as they walk side by side, “You didn’t have to. I saw how you were looking at her.”

“Yeah well,” Bucky starts, eyes darting back and forth as his mind moves back to you, “She’s gonna need help fixing that place up,” he shrugs a few seconds later, feeling Steve’s eyes on the side of his face, “She is, you saw the roof— that back porch.”

“Bucky—”

“I know she smelled good, Steve. What I could get was incredible, so I know you got every last little sublime detail.”

Steve’s eyes drift, the greens of the grass and leaves, the blue of the sky, the white of the sun rays all blur together as Bucky’s words fade. You’re sweet. Delicate. Soft and ripe— ready for anything, anyone to just take you away. Mark you. Own you.

He blinks.

Blinks again.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, scoffing as a smirk lingers on his lips, “You never did like to share, asshole.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It’s been a long time for Steve. Too many days to count, which turned into months, turned to years. He was good at ignoring it at first. Took him years to not let all the sounds, the smells, the visuals overwhelm him— going from barely able to see his own hand in front of his face to correctly identifying a semi-familiar face three hundred feet away in a crowd was… a lot. But he dealt with it over time. The sights, the sounds…

Every now and again though, a smell will get him. Make him weak in the knees. Keep him up at night— and he’ll probably be doing a lot of that tonight. Staying up, that is. Trying not to jerk his cock to the lingering smell of you. To smooth brown skin and plump lips. Long, manicured fingers. Gentle, round eyes. Steve licks his dry lips and tastes the salt on your skin— the little bead of sweat that slipped down your neck and into your cleavage.

“She looks young,” Steve murmurs, clearing his throat.

Bucky rolls his eyes, lips curling into a knowing smile, “Uh huh.”

“She does,” Steve counters quick, “She probably doesn’t even know who we are,” Bucky opens his mouth but Steve cuts him off, “Like, not old enough to remember us.”

Bucky drops his head back, widening his eyes, “Are you stupid? Or are you dumb? You broke me out of a federal prison six months ago, you’d have to be living under a rock to not—”

Steve whips around suddenly, eyes scanning the brush as he gets a whiff of roses and strawberries. Bucky follows suit, perking up as water splashes, leaves crunching with hurried footsteps. Out of habit, he clenches his fists, rolling his shoulders as the silver metal plates on his arm shift.

There’s muffled cursing, a quick squeal and then within the blink of an eye, you’re stumbling out in front of them, wiping at your forehead roughly as you try to find your footing.

“Oh,” you gasp, stopping short when you find two pairs of eyes trained stiffly on you, “Oh, uh, hi,” you smile bright, but quick, the gesture leaving your face as the two men shift their eyes towards each other before returning their gazes to you, “Um, sorry, I heard voices. I, uh,”

“Hi,” Bucky pipes up, offering a soft smile, “I’m Bucky, this is Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes, his lips parting before they purse as he stares over at the Winter idiot. It’s amazing, really. Six hours ago, Bucky was hurling knives at Steve’s face and reminding him that he is his mission. Put a pretty girl in front of him, he’s a goddamn teddy bear.

You push out a breath, the smile returning to your face, “Hi Bucky, Steve. This is probably really strange,” you laugh, “But um, do you think you could help me? Really quick?” you turn slightly, pointing your thumb over your shoulder, “My backdoor kind of, uh, fell off. Could one of you help me lift it back into place?”

Steve’s mouth opens, fully intent on having words come out of it but all he can do is blink— and then snap his lips closed again. Bucky cuts his eyes towards him. Seventy years and two hundred pounds of FDA approved American meat later, and he still can’t talk to women.

“Sure thing,” a smile nearly splits Bucky’s face in two, “Lead the way.”

You keep your hands wrangled within one another, right thumb pressed into your left palm, rubbing gently as you walk ahead of these two strange men. If your mother could only see you now— inviting two strangers right to your back door. Two strange men that you found walking randomly in the woods. They make slasher films that start out just like this. Dumbass.

But it’s too late now, as you’ve begun to cross the stream— in your heels, cuz, you know, you completely thought this through— and your modest shithole of a cabin in view. You step cautiously into the water, placing one foot slowly in front of the other, hands held out to your sides to balance yourself, but of course—

“Shit!”

You stumble, life flashing before your eyes as you start to fall sideways. Before you have a chance to hit the water, there’s a silver hand on your hip, and then another wrapped around your right bicep, keeping you upright and dry.

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” Bucky says, holding you still for a second, “Y’okay, sweetheart?”

With a quick glance over your shoulder and a nervous smile, you nod, “Yeah, th-thanks. This probably wasn’t the best choice of shoes.”

“No… probably not,” he chuckles, “Let me help you across.”

That big hand stays on your hip, the other sliding down your arm before it too lands a little higher up of your waist. You have to clear your throat and blink multiple times to try and focus on getting across the water and not on his firm, yet incredibly gentle grip. His metal fingers flex just a little, tightening, digging just a bit into your skin and hip, before they relax. When you get to the bank, his flesh hand caresses your elbow, holding it gently as he extends his arm to help you up into the grass.

A warmth spreads through your arm and down your body as you walk through the grass. On top of quitting your job and breaking your lease on a whim, you also have not been touched by a man in… let’s not get into that, okay? you gripe at yourself, we’ll work on that later.

“So, umm, yeah,” laughing nervously, you point towards the door, which has now completely fallen off the second and third hinges and laying flat on the floor, “Fuck, it wasn’t like that when I came out here. It was… fuck.”

Steve steps past you and moves just inside the door, eyes on the frame. He reaches up and runs his hand down the rotted wood, his red plaid button down lifting with the motion— exposing a sliver of skin. You instantly take a breath, a slow, deep one before dragging your bottom lip between your teeth. Eager eyes find a smattering of hair, just under his belly button as he reaches higher, shirt creeping up even further as he murmurs more to himself than anyone else.

“Wood’s rotted, so it won’t stay for long, but we can put it up for you for the night at least,” he says after a few moments, his eyes still moving up and down the side jamb, “If you don’t mind us ripping up your back porch, that is.”

You snap your eyes up to his, your brain playing catch up with the words, “Oh, um, why… exactly do you have to rip up the porch?”

“We can take a plank or two from the deck,” Bucky starts, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little, testing the old wood as he eyes it, “and nail ‘em into the rotted piece. Then screw the door into that until you can replace the whole thing.”

You nod, smiling again, “Sure, thanks. I’m planning on redoing the deck anyway. Do you need—” before you can get the words out, Bucky bends, grabbing the end of a random plank with his metal arm. With one swift yank, nails are flying, plopping in the grass as he rips it up and hands it to Steve, “ — a hammer?”

He winks at you, and your stupid stomach flutters, “I got it, honey.”

It’s been too long. The mere sentiments honey and sweetheart have you shaking. Touch starved and praise deprived. What a combo.

“I could use the hammer though,” Steve says, offering a smile, “Or a drill.”

“Right, yeah,” mumbling as you turn on your heel, “One sec.”

After rifling through a few drawers and a supply closet, you find a dead drill but also a pack of batteries, so you hand them over and lean against the fridge to watch. Fingertips prod at your bottom lip slowly as the two men get to work, Bucky deciding to rip a chunk of the rotted wood of the door jamb with his flesh hand this time. The sight makes you take another breath. It’s just so… yeah.

The two of them bicker, playfully, each thinking they know something more about installing a door than the other. Bucky makes another trip to the deck to rip up another board, breaking the damn thing over his knee like it’s a spaghetti noodle to get it to the size Steve needs. Your eyes start to drift again, finding more sun tanned skin as they reach and stretch and bend. Bucky’s tank top leaves little to the imagination— his deltoids and biceps flexing with each little movement.

Veins in Steve’s mammoth hands push up hard against his skin as he drills a repurposed board into the door frame. The arm of his shirt rides up, exposing a forearm covered in dark blonde hair. There you find another vein, prodding against his skin, creeping up his arm.

He’s flushed a little, Steve, his skin fairer than Bucky’s. You can see the red blooming across the top of his chest, across his collar bones, moving up his neck where it disappears into the thick beard on his chin and cheeks— it looks so soft. His beard. Your fingers start to itch, just wanting to feel it.

Bucky’s is lighter. More than stubble, but not a full grown creature just yet. It highlights his sharp jawline and chin; his lips. A little chapped, but pink and full for a man.

“Okay,” Steve huffs, the puff of air pushing his long hair out of his face, “That should do it. It’ll hold until you can get the whole jamb replaced.”

You push away from the fridge, hands and fingers intertwined because their mere presence makes you stupid, “Thank you so much. I wish I had something to offer you, like food or… something, for your help.”

“Oh no, that’s okay,” Steve smiles, running his hand through his hair, “Well, we better—”

“Are you out here all by yourself?” Bucky cuts in, glancing around the kitchen before taking a few more steps inside.

“Yes. I just inherited this place from my great aunt.”

“She passed?” you nod, “Sorry to hear that,” the soft in Bucky’s voice sends a ripple up your spine, “So, you’re gonna renovate this place by yourself? That’s a lot of work by the looks of it.”

You laugh, “Don’t remind me. But, uh, yeah, I’m gonna tackle it all by myself, unless Amazon can deliver a handyman and an electrician.”

“I don’t know about all that,” he chuckles, “but Steve and I can help— if you want, that is. We’re not doing much these days.”

Both you and Steve stare at him like he’s suddenly sprouted another head, “Oh no, no, no. I couldn’t ask you to do that. There’s so much to do and I’m sure you two have more important things to do than help me.”

With a shrug and a smirk, Bucky answers simply, “We don’t,” he turns his head, smiles wide at Steve, “Right bud?”

Bud. Steve could fucking kill him, “Right. It’d be our pleasure.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Bucky says, reaching out as he passes by you, letting his fingertips lightly brush along your forearm, “You can make us dinner when we’re finished.”

Bucky winks at you again and it takes every ounce of strength to stay on your feet. You open your mouth to speak, but kinda like Steve when you stumbled out in front of them, you can’t seem to find any words.

“We’ll be by tomorrow, okay? We’ll take you into town, get some supplies. But if you need us before then, we’re just a couple miles down the road— just follow the bend,” they both step out onto the back porch with you stopping just at the door, “Or you and those heels of yours can venture across the stream again. It’s a straight shot from there.”

You offer a weak smile and lift your hand as they move across the backyard, “Thank you.”

Bucky tosses another smile over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, sugar.”

Sugar.

God, you’re in trouble.

~~~

Steve rolls over hard, slams his head back into the pillow as he pushes out a hot breath. Tired eyes blink slow up at the ceiling, focusing on nothing at all as his mind wanders. The air is still, the heat still suffocating even in the dead of night. The fan spins slow. The wispy, old curtains covering his open window shift with a random, soft breeze. Crickets chirp. Water ripples in the distance, an animal moves through the sun dried leaves.

He blinks again and there you are, right in front of his eyes. You’ve got to be the sweetest little thing to cross his path in what feels like forever. The shampoo and body butter weren’t enough to drown out the smell of you. Heady. Thick. So feminine. His eyelids get heavy, slip closed as he lifts his hips from the mattress, adjusting a bit, having to take a deep breath.

Steve licks his lips again as thoughts of his hands grazing over your naked thighs, squeezing gently as your teeth dig into your bottom lip fill his head. The pads of his fingers find that little wet spot on your silk panties, tease your slit and folds through the material. You spread those legs for him with a little more coaxing from him, your back pressed against his chest, head lolling on his shoulder as his lips skip along your exposed neck.

A moan chokes in Steve’s throat when he palms himself, already rigid from the fleeting thoughts. Thick fingers wrap around his girth, squeeze the base before he tugs upward, real slow, all the way to the tip as he imagines how soft your cunt is. How wet. Warm. How he’d push two fingers in, stopping as you tense— squeal. Tits jiggling when you jump and gasp when he adds a third.

“Shit,” he huffs, the innate urge to scold himself pausing his hand.

But it’s too late for all that now, cock standing tall, a blush of red creeping across his thighs and up his neck. Stomach going tight as his flesh warms at his touch.

He wishes it were yours— the touch.

He’d finger fuck you real slow, right there on that back porch of yours. One of your small hands wrapped around the back of his neck, the other holding his forearm, nails digging into his skin as your hips roll into his fingers and cock.

Blue eyes pop back open as he rolls to the side, pushing his hand between the mattress and box spring to pull out a small bottle of lube. Bucky can’t mind his fucking business nowadays… he also never puts shit back where he found it and doesn’t understand the saying a dollop will do ya, so, this bottle of water based lube will stay hidden between the mattress and box spring.

They’ve been on the run for almost six months, Steve’ll be damned if a trip to a sex store gets them caught now.

A soft click breaks the silence, but Steve hesitates anyway. Bucky’s serum may not have enhanced his senses to the same hypersensitive degree as Steve’s, but the fucker can still hear a pin drop on a carpeted floor while a radio plays in the background.

The room temperature gel squirts easy in his hand, starts to warm as soon as Steve closes his mammoth palm around his hot cock, sending another ripple right down his spine. Hips start to rock as he finds a rhythm. Up, down, up, down. Fingertips sweeping over his wet tip before dragging back down to his stomach. He ruts up into his palm, stomach and balls tight as he pushes out a heavy breath.

Steve, you rasp, heady and thick, Steve, please baby. Fuck me, Steve.

A thick breath hitches in his throat as he imagines the words tripping off your tongue; so desperate and needy. A quick spurt of silk wets his cock head, dribbles down before his palm catches it. A tight, slow tug smearing it along his length as he fucks up into the canal of his hand again.

Free fingers slip down his side, find his strung up balls, heavy and swollen. He rolls them between his fingers, squeezes, imagines you grinding that perfect ass against his hard cock before reaching back to grab him. Begging him.

Steve. Fill me up. Stuff me full, baby. Please.

And he would— stuff you full. He’d ruck that black skirt right up over your hips, rip that thong in two. Teeth would find your earlobe, eager hands in your top, squeezing those perky, round, full tits as his cock head drags through wet folds— teases your slit.

Would he slam into you right away? Just as desperate as you are for it. Wanting to feel soft, hot muscles clamp around him. Or, would he sink in? Slow and steady, making you take him inch by inch. Squeaking and groaning all the while, fingernails dug into his thighs, clipped, broken, breathy words falling from wet lips and floating away with the breeze.

He’d grab a fistful of your wild hair, real tight. Yank your head back when you’ve taken every bit of his cock, ass flat against his stomach. Call you his favorite little dumb baby. Tell you how greedy your cunt is, how only he can satisfy that slutty hole. Kiss you hard and sloppy as you nod quick, murmuring and burbling— totally agreeable to each and every whim of his.

Yeah. That’s how he’d do it. Push in real slow, make you whine for it and tell him how much you need him. Then he’d slam into you. Not waiting for you to catch your breath. Not allowing you to adjust. He’d keep his grip tight on your hair, craning your neck back until he can almost see your eyes rolled up in the back of your head.

Steve’s chest is tight, his heartbeat in his throat, the rush of blood in his ears as he pumps his cock faster. The curl of his palm constricts to mimic the feel of you— wet, tense muscles enveloping him. He breathes in deep and the rose and strawberry is back in his nostrils. The faint hint of vanilla, a tinge of sweat. The sound of your skin slapping against his. The feel of your hips, your soft sides, thick nipples in his hands.

He wants them between his teeth, those pretty brown nipples. Wants to tease them with the tip of his tongue, while a lazy, long leg of yours is thrown over his hip— in the kitchen, up against the fridge.

Fuck. Maybe you’re a sensitive little thing. Maybe just him sucking your tits can make you come. His big hand shoved down the front of your open jean shorts, the pads of his fingers just barely brushing over your clit. Your hips rocking hard, trying to catch a feel against his hard thigh between your legs. Head thrown back, fingers in his hair. His name falling off your pretty lips, all flustered and stupid drunk off lust.

His hips flex once more and he’s tipped over the edge, long, hot strings of thick silk spurting. Teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to stifle his groans as he comes, wave after wave rolling through. It splatters on his stomach, rolls down the side of his cock and over his fingers as they continue their strokes, up and down, up and down, up and down. Squeezing, pads teasing a sensitive tip.

He pulls on his balls, hips rolling up into his hand as he groans a little louder, each one punctuated with another spurt. Quick flashes of broken images— your sweet mouth, naked tits, full, meaty hips, ass bouncing— dance before his eyes as he drains himself. He tips his head back, pushes the top of his head into the pillow as his mouth hangs. Cock now overly sensitive, each sweep making him shiver but he doesn’t want to stop. It’s too good— you’re too good and sweet.

The body is always weaker than the mind and Steve knows a thing or two about a weak body. It gives out before his visions of you, slamming him back down to the mattress, hips and hands slowing until they both stop. Breath heavy and labored, head rolled to the side, a hand slapping into the middle of his chest. He’s a mess, sticky and wet, but the relaxation that washes through him is unmatched.

A knock on the wall sounds seconds later, “Hey pervert, you finished?”

“Fuck you.”

“No dummy, I’m trying to fuck me. Gimme the lube.”

~~~

It’s hot, and in more ways than one, but that’s not the only reason you’re having trouble concentrating on getting these hydrangeas in the dirt. It’s been two days of watching two men basically build you a new home. T shirts have come off, pants have sagged embarrassingly (for you) low. All the hammering and screwing, the light little curses that fall their lips making your brain go all… well, dumb.

And they’re both impossibly nice. Bucky with his sure thing, sugar. I got it honey, no problem. Steve and his yes ma’am. Here, let me get this outta the way. Need anything else? Sure, it may seem like just having simple manners to some, but to you, who’s been a welcome mat for any and every asshole that’s looked in your direction, it’s all about to make you combust.

You’ve purposefully kept your distance. Try to keep your eyes to yourself, put at least six feet between your body and their bodies when moving around them, but it’s really no use. Just having them here, in your space— the natural smell of man lingering in the air even after they’ve left, and God has it been a long time since you’ve been immersed in that smell— has cast a spell. A spell that forces your hand down your pants more often than not. Prunes. Your fingers are prunes.

Against your better judgement, you blink up from the flower bed, searching for a certain blonde eye candy. Steve is on the opposite end of the front porch, ripping up a rotted, but still two inch or more thick board with nothing else but his hands. Snaps it in half like a twig, like it’s nothing, and tosses the pieces into a pile behind him. He takes a second before grabbing one of the new boards and throws his head back, runs his fingers through his hair, shaking it gently back and forth.

A bead of sweat rolls down his chest, right between those two beautiful, sculpted tits of his and travels down his abs, absorbing into the tuft of dark blonde hair just below his belly button. There’s more veins. So, so many veins, pumping hot blood throughout his six foot something, two hundred plus pounds.

Steve then pushes a hand around the back of his neck, rubbing gently as he tilts his head towards the sky. Lips parted, long, dark eyelashes spread out over rosy cheeks. Then you’re thinking about teeth, your teeth, sinking into that thick neck. Sucking that hot blood to the surface, marking him up. Hips rolling into his, cunt stuffed with cock, his fingers prodding at your asshole. Your hands look small holding onto his broad shoulders, squeezing as hard as you can but he barely feels it, if at all— the cut of your nails in his skin.

One of those hands, wide and warm, holds your neck, squeezes, and you for damn sure feel it. Wet lips find the shell of your ear, teeth grab the lobe. Soft words, so soft that you almost miss them, all tied up and slurred and stupid with lust. You’re such a pretty girl. Hmm? Ain’tcha? There you go, honey. Just like that. Oh, that’s perfect.

His mouth finds your neck as you roll your head back, hips still rolling. Lips swollen and red snagging on your skin as he drags them lazily, down, down, down to your collarbone. Teeth nibble at the bone before he slides his tongue across it, all while one hand slithers up your back, grabs and holds onto your shoulder.

You squeak when he fucks up into you real hard, just once, so he knows you feel him. You like that, honey? You want it like that? Okay, sweet girl, lemme give you what you want...

Lunch.

It’s time for some goddamn lunch.

You’re on your feet in a flash, head down as Steve twists left and right, because of course now that your panties are stuck to your skin, it’s the perfect time for him to work out a kink in his back.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes trailing you as you practically run towards the front door.

“Yep,” you don’t even look at him— you can’t. Heat prickling across your skin as embarrassment follows quickly behind, “Just getting kinda hungry… chicken salad sandwiches okay?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Buck and I can head home—”

“My treat,” you cut him off, twisting the doorknob.

All thanks to Bucky, a blast of cool air hits you in the face as soon as you push through the front door with ease (Steve is to thank for the door). You wipe at your forehead and move into the kitchen, washing your hands before plucking random ingredients from the fridge, freezer and pantry. Eyeing the small mountain of lemons in the crisper drawer, a pitcher of lemonade would round out your impromptu lunch (and help cool down your libido).

After the chicken is boiling on the stove, you busy yourself slicing up the tart, yellow fruit, popping the halves into your new lemon press. You’ve liquified three or four halves before movement catches your eye, drawing them towards the square window right over the sink.

Bucky tosses a hammer into the grass, hands on his hips while he rolls his shoulders. Cranes his neck back and forth. Soon he’s pulling at his shirt, one hand bunching it between his shoulder blades before pulling it clean over his head. Tosses it into the grass too as he starts to move towards the stream, fumbling with the button and zipper of his loose jeans.

Your heartbeat grows heavy, breath kinda shallow as he shrugs out of the denim just at the stream's edge. Then his fingers are in the waistband of his boxer briefs. Pulling. You blink away, sending your eyes towards the floor as heat, from both excitement and embarrassment creeps up into your face. What a creep— you’re a creep!

But you’re blinking again. Blinking right back out the window as the muffled sounds of water sloshing about fills the space. Naked thighs, burly and tanned and hairy. Swinging between his legs as he moves deeper into the water.

Just like that, your mind is off into it’s little tangents and tributaries. On your knees, in front of him. A hand cupping your chin, a smile on his face as he pushes hair away from your forehead. He’s leaning down, pressing hot, chapped lips to yours real soft. Your hands, so small when gripping his hips, nails raking down hairy thighs. Wet against your eager lips, warm, wet cock head rubbing soft, back and forth, back and forth to coax your mouth open.

A hum, one of content and sheer happiness sounds in your throat when you’re full of him. Velvet tongue tracing the thick vein that runs the length of his cock, then flattening— molding itself around him. He’s heavy and hot in your mouth, pinning your tongue down, gently stroking the soft at the back of your throat.

Bucky sounds heavenly. Soft groans. Sweet and sugary— and he doesn’t care. He’s a man, comfortable and secure. Oh honey, he’d purr, you’re so good to me. So, s’good. So warm.

Little hands around his cock, stroking, twisting, wet and sloppy from where your mouth just was. There’s a salt sweet in the back on the tip of your tongue, and you hum again. Silky. A bloom of warmth as you press the tip of your tongue against the tip of his cock. Pumping, pumping, pumping with your hands.

Breath against your ear suddenly, more sweet words tripping off a tongue as a chest is pushed into your back. A mammoth hand slipping down your stomach and between your legs, fingers teasing a throbbing clit and swollen, sticky folds. You take him so good, baby, Steve praises, pushing one, two, three fingers into your achy cunt, filling you up as you suck Bucky right back into your mouth. Such a good girl.

A loud thunk sounds from outside, jolting you right out of your little fantasy. You gasp and jump, slam your eyes closed as you grab onto the sink— Steve’s muffled but sweet sorry permeating through the walls. You cover your face with your hands, laughing gently into them before groaning loudly and pushing out a huff.

You grab another halved lemon, shove it into the press, and squeeze the fuck out of that bitch.

Within the hour, you’re stepping out onto your seemingly finished back porch. It doesn’t creak when you walk across it. There aren’t any rusted, jagged nails sticking out, no more missing or uneven boards. Your heart— and pussy— flutter with joy.

Ice cubes clink against the glass of the cups in your hands, traipsing towards the stream as Bucky floats lazily, arms pushing through the water slow as he stares up into the sky. You thank God for the heavy breeze today, whipping the water a bit, ripples and burbles stirring it up so you can’t see all of Bucky as he floats. Just the droplets of water glimmering on his chest, neck, and face. His hair spreading out and swaying with the steady current.

Two blue eyes soon find you, head turning slow, a lopsided smile on his handsome face as you stop just at the edge. You clear your throat nervously, a smile of your own spreading as you glance away.

“No heels today?”

You laugh, closing your eyes as embarrassment washed through you, “Nope, not today. I uh, I made some lemonade, if you… want some.”

The water sloshes again, falls off of his shoulders and arms and slaps back into the main source. Bucky runs his hands over his head, pushing more water off before taking a few steps towards your outstretched hand. His fingers linger over yours when he takes the round glass, for a second too long before he pulls back, eyes on you as he takes a slow sip.

You sit in the grass, sending your gaze up the stream as you lift your glass.

“Damn girl,” he says after a slow moment, “This is good, not too sweet. Just how I like it.”

Pride swells in your chest, “Thanks, I don’t like mine super sweet either,” you take a breath, settle your eyes on your feet as you wiggle your toes, “It’s the least I could do for you guys. I also made some chicken salad in the house, I can make you a sandwich whenever you’re hungry.”

“That’s real sweet, doll,” he purrs, smiling again, “Thank you, but really, you don’t have to worry about it. We were going stir crazy out here with nothing to do.”

You nod slow, blinking back at him before averting your eyes again, back down the stream, thinking for a tick or two, “Have you guys… been out here the whole time?”

Bucky has a way of looking at you. Like he’s trying to pry into you, see the innermost working parts of your brain and heart. It makes you nervous, but the good kind of nervous where you don’t ever want to not have those eyes on you.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” you smile, tucking your knees into your chest.

A slow smile creeps onto his face, eyes dancing all over you, “Come on what?”

“I,” you hesitate, pushing out a hard breath as embarrassment flushes through you, “I know who you are,” your voice is hushed and you don’t know why… there’s no one out here but you and him. Oh yeah, cuz you’re dumb.

“Yeah?” Bucky teases, smile growing larger, “Who are we?”

You squeeze your legs together, brain going fuzzy and warm as he teases you. God. “Your faces have been all over the news for months. You haven’t even cut your hair for god sake.”

“You know,” Bucky starts, pointing a finger at you as he closes his left eye, “I’ve been meaning to get around to that,” laughter bubbles up and spills out of your mouth for the first genuine time in a long time. The sound makes Bucky smile harder, “I’m pretty sure most of the town knows it’s us too.”

“Maybe not,” you shrug, “From the looks of it, the average age around here is a cool seventy five. I don’t think they care.”

“That’s true,” he laughs, “Even though they’re all old enough to remember us first hand,” silence falls over the two of you, nothing but the wind in the trees and the soft rush of the water, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You look away from him, unable to take the constant stare from him any longer. You take a slow breath and shrug, “Everybody should have the chance to start over if they want, whenever and however they choose, so,” you swallow hard, dropping your head, “Plus, I think you two have been through enough, you don’t need me muckin’ it up.”

He blinks at you, eyes dropping just a bit, a seriousness settling in and on his features, “Thanks,” he answers simply.

A nod and half smile is all you can offer without that sadness you’ve been feeling lately creeping up in your throat, “Isn’t it lonely out here?” you ask, blinking at him over the rim of your glass.

He nods, shutting one eye as he tilts his head towards the sky, thinking over his answer, “Not really lonely, just kinda isolating, you know? If you can’t tell, I’m the social butterfly of the two of us.”

You laugh, nodding with him as you pick up on the sarcasm but appreciating his quiet way of picking up on your shifts and changing the subject, “Oh yeah, it totally oozes off of you.”

“I know it does, thank you for noticing,” he winks, “We don’t get into town much and usually Steve is the one that goes cuz, ya know,” he taps his temple, “Can’t really trust this thing yet, but it beats being rotting away in federal prison.”

A few beats pass as you play with a strand of grass, “I went to the Smithsonian a couple of years ago, saw that installation they put up for Steve— all the accolades and medals and shit… and he just walked away from it all, for you, for… what he believes in. That’s incredible— you’re incredible for enduring everything you have and still finding all this shit worth it. You two are just,” you can’t even find the words, “You must really love each other.”

“Well, home is home, you know,” he shrugs matter-of-factly, “He’s my brother— he’s never given up on me after all this time. I’d do it for him if I had too.”

“Boy,” you laugh a little, “They certainly don’t make men like you guys anymore. I can’t get somebody to buy me fuckin’ cup of coffee without expecting something in return. You two are lucky.”

Your words trail off, brown eyes blinking away from him again as the wheels turn in your brain. Bucky picks up on it immediately, tilts his head and smiles a little, “What?”

You shake your head, laughing again before taking a drink, “It’s nothing, just me overthinking.”

“About?” he prods after a second or two.

“I just,” you glance down the stream again, voice dropping low again, “I don’t think Steve likes me.”

He laughs. Like, really laughs. A throws his head back and claps his hands once or twice kinda laugh, “Oh hun,” he says after catching his breath, “Where’d you get an idea like that?”

“He’s just, I dunno, he’s short with me, barely looks at me most of the time,” you shrug, “But I mean, you two are fugitives from the goddamn United States government, I’d be suspicious of everything and everyone too,” Bucky’s laughter only grows, making you smile a little, “My social anxiety amuses you, huh?”

“No, no. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but, it’s just—” his eyes go wide with some sort of hidden knowledge as his smirk grows, “— he likes you. Believe me.”

“Well excuse me if I don’t because I sure can’t tell. He barely seems to like you most days.”

That tickles Bucky too, his laugh filling the air, “Him liking me isn’t certain from day to day, that’s for sure, but listen, he still thinks of himself as a hundred pound, socially awkward nerd. He hasn’t learned a damn thing in a hundred years — pretty girls made him nervous in 1940 and they make him nervous now,” you drop your head, trying to hide the smile growing on your face, “What do they say nowadays? It’s not you, it’s him.”

A laugh trickles out from behind your lips.

“Feel better?” Bucky asks.

You shrug, but nod, letting out a breath, “I suppose, yeah.”

He winks at you, smiling again, “Good.”

Then you two just kinda look at each other. Not saying anything, just looking— all over. Minds wandering and racing, then just stilling as the wind whips around you. Bucky tilts his head, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he looks you over slowly, another quirk of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey,” he says after a beat, taking another gulp or two of your lemonade, “You know what really gives me away?” He lifts his metal hand and wiggles his fingers, making you laugh.

“You certainly don’t try very hard to hide it.”

“Not around you anyway.”

You snap your eyes towards him as the words leave his mouth. Bucky’s head is tilted, wet hair pushed back, fat drops of water still dripping from the ends. He starts moving inward, towards you, each step exposing more and more of his chest and stomach— the dark, wet hair plastered underneath his belly button.

Bucky Barnes is not a shy man, and if you had any shame at all, you’d look away. But you don’t, have any shame that is, so you don’t. You let your eyes wander his lean, but incredibly toned body. There’s muscles on top of muscles, but there’s also scars. Littered across his torso and stomach, down his thighs and calves. Some silvery and old, others still dark and jagged— raised on his skin. Others are just ghosts of scars, barely there anymore and only visible when the sun and the water hit him just right.

He sits his empty glass in the grass beside you, the ice cubes clinking again. Grabs your glass from your hands and takes a sip. He pushes your knees open with his flesh hand, the bottom of the glass skimming over the right bend. Then he sits, his knees pressing into that little nook where your ass meets your thighs. Bucky places the rim of the glass to your lips and waits.

“Go on.”

You blink up at him but let your head tilt back with instinct. Part your lips as Bucky tips the glass back and allows the lemonade to spill slow into your awaiting mouth.

“Finished? Or more?”

His voice is soft, eyes on slits as he peers down at you through full lashes. You lick your lips and place both hands in the grass, palms flat, “More please.”

It’s needy the way you said it, light and full all at the same time. Another sound that pleases him. He tips the glass again, and again you accept the tart liquid, licking your lips when he pulls away.

“Let me ask you something, doll.”

Metal digits creep around your neck, the tips of his fingers pushing into your hair. He cradles your face and you can’t help but roll into his warm palm as his thumb sweeps just underneath your bottom lip. The other hand is around your neck now too, just kind of holding it, fingers scratching at the nape of your neck.

He tilts your head back, pushing the tips of his thumbs underneath your chin and your eyes flutter. A whir trembling in your throat.

“Who in their right mind let a sweet little needy thing like you wander around all alone out here?”

Warm lips are on yours before you can answer— if you were even supposed to. Bucky grabs your top lip between both of his, that pink tongue sneaking out, massaging the roof of your mouth before disconnecting with a smack. The tip of his nose sweeps over yours as he adjusts, kissing you again, harder this time. Pulls you into him with his hands, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks.

You’re staring at him— both surprised and unsure— when he finally pulls away, the smack of your lips like thunder in a confused brain. Bucky’s hands are still on your face, cradling your cheeks and chin, lopsided grin painted on his face as he blinks down at you.

“What is it,” he asks soft, “Cat got your tongue?”

All you can do is blink. Mind empty as your breath shallows. He leans in again, sweeps the tip of his nose over yours as he nuzzles in— kisses your top lip quick and soft, “You just don’t know, do you?”

A hum vibrates in the back of your throat as you push out a labored breath. Lips suddenly eager, heartbeat ticking up as his metal hand collars around your throat, “Mmph— know what?”

The words are thin. Nervous and trembling but his mouth eats them right up. Hot and confident as he kisses you, tongue running along the roof of your mouth as his thumb slowly passes back and forth over your throat.

“Just how sweet you are.”

Your reach for him after seconds pass, hands and nails finding wet hips as you moan into his mouth. He sits up on his knees but never breaks the kiss, now deep and a little desperate. Bucky sounds as he starts to prod at the button of your jean shorts, popping it quick before pulling on the zipper, “We can smell how bad you need it, girl— how bad you want it.”

Instinctively you lift your hips, allowing Bucky to pull your shorts down your legs. You curl them around his thighs, place your feet on the insides of his calves, fingers finding his skin again, raking up and down his thighs.

“Thought you were gonna Steve a goddamn heart attack,” he chuckles, grabbing at the hem of your shirt, rucking it up over your chest, “‘m surprised he can form a sentence when you’re around.”

Your tits soon fall free, soft skin bouncing and jiggling as he jostles you around a bit— gets you just right and close so he can peer down at you through those long, dark lashes. Fingers curled underneath your chin, thumb dragging over your lips.

“You just looked so lonely, sitting all by yourself that day. So sweet and sad, like you were—” a breath chokes in his throat as you push your fingers through the thick hair underneath his belly button, “— waitin’ for us. Fuck, baby,” he inhales sharp, a hiss like a snake slithering out of him, “I thought, there’s no way anyone is that innocent, but you are, aren’t you sweet girl? We’ve found the prettiest, sweetest, loneliest little thing in the world— ah,”

One long stroke of your tongue along his cock brings his words to a halt. You send your eyes up to his and take him slow, stretching your mouth wide as your tongue glides along the length. Bucky rolls his shoulders and lets out a focused breath, real calm and slow through his teeth and parted lips. The tips of his fingers prod at your nipples, tweaking them gently before palming your tits.

You wrap a hand around his hip, skip the other up his stomach to flatten your palm against his chest— give his nipple a little turn and pinch. His heavy cock jumps in your mouth and your eyes light up in pure joy.

“Oh,” he purrs, pumping his hips slow, holding steady when he feels the back of your throat, “You like that, sugar? You like makin’ a mess of me? Got me stumblin’ all over my words— shit, oh honey, this mouth is something special, ain’t it? Fuck,”

His words are clipped again by a groan, throaty and gritty as you pull back, your lips wrapped around his cock head. Your tongue swirls around, tickles that little spot on the underside. The same spot that makes all men tremble. His thighs tense as he inhales sharp.

Without a word, he slips out of your mouth. Pushes you back flat against the grass and falls over you, metal hand by your head, holding his weight, flesh hand around his cock, pushing the tip through your folds.

He teases you like that for a beat too long— pushing at your slit, barely poking inside before pulling out to rub against your clit. You whine, leaning up, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and pressing your forehead to his all while wiggling your hips. Trying to coax him in.

“What’s the magic word?” he taunts, tutting at you before pressing his lips to yours quick, pulling back with a smack, “Use your manners.”

“Please,” it’s huffy. Impatient and greedy, “Please, Bucky.”

“What do you want? Huh? Tell me what you want?”

“I wan’ you to—“

One quick stroke. Before you can even finish the sentence. He’s pushed in, all the way in— every last inch shoved inside. The sound you make is ungodly. Your fingers clamp around the back of his neck, grip tight as your mouth falls open. You have trouble catching your breath, panting like some animal left out in the heat too long. The fullness is just—

“Look at you,” Bucky purrs, pulling back before pushing in slow, “Oh honey,” quick kisses wash over your face— forehead, eyes, nose, chin, “You fit me just perfect, don’t you?”

You feel yourself nodding, dazed, so wholly consumed by the feel of him over you— inside you— that whatever words were jumbling around in your brain just a few seconds ago fizzle out into static.

Bucky is... he's— big. All over. Broad shoulders and thick thighs, muscle upon muscle stacked in a stocky frame that shouldn't lend itself to the agility you've seen him conduct himself with, but it does and it works. He's lethal, from the stories you've heard, yes— but he's also devastatingly gentle in the way he makes you fall apart with his touch, nestled safely between the grass beneath your back and the cradle of his lap.

"You're—" your words fall short, nothing more than a squeak and a sharp intake of breath spilling from your lips when he hits the spot that makes your tongue turn to lead, "— big.”

Bucky leans further into you, as if it's even possible, biting kisses stealing whatever breath is left in your lungs. He laughs into the kiss, soothes over the hurt on your bottom lip with his tongue. "I know, baby. Feel me in there?"

He punctuates the question with a hand to your abdomen and a sharp thrust that borders on the thin edge between pain and pleasure. Bucky shushes your answering moan, whispers into your mouth to— look at what I do to you, honey.

It's to your own demise that you follow through with the command, eyes rolling to the back of your head after only a quick look. It’s obscene how much fits inside of you. The thickness of him presses against your walls, thrusts deep and unrelenting, every movement outlined beneath the thick skin of your abdomen.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he continues, palming your tits as they move with his thrusts, “Feels good, huh?”

You can only nod, the words strangled in your throat, nothing but squeaks and garbled moans pushing through. He fucks you slow, metal digits slipping down to your clit— light, teasing little strokes sending fire through your veins.

That metal hand comes back up, fingers and palm flat to your skin, sliding up your belly, through your tits only to wrap around your throat, applying a gentle pressure if only for a second. Then his hand is moving again. Up over your chin, thumb outlining your lips and flattening against your mouth before pushing the tip inside.

You welcome it, his thumb; the metal hot from absorbing the sun. You grab his wrist and open wider, inviting the entire length of his thumb inside. Moan deep as your tongue and lips wrap around it. Start to suck.

“You’re just the best girl,” he purrs, eyes fluttering, pecs flexing as he fucks into you with patience, “Just a precious little needy girl.”

~~~

I don’t think Steve likes me.

Steve stops mid-hammering. Eyes squinting as he adjusts the nails between his teeth, just hanging off his lip.

Oh hun, where’d you get an idea like that?

He’s just, I dunno, he’s short with me, barely looks at me most of the time.

He cringes thinking about what could possibly come out of Bucky’s mouth next, but when the crude words he just knew were about to fly don’t come, Steve lets out a breath. The last thing he needs you to know is how he’s jerked off to thoughts of you wrapped around his cock in a variety of ways every night since he’s met you.

He hasn’t meant for it to be obvious. Embarrassment and a little shame floods through him as he stands on the ladder, head hung low as he listens to your conversation. But the truth is, you make him dizzy. Everything about you is just so strong— it’s taken everything in him to focus on this porch and not your ass or down your low hanging collar as you’ve hovered over the flower beds all day.

Your heartbeat in his ears, the mix of your shampoo and lotion— your cunt— all mixed up in his nose. Filling his lungs and choking his brain. It’s too much and not enough for him all in the same breath. So he’s tried to keep his distance, work out his frustrations by pounding nails into wood when in reality, the only thing he’s been wanting to pound is you.

Sarah Rogers would be rolling over in her grave, and he knows it. She did not raise a rude son. Steve sighs heavily, blinking at the grass as he starts to work out his apology in his head.Plucking a nail from his mouth, he huffs out a breath and rests the sharp tip against the board, snapping his head quick to throw his long hair out of his face. Just as he’s about to bring the hammer down against the flat head, a familiar scent fills his nose.

It’s you, but heavier. Thicker. So consuming it could knock him over— makes the hair on the back of his neck stand right on end. With every breath he takes there’s just more and more… until his feet are carrying him around the side of the house. The hammer falling with a thump into the grass. Nails tumbling from his lips.

You like that, sugar? You like makin’ a mess of me? Got me stumblin’ all over my words— shit, oh honey, this mouth is something special, ain’t it? Fuck

Steve stops dead in his tracks as the words stuff his ears, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat as he blinks slow. Your naked back, slender and curved. Two long legs cocooning Bucky’s hips— head bobbing. Bucky groans deep, head lolling back, mouth falling open slightly as you suck him off.

Steve’s stomach tightens as heat creeps across his flesh. Stuck to the ground right where he stands, he watches Bucky push you back into the grass. Watches your full tits, nipples thick and piqued, jiggle as you writhe and whine like a petulant child before pulling yourself up by his neck.

Please, he hears you beg, please, Bucky.

His mouth goes dry. The heavy thumps of his own heartbeat in his ears, your carnal scent swirling, as his cock pushes against the denim of his jeans. He has to grab himself, give his cock and balls a little squeeze as your breath shudders while you adjust to the sheer size of Bucky— and a shiver ripples down his spine.

You’re— big.

I know, baby. Feel me in there?

Steve’s knees buckle when you squeak at Bucky’s first thrust— has to reach out and catch himself with the help of a tree trunk. A fog clouds his brain as the smell of you and Bucky’s sex fills the air, the soft little sputters and whines that fall from your lips suffocating him as Bucky fucks you slow. This is the closest he’s felt to being sick in eighty years. Stomach churning, his head light as air chokes in his throat.

“Don’t be shy, buddy,” the words aren’t clear at first, kinda murky and distant before Bucky’s voice centers. Steve blinks, swallowing hard as he stares back at two blue eyes, “Look baby,” he purrs down at you, leaning down to lick your mouth before cutting his eyes back towards Steve, “And you thought he didn’t like you— the fucker can’t even breathe seeing you all stuffed full like this,”

Bucky kisses you hard but slow, humming real low as he sucks your tongue, “What are you waiting for, Cap?” he asks after breaking away from you, “Get your ass over here.”

Steve’s never been one to not follow an order.

~~~

You’re a trembling mess. Chest heaving, wimpy little sounds rushing from your mouth, fingernails dug into the meat of Bucky’s sides. Your head’s turned to the side, mouth hanging as you strain to watch Steve move towards you. Bucky fucks into you hard— hand pressed against your belly so you can feel it— sending a sharp pang of pain and pleasure. You squeal, eyes slamming shut as your hands fall to the grass, nothing but jelly.

Bucky slips out of you, flips you over onto your stomach before propping you up on your hands and knees all pretty like. His fingers push through your folds, rubbing soft circles, teasing your slit as he grabs your hair and yanks your head up to help keep your eyes on Steve, who falls to his knees in front of you.

“See what you do to him?” Bucky hums, his thumb sneaking up through your ass cheeks, pressing against your tight hole, “He’s been like this all week, all blushy and tense, head in the clouds just to try and focus on anything but you.”

Your eyes flutter again, teeth digging down into your bottom lip as Bucky’s thumb sinks into you, your greedy hole quick to swallow it up. He pumps it slow, the rest of his long fingers and warm palm cupping your swollen, wet cunt. You let out a breath, a gasp cutting it off as his fingers start to move, rubbing slow little circles against your clit again. Your hair still bunched in his hand, keeping your head up.

There’s fingers on your face, palms against your cheeks and thumbs on your lips as Steve tilts your head up a little higher, “Is she sweet, Buck?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky answers with a quick chuckle, clipping it with a grunt as he stuffs you back full with his cock, “She’s as sweet as honey, Cap. That mouth— whew.”

You swallow hard, mouth falling open as Steve unzips his jeans and pushes his hand inside. He inches closer to you, knees dug into the grass and dirt as you start to lunge forward with Bucky’s soft thrusts, mewling as he continues to finger your asshole. Another deep surge of air fills your lungs as Steve pulls himself from his jeans.

“Je-sus,” you falter, voice shaking with Bucky’s thrusts as his hips pick up pace.

Steve works himself out of his jeans quick, hand pumping his cock all the while— the tip red and wet. Back on his knees in front of you, he continues to fuck himself, hand twisting slow up his shaft, the other pulling on his heavy sac as you bounce off of Bucky’s stomach.

Eyes half closed, long hair falling over his face, pink tongue sneaking out over his bottom lip as he watches you. Your eyes fall to his hands, blinking fast so you don’t miss a moment.

You fall to your left elbow, reach out with your right hand, skimming your nails up his thigh before wrapping your fingers around him. Following with your lips and tongue, you suck him in, caress the vein protruding against his tight, thin skin with your tongue. Stretch wide again as you take Steve’s length into your mouth— down your throat. You moan as you release him with a pop, keeping his cockhead pressed against your lips as you stroke him with your hand.

You take just the tip, swirling your tongue, tickling his little slit as he leans back, fucks up into your mouth with a sharp thrust, “Shit, girl,” he mumbles, “‘m sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize to her,” Bucky sounds, “She can take it, can’t you sugar? It’s been a long time for ol’ Stevie boy,” he runs his metal hand up your spine, grabs the back of your neck as he levels a quick slap against your ass, “Be a good girl and let him fuck your throat.”

Almost on queue, Steve fucks up into your mouth again, tears prickling in your eyes as he opens your throat. His hand finds your head, sweeps over the crown before he squeezes gently, hips pumping upward. The squelch of your throat, the slap of Bucky’s skin on yours drowns out everything else— makes it all go fuzzy and hazy.

You’re just a toy. A thing for them to use until they’ve had their fill and hopefully, that won’t come any time soon.

Steve thrusts into your mouth again but this time stills, pushing your head down on to him. You grunt loud, nose in the thick, wiry hair smattered at the base of his stomach, tears rolling down your face. He pulses his hips— real slow— wiggling gently to push deeper and deeper down your throat— his mouth hanging, chest heaving as you take him all.

Bucky slams into you hard, holds his hips there for a beat before snapping his hips again, thrusting you forward— making you whimper even louder. Steve pulls out quick, leaving you panting and grunting, dragging in ragged breaths as strings of spit and cum hang from your bottom lip. He pushes back in before you can think straight, sends his cock down your throat again, holds his hips in place as his thighs flex and strain, just to pull out roughly again seconds later.

Steve wraps a hand around your throat, pushes your chin up as he squeezes your cheeks to pucker your mouth, “You like that, huh?” he kisses you hard, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, “You’re a good little girl— you like feeling me in there?”

When you don’t answer fast enough, he slaps your cheek, mostly all fingers but hard enough to make you gasp. He grabs your face again, kisses you again— quick and hard before craning your neck to make you face him, “Good girls answer when the Captain speaks.”

Bucky pinches the inside of your thigh, a loud yelp bursting from your lips before you grunt, overwhelmed and consumed by the pain and the pleasure. You nod frantically, swallowing hard, strangled groans vibrating in your throat, “I’m— I lik-like,” you stutter, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Aww baby,” Steve chuckles, caressing your face and wiping at your wet cheeks. He kisses you, once, twice, three times as Bucky pulls out of your cunt, thumb leaving your asshole,”Goodness, she can’t even talk, Buck.”

Steve picks you up, right up off the ground like you're waistless and settles you in his lap, cocooning you in his arms and warmth. Kisses your forehead and rubs your back as you nuzzle into him. Another pair of warm lips are on your shoulder blade, curling up over your shoulder, lips snagging on your skin as they move. Hands, both flesh and metal sweeping up and down your sides.

“You’re such a pretty girl,” Bucky mumbles into your skin, bunching your hair in his hand again to nibble on your neck.

Steve turns you in his arms, rests your back against his chest, your head on his shoulder. Warm palms find your tits, massage them gently as Bucky spreads your legs, bending them at the knees and placing your feet flat on the ground. Running his metal hand through his hair, he sticks his flesh fingers into his mouth, runs the pads over his tongue before he reaches out and touches you. Guides wet fingers through your sticky folds, not to excite or tease, but really just to feel you— soothe your hot, swollen cunt.

He thumbs your clit lazily before he cups your sex, smiling and growling with pride, “They didn’t make pussy like this back in the fourties,” he gives your cunt a quick slap, stroking his cock slow, “Steve wouldn’t know about that though, he wasn’t getting any.”

“Fuck you,” Steve fires back, his low rumble of laughter vibrating through you as he pinches and prods at your nipples.

He releases your tits to grab his cock, guides his cockhead towards your aching slit as Bucky spreads you open for him. His hips drive upward, the tip of his cock teasing your hole once, twice before finally breaking the threshold, popping inside. You both gasp as you sink down on him, pushing and wiggling your hips into his to get him all in.

“God,” you murmur, head falling back oh his shoulder, eyes rolling as he takes up every inch your have to offer, “Fuck, you’re so— big,”

“Deja vu,” Bucky hums, playing with your clit.

“But you can take it, can’t you,” Steve whispers against the shell of your ear, fucking up into you, “You can take all this cock, can’t you girl?”

“Mmhmm,” you huff between gritted teeth, “Mm fuck, yeah I can— fuck,”

Steve doesn’t waste a lot of time. Leans back on his elbows and hooks his hands in the bends of your legs, lifting them up so your feet are bouncing with each shove of his hips. Bucky rubs your clit with one hand, grabs your wrist and pulls you up a little straighter to wrap your hand around his cock with the other. You pump him fast, drops of precum dripping down your thigh.

Lips and teeth press into the meat of your left thigh, making you gasp. Bucky sucks more flesh into his mouth, sucks so hard it hurts as Steve fucks you senseless. You push upward, eyes falling to your stomach and between your legs, watching the bulge of Steve’s cock pushing along your skin. Your eyes then find Bucky’s, piercing and focused as he slithers his wet tongue along your skin, outlines your puffy cunt, then flicks at your clit as Steve fucks away. Pushes his metal hand down on your stomach as he sucks your nub into his mouth.

You’re a shuddering heap. Unable to move, legs and arms, neck and head going limp. You just bounce with the force of Steve’s hips, random shivers ripple through every burning, strained muscle. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes— you can’t even hear yourself crying. Teetering on the edge, swamped between too much and not enough all over again.

Steve snarls in your ear, teeth nibbling quick before he moans real sweet, “Shit, you’re gonna make me come— that cunt squeezing me all tight.”

“Mmm, that’s what this filthy little hole wants, isn’t it?” Bucky mutters, mouth still full of your clit and pussy lips, “Huh baby? This greedy slit just wants some cum.”

“I should fill her up, huh? Give this cockwhore what she wants?”

Bucky laughs when your hips jut forward, body jerking involuntarily, “Oh yeah,” he smirks, leveling three quick, hard slaps to your clit, “Give her what she wants, she’s been good.”

Steve fucks into you harder— faster, his clipped nails digging into your skin. Bucky sucks on your clit, fingers tickling the backs of your thighs. You’re nothing but liquid, melting into Steve’s hard body as heat pools in your belly before it spills over. Toes curl, face splintering as your octave rises but trembles with the impending bloom of release.

It snaps, somewhere deep inside. A piece that’s never broken before. You’re shaking, muscles tensing so hard it’s painful. Desperate, sharp, rough grunts shake through the trees and into the nothingness that surrounds your little cabin. Steve uses your clenching cunt to his advantage— shoves his cock in as deep as he can and holds it there for a beat before snapping his hips again, letting the pressure of your tight, convulsing muscles around the base of his cock start to milk him.

You can feel his spurts, thick and hot, coating messy, sticky walls. Soft hums from Bucky vibrate against your jumping clit as he sucks, pulling away with a loud smack before he slaps it again and again and again, praising you all the while, “That’s right, pretty girl. Look at you taking all that cock— such a good little cockslut you are.”

Steve is loud in your ear, biting on your earlobe as he spills into you. Wraps his colossal hand around your throat as he snaps his hips quick again, pushing deep, deep, deep.

He slips out of you without a moment's notice, not even waiting for your orgasm to quell. Bucky pushes your legs open wider, to watch the burst of white silk bubble from your hole and spill to your taint and asshole. He sweeps it up with his metal fingers, pushes it all— both cum and fingers— into your hot cunt, curling them as he massages your walls.

“Ah! Wait, I—” still trembly, weak and warm all over, fuzzy and oversensitive, “—mmm, Bucky, please.”

There is no rest for the wicked. Steve shoves his cock, wet with your slick, into your ass, Bucky pressing his fat cockhead at your entrance. You’re white hot as they both fuck into you, bodies pushing and pulling. One of Bucky’s hands around the back of your neck, squeezing hard as the other holds your cheek and chin in his palm. Steve wraps a long arm around your stomach, holds you to him tight as Bucky leans forward, throwing your leg over his shoulder. Fucks you fast— his heavy sac slapping against your taint. He stares at you, you him, the connection deep as Steve mutters in your ear, cursing the days and months and years it took them to find you. Their perfect baby girl.

You’re shuddering, howling and shrieking like a banshee as you start to come a second time. Bucky thrusts into you with every ounce of weight he has, fingers thrashing over your clit before he grunts just once. Low and gritty. Then he’s filling you up, cock spitting his warm seed, jumping inside of you with each spurt as he shoves deep.

Your orgasm is sharp, strikes a little deeper, hurts a little more. Limbs simply don’t work— won’t work. Can’t work. Eyes flutter as your body jerks with the involuntary aftershocks. You collapse back onto Steve’s chest as you huff and puff, almost gasping for air. You’re soon cocooned between two heavy, hot bodies, nothing but dense muscles and skin. Hands everywhere. Soothing. Caressing. Massaging. Words of encouragement and admiration washing over you.

Lazy words and wet, hot lips on your skin— you can feel the smiles on their faces pressing into you.

“You know what, doll?” Bucky mumbles, drawing circles over your tits with the tip of his index finger.

“Hmm?”

“Those chicken salad sandwiches sound pretty good right about now.”

You laugh, loud and carefree, covering your face with your hands as someone grabs your tit and gives it a little honk before showering your face in wet kisses. They jostle you around again as they stand, leaving you to stretch out in the grass, skin warming underneath the sun, a soft breeze tickling.

A heavy, content sigh pushes out of your lips, “Okay,” you answer simply— happy, stupid, and fuzzy.

Steve hoists you up into his arms, throws you over his shoulder with a couple of slaps against your ass. Bucky bites the little soft spot where your ass cheek meets your thigh and grabs a handful of skin as you squeal, falling into a fit of giggles again as the three of you start to move back towards the house.

“Well shit, girl. We got some laundry you can do too since you’re being all agreeable.” Bucky quips, taking another handful of your flesh to squeeze.

More giggles bubble in your chest as you bounce against Steve’s shoulder with each of his steps. You reach out lazily, brushing Bucky’s cheek and chin with your fingers. He grabs them quick, presses kisses against them and your palm.

“Looks like we gotta build you a new bed too,” Steve says, plopping you on your feet as soon as you cross the threshold into the kitchen.

You don’t even have to ask why.

You know it’s not sturdy enough to handle four hundred pounds of super soldier every night.

Good thing you are, though.

#ssb2021 #buckybarnesbingo2021 #twoyearsofdark #stucky x reader #stucky x black!reader #stucky x you #stucky x reader smut #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x black!reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #5k...holy god

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phantomrose96 · 4 years ago

Text

Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #long post #wanted to write A Thing so here is A Thing!

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writertitan · 4 years ago

Text

Heat

pairing: levi x reader

word count: 2660

themes: modern au, smut, sexual content!! mature and 18+ readers only!!

For the past two days, your radiator had been making a god-awful noise whenever it turned on. Had being the keyword, until the early hours of today when it decided it couldn’t take it anymore and died on you completely. The winter morning air was frosty and you had woken up in the middle of the night to a loud and sad sputtering noise as the radiator said its goodbye, leaving you in a bit of a conundrum when you quietly got out of bed to try and see if there was any saving it. There wasn’t, and you were internally freaking out.

Now here you were, glancing at a phone screen that read 3:23am with the chill of winter already seeping into your little apartment. The sleet outside didn’t help either; that awful mix of snow and rain was only bound to make your apartment even colder.

You weren’t the only one who had been startled awake either, and you frowned in dismay when you saw Levi sitting up in bed with an annoyed, still sleepy look on his face.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in a husky voice, making you feel even worse. Levi was an insomniac by nature - tonight he’d been getting an okay night’s rest, only to be interrupted by your damn radiator crapping out on you.

“It’s my stupid radiator. It broke,” you whined, voice not even above a whisper as you gave it a pathetic kick with your feet.

You heard Levi sigh in exasperation and looked to see him pulling back the covers for you as a silent beckon to come back to bed. You didn’t need to be told twice now that goosebumps had already started flourishing on your exposed skin, and immediately snuggled up next to him to preserve warmth.

“I’m just cuddling for a minute,” you murmured, stroking his bare torso. “I’m gonna grab us some actual pajamas and some more blankets. I doubt my fucking landlord is going to respond to a text at three in the morning to come take a look at the damn thing.”

Levi made a grunt of disapproval and held you to him tighter, shaking his head as he nuzzled it into your neck. The motion made butterflies swirl to life in your stomach and you giggled at the ticklish feeling of his bedhead, kissing it sweetly as your arms wrapped around him.

“It’s gonna get real cold real fast,” you warned, “and we’re hardly dressed for that.” Levi only had his boxers on and you weren’t much better off, clad in only an old shirt of his and your panties.

“Don’t you know any basic survival skills?” he said suddenly, his voice and his eyes taunting you, finally gazing up at you from his place at your neck. “We should be shedding clothes. Helps preserve warmth better.”

“Bullshit,” you scoffed, but the idea was already planted, and you knew exactly what Levi was getting up to when his hand strayed from your hip to caress your thigh instead. He was so warm, his skin and his touch, and it made your head spin.

“I’m being serious, you little brat,” he mumbled, his lips grazing your neck as he spoke. “I know exactly how to keep us warm in your shithole apartment.”

His little jab at your apartment didn’t hurt. He’d been asking you when you were moving out for months now and had been asking you to stay over at his place more often, using his, “My apartment is better than yours” excuse each time.

You instead answered him by pressing up against him even more, hands exploring his torso and then moving up to his hair to pull his face towards yours. In an instant your lips were captured in a heated kiss, tongues and teeth clashing as Levi maneuvered to get on top. He straddled you easily, a growing erection prodding at your stomach as his hands gathered the hem of his borrowed shirt on you to pull it up over your breasts and leave the fabric bunched up above them. His lips broke from yours and you whined, trying to follow him as he sat up fully, but his hands pinned you down by your shoulders.

A blush rouged your cheeks as you watched him scan over your body, hands slowly moving from your shoulders to cup your breasts once he was sure you wouldn’t move, and you rolled your hips up slowly to tease him. You saw that primal glint in his eye appear as you did that, his gaze finally flickering back to yours, but he shook his head.

“Don’t move,” he demanded, hands moving over your nipples that had perked up from both arousal and the cold, his eyes examining the goosebumps appearing over your body. He gently tugged his shirt off of you completely, discarding it amongst your pillows before his hands returned on their journey along your skin.

“Keep me warm,” you whispered, voice saturated with desire as you watched him. You stayed still apart from your wandering hands that found his chest, his abdomen, and then finally, the tent in his boxers. He swallowed thickly but didn’t say a word, hands moving from your breasts to your hips in one languid motion, fingertips toying with the elastic of your panties.

“Levi,” you breathed out, “...please...” That familiar smirk ghosted at his lips and, after what felt like an eternity ,a hand slipped under the fabric of your panties. You groaned in satisfaction and rewarded him with a gentle squeeze between his legs, his own groan mixing with yours. His free hand grabbed the blankets that were curled around your waists and tugged them up so the two of you were now completely covered and shielded from the increasingly cool air in your bedroom, the confined space somehow even more erotic. It was only the two of you, nobody else existed underneath those covers, the world was all but gone, and you were grateful for your little bubble as your breathing grew heavier and your mewls got louder.

Two of his fingers danced around your clit, sliding between your slick folds as he played with you and you played with him. Your hand had worked its way beneath the cloth of his boxers to stroke his length slowly, matching his pace with you as you stared into each other’s eyes hungrily, lips parted and chests heaving for air.

When Levi finally pressed into your clit with both fingers, your back arched and your eyes fluttered shut, pleasure piercing through you. His lips found yours again in another passionate kiss, lips fumbling together as the two of you stroked each other, Levi growing harder in your hand as your fingers trailed from his base to his tip, thumb gently pressing against the head of his cock occasionally. Moans were stifled into the kiss as you parted your lips and allowed his tongue to find yours, each of you needy and writhing in the other’s hand. Levi broke away for air and you gasped out to fill your lungs as well, but your lips found his neck only seconds later and your legs nimbly swathed around his hips to pull him closer. The hand that wasn’t around him trailed up so your fingers could get lost in his hair, a lock of it twirled around your finger as you nipped and suck at the most sensitive spot at Levi’s neck.

“Fuck,” he grunted, hips bucking into you when your teeth grazed along his flushed skin, the whispered curse only fueling you.

“Off, please,” you pleaded with him against his neck, referring to the thin fabric still separating your groins. You heard him whine when your hand slipped out of his boxers to tug them down around his knees, letting him kick them off the rest of the way. You also couldn’t help the little whimper that left you when his hand did the same to you, both of you exposed to the other now.

Levi didn’t waste any time in taking hold of his length and guiding it to your folds, earning a loud moan of pleasure from you as he slid himself along you, tip of his cock pressing teasingly to your clit. There was no need or desire to bother to stifle the needy whine of his name as he rubbed his shaft against you, the pleasure almost overwhelming you when his head ducked down to take a breast into his warm mouth. A string of curses left your lips and you barely registered his free hand moving down as well, only noticing when a finger slipped inside you with no warning.

Again your back arched and you writhed beneath him, and the peculiar sensation of a finger in you and a cock rubbing your clit, rather than the other way around, had you seeing stars.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Levi mumbled against your breast, a string of saliva trailing his lips as he came up for air again. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust, both of you on cloud nine. Your hands kept busy and stroked his skin, both of you showcasing a slight sheen of sweat from the intense heat you’d created in your little cocoon of blankets. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head as your lips crashed into his again, needy as ever as your hips squirmed and bucked.

“Levi,” you whined against his mouth, letting him swallow his name.

“Use your words,” he teased back, adding a second finger to pump into you while his length slipped into your folds.

But you could barely sound out his name, let alone form a coherent sentence. He knew this was exactly the case and got off on it, leaving you to mewl and whine and writhe under him as you scrambled to get it together.

“Want you inside of me,” you gasped out finally, bucking your hips up roughly as his fingers curled inside of you.

Levi’s lips were at your ear in an instant, breath hot as it fanned the side of your face. “I am inside of you.”

“Your cock,” you nearly cried out, legs spread wide and heels dug into the mattress as you tried to find the balance to lift your hips into his. “Want your cock inside of me.”

And Levi didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers left you in an instant and, before you could protest, he filled you up by slamming into you roughly, already almost to the hilt. Your legs enveloped his waist as a groan scratched out of your throat, nails digging into his upper arms as he waited and stretched you. Both of you swore loudly, hips bucking into each other, and you pressed your forehead to Levi’s and rolled your hips to let him know you wanted him to move. He knew you like the back of his hand, knew what every action meant, knew what you were telling him without having to actually tell him. Just like he knew all of that, he knew exactly what kind of rhythm to fall into, already relentlessly pounding into you once you were adjusted to him. It was slower at first, with Levi putting in the effort to almost completely pull out before pushing back in, over and over, skin slapping against skin as he did so. The erotic sounds from your throat were nonstop now, one moan melting into the next, and Levi’s own noises soon joined with yours as he picked up speed. Your hips met his effortlessly, bodies in sync with one another, the familiarity apparent in the way you just knew each other.

Sweat slicked your forehead and matted your hair to it, Levi’s appearance mirroring yours, the heat almost unbearable if not for the knowledge of the cold and biting air that threatened to penetrate your bubble. His hips rolled into yours, entire body pressed to yours now with no room for even an inch of space between your skin; you didn’t know where you ended and he began, and you didn’t want to know. Being connected like this, you were a single being, striving for the same jaw-dropping, toe-curling goal.

Levi gripped one of your thighs to push your knee almost to your chest, changing your position just enough for him to bury himself deeper and hit the spot that made the coil in your stomach tighten instantly. His name left your lips repeatedly, the only thing you remembered, the only thing that mattered in that moment. Levi, Levi, Levi…

He pecked your lips between the little whimpers you gave him, leaving you absolutely breathless, so close to finally reaching the edge. One of his hands forced itself between your colliding hips to give your clit attention, the touch of his fingertips catapulting you closer to your orgasm, unable to resist for much longer.

“Fuck...Levi...close…” you panted into his mouth, hands alternating between gripping his hair, gripping his shoulders, gripping the sheets.

“Me too,” he gasped out in a low murmur. His free hand cupped your face to pull you in for another deep kiss while his fingers worked your clit, dancing around it sometimes, and then rubbing it directly, always in those slow, tantalizing circles. He nipped at your lower lip, whispering the word you needed to hear so badly into your parted lips.

“Come.”

Between his needy kisses and his fingers and his throbbing cock inside of you, with Levi so unyielding and constant with everything he did, never faltering, it threw you over the edge into an intense orgasm, walls squeezing around him as you cried into his lips that were still smothered into yours. Your thighs pressed into his hips to keep him there inside you and you shuddered in delight when he came only moments later, both of his strong hands grabbing your hips and pinning them down so he could ride his high out, right into you.

It took several more moments before the two of you could calm down, hips eventually lulling to stillness so he could rest on top of you, nearly putting his whole weight on you. But it felt good, it felt so good to feel him on you, in you, both of you catching your breath in the stuffy enclosure of your blankets. His mouth pressed a final kiss to yours before finding another favorite place to be - at the curve of your neck, to pepper short, endearing pecks to your skin.

Levi didn’t make any moves to pull out of you so you stayed in that position, reveling in the afterglow of your orgasms, while you stroked his hair and breathed him in, head tilted so he could have full access to the expanse of your neck.

“I guess you were right,” you whispered with a smile, eyes closed. Levi hummed in question and you giggled, a hand caressing his lower back. “We did need to shed clothes to stay warm.”

That earned a chuckle out of Levi but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he continued leaving kisses along your neck, slowly pulling out of you and shifting so he could be at your side instead of on top of you.

“I’m always right,” he finally said, pulling you into his chest to snuggle, “Just like I’m right about you getting the fuck out of this shitty apartment.” His arm kept itself wrapped around your shoulders even when you swatted his chest, his other arm resting happily at your hip. You traced his chest with your fingertips, legs intertwining as sleep began to overtake you, the exhaustion of sex heavily seeping into your bodies.

“So you would rather have me on the streets with no home to go back to,” you mumbled jokingly, sleepily, and then snickered when Levi’s scoff fills the air.

“You’d have a home, brat.”

You shivered as Levi adjusted the blankets to let some fresh air in, the coldness cracking through at last, but your shivers were easily abated by Levi nuzzling into your hair and pulling you closer, fingertips dancing over your back to soothe you to sleep.

“Love you,” you mumbled, moving your head so you could press your ear against his chest to hear his steady heartbeat. You were already drifting off, warm and content and blissful, but you didn’t miss the quiet, “Love you, too.”

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gojoho · 4 years ago

Text

PATIENCE

• pairing; au!ryomen sukuna x reader

• premise; you were different than the rest, and with a simple touch the devil makes peace with his boredom for the taste of your skin.

• words; 2,798

• note & warning; every time i proofread what my demon chose to write at three in the morning i cry. why am i like this? honestly, i had so much trouble with sukuna it's amazing that i found a ground to make this on. anyway...unprotected sex ( wrap it up or pack it up ), dirty language, ownership, creampie-breeding kink? i never know which one it is, these mfs just never pullout. enjoy i suppose?

Sukuna was accustomed to the cults that proudly proclaimed him as their leader, or better yet, The Chosen. False disciples to his name, many of which tried to justify their treacherous lives in comparison to his glory. A pathetic bunch he wasted little time over, not one of them much of a rivalry towards that of a king. Though your blood was far too innocent, even for a ruthlessly being as himself, he would not take on such a burdened responsibility. Having been blamed for far less, he wouldn’t live this one down. Feasibly the only reason death escaped you.

Obsession, fascination, none of which seemed that far from one another with him, nor did it matter. At any capacity mortals were tedious, their petty materialistic need; gold this, that, and whatnot. Maybe he was just bored, but then he wouldn’t be giving you much credit, would he? He was quite patient for his tetchy personality, letting you grow accustomed to his territory, where you’d spend the rest of your days. A cub seeing the pride lands for the first time.

“Follow the rules, and you’ll do just fine little cub.” You never shied from his touch, letting him indulge your soft skin, squeezing, nipping, kissing every and anywhere he pleased. But your worth was still up for question thus far, what did you bring that the others couldn’t.

“Open.” You would sit between his legs, knees bent to his divinity abiding every command. Allowing his salty fingers against your tongue, their cleanliness unbeknownst to everyone except him, but it only made you suck on them more. “So eager for me to ruin you.”

That made two of you, but he wouldn’t, not just yet.

He kept you, his precious new pet, close. Allowing your scent to fill his bed, swarm his clothes, and plague him with a hunger driven by an appetite that was you. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust you, he didn’t trust anyone, but he did trust your behavior. The way you managed to curl up against him at night, your soft snores fanning his back, no matter how much space there was in his bed. How you followed behind him everywhere he went, involuntarily making things less...irritating. Yet your consistency didn’t extend towards the others. Vicious and vengeful, they’d see to it that he’d fall by any means necessary. Even if it meant going through you or letting it be by your own hand.

“Cub,” he’d call you over, legs wide and waiting. You’d mount him facing forward, shamelessly letting your body unwind against his touch.

Fingers working the robes from your frame with ease, instant access to the skin beneath. All while his lips worked around your neck, touching up his handiwork of pink and purple blotches around it. The product of every session. Before he’d break you off, truly make you his, preparation was in order. It’s started with your chest, his hold over your bosom, the small mouthes in each hand working their peaks. Swirling sucking nibbling away at their tenderness until you’d grind against his bulge. Drenching him with your arousal. Clothes only got in his way, he’d have you roam around naked if he pleased but that was sight met only for his eyes, and his alone. Your robes, makeshift Sukuna hand-me-downs, was a barrier between the world and what was his.

After all, it was his touch that made you a mess. ”You're already so wet for me, little cub. Maybe I'll fuck you tonight. Maybe.”

He moved a hand to your heat, parted your folds with two slender fingers while the other hand still devoured your nipple. Sukuna was greedy, common knowledge to anyone who came across the curse, but with a hunger driven by your flesh, he was more insatiable than ever. It wouldn't be long until you were writhing in his lap, every bit of noise coming from your lips. Crying out as he worked your orgasm with his fingers plunged deep in your depths and the tongue on his palm lapping at your clit feverishly.

”Kuna,” you'd mewl, with arms stretched up to his face. The only person still alive to say it let alone give him a nickname.

The rules were simple;

Speak when spoken too

Eye contact

No kissing

A cruel rule that reminded you what the relationship was. He wasn't your lover or anything to you. You belonged to him and he'd use you however he saw fit. If that meant raw dogging you, believe he'd fuck you silly.

Simple, but still difficult nonetheless. He watched your face upturn in admiration, eyes flickering between his and his lips with each whimper. You wanted to kiss him, have his tongue so far down your throat until you choked. Sukuna knew all too well the look you gave him and smirked pressing his fingers deeper, taking your wanton ones to hold his cheek into his mouth. The closet you've gotten to a kiss, but soon your eyes would wander to mess that was your body, watching him unravel your seams, the first orgasm shuddered throughout you.

The first time he had his way, you'd barely made it past one orgasm from his fingers. Now it was six, with at most his fingers and three mouths. He wondered if you’d handle his cock if thrown into the mix. With that thought alone his mind wandered, you handled his hands well but the mystery behind your lips made him twitch just thinking about it. A pretty face with such a content expression, so grateful he granted you a full mouth. Could you handle all of him? If you could, he would've taken what was already his, turned you inside out, and left your body useless to any other being but him.

He deprived himself of a release, letting it build along his thighs and boil at the deepest parts of his body. You were going to take it all from him, feed his hunger while he quenched yours. Truly teaching you what it meant to belong to Ryomen Sukuna, The Great King of Curses.

Each session left you craving more, made your hips sink further against his moving in pure need. Sukuna let you wallow in your tension, desire unkempt and rowdy beneath his nose. You were conflicted between the logic prancing your mind and the hunger of your heat. Where the thought of him feeding you more than just a few fingers made it throb for a release, to be relieved from the fear that kept it empty and unfulfilled.

You'd missed the comfort his presence brought to the bed when pressing matters stole his attention, without it sleep was surreal. Eluding your conscience till he would come back late into the morning, exhaustion settling through the afternoon if he allowed you to. Until one afternoon where he’d prepare to set off again, another village another reign of terror, Sukuna almost missed the tiny grasp at his robes. The few steps he took towards to the exit fell short by his other end.

”Please,” you'd whisper out pleading for him to stay with a mere word.

For a minute, with his sudden stride and grip over your jaw, you think it's enough. That the way he searched your eyes with his bright red pair, you thought you’d convince him. ”If you expect me to abandon my duties for that cunt of yours, you’re going to have to try harder than that little cub.”

His lips ghosted yours, taunting that separate ache from the rest of your body. Practically testing you to see if you’d break one of his rules; screaming to go ahead, kiss him.

”Well then?” he cooed, lips nearly there but your silence only irritated him. Did he spoil you too much, indeed give you too much credit and mistaken you for something you weren't—

”Please Kuna, I need you.”

”Cute…” He smirked, thumb slipping between the two of you teasing your bottom lip. ”No.”

It was a lie if he said he wouldn't turn you around right there and give in to the temptation. Fill your womb with what felt like decades' worth of his cum. Staining his sheets and your insides. Sukuna already knew you needed him, it was because of that need, that the light in your eyes settled to a palpable glow. Later completely gone by the time of his return.

Sukuna never thought to imagine you upset, not with the way you clung to him. Never did he think it would upset him as much as it did. You slept far from his end of the bed, shielding your body from his touch with the linen. The nerve of you, but he knew it was only a matter of time until he’d have you in his lap again.

Wrong.

Too much time had passed since he denied you of your request, too much time since he’s touched you, too much time since you’ve touched him.

“Cub” he called, but for the first time, he was met with hesitance.

You sat on his lap, back to his chest as per usual, but without your usual excitement. Nothing he couldn’t fix, and like always he started with your chest, getting you to flood over his crotch. By then Sukuna would’ve gotten at least a whimper but you remain uncharacteristically quiet to his touch, jabbing at his ego. Come to find out you’d bitten your lip, holding off from letting him hear just how good he was making you feel.

“Brat,” he hissed with the teeth in his hand nibbling at nothing but your clit but even then the most he got was a huff. “Fine, if that’s how you want to play this game.”

It didn’t take much to lift you up from his chair, face planting you straight into the bed. You yelp at the sudden grip over your waist as it hauls your bottom half into to air. This was far from what he planned, but he’d be a fool to let you carry on with your childish ways.

There was no protest with the way he positioned himself to his knees behind you, shedding himself of his robes, setting his cock free into the late-night air. You would never shy away from looking at him naked, curious of every black line, where they connected and didn’t connect. Still, only catching brief glimpses of him, but now that it was there before you—just one taste, that was enough right? It would make any man happy to hide his cock in a pretty mouth like yours, burying it far beneath your throat, hell it made Sukuna weigh his options but he was beyond horny and irritated.

He gifts himself a few strokes, over your cunt, introducing it to its owner. Coating himself in the mix of his salvia and your arousal before pushing the tip past the slick gates of his personal Eden. He sunk into your bowels just past the tip before meeting the resistance of your walls. There was no distinction as to whether you’d been too tight or that he was too big, just that it made him want more. A snug fit, one in which he yearned to destroy, leaving you walls irreversibly stretched.

Your arms flailed around, desperate to find anything to grip onto but Sukuna didn’t give you much of a chance before introducing the rest of his inches to your heat.

“Fuck,” you whined. A squeak of unbearable amazement that all of him was inside you. “Wait.”

He was going to bury himself down to the hilt, each time, fuck you till you were a simpleton. It was always his intention to do so, but your impatience got the best of him.

”Quiet, ” he growled spreading your ass to see himself encased by your insides. Surprisingly you swallowed him whole, but he was sure if you kept squirming away it’d be even more painful. ”This is what you wanted, wasn't it? My cock in this slutty hole of yours.”

”Kuna please.”

”Please Kuna, I need you—is that not what you said?”

”Yes…but fuck—”

”Well now you got me, so keep fucking still and take it.” He shooed your pleading palm from his view and adjusted himself. The movement drove him deeper and you mewled beneath him like a feral feline.

A draft followed behind his pelvis as he pulled out only about halfway, your pussy gripping him as he did. He didn’t trust you wouldn’t squirm again and anchored your hips to his grip. Snapping into you once more, stretching more than his previous thrust.

Sukuna took pride in the size of his cock, in the way it left room for only one, only him. You were going to split in two, or at least it felt like it; he was so big, out of place, but just big. Though that was merely the calm before the storm, with no confirmation let alone sign to warn you, he moved again. Starting off with a strong rhythm that rocked the entire bed. He didn’t do slow, his adjective was to punish, ruin, destroy exactly why you were to be prepared.

With a guttural groan, you felt his cock work, biting against the linens as it drilled in and out of your slickness, squelching all around it.

“Listen to that,” he cooed. “Telling me to wait when your pussy sounds like this. I’m going to fill you up so well. Is that what you want kitten?”

Kitten…

An upgrade from little cub you suppose. The harder he goes, the louder both ends of your body get. Wanted was putting it loosely, it was something, if not the only thing, you needed. Yet it’s still not enough, and so Sukuna stops, leaving you lost to the pleasure he provided. Still full with his cock you moan, pleading for him to continue, eyes barely open and lips pierced by your top teeth. “You know the rules. Speak.”

Bucking against him, desperate for any friction, you whined. “Kuna.”

“Whining gets you nowhere,” He said teasing you with slow strokes in time with your desperate hips. “Answer. The. Question.”

“Yes, ” You were begging for it, the high fading from the mind a little too quickly. ”I need it, all of it.”

Now that you stroked his pride, it was only fair he’d returned the favor. Fleeing from their post against your chest, Sukuna’s hands reach up to your throat. Pulling you up to your own knees, squeeze gently. Pumping into your dripping cunt faster, harder, deeper. Strumming at the chords of your orgasm with each lewd noise he pulled with his cock. Saliva dribbling from your chin.

“Look at you,” he grunted, his own pleasure catching up to him. “Drooling from both ends.”

“Sukuna.”

He leaned into your hands, giving permission for them to tug at his roots, while he nuzzled his nose over your cheek, taking in every crude scent. “Hmm, fucking perfect.”

A compliment if he’d ever given you one, his irritation fleeing from his body and the only thing he can think about is just how good it felt to finally be inside you. The ache of his cock finally being milked. His hand traveled down your body, caressed every curve, every nipple until they settled on your hips.

”Get down, and open up for me.” he ordered quietly, letting his pace falter before getting an obedient ’hmm’

Anything for Sukuna, anything that brought on your orgasm. You arched forward and parted your knees wider, sighing from his hand over your ass again. Kneading and pulling each cheek apart. Picking up the pace again, he wanted to see his cock twitch inside you. See how your body would react. Sukuna wanted to see the mess he made of your hole.

You let a series of colorful curses fly, it was hard to say anything with the explosion inside you, the heat itching just beneath your skin as the adrenaline spiked and rocked you into oblivion.

“Sukuna,” you managed to say but he already knew, feeling the coiling contraction refusing to let him go. A deadly grip that sucked his orgasm through.

The visible veins around his cock, throbbing beneath the thin layer of skin. Slightly moving as the rest of his length spasmed violently against the confines of your flutters. ”Fuck, look at you go, milking me dry.”

His cum wasn't as fluid as it was thick, weeks of pent up lust oozing from your folds. But it meant nothing more but for Sukuna to click his tongue and thrust forward gently a few more times. Fucking it all back into you. Your body twitched ”Oi, shape up, I've only just begun. Besides, I want to try that pretty little mouth of yours.”

You were going to ruin him, as he was you.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x reader #gojoho

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