#I don't even know how to tag that I need to let it out or I'll lose my min

[laceyfaeryy]

Hii, I hope you're doing well! I'm not sure if you'd be comfortable writing this so don't feel bad if you choose not to. But omfg I can't stop thinking about Price x reader where Price just can't always keep up with reader's sex drive when she's ovulating so he lets his team satisfy her (could be written as just Price asking Ghost to take care of her sex drive for the day, since you only write for Price and Ghost :) )

MDNI 18+

simon riley fucking price’s bird

౨ৎ⠀ׄ⠀. ━ price asks for simon to help him with his birdie’s needs

cw: vaginal sex, unprotected sex, brief mention of an age gap with price

“i swear my dick is goin’ limp at this stage,” price groaned as he sank deeper onto the flimsy couch, his exhaustion visible on his face after he tried to keep up with your stamina.

“maybe yer gettin’ old, can’t keep up with lil birdie’s needs.” simon joked, the small wrinkles on price’s skin seemed to be more defined than usual.

that bruised price’s ego.

but it was true, he was significantly older than you, and it was like his dick got it’s life sucked out whenever he fucked you.

“she’s a lil needy thing, keeps on begging’ for me even when i filled her up.”

simon chuckled, the idea of his captain, getting all worn out by his sweet birdie was more entertaining that he thought. “it’s jus’ that i’m an older man, all these years the only thing i have fucked is my hand, and now that i can finally get sum pussy it’s something different.”

price tried his best to satisfy you, to help you with your needs when you were ovulating, but it was just so damn hard when you wanted more.

“you got a good stamina,” price nodded towards simon, his eyes drifting over his body. tall, strong, big. he would be perfect.

“what, you gonna ask me to fuck yer lil birdie?” a chuckled escaped simon’s lips, before his face went still.

“that’s exactly what i’m asking.”

never in simon’s life did he think that he would be balls deep inside price’s precious little birdie’s cunt, “fuckin’ hell, he wasn’t lyin’ when he said you were tight.” simon hissed as your gummy walls gripped around his cock tightly, as if it didn’t him to pull out, memorising every vein.

this was a privilege that simon secretly prayed that he would get again, to fuck your small cunt over and over until you couldn’t cum anymore.

his large scarred hands gently pressed down on your lower stomach, making you whine and squirm under his grasp. “shh, luvie, simon’s got ya.” he cooed softly as you sobbed, your cunt forming a creamy ring around the base of his cock.

“need you to get worn out yeah?” his voice raspy as your cunt sucked him in, god - no wonder why price always seems so damn exhausted. your arms wrapped around his neck as you sobbed for more, your heels dug into his lower back, pulling him closer. “still hurts si, still aches.”

simon let’s out a soft hum, “i know birdie, but ill get yer lil cunnie the attention she deserves and the ache will go away yeah?” his large hand gently rubbing around your folds, feeling the sensitive puffy flesh around him.

lewd squelches filled the room, simon’s cum leaking out of your swollen cunt as you came over and over again, gushing all over his cock.

“gonna go all night, how does that sound?”

tag list:

@happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666 @ghostsd8s @ama-eve @webmvie @your-internet-tenshi @novthewolf @1ilo @simpingreader @angeldoll1e @avgdestitute @anonymouse1807 @chaieanne

[crowsofdarkness]

The Void: One

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x BlackWidow!Enhanced!Reader

Content Warnings: violence, language, blood, angst, and 18+ smut.

Summary: Hydra used her as a weapon, then, becoming one of the original widows, Zima was ready to live the rest of her days in hiding. When someone from her Red Room past comes looking to cash in on a favor, she has no choice but to strap up to face this new enemy threatening New York. Even if one of the people asking for her help was the one who trained her in Hydra, the one whom she swore she would kill the next time she saw him. The Winter Soldier. The only problem? Bucky doesn't remember her.

Authors Note: this series will take place during Thunderbolts*, so I don't think it will be a long series. It is a reader insert, but "Zima" is the name she went by in the Red Room and Hydra due to her white hair. according to Google Translate, Zima means winter. tags are open!

Tags: @lisiliely @muchwita @tellybearryyyy @fries11 @multifandomgirl2018

Bucky let out a long sigh while pinching his eyes shut, the background chatter nearly grating on his ears. This was supposed to be a quick pick up and then he could bring this group of people back home so he could use them against Val in her trial. The jet was set to land in about five minutes but part of him feared he wouldn’t make it that long with all the chattering. Not to mention, his phone conversation with Mel and what Yelena had just finished telling him, Bucky’s mind was heavy with a new plan. 

“Alright, so explain this plan again,” Bucky said after freeing everyone. 

“Val has plans on using Bob as a new weapon. You didn’t see what we did, Bucky,” Yelena said with a voice thick of regret. “We need to stop Val and save Bob.” 

It was evident that she felt this need to protect Bob which is why Bucky ended up agreeing to this. Out of everyone in this new group, he only knew Walker and even then he was a bit hesitant to work with him. But he couldn’t simply walk away from this. Unfortunately for all of them, they were a group of rejects compared to the other heroes that had been attempting to save the world since The Avengers went their separate ways. At the thought of Steve, Bucky’s heart sank knowing that he would never see nor talk to his best friend again. 

It had been nearly five years since Steve left him and it was something Bucky was still dealing with. Yes, he had Sam but with him busy being the new Captain America, Bucky always found himself alone. He’d go home to his nice house in the quiet suburbs, stay in an empty house, and try not to let the past memories drag him down to the darkness. 

Bucky was so tired of being alone. So fucking tired of walking into an empty house with no one to talk with about his day. The cold bed and even colder atmosphere often reminded him of when Hydra would keep him frozen for long periods of time. Bucky wouldn’t admit this to anyone, let alone the Thunderbolts, but he was exhausted from pretending to be okay when the past began haunting him whenever he slept. 

For a long time, the nightmares of what he did in Hydra stopped. Until recently. About a month ago, they started up again only this time it wasn't what he did but more so, who he was with during that. Never once did he see a face, the only thing he saw was a shadow figure with white hair and piercing eyes. Every time he dreamed of this figure, their name would be on the tip of his tongue only never getting the chance to utter it because he woke up right before. There was this feeling of familiarity filling his heart whenever he awoke from one of those nightmares but whenever he tried to remember who this figure was, it was as if the memories locked themselves up into a vault. 

“How sure are you that we can stop Val and this Sentry?” Bucky asked with his hands low on hips, forcing himself not to think more of his lonely life at home. 

“Bob,” Yelena corrected. 

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Bob.” 

“He’s strong,” Ava said, everyone agreeing with her. “It’s going to be hard for all of us. If I’m being honest, I don’t think we’ll be able to do it with the five of us.”

“What do you mean? This is a team of super soldiers,” Walker said with a smug smile. 

Ava rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t flatter yourself.” 

As those two bickered with each other, Alexi couldn’t stop hiding his grin while he stared at everyone in this makeshift team. Yelena on the other hand, wore a frown so deep Bucky was afraid it would etch into her skin. She was pacing the length of the abandoned gas station garage while running a hand through her hair. 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky questioned. 

“We need someone else, someone that can help us to save Bob,” she held up a finger, not stopping her pacing. 

“Do you know anyone? Maybe an old Avenger or something?” Walker asked, joining the conversation after bickering with Ava. 

Yelena shook her head. “No, not an old Avenger. But someone else.” 

Everyone waited for her to say who but Yelena kept pacing while muttering something under her breath. 

“The thing is, I haven’t spoken to her in years, not since I was in the Red Room. She was the only one of the widows that were enhanced which made her useful in certain situations. Not only that, she was the original widow. Dreykov brought her in after her old organization threw her out.” 

Something inside of Bucky fluttered but he quickly pushed down the unknown feeling as Alexi and Yelena shared a look, making Bucky shift on his feet. 

“What is it? What was her old organization?” 

Alexi ran a hand over his beard with a long sigh. “Maybe you should sit down, Bucky.”

“Who was her old organization?” He asked again, this time staring directly at Yelena. 

“Hydra,” she answered with zero hesitation. 

Bucky’s body went rigid as his vibranium arm began to burn at where the old, matted scars were on his shoulder. Granted some of his memories during his time in Hydra were still a jumbled mess inside of his head, he couldn’t ever recall someone else being held there with him so it had to have been on another Hydra base. One he wasn’t held at. 

Everyone fell silent for a moment before Alexi broke the silence. “Yelena, we’d be wasting time chasing a ghost. Zima has not been seen in over ten years, not since Dreykov died.” 

Zima. 

Bucky flinched at hearing the name, flash images of the shadow figure with white hair appeared in his line of vision, nearly knocking him on his ass. He held out a hand against the wall to his left to steady himself. He’d never heard of this name before so why did it feel like someone had been repeatedly stabbing his brain over and over again? With clenched teeth, Bucky rubbed his temples hoping that would ease away the growing headache. But the burning didn’t go away, it only got stronger the more they talked about Zima. 

“What’s to say this Zima chick will even help us?” Walker raised a good point, placing his shield over his back. 

“She owes me a favor,” Yelena shrugged as if she already knew this Zima would agree. 

When the burning finally subsided for a moment, Bucky slowly opened his eyes. “Do you even know where to find her?” 

“According to another widow, they saw her in a market square three weeks ago. Seems like she traded being a serial assassin for being a gardener.” 

Just then, their attention had been pulled to the large jet that landed right in the middle of the desert about twenty feet away from their hideout. Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek, debating on if this plan was a good idea. Even though he didn’t know who this Zima was, there was a pestering voice in his head telling him not to do it. 

“Do we even have time for a side quest?” Walker asked. 

“We have to make time if we want to stop Val and save Bob,” Yelena said as if we didn’t really have a choice. 

Opening the garage door, Bucky and the others gathered all of their things before walking towards the jet. 

“Back to D.C, Congressmen Barnes?” The pilot asked as he opened the ramp of the jet, allowing them inside. 

Bucky glanced over to Yelena who simply patted the pilot's chest. “Change of plans. We’re headed to Greece.”

READER A.K.A ZIMA

On a remote part of Gavdos island, south of Crete, Greece. 

I hummed a soft tune to myself as I worked tirelessly in my garden, the setting sun burning against my bare shoulders. My skin and clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. Thankfully I’d tied my long white hair back in a tight braid so it stayed out of my face, albeit a few strands had fallen free due to my constant work all day. The idea of washing away today’s filth and then sitting in front of the fireplace with my kindle brought a smile to my tired face. 

It’s the same thing I’ve done almost every day since I moved here about two years ago. Work on my small cottage style home on this hidden part of the island then reward myself with a good book. Every so often, I would venture out to the town whether it be to buy groceries or get a cup of coffee. But given where I came from and who I was, I opted not to be seen in public unless absolutely necessary. 

I’d been in hiding for the last ten years, moving every two so I wasn’t in the same place for long. I had a very heavy past, I hurt and killed many due to Dreykov’s orders, so I was sure someone would want revenge. Not to mention I’d run from Hydra before my time in the Red Room but with Dreykov, I’d been protected. When he died, that wasn’t the case anymore so I knew I needed to hide. I knew Hydra fell years ago but I couldn’t be too sure. 

By now, I would have moved to a different country to start a new life but as time went on here, I found myself building a life and a home. Something I hadn’t done in previous places. 

Rising from my garden, my old bones popped back into place as I stretched my tired limbs. Staring off into the distance, I could see the waves of the ocean lapping up against the beach that was just below the cliffs edge at my property. I was the only one living on this part of the island which while it did make for some lonely times, it was a peaceful solace. 

“Maybe I’ll go for a swim tomorrow,” I told myself before dusting my dirty hands on my grey overalls and began packing up all of my gardening tools. 

As I stepped out of my shed, something in the air felt off causing me to stiffen, the tips of my fingers burnings. Electricity charged then sparked to life creating lightning at my fingertips as I whirled around on my heels, coming face to face with someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time. 

“Well, good to know those still work.” 

I blinked with parted lips, trying to gather if the person in front of me was actually here. 

“Yelena?” I asked, still unsure. 

The blonde, with much shorter hair since I saw her last, smiled brightly at me. “Long time no see, Zima. How are things?” 

I shrugged, still letting the lightning charge my finger tips. “Can’t complain.” 

“Oh, I love fresh bread!” 

Snapping my head to the right, I glared at the person who stalked out of my house with a mouthful of fresh bread, the red leather suit three sizes too small for him. 

“The Red Guardian,” I clicked my tongue. “I didn’t realize this was a Red Room reunion. 10 years goes by so fast, huh?” 

Alexi sat down on one of the chairs on the front porch while Yelena took a tentative step closer towards me. She looked like she’d been through absolute hell and the exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders. 

“We need your help,” she said. 

The lightning charged even more now in my finger tips, crackling into the air. “Why the fuck would I help you?” 

“You owe me a favor and you were always good at returning those favors,” she stated matter of factly. 

I cursed, knowing exactly what she was talking about. Back when we were in the Red Room together, Yelena helped me with something I refused to talk about even to this day. I told her if she ever needed my help, I’d be there no questions asked. 

I just didn’t think it would take her ten years to cash in on that favor. I thought she’d forgotten by now, given everything that happened with Natasha. Even though I’d been in hiding, I still kept up to date with current events like her sister dying and the snap. Thankfully, I’d been one who survived the snap. 

Letting out a breath, I curtly nodded, ready to agree but halted for a moment. “You said we. As in you and Alexi?” 

“No,” Alexi chuckled, wiping the crumbs off his lap. “We as in the Thunderbolts.” 

I raised a brow, looking back at Yelena, who was trying her hardest not to hide her face behind her hands. 

"The Thunderbolts?” I questioned. 

All of a sudden, the lightning at my fingertips seemed to have intensified when an all too familiar presence loomed behind me. I knew this presence anywhere. I’d spent countless nights with this presence during my time in Hydra. My powers were created in order to bring this presence his deepest pain. This presence was the sole reason why I ran from Hydra. 

Turning swiftly on my heels, I locked eyes with the familiar pair of blue ones that belonged to The Winter Soldier. 

“Hi,” he gave me a small smile. “I’m Bucky-.” 

Before he could finish his sentence, I shot him with a large strip of lightning, it bouncing off of his vibranium arm and lighting up the now dark skies. 

[sempiternalmuze]

Running Through the Halls of Your Haunted Home

Jack Abbott x doctor!Reader who has some problems being loved

tags: dr. jack abbott x female!reader, hurt comfort, reader runs away for a bit (story takes place when shes back), Robby being Jacks best friend, age/jobs not really established, implied not great childhood for reader, jack loves her ohmygod??, jack would never leave her tbh, a bit more flowery than i'm used to writing so let me know, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

Five months. That was the timeframe Robby had laid out for you when you'd came to him a few days after Christmas, explaining that you needed a break, need time away from the Pitt, the city, the state. He'd been kind enough to not ask too many questions, but you knew he'd hear it sooner than later directly from Jack during one of their therapy sessions.

So three days after Christmas you packed your bag, grabbed your passport, and changed your number. From one day to the next you had gone from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center to Portel, Brazil with Doctors Without Borders.

And you lived. You took the time you needed to find your peace again, to pick up the pieces that you had left behind in the dusty apartment Jack and you had shared.

But now it was May-- and Robbie was calling your number every few days. And today when you answered he'd sounded at about wit's end.

"Time's up kid, we need you back here." He sighed, and you could almost see his hand running over his face, tired and no doubt thinking about a fourth—fifth—coffee.

You had stayed silent for a moment, playing with the sheet of your hammock. You glanced at the tents set up by the river, kids running around in a game of tag, parents watching from the sides as they spoke to the other doctors on your crew.

"What if I told you I liked it here more? Then what?" You said, glancing back at the water.

Robby lets out a throaty laugh, one that pulls you away and forces you back to the shuffle of the Pitt. "Because if you did, you would've just said that."

It's a valid point— and true. You wouldn't be asking, wouldn't be hoping he'd tell you any different. You probably would have blocked him, sent an email to Gloria and moved on with your life.

"And I also know what you've got waiting." He whispered. And he was right. You wouldn't just leave like that and not tell Jack. The only reason you had been able to do it the first time was because you knew it was temporary, and small fold in the story you two shared.

"How is he?" The weight was heavy on your shoulders, an invisible force that only left in the depths of night and that was if you were tired enough to fall asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow. Jack was strong, and smart. He'd been through so much worse than a girl who was afraid.

"Well...he visits the roof a lot more now. The first few weeks were...well they were real bad kid." He pauses, like considering what would be too much to tell you. "I offered him to come stay with me, get away from the apartment, but he said he liked it. It gave him a reason to hold on."

Reasons to hold, how very Jack Abbott of him. To want to have hope, to find the reasons even though he wasn't sure where any of it would lead.

"He'd doing better now, I don't have to act like a hostage negotiator too much these days. He comes out to the park with us after work and he makes jokes with the new med students. But he misses you, a lot."

You nodded with a hum into the phone. The sun was so peaceful this time of day, it bounced off the water and on to your skin. You let your eyes close and let your mind drift back to those months ago, from even before the fight, to when things were still solid between the two of you.

Walks in the park after a long shift, hands intertwined as he poked fun at you for your decisions during a shift. The nights spent in bed, room slightly too cold because otherwise you'd burn up with his body heat. Even on the days when it was hard, when his active duty days caught up to him, there was still something to have, because he'd let you hold him, let himself talk and talk about the people and the days of roughing it, of the bad things he saw, of the pain of a leg that was no longer attached to his physical being.

"Kid, I gotta let Gloria know by tonight. Are you back?" Robby's voice broke through the speaker with a crack of static.

"Of course I am Robby."

Now you were running through the airport, hair a mess, sanity hardly in tact. Cassie had been kind enough to come grab you after dropping off Harrison with Chad for the weekend. Today and tomorrow would be your days to get settled, then straight back to it on Monday.

"I've missed you so much!" She squealed, arms wrapped around your center tightly. "You have no idea how much it sucks to have to take on that waiting room with myself and Javadi." She laughs.

"Oh I bet, what would you ever do without me?" You laughed. You held her tight before you both crawled into the car. She started the engine, waving off some security yelling at her and took off.

"How was it?" She asks, face covered in excitement.

"It was amazing Cassie. The people, the pace, the location, all of it was just-perfect." You sigh and throw your head back. "I think it was exactly what I needed."

"That's great." She says. Her tone tells you that there's something else, something on her mind that she isn't saying out loud.

It takes about three minutes of uncomfortable silence and a red traffic light for her to turn to you. "Have you talked to him?"

Cassie was one of about four people who definitely knew what was going on between you and Jack, one of a few who knew lengths you'd go for one another. Her tone is soft, prodding but not overstepping.

"No, Cass I...I didn't want to do anything that might...I don't know, hurt more than it already would?" You sighed. You covered your face with your hands. "I felt horrible, for taking off on him the way I did. But I just...I knew that he'd make me stay."

Cass nods along, listening. She takes your hands in hers, holding it softly over the center console. She doesn't push or try to interject her own thoughts about the whole thing into your mind. She knows you well enough to know that no decision you made came lightly, that it took hours and hours of thought and careful planning.

The light turns green and the car starts moving again. "You don't have to go back so soon. You can stay with Harrison and I if you want to." Cass offers, a small glint in her eyes.

You take a moment to consider before looking out the window. "I need to go back Cass. To my home, to my stuff. I need to go back to him. I ran once but I'm ready. I finally feel ready to face what we left behind." You smile, hands gripping the door handle a bit too tight.

Cass nods and hums. "Just know I'm there. If you need me."

And that's what the conversation is left at. Fifteen minutes later your left staring at your building. Cass offered to go upstairs with you, but you'd elected to face it all yourself.

There were two options that stood in front of you. One, Jack was home, asleep, getting ready to head to bed and face another grueling night shift. The blackout curtains would be drawn and the apartment quiet. Would the floorboards remember your steps or creak under the unfamiliar weight of your long lost body? Maybe they would, and then they'd wake him, and you'd have to explain the last five months of your life to him while he was half asleep.

The other option was simple, he wasn't home, maybe getting groceries before he inevitably came home to crash out on the couch. It had irked you so much when you first started dating. The way he'd get off a few hours before you and offer to do the shopping, just for you to come home and find him asleep in the most neck sore position possible, jacket barely off, jeans twisted too tightly across his legs. But eventually it became a comfort, the way you could rouse him and make him follow you to bed, where you'd help him take off his prosthetic, rip off his scrubs in return for a clean shirt and pj pants. Or sometimes when you were both so tired after a rough day you could snuggle yourself between his arms, him hardly waking up, but still opening his strong arms so you could press against his chest.

And you find yourself hoping it can be like those distant couch sleeps. That he'll be there, asleep on the couch, and you can just lay with him, head pressed against his chest, snuggled right below his chin as his fingers splay over the middle of your back, gripping you as to not let you disappear again.

So when you turn your key into the lock, you take a deep breath. With the click sounding, you push the door open. You roll your suitcase in first, setting it to the side. Then you pause, listening. There's silence, and for a moment you think you're safe. The buzz of the AC when it clicks on startles you, but not as much as the man standing before you.

Jack stands near the couch, hand holding on to it, like he might fall over. He wears a tight black tee, some washed jeans and his tennis shoes. When you finally meet his eyes you see something, a glint of pain? Maybe sadness, maybe shock. His hair is slightly longer along the sides, his facial hair a bit more clean shaven than the stubble you had last seen him in. He doesn't move, neither do you. Its like the saddest cowboy stand off you've ever witnessed.

The click of the door behind you finally breaks the silence. You take a step forward, placing your keys down on the entry table. You can't tear your eyes from his. You wish you could read his face, know where to start on the long list of apologies and begging of forgiveness.

"I know you probably hate me. I know you maybe wish I would have never come back. And I know when I left we were in a bad position, a position that I never wanted to be at with you." Jack opens his mouth to say something, but you're quick to silence him with a raise of your hand.

"But I'm here. I'm here because I love you. Because I never wanted to leave in the first place. And you are the first stable thing I've had in my life since med school." A sudden hiccup burst from you, followed by tears. You couldn't stop it. In an instant your face was crumpled, warm, tears spilling from your eyes.

"Sweetheart..." Jack mutters, marching towards you until his arms swaddled your frame, arms pressing tight around your ribs, fingers grasping at your hair. His face pressed deeply against the crown of your head, and his chest pressed perfectly against your ear until you could hear the thumping of his heart.

"Jack Abbott you— God you fucking took my life and put it back together in ways I didnt think possible. You showed me that I could be loved. I was worthy of love and attention."

You pulled away, Jack's arms still resting across your waist, fingers digging in, as though fully releasing you would mean you walking out the front door forever this time.

"And I ran. I ran because I was so fucking scared that you'd wake up and decide that I wasn't worthy, that you didn't need to be here. And I wouldn't be able to handle that." You glanced at him, and while your vision remained slightly blurred, you found that he was already looking back at you. For a moment you thought pity might be the thing coursing through his dark eyes, but you realized it wasn't even close. It was more like concern, fear.

"I picked that fight because I thought it was the only way to get you to leave. But you didn't. You refused to leave, to give in. And that made me mad." You laugh, wiping your face. Jack cracks a smile, followed by a small chuckle of his own.

"You made me mad because instead of doing what everyone else has done, you planted your feet. And that made me the most scared." You said, staring down at the ground. Jack gave you a moment to collect yourself, and when it seemed your breathing had finally calmed a bit, he took your hands in his, fingers intertwining with his own, his calloused palms pushing against yours.

"I planted my feet because I knew exactly what you were doing." He says, soft, speaking more into your hair than into the open space around you two.

"It was a stupid battle, and you're not stupid, so of course I knew what you were doing. Because I know you, sweetheart." he chuckles a little, the sound vibrating in his throat. "And more importantly, I planted my feet because I wanted to stay. You have never ever been anything short of the most beautiful, loving, smartest, strongest woman in my life. You are the best thing I've had in years." He sighed, his hand lefts yours as it moved up your arm, until it fell onto your jaw, guiding your eyes to his.

"And you put me back together. And I love you for that." He finishes. Neither of you two move, letting each others words swell around your embrace.

Your eyes drop to his lips, soft and kind. He doesn't hesitate, pulling you against him, letting your lips grace each others for the first time in months. You sigh, pressing your body against his. He holds you close as you two drink each other in.

Eventually he pulls away, rests his forehead against yours.

"I've missed you."

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

[peanutalergy]

Mr. Winston - SR x reader

The BAU doesn't really need your help with the case. Spencer does. tags: post prison! spencer, fem! child psychologist! reader. cm type violence (blood, murder, etc), traumatized child. pre-relationship yearning MAYBE ? maybe fluff also sorry i still don't know how to classify these things. the synopsis doesn't really make any sense because this is kinda spencer's pov but idk guys sorry im really tired. w/c: 1.5k (this was originally 5.4k words but then i reread it and found that i actually hated every single one of them so...) a/n: okay so wow... i had so much fun writing this (let's ignore most of my posts from the past two weeks) THE THING IS i sorta already had a pt2 to this but then i thought well we can't have that without the beginning so i did kinda write this in a rush im really sorry that it's so short and shitty. . . ALSO i really love this reader & i'd love to write more of her but if you don't like it then i don't like it either and i'll never write again if you tell me not to. i do not think this is good by any means. i do hate it but if i stared at the google docs page for any longer i'd go insane.

Spencer doesn’t treat her like she’s made of porcelain because she’d be easily broken (though, she would, but neither of you say that since you can tell how hard she tried to look strong before coming to the precinct). He treats her like she’s fragile because he can’t remember the last time he didn’t break something like this — wide-eyed and shaking, holding onto something soft like it’s the only real thing around.

He was the one who convinced the team to ask for your help when the kid got involved — he always is. They insisted it wasn’t needed, you can deal with her yourself, you’ve always been good with children, or whatever, but your office got a call from him anyway.

No one knows why he sticks around. Maybe it’s the way you hold her; the gentle hand that runs through her hair, much warmer than the tiny fingers with chewed off nails and blood stains. Maybe he’s trying to memorize the tone of your voice — soft and sweeter than the apple juice she didn’t open, rambling about the silliest things you can think of — to imitate it next time he finds himself having to question kids. Maybe it’s the teacup in your other hand (the one he made you) and the way you so casually sip from it. As if this delicacy came to you as easily as taking a breath, while he struggled even with breathing.

Either way, despite his hesitance, he’s always sure to be around if you’re working on a case with them. Watching from the corner in a way that might have seemed creepy if only you didn’t smile so often back at him.

Amelia Murphy, 6 years old.

She sits at the end of the couch, legs tucked up to her chest like she’s trying to make herself as small as a crumb on the untouched sandwich going stale by her side. Spencer stands at the edge of the room, a smile threatening to peek through as he listens to your stories about the stuffed animals on your bed.

“You can’t tell any of his buddies, okay?” she nods, small but enough for you, “Mr. Winston is my favorite teddy out of all the ones I have.”

“Why?” You and the agent have to hide a surprised expression at the sound of her quiet voice, ragged and hoarse, coming out for the first time tonight. 

“Because he’s been with me since I was very, very young.” You chuckle lightly, “I must’ve been around your age when my grandma gifted him to me.”

“How do you know my age?”

You look at Spencer. He takes that as an ask for help (it really wasn't) and moves before you can speak again, still as careful as possible as he sits on the armchair next to the couch and joins in on the conversation like you suggested to him so often. “We don’t, actually.” She doesn’t flinch like he feared she would, so he continues with a soft smile, “I’m sure my friend was just trying to say she was young, like you are.”

Amelia tilts her head, small brows furrowed as softly as she mutters, “Really?”

“Yeah.” He nods, “We don’t really know how old you are.”

“I’m… six.” Her fingers, miniature sized when compared to Spencer’s, struggle for a second before arranging into a six, “This much.”

You smile and pretend to write it down on your clipboard, “That’s a lot.”

He laughs in half disbelief, half joy when she asks, “Well, how old are you?”

“Do you want to guess?”

“Uhm…” Tiny hand scratching her chin, she examines him like she knows what she’s doing. He looks to you in pure confusion during the seconds she stays quiet. “A hundred?”

He holds back a snort, “Not quite, no. Do you wanna try again?”

During most of the time he talks to her, you stay quiet. He often looks to you, hesitating, asking for some sort of reassurance that he’s doing this right — you always give it to him with a barely there nod and a big smile.

Always, except for the moment he started talking about his job in almost too much detail when she prompted what are you?. Though, that time, he didn’t need your confirmation or denial to figure it out. All it took was a different knit to her eyebrows for him to go back into smaller than regular talking tone, from the bordering robotical lecturing mode.

“I wanna be a model when I grow up.”

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle breathily. Thankfully, she doesn’t take it as an offense like both of you thought she would. She just nods back at you with a proud smile. 

“And do you know what models do at their job?” Spencer inquires.

“They sit pretty in their pretty clothes for the people to watch,” the girl shrugs, speaking in the same way one would say the sky is blue. “Like her.”

He laughs when she points at you. “Being pretty isn’t all she does, though, Amelia. She’s not really a model.”

“She should be,” she whispers and you pretend you don’t hear it.

“Yeah, she should.”

He’s still careful even in the way he looks at her. Like she’d feel his cold hands if he said something too loud, too much. Every time she shows any sort of reluctance, he goes even softer — like he’d learned from uncountable hours of watching you do this over the years.

The very first time you met — interrogating an unsub’s daughter, before all of it happened. Before Mexico and Maeve and Gideon and Dilaudid and Emily. Before his jaw was screwed permanently clenched and his brain painted foggy. When he didn’t think of himself as a ticking time bomb and wasn’t scared of what he saw in the mirror.

Even when he didn’t feel this way about children as well as every other aspect of his life, he admired your work and yourself. So, it only makes sense (to him) that, when he sees himself as some sort of monster, you look like you’ve hung the moon and the stars even though the only thing you’ve ever been is yourself.

“And, uh, Amelia…” he mutters, pointing to the stuffed bunny in her hands, all love stains and frayed stitches, “Your friend over there. Does he have a name?”

She shakes her head, then spins it around to show the bow hidden on the back of its head, “She’s a girl.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m so sorry,” he laughs awkwardly.

“She doesn’t have a name.”

“Is there a reason for that, sweetie?” you ask as soon as there’s a pause from both of them.

He just watches with a grin while you work with her to find names for her teddy.

The markers were Spencer’s idea. He didn’t mean for it to be anything more than a way for her to express herself — you’d both been drawing animals and trees and numbers. Though, when her page became full of red scribbles and what seemed to be portraits of her parents, you realized she might have more to say.

“Who are those people, Amelia?”, he places a hand on her shoulder. She’s so focused on her tiny fingers wrapped around the marker, that she barely shows any reaction to him. When her bottom lip goes wobbly and her hands impossibly shakier, he takes away the paper with a “Okay, that’s enough.”

She fell asleep on his shoulder after half an hour of sobbing while telling what she remembered of the story.

He can’t help the warm feeling that floods his chest when you tell him, “You did a good job.” after getting as much as one can out of a kid who just witnessed her parents’ murder. His expression and words go against it, though. With a small shrug, he mumbles, “Oh, it was nothin–”

“No, don’t do that,” you cut him off, “You did really well.”

“You would’ve gotten her to say a lot more in a lot less time. It takes you an average of five minutes and for–”

“Shut up,” a giggle.

“Would you please stop cutting me off?”

“Not until you admit that you are actually still amazing with kids.”

He sighs. “How’s Mr. Winston?”

“No, no!” you slap his arm playfully, “You don’t get to change the subject by mocking me for my friends.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Spencer raises his arms in defense, a smile brightening his face. “I’m trying to get to know you and your friends better. I can’t do that anymore?”

“Not if you’re mean about it,” arms crossed over your chest and a half fake pout on your lips, you mutter.

“When was I mean?” he cocks his head to the side.

“I can tell from your tone of voice. It gets higher and weirder when you lie. You’re not the only one who knows about psychology here, buddy.”

He just shakes his head with a laugh. “I’m being serious. How are they doing?”

“Well, if you must know, they’re doing amazing.”

“I’m glad.”

It takes 43 (he counted) chimes of the clock on the wall for anyone to say something again. It’s him, in a whisper, “Do you really think she liked me?”

00:09 doctor reid genius guy

Amelia’s aunt just picked her up. She said her bunny was now named Mrs. Winston.

[ditzybeee]

❥・Jason Todd — bartender (nsfw)

❥・tags: nsfw, jason todd blurb, prince of gotham era, crushing!jason, bartender!reader, fem!compliments (pretty), gn!nicknames (angel, sweetheart), gn!reader, no use of y/n, brief mention of spiking drinks (joke, neither characters are drugged), praise, dry humping, cum eating, fingers in mouth, face fucking, cum swallowing

❥・word count: 1045

❥・─────────────────────

Jason Todd didn't like to drink on the job. He wasn't one to allow alcohol to impair his judgment when he's on a mission or managing the Iceberg Lounge.

So, when his bartender—who he'd been harboring feelings for—invites him for a drink as they're closing up the club, he doesn't refuse.

"Any preferences, boss? I can make a mean marg," you joke, wiping down the counter.

"Beer. Whatever's on tap," he mumbles, watching as you grab a pint glass and fill it.

He watches the way your arm flexes ever so slightly as you pull the tap.

The way your hand tilts the glass.

The way you look so focused—unnecessarily focused—on pouring his pint.

He glances away.

You place the glass onto a coaster and push it in front of him, returning to your closing duties.

"So, why'd you sit down for a drink today, boss?" You ask, eyeing as he sips the beer.

"Why'd you invite me?" He speaks into the glass.

You shrug, taking a pause in your cleaning. "You looked like you needed someone to talk to."

"I don't."

"Look, since I'm technically off the clock, I'll say it. You seem lonely, boss. I never see you talking to anyone. Not your family, no friends, not even us."

"I don't see how that's your concern, angel."

The corner of your lip quirks at the nickname.

"Angel?" You echo.

"Sorry, I- Sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed. He downs the last bit of the beer before fishing out his wallet.

You shake your head. "Don't say sorry. And the boss doesn't pay. Go home."

"Please, angel, let me pay," he mumbles softly.

"No, sir. Go home. Iceberg Lounge is closed," you hum, cleaning up his glass and coaster.

He huffs, hopping off the barstool. But he doesn't go home. No, he waits until you're entirely done, waiting at the door.

"I thought I told you to go home," you tilt your head, walking over with your bag slung over your shoulder.

"Well, I thought I told you I'd pay. We're not getting what we want tonight," he replies, slipping your bag off your shoulder easily, slinging it over his own.

A real gentleman.

He knows your apartment is within walking distance—you walk to work every day—so he walks you back.

What Jason didn't account for, was how long the walk was. Who in their right mind walks 2 hours to work and back?

So, 2 hours walking home with your boss—your hot boss—who pays you a fair wage, who gives you all possible benefits, who covers all insurance and medical.

Jason cares about you and about his employees—but mostly about you.

2 hours walking home with your boss revealed things. Lots of things that Jason wishes remained secrets.

Things like his concern for your safety—you'd hear him lecture you about 5 times during the walk.

Things like his displeasure at your refusing his money.

Things like how he lights up when you come into work.

Things like how he panics when you're a minute late—in a concerned boyfriend way, and not in an overbearing boss way.

And oh, kill him now, because he let it slip that he had feelings for you.

Sure, you two were around the same age, but it was weird to him.

Weird the way Jason was your boss and you were his employee.

Weird the way you suddenly fell silent after his confession.

Weird the way you allowed him into your apartment.

Weird the way he allowed himself to follow.

Jason thinks it's the pint of beer, the buzzing in his ear. Maybe he's dreaming.

Maybe someone snuck into the Lounge and spiked his drink.

Maybe he liked the way your voice was low and raspy when you talked dirty to him.

"Are you sure you want to do this, sweetheart?" He whispers, lips ghosting your collarbone of your already bare chest.

"Please," you whine.

He takes it and runs.

He slots his leg between yours, allowing you to grind yourself against his thigh. You whine at the friction of his jeans.

"So fucking pretty," he mumbles, staring at the way the moonlight from between the blinds shine on your skin.

His finger traces the band of your pants, pulling a bit.

"Can I remove these, angel?" he mumbles, and you nod.

He does so, pulling his jeans off as well.

He shifts on the bed, thrusting slowly and deep into you, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and you take him.

He peppers kisses against your skin, whispering praise and encourgement as you fuck yourself on his thick cock.

"You look so pretty when you're filled with my cock, angel," he mumbles against your neck, thrusting into you as your hips begin to stutter.

He hums contently when your cum spurts out, pulling out, and leaning down to lick it up. He enjoys the way you shiver when his tongue trails on your skin.

He pushes his thumb into your mouth when you start to whine.

"Quiet, yeah? I'll get to you soon," he mumbles as he finishes licking you clean.

His hand shifts, index and middle pressing hard on your tongue, lubing up your mouth with saliva as he eases you onto your knees.

"You're gonna take this dick in your mouth, and I'm gonna cum in this pretty mouth, yeah?"

You nod, blinking up at him.

He removes his fingers, pressing a kiss on your temple before he slides himself into your mouth.

Gripping the back of your head, his cock thrusts into your mouth, pounding unapologetically until he—as promised—unloads his cum down your throat.

"Swallow," he hums, pushing your lips together when he slides his dick out.

He watches as you swallow his cum, stray drops trailing out of the corners of your cheeks.

"You did amazing, angel," he whispers, pressing a long kiss on your lips, his tongue slipping between your lips. He hums at the taste of his cum still present on your tongue.

He quickly and quietly assists you to the bathroom, wiping you down and helping you get dressed before knocking out on your couch.

He thinks he'll stay until closing time more often.

You're Jason Todd's favorite bartender.

❥・─────────────────────

❥・a/n: i feel like this is lwk a copy paste of my virgin!jason but whateves

❥・masterlist

[captainpriceslilwife]

uuuhhhhhh ruminating on nikolai again and im hormonal and I stalked @quarterlifekitty 's nikolai tag about a hundred times so uhhhhhhh...gross daddy kink with nik 🤗 yay! (18+ nsfw below the cut)

CW: daddy kink (nik brings it out of me....like nasty, so im so sorry), overstimulation, could be perceived as non-con ish but it isn't I promise (he loves you, you love this behavior, everyone is happy) aannnd no aftercare written (only bc i didn't feel like writing it :) but he did take care of you afterwards, i promise) also first time writing smut so bad writing TW

Curled up at Nik's side, your cheek squished up against the dense hair that coats his chest as his fingers work their way into your tight, clenching heat. The little whimpers and mewls that escape from your mouth only serve to spur him on, but when your hips begin to wriggle, he brings his large paw to grip your ass and hold you in place on his fingers.

He chuckles softly at the quiet keen you let out, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head to soothe you as he scissors his fingers inside of you. "Shhh, kotenok...you need to sit still for your papochka, hm? So tight...I wouldn't want to hurt my sweet girl just because she can't be patient."

"I am being patient..." You murmur breathlessly, your tone turning slightly petulant as you tilt your head up to press tiny, pleading kisses to his jaw. "I want more, please, daddy. I can take it, I promise."

You feel his voice rather than hear it - his deep, rumbling voice reverberating through his chest and straight to your core as he coos quietly at you. "I know you think you can handle it, but papochka knows what you need, baby. Just be a good little girl for me and take what I give you."

But you just can't listen. You're always so good for him, but you had a really hard day :(, so after a couple more minutes (thirty seconds) you can't help it when you start to grind down on his fingers, groaning softly as you finally get him to punch against that spongey spot inside of you that has you sighing in relief.

He tuts quietly at your disobedience, but he can't help but huff in amusement at the way you bounce yourself on his thick fingers, barely even giving him a thought as you pant against his neck. He's always loved that you felt comfortable enough to push against him and his rules, especially since you were a jumpy little thing when he first got his hands on you - always asking him for directions and doing everything he said to a T. He's finally gotten you to relax enough to take what you need from him, even if it means you end up acting like a brat sometimes. But he's never been the type of man to punish bratty behavior...no, no, no. He loves spoiling his sweet malyshka! So if you want more? He'll give it to you.

No matter what.

And now that you've got your knees pressed next to your ears, feet dangling over his shoulders as he rams his cock into you, your little fists are weakly pushing against his chest as you whine about it being 'too much'.

"Oh, but isn't this what you wanted, malyshka? I thought you could take it, big girl. You promised me." He croons in a condescending tone, pulling one of your hands away from his chest to press a gentle kiss to it as you continue to whimper pathetically. When a tear begins to slip down your cheek, he swoops in and licks it right up, causing you to let out a little whine of discontent and a soft little 'gross' - but he can feel how tightly you clench around him at the action. "Mmh...so sweet, milaya."

And when he's made you cum more times than you can count - battering your poor, squelching cunt to its limit - you try to wriggle away from him. He just lets out a deep, rumbling laugh at your weak attempt to get away, eying you like you're an unruly kitten who doesn't know any better.

"Ah, ah, ah..." He tuts gently at you, tugging your hips back to slam you down on the bed so he can work his cock back inside of you. "No running, kotenok. You don't go anywhere until I say so. Come on, listen to your daddy."

You're nearly blacked out by the time he finally stops. Your trembling hands reach down between your legs to guard your throbbing pussy even though you know he's done - he's already rolled over to reach for his cigarettes and lighter, pulling you tight to his side as he flicks his thumb until the end of his stick glows orange.

He tosses the lighter off to the side before taking a deep drag and tilting your chin up to look at him. He blows his smoke out of the corner of his mouth to 'not ruin your pretty lungs', as he always says - but you're not sure how much good it does when he uses the same hand that holds the cigarette to trace his thumb over your cheek, catching the tears that still slip from your eyes.

"Say 'thank you, papochka' " He grunts in that sweet, patronizing voice that always turns you on more than you care to admit. When you stay silent, too fucked-out to even bring yourself to think, he brings one of his hands up to squeeze the fat of your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout and pulling a soft gasp out of you. "Go on. Say it, little girl."

You choke out something between a moan and a sob, and it takes you a second to form the words "th-thank you, papochka" before your resigned back to a panting, sweaty mess as he pats your cheek affectionately.

"Ah, good. So you can listen."

nsfw (p!link) visual for the first position he's got you in (full cred to @codnasties for the vid even though its for price)

[beanarie]

this is not the next installment of "buck takes a mental health break". i mean, it is, but i'm skipping around a little.

~

"My godbaby just had a lovely christening, Uncle Buck."

"Athena! Hey. Oh, uh. Was that today?" He squints at his alerts. "No one's sent me photos yet."

"Yeah, huh. That was today. Guess the days are less distinguishable out on the open road. What have you been up to? Maddie tells me about your adventures. Didn't see you as a Graceland type of guy."

"That was Albert's idea."

"Oh, he dragged you there, did he? That whip of a thing that you could break like a toothpick?" She sounds good, far lighter than she did the last time he saw her, about a week after Bo's birth.

"Okay, I admit I was a little curious."

"And?"

"Did you know Elvis had an identical twin?"

"What?"

"Jesse. He was stillborn."

"So there could've been two of him walking around," she says. "Interesting thought. Is that all you got from it?"

"He lived in a regular place first, but his neighbors didn't like dealing with the crowds, so he asked his parents to find him a farmhouse."

"A farmhouse?" She laughs.

"Yeah." He chuckles quietly. "It didn't stay that way. You know, when I first saw it, I wondered why anyone would ever need that much. It felt greedy."

"It is!"

"Yeah, no. It is. Just. He didn't start out wanting a palace. He tried something much quieter, more- more normal. The people around him didn't like it."

She makes a thoughtful noise. "Listen, Buck. If you find a place that feels more like home-" She pauses. "Or feels the way this place used to feel, you hold onto it. Don't cut yourself off from something that could be exactly what you need just because it's new. That's an order, Firefighter."

"Understood," he says, blinking rapidly. "I- How are you holding up, Athena?"

"Today was a good day," she says, a little brittle. "I had one last week, too."

"Tell me about it?" he asks, tentatively, unsure if it's his place. And she does.

~

(Buck): Hey, when do I need to make a decision about coming back?

(Hen): What do you mean "make a decision"?

(Hen): You really don't know if you're coming back

(Buck): It still hurts

(Hen): I know. That will never go away completely. Bobby was too important.

(Buck): Not him. You guys. You said I made myself small, but I didn't just decide to do that. It was what everyone clearly wanted.

(Hen): Oh, Buck

(Buck): It might be better if I join another house

(Hen): Is that what you want?

(Buck): Not really

(Buck): But I can't go back to whatever that was. No one would talk to me. I felt like I was on fire.

Hen bubbles him for quite a while. Buck finishes his sandwich and brushes the sand off his pant legs. The sun is strong today, but there's enough of a breeze coming off the water that it doesn't feel overwhelming.

(Hen): I think because we knew your grief would be a lot, we didn't know how to handle it on top of our own. So we didn't even open the door. Then enough time went by, it seemed like you were past the worst of it and bringing it up might cause you to backslide.

Buck stares at her words and listens to the waves crashing.

(Hen): That doesn't make it okay

(Hen): I think Bobby would be pissed at us

(Hen): No, I KNOW he'd have thoughts. Loud ones. He loved you.

(Buck): He told me that, you know. That night.

(Hen): Did he?

(Buck): I didn't say it back

(Hen): He knew. We all knew.

(Hen): I'm sorry, Buck. I really am. This goes a little further than forgetting your birthday.

(Buck): I don't have a yard, or gutters. I don't have a house.

(Hen): I'll help you find one. When you're ready. Just say the word.

tagging: @peppermintquartz @chococara25 connected-dots, tumblr won't let me tag you

[show, you cannot tell me hen and buck have the kind of friendship where he does yard work for DAYS to make up for forgetting her birthday but she leaves him to drown alone in his grief and that's just, fine. do me a fucking favor]

[elexuscal]

Welcome to the Murderbot Diaries Fandom!

Hello, hello! Our favorite anxious half robot, half-human security construct has made it to streaming, introducing it to a whole new audience! While that leaves the temptation to put on our helmets and hide in the corner, I'm putting my best foot forward to mimic Dr. Mensah and welcome you all to our hab!

My intention with this post is to give a little bit of a guide to newcomers to get them situated, and generally just say hi.

What's Murderbot?

Murderbot is the titular character of The Murderbot Diaries, a book series by Martha Wells. Book 1, All Systems Red, is currently being adapted by a new streaming series on Apple TV. The (two) series follow a rogue ‘SecurityUnit’ as it befriends humans and robots alike, steals its freedom, and does what it can against the hyper-capitalist companies that rule much of the galaxy.

Spoilers Abound!

As far as we can tell, the (presumed first) season of the Murderbot show will cover only book 1 of what is currently a six-book series (with two additional short stories, and two more entries planned).

As such, there will be spoilers lurking in the tags! This includes future events, reveals, and characters.

If you're new and don't want to be spoiled, stick to the tags #Murderbot Show and #Murderbot TV. It's also a courtesy of fans of the book series to keep TV show discussion in that tag as opposed to the book tags #Murderbot Diaries and #TMBD. (Though I'm going to be honest, there's like a bazillion tags at this point so this might be a losing battle. Oh well, we try!)

Sharing Spaces

The fundamental themes are Murderbot are about the power of kindness and compassion, and the importance of respecting those different from you. Those are ideals I hope we can continue to foster as our little fandom grows.

What does that mean?

Primarily, it means recognizing that there are going to be different perspectives, and that's okay! Some people are really excited by an adaptation of the books they love; some are skeptical. Plus, of course a whole bunch of folks who have only just been introduced to MB via TV! All are valid! Let's not be rude to those who disagree with our own perspective.

It also means respecting different interpretations of the character and stories. We don't know how much the story of books and show are going to diverge; certainly, even faithful adaptations need to make changes to take advantage of a new medium. And indeed, even when you're reading the same text, people can come away with very different perspectives. We need to make room for all those perspectives to hang out together.

Identity and Representation

The Murderbot of the books is nonbinary, using it/its pronouns. There’s heavy emphasis in the text that Murderbot is wholly uninterested in both sex and romance, and it is therefore very commonly interpreted as asexual and aromantic, not to mention touch-averse and neurodivergent. As such, you'll find many folks from these communities within the fandom. Please try to be kind and respectful of these groups!

As always, the fandom principles of 'Ship and Let Ship' and 'Your Kink Is Not My Kink (And That's Okay)' applies. That said, it's a two way street, and there are ways to approach shipping that recognises why many other fans won't share your interests. Write shippy fic, draw shippy art, just tag appropriately and be respectful of ace and aro-spec identities as you do.

Respecting representation also extends to visual depictions of the characters! With a new show out, it of course follows that many people will be making fanart reflecting its cast! However, the books themselves are often very scant on physical descriptions, reflecting Murderbot's often laconic style. This leaves a bit of a blank canvas for fanart. While we're definitely going to be seeing a lot of fanart representing Skarsgard's Murderbot (as well as the rest of the show's cast), you’re also going to be seeing pieces  taking inspiration from other places, such the official book cover art by Tommy Arnold,  the voice actor of the audiobooks, Kevin R. Free, and artists’ own imagination! This means other interpretations of the characters in terms of racial background, build, and gender presentation. That's awesome! Let's keep enthusiasm for all ways of depicting this awesome universe going!

Fandom Is Fun

Above all, fandom is a place of joy, connection, and creativity. Be kind to others; block those who are bringing you down; share and emphasize the things you love!

If this is your first time finding Murderbot; welcome! I think you've got a real treat ahead of you. I'm glad you're here. 👋

[casdean-jenmish]

Just Stay • B. Barnes

Word Count- 3.8k

Tags- angst, there’s so much angst, married!bucky, y/n insert (cause I couldn’t be bothered for a name), there’s a child included, dad!bucky, hints at sex (very vaguely, sorry no smut this time), just a lot of angst guys

"You'll be okay bug, I promise daddy will home in the morning." I mumbled. Here I sat with my six year old daughter as she cried. Bucky has been gone helping Steve with some business in Wakanda for about two months, so it was just Rebecca and I. She hated when Bucky was away, even more than I did. Our nightly routine was always a movie, bath or shower time, brush time, bedtime story, and snug as a bug in a rug. Without Bucky here though, I could barely get her through her bath or shower without her crying that she missed her daddy.

It was absolutely heartbreaking for me every single time. We've tried calls before bed or facetiming, but Becca still gets upset. Even before she was born she was a daddy's girl. All Bucky had to do was talk to or lay a hand on my bump and she would calm down. And when she was born? Oh boy. You couldn't get Bucky to put her down for a second without watching her like a hawk. Poor Peter and Sam. The first time they had tried to hold her, Bucky was down their throats about be responsible and acting like an adult. Don't even get me started on when we joked about Rocket holding her.

"Mommy, why can't daddy just stay home? I hate when he leaves." Becca whimpered. My heart broke in half as she clung to her deer plushie. A gift from her Uncle Steve because as he called it, it was "a buck for a mini buck". I let out a small sigh and began rubbing my hand across her back. "I hate when he leaves too Beck, but he always comes back. I promise you that daddy will always come back." I said. I tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, running my thumb across her cheek to wipe a stray tear. "Tomorrow you can spend all day with daddy, but you got to get some sleep first bug." She let out a small sigh, but nodded her head. "Mommy will stay here until you fall asleep, okay?" She nodded again and reached out to wrap her small hand around my big one.

"I love you mommy." "I love you too bug."

I waited for her breathing to even out and small snores to start filling the room before I made my exit. I made sure I left her door ajar so the hallway light peaked in a little. Even if she wasn't scared of the dark, it made me feel better knowing she had some light. I took in a deep breath before making my way downstairs. Now just to wait on my husband. Steve should just be considered Bucky's mistress at this point. I rolled my eyes at the thought. I just miss my husband, doesn't mean I need to compare his best friend to a side piece.

I began picking up the living room, hearing the slight clink of the metal under my shirt. Bucky had given me his tags before he left for a three month mission. He said he wanted me to have a piece of him while he was gone. Part of me always wondered if it was actually because he didn't expect to come back from the mission. It was always a risk when he left. I always waited for the day that Steve would show up at my door without Buck by his side. I felt my heart weigh down in my chest at the thought of him not coming home one day. I could never make it without him.

After Becca was born, I never went on another mission. I stayed at the compound with her and the rest of the avengers. Depending on who was home, I practically didn't see Becca all day. Every time she needs fed or changed or burped or rocked to sleep, they would take her. Always telling me "go get some sleep, I've got her". It amazed me how quickly everyone fell in love with her.

Especially Vision and Loki. Loki would smack my hand anytime I tried to take her for nap time. Which was strange to me because Loki wasn't exactly fond of children to begin with. I had multiple photos of the god of mischief laying with Bucky and I's daughter tucked into his chest. Not that Loki ever needed to know about said photos.

When Becca turned two, Tony gifted Bucky and I our own home so we weren't cramped into the compound with everyone else. A three story house, six bedrooms, three full baths, fully decked out kitchen, in-ground pool in the backyard, finished basement, office area, and so much more. Bucky refused to take it at first due to his past with the Stark's, but Tony shut it down real quick. "I'm not saying I'll ever forgive you Barnes, but you aren't that man anymore. I don't think the winter solider would ever cry over a little girl getting her hair trimmed." Which lead to them fighting over if Bucky actually cried or not.

Just because I stopped missions though, doesn't mean the great White Wolf did. Steve and Tony both said that Bucky would continue to be a great asset to the team. I think Bucky truly didn't want to give up having the life he was used to. His whole life has been spent fighting and even if he hates it, it's practically his comfort zone. When he found out I was pregnant, it scared him. It absolutely terrified him because all he could think was 'i have taken so many other people's children, so why do i deserve my own'. It took weeks for the closest people around him to get it through to him that he deserved this as much as the next person.

The first four years weren't bad. I could handle him being gone for weeks, a month, or even two months. Sometimes even as long as four months. Here lately though, every time he walks out the door I'm worried I won't see my husband again. I know for a fact that it has a big affect on Becca. She loves her dad and if he's gone for more than three days, she's not her normal cheery happy self. I sat on the couch and sighed as I seen all the toys still scattered. I just want him home for a change.

————————————

I slowly open my eyes as I heard the shut of a door. I heard the footsteps of my husband begin to echo suddenly. What time is it? I looked up at the clock on the wall, only for the hands to be pointed at 2:48. Almost three o'clock in the morning. Four hours after he was supposed to be home. I huffed in slight annoyance making the footsteps come to halt. "Sweetheart?" I rolled my eyes and slowly sat up from my laying position. The footsteps began making their way towards me, but I was thrilled like I usually am. I was severely annoyed with everything.

"Why are you on the couch sweets?" I looked up seeing his concerned face staring down at me. I could see confusion slowly take over as he noticed the annoyed look on my face. "What's wrong? What happened?" I scoffed at his words. Of course. I stood up from the couch and made my to the kitchen, Bucky following close behind. "Why are you mad?" I could hear the worry in his tone. We weren't a couple that fought, mostly due to our pasts. We bickered and argued, but never got to the point where we were yelling at each other. It's the one type of fighting we always prevented from happening. Seems like I wasn't able to prevent this one though.

"It's almost three in the morning James, why am I mad?" I asked snapping my head over his way. I could see his face fall as he realized. "I was supposed to be home at eleven." He muttered. He ran his hand down his face while I just nodded. "I'm sorry. Steve needed me to stay for debriefing before we leave again tomorrow." He said. I just smiled and shook my head. "Of course he did." I snapped, slamming the cupboard shut. "Y/N, you know how these thing-" "Yes James! I know how the work! I understand that you have a job, you have a responsibility to the team, but what about our team? What about our daughter?!" Bucky looked at me with his eyes wide. I wasn't someone who yelled, at all.

"Sweets, I'm sorry. I know I'm not home much, but I'm trying so hard." I let out a dry laugh as I opened our dishwasher. "Not hard enough." It wasn't fair to say, I know how hard he tries. I know that he does the best he can to stay home and be available for work. "That's not fair Y/N and you know it." He said with a small hint of aggression in his tone. "No what's not fair is that you never seem to have time for our daughter! When's the last parent teacher conference you went to? When was the last dance recital you attended?! When did you last hug her goodnight? Or even-" "I get it Y/N! Got anymore ways to explain how much of a shitty father I am?!" Here it is, our first actual yelling match.

"She's cries every night for you! She misses you so much and you're never here anymore! We might as well be divorced!" I yelled. I immediately regretted the words when Bucky's angry face dissolved quickly. Instead he looked hurt, wounded even. The silence was suffocating, just like every night without him here. "Is that- are you saying you want a divorce?" I felt my heart start to crumble as his eyes watered over at the words. "Buck-" "You're getting divorced?" I quickly snapped my head over to see our daughter standing there with tears down her cheeks.

"Bug-" she quickly turned around, running back upstairs with sobs falling from her lips. Without a second thought I rushed up after her. I could fix the fight later, right now my buggy needs me.

My heart finished shattering when I walked into her room seeing her curled into a ball. The sobs leaving her lips was never what a mother wanted to hear. It was gut wrenching. I quickly made my way over to her bed, resting my hand on her back. "Becca, please don't cry." I whispered. She just shrugged my hand off of her and buried her head further into her pillow. I sighed as I felt defeat rushing through me. I looked over as I heard the floorboard creak quietly. There stood Bucky with almost the same look of defeat.

He walked in and sat beside Becca's bed. I watched as he reached his metal hand across to grab ahold of her small one. She loved that her dad was part 'robot'. I felt tears filling my eyes as Becca slowly turned her head towards her dad. Her small eyes swollen and her lips wobbly. "Why is my pretty girl crying?" Bucky asked. His tone as gentle as the hold he had on her hand. "Y-You and mom-mommy are getting a div-divorce." She hiccuped. God, I'm a terrible mother.

"Mommy and I are just having a disagreement right now princess, I promise-" "But you said you were! Don't lie daddy!" Becca cried, burying her face back into her pillow. Bucky sighed and leaned towards the bed. "Buggy, daddy and I aren't getting a divorce." I said, Bucky looked over at me with almost relief on his features. "Stop lying to me!" I sighed at her words. I moved closer and laid down beside her. "Sometimes things are said that shouldn't be said Bug, and that happened between daddy and I tonight. Mommy said things she shouldn't of. You know how when you're upset, you say things to mommy that you don't mean?" I asked. I smiled slightly as her small head nodded.

"Well, that's what mommy did. She got upset and said things she didn't mean." I said. I began rubbing her back, watching as she slowly pulled her pillow away from her. "There's my princess." Bucky whispered squeezing her small hand. "Why were you upset with daddy?" I heard her small voice ask. Oh, sweet girl. I looked over her head to see Bucky looking at me. The guilt on his face made me want to burst out in tears. "I was upset because I miss daddy so much." I muttered. His eyes watered as he looked at me.

Becca suddenly turned towards me with a look of remorse. I felt a tear fall from my eye as she placed her little hand on my cheek. "I miss him too, but remember what you told me mommy? Daddy always comes back. He always comes back because he misses us too." I let more tears fall as she looked at me with those sweet blue eyes. "He comes back because he loves us."

————————————

I sat with my knees tucked into my chest tightly. After Becca calmed down, she asked Bucky to read a story to help her go back to sleep. Instead of staying for story time I left the room. It gives Becca that time with Bucky she so desperately needs. She needs him, sometimes I think more than she needs me. I never viewed it as bad thing though, I knew that Becca loved me. It's just hard when she practically never sees Bucky, who is ultimately her favorite.

I ran a hand through my hair and let out a deep sigh. I need four years of sleep. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood from my spot. I shimmed out of my sweatpants and walks over to the hamper of dirty clothes. It doesn't fill as fast anymore. I shook the thought from my head and threw the pair of sweatpants in. I flipped the light on to the walk-in closet and made my way around to find a pair of shorts.

I tensed as I heard the bedroom door slowly shut. And here it comes. I could hear the footsteps making their way towards the closet and it genuinely worried me. What was I supposed to say to him? "She's asleep." I heard him mutter. I couldn't bring myself to look at him though. It's our first ever fight, what was I supposed to say after the harsh words that left my mouth? "Baby, look at me." I felt the tears rush to my eyes as he stepped closer and closer to me. His hands circled around my waist and I felt my walls crumble.

"Sweet girl-" his words cut off when I let out a small sob. "I'm so sorry." I cried leaning against him. I heard a small sigh leave his lips before his head came to rest in the crook of my neck. "No, I'm sorry." It was so comforting to feel the words mumbled into my skin. "I know I'm gone too much. I know I'm not home as much as any of us want. I know it's hard on you and Rebecca." He knows, but he hasn't done anything to change it? Does he not want us anymore?

Almost as if he read my thoughts, the arms around my waist tightened. "I want to be home more, don't ever think I don't want to be here." He spoke, rubbing small circles on my hip. "Then why don't you stay?" I whispered. I felt him tense at the question, telling me that he was hiding something. What could it possibly be?

"Because I have a responsibility-" I let out a weak scoff and looked down at the floor. A responsibility to the team. "Don't do this, baby please don't." He whispered as I began to remove myself from his arms. "I forgot, the responsibility to the team is more important than your family. Sorry I asked you to come home tonight. I should've been more considerate and told you to stay at the compound. At least then you're only a shake away from the quintet to rush-" "Stop!" I tensed as I heard the anger in his voice.

"Why are you being like this tonight? Why is it all of the sudden an issue?" I let out a small laugh and turned to him. His features looked exhausted, hurt, and most of all? Guilty. "It's been a issue for months James! Months! But you're never home for us to have this fight! You're never fucking home anymore!" I could feel the tears building up with my last sentence. I just wanted him be home with his family, why is it so much to ask?

"You're never here anymore and it's killing me. I feel like I've lost my husband, my soulmate. We agreed to be parents the minute we discussed I was pregnant, so why does it feel like I'm a single parent doing all of this on my own?" Bucky put his back against the closet wall, slowly sliding down which each of my words. I could see the stress and tension weighing down his shoulders.

I bent down with him and grab ahold of his hands. "Buck, every time you walk out that door-" I stopped as the words got caught in my throat. I worry you won't come back. I felt the tears filling quickly as I tried to keep myself calm and collected. "I worry that I'm going to lose you." I cried.

He leaned his head back, allowing me to see the tears falling down his cheeks. "It's more than some responsibility, I know it is. So please tell me what's going on, tell me so I can help." I begged. He let out a small sob and squeezed my hands tightly in his. "She'll hate me. She'll find out soon and she'll just hate me, Y/N." Bug. He's worried about Bug finding out about Soldat.

"Those days are so far behind us. Baby, that girl worships the ground you walk on. She will understand that you were doing what you had to do to survive." I whispered. He was crying profusely, the idea of our baby girl despising him for his brainwashed past being overwhelming. "She won't be disgusted by you, just like I wasn't. That part is one of things I love the most about you, you know why?" I asked. Bucky looked at me, his eyes bloodshot from the tears. His lip was wobbly and the hurt was evident on his features.

"Because I know that it wasn't you. I know how hard you fought to be free from those chains. I know that you pushed your hardest to be the man that you are today. The man that cries every time he sees our wedding video. The man that worships every step our daughter takes. The man who dances with me in the kitchen at two am when he gets home, just to feel me in his arms. The man that loves with his whole heart and soul. The man who went from being a tortured soul to being a selfless hero." He closed his eyes tightly as cries left his lips.

"James Buchanan Barnes, you are the strongest, bravest, most selfless man I ever known. You are the love of my life. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." I said, resting my forehead against his. I felt my heart swell with love as he wrapped his arms around me, making me sit in his lap. He continued to let out cries as he held me close to him. "Don't you ever think your past will make us hate you. You are our baby girl's world." I whispered, placing small kisses along his beautiful facial features.

"I love you so much."

————————————

I let out a slight groan as I felt consciousness making it way through my body. I instinctively reached my hand out to Bucky's side of the bed, only to feel the cold sheets beneath the warmth of my hand. My eyes shot open to find an empty bed. My heart nearly split in half as I realized that he more than likely left early this morning. Yet another week of him being gone. Another week of an empty bed. It's exhausting constantly waking up and being depressed. Especially when you have another human being to take care of while you're trying not to break down and cry.

I flipped the comforter off my body, shivering at the cold air. It's even harder after you spend a night filled with nothing but pure love. Nights where it's nothing but being vulnerable with one another, just for him to be gone again in the morning. I held back the tears in my eyes as I stood from the bed. I walked over and grabbed the first sweater I could find. I threw it on to cover myself up, then threw my hair into a lazy updo. Time to wake up Becca and start our routine.

I opened up the bedroom door, only to hear the sounds of Rebecca laughter. She must be watching tv. I slept in too late for her. I sighed and ran a hand down my face before heading towards the steps. I can’t take this any longer. I once again fought back the tears as I headed down the steps. “Becs, turn the tv off so we can have some break-“ my words stopped as I seen my husband and daughter sitting on the couch together, hand in hand.

“Good morning Mama! There’s breakfast on the stove! Daddy didn’t want to wake you up.” Becca said smiling at me. She was quick to turn her attention back to the tv, Trolls was playing which meant no one mattered right now. I looked at Bucky, tears no longer being able to be held back. “Bug, I got to get up.” Bucky whispered making her nod. I held back the sobs as he walked over to me, his face filled with so much love.

“I’m on leave. Talked to Steve last night after you fell asleep. A mechanic job sounds nice right? Something simple and easy?” I couldn’t help the sobs that left that time. He wasted no time to scoop me up in his arms. “I’m home baby. For good. No more leaving, no more missions. It’s time to be home.” I held the back of his head, making sure he was kept close to me as I cried in his arms. “I love you so much sweets. I’m home.” I smiled as I let out a mix of a sob and a joy filled laugh.

“I love you more baby. I’m so glad that you’re home.”

[souliebird]

[[and i will never let you down]]

series: daredevil | pairing: benjamin poindexter x reader

summary: in the same universe as dance of the little swans. dex returns to you after being away for a few hours.

triggers: suicidal ideation & other typical daredevil content tags

No one looks twice at Dex as he strolls into the hotel lobby. 

He blends right in with the elite clientele in his pressed business suit and ‘I don’t give a fuck what you think’ attitude. His eyes sweep the floor with the paranoia and intensity that only comes from years of being in active combat zones, looking for any hint of a threat as he makes a beeline for the elevators. No one stands out - he chose this establishment for a reason - but he does not allow his posture to relax until he is alone in the small, sealed box. 

Only then does Dex take a deep steadying breath. 

He rolls his neck, trying to release some tension, but the familiar and soothing ‘crack’ never comes. It hasn’t come since they coated his spine in metal. While he is grateful - as much as he can be - that his mobility was saved, the deep aches and pains that the surgery left in his back sometimes make him wonder about how hard a normal recovery would have been. 

But he always quickly dismisses those thoughts, because if he had been left to rot in prison - immobile and trapped - he never would have found you. 

His lips tip up into a smile as lets himself slowly slip from Mission Mode into Home Mode. He looks down to the small, delicate boutique bag dangling from his fingers. He hopes the gift is enough to make up for having to leave you alone for a few hours. 

Dex felt like his soul had been ripped to shreds when he had told you of his plan. You had looked so scared and upset at the prospect of being by yourself, but he hadn’t had many options. 

He had never really cared about money before - his veteran status and the FBI had kept him financially stable, and he had no desire for material things - but now he is starting from scratch and keeping you safe and pampered is at the forefront of his mind. Luckily, Dex has a few contacts who don't care who he is as a person - only that he can make the shots no one else can - and those types of shots cost a pretty, untraceable, penny. 

The ding of the elevator shakes him from his thoughts and Dex exits with another steadying breath. His stomach starts to turn, and his heart begins to race in his chest as he makes his way towards your suite.

He doesn’t know what he is going to find on the other side and that terrifies him.

You could be curled up in bed.

You could be gone.

You could be dead. 

He fears the last one the most. He understands more than anyone the call to the Darkness being alone brings. He understands wanting it all to just Stop when life crumbles around you - and oh life has so terribly crumbled around you.

Your Dreams have been ripped from you and relentlessly mocked. 

Your relationship had ended in the worst kind of heartbreak and abandonment. 

You have given up on being Alive, but you have yet to take that final step because Dex has been the one to hold you back.

Despite his initial plans to put a bullet neatly between your eyes, you have wormed your way in between his ribs and he will burn down the city and cull everyone in it if it gets you to smile for even a moment. He will drop to his knees at your command - he will do anything and everything for you without a second thought.

Because you are his. 

You are his to protect. To hold. To care for and comfort. 

You are his to share sweet little laughs with and to watch bad movies with. 

You are his to slow dance with and dine with. 

You are his to listen to and to hear his words.

You are his.

And he is yours. 

You are so good and kind. 

You know he is a Monster. You know who he has killed and how - you know all about his past with the FBI and Fisk. You know about his anger and how he needs things Perfect and how everyone has left him.

You know Dex is fucked up beyond repair, and yet you cup his jaw and kiss his forehead and thank him for his service. 

Murdock and his little friends are only alive because it is the only thing you have asked of Dex, but if Dex opens the door and you are not there to greet him, all of that will go out the window. He’d neatly explode all of their heads - and yours if you had run away from him - before removing his own. 

But he tries to not think about that, because you have to be okay and waiting for him to return.

You have to be. 

When his feet finally, finally, reach the door, he gives it three, slow, solid knocks - letting you know it is him - before he swipes the keycard with a shaking hand. 

He can’t breathe as enters the room. 

The lights are off in the sitting area, but he doesn’t expect you to be in there. He won’t admit to himself that he hurries towards the bedroom - or that a sigh of relief escapes his lips at the sight of a you-shaped lump under the covers. You are completely hidden under them, but there is a steady rise and fall indicating you are breathing. 

The TV is on across from the bed - one of the network news channels is silently showing breaking coverage of the assassination of the Prime Minister of Madripoor. He lets himself take in the scene for a moment, before picking up the remote and turning off the device. 

He sets your gift on the nightstand closest to him before lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. He hesitates before reaching for you - ghosting his fingers over the blanket-barrier. He doesn’t know if you are asleep or awake in your little cove and Dex would hate himself even more if he woke you from the slumber you so desperately need. 

He whispers your name and his heart jumps for joy when you stir. 

A moment later, your head emerges. Your eyes are bloodshot, and it is clear you have been crying, but in that second, you are smiling and look oh so relieved. 

“You came back.”

He mentally Rages at the man who broke you so thoroughly that you would doubt Dex would return to you, but he doesn’t let that show. He clamps it down hard and instead focuses on the beautiful curve of your lips that is all for him. 

“Of course I came back, angel. You are never going to get rid of me.” A promise he’s told you so many times, but he can’t seem to get to stick in your head. 

You sit up, the blankets piling in your lap, and reveal you are once again wearing one of the t-shirts he bought for himself. His body thrums with approval and he moves his hand to cup your cheek. 

“Is it…is it okay?” You ask hesitantly - quietly - as you lean into his touch. Your eyes dart to the blank TV screen before closing and he more than understands what you are asking of him. 

“It is. I’m sorry it took a little longer than I initially planned,” Dex says as he rubs his thumb over your soft skin. “I got you something to make up for it.”

A small amount of light returns to your eyes when you open them to give him a curious look and he internally crows over his success. 

“You got me something?”

Dex reaches back to grab the bag without his other hand leaving your face and presents it to you with what he hopes is a sheepish smile. 

You nuzzle into his palm as you accept his gift, a beautiful soft look overtaking your features. He memorizes it all as you gently push through tissue paper to find your hidden treasure. 

He doesn’t know exactly what the style of top is called - but it certainly borders on some type of lingerie. It is a little sleeping slip that is all lace and sheer fabric - your breast will be fully covered but the rest leaves little to the imagination. There is a slit up the middle, to expose slivers of skin from your sternum down, but it is tasteful. Matching boy-short style panties are included - Dex balked at the idea of offering you a thong or something crotchless. 

You had briefly eyed a similar looking sleeping set when out shopping a few days ago, but the quality hadn’t been up to standard. It had been too lewd - too cheap - to be worthy of you wearing it. 

You are Dex’s angel - his princess - and what he had picked out was what you deserve to lounge around in. 

You apparently agree. Your smile turns blinding and a moment later you are wrapped around his neck, hugging him like he is a lifeline. He hugs you back just as tightly, trying to absorb you into him even if it’s impossible.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you so much, Dex.” 

“You’re welcome, angel. You’re going to look stunning in it.” 

Your breath tickles his skin as you huff a laugh against him and he’s desperate to stay in that moment forever. 

But as much as he wants it, he can’t bend time to his will and after the shortest eternity later, you pull away from him. 

“I think I need a shower before I put it on and model it for you. Will you join me?”

“Always,” he rushes out, honored you are asking him. He would have followed you into the bathroom anyways - not wanting to be even a room away from you any longer. He’s done it previously - sat on the counter while you spent countless minutes just letting water fall onto your skin. 

You usher him out of the bed, playfully making shooing motions as your mood begins to brighten. He dares to mirror your energy, and once you are standing, he picks you up bridal style. Your arms quickly return to being around his neck and that perfect little smile grows even more.

You let your head rest on his shoulder as he carries you into the bathroom and he loathes that he has to set you down to strip and turn on the shower. He lets you handle the water temperature - you alternate between scalding and barely below skin melting and it feels like the one thing Dex cannot memorize about you. It angers him, but you’ve gently explained it’s based on how you feel in that moment, and it can’t be predicted.  He treasures that you understand his frustration and helped him to find a solution.

Even if that solution is letting you do an iota of work. 

He allows you to help him out of his suit while he removes his shirt from your body. Each touch is slow, methodical, and deliberate - neither he or you are in a hurry, and he likes the care you put in making sure his clothes remain wrinkle free. 

Only when you are both nude and steam has covered the mirrors do you enter into the shower enclosure. Multiple sprays are going, and you hiss with pleasure as the burning water hits your skin, something Dex mimics even though he has no personal preference with how hot it is. 

He has seen you nude many, many times, and has touched almost every inch of your body, but he still turns his back to you to give the illusion of privacy. 

That sort of intimacy isn’t a line you and Dex have crossed yet. Forehead and cheek kisses are plentiful, but his lips have yet to touch yours and he would never even dare to suggest anything sexual with you. He doesn’t crave that release - not like other men do. He wants to bury himself in you to be as close as possible, but he understands that isn’t your desire and he will always be respectful of it. 

You are still his and he is still yours and that is all he needs. 

Dex begins his shower routine using the products you prefer. He would rather use things without a scent - the smell of rich honey tickles his senses a bit but it is what makes you happy and when he was out, putting his nose to his wrist helped to calm his anxieties in a way that reminded him of his long burnt tapes. 

As he starts to dig his fingers into his scalp, he hears you turn to face him. He can see you in the warped reflection of the shower nozzles but pretends he doesn’t as he watches you examine his back. Self-disgust gathers in his chest - from the base of his skull to his tailbone is the thick gnarled scar left over from his operation. The healing process had been hard and the memory of it makes Dex’s teeth gnash. It brings him back to the headspace of laying helplessly on the ground while Murdock failed to kill Fisk. 

The buzzing he hates so much is starting to vibrate within him, but before he can open his mouth to tell you to not look at him, you are stepping forward and hugging him from behind. 

Dex goes completely still, hands on his head, as you nuzzle between his shoulder blades, and then the world stops as your lips find his spine. 

You start at the nape of his neck, then slowly, oh so slowly, begin to place feather light kisses down his scar. 

He can just barely feel it but he thinks this is what is going to kill him. 

Too many emotions surge up into his chest and heart and he doesn’t even know what he is experiencing. He doesn’t know if it is good or bad - but he knows he doesn’t want you to stop despite it being almost too much. He can feel tears starting to mix with the shower spray on his cheeks. 

He is frozen as you trail down his body. 

Your hands start on his chest, making their way south on his front as you lower yourself to get the small of his back, but they never go below his navel. His abs flex under your touch, but you don’t tease or taunt. You just continue with your task, kissing right to the bottom of the scar before starting your way back up. 

His knees are quaking hard when you return to your starting point. You place a firmer kiss to the original start - Dex can hear the wet sounds of your lips against his skin over the sounds of the shower - before turning your head to press your cheek to him and tighten your arms around his chest. 

You press yourself flush to him back as the sweetest words he’s ever experienced begin to pour out of you. 

“Thank you, Dex. For taking care of me. For making sure I’m safe. For being so good to me.” 

“You deserve the world,” he croaks out, surprised he can even speak. 

You squeeze him tighter, and in a soft voice, ask, “would you give it to me?”

“Yes,” he responds instantly. Without question - without thought. Anything - he’d give you anything. He’ll carve out his heart and present it on a platter for you. 

You just have to ask. 

“I can’t give it back,” you whisper against him. “I can’t give you the world.”

He finally is able to move, and he drops his hands to find yours, lacing your fingers with his and gripping you tightly - but not enough to hurt you in any way. 

“You don’t need to. You are my world.” 

It is sappy and pathetic, but it is true. 

You became his world the moment Murdock turned and walked away from you. Murdock abandoned you - he left you to die, from either Dex’s hand or your own - and Dex will never forgive him for it. 

But Murdock’s mistake was Dex’s blessing. 

Dex protects you from your Darkness and you protect him from his. You take the things Dex hates about himself and cradle them close, make him feel like he is a Person instead of a hollow shell of a weapon. 

You are much much more than his North Star. 

You're his Angel.

You bury your face against him and Dex lets you - too scared to move and break the moment. He has no idea you stand under the spray, clinging to each other while he still has shampoo in his hair. It could be minutes, hours, or days - he doesn’t know. He just tries to commit everything to memory - how warm and soft you are against him, how your breath skirts over his skin, how your fingers flex against his. 

Eventually, much too soon in Dex’s opinion, you breathe out, “I’m getting cold,” before starting to pull away. 

Shakily, Dex licks his lips before replying, “let's get back to bed.”

He refuses to allow himself to turn around - to see you as vulnerable as you saw him - instead, he quickly rinses out his hair and forgoes the rest of his routine. 

The water stops as soon as the last of the suds fall from him and a second later, a towel is being passed to his hands. 

It is surprisingly easy to compose himself as he dries off. He watches you from the corner of his eye, envious of the cloth that gets to soak up the water that clings to you. He would lick each droplet off you if you allowed it. 

Your post shower routine is longer than his, so he goes to fetch your new sleeping clothes from the bed, grabbing a pair of sweatpants for himself as he does. 

You smile at him, soft and sweet and Caring, as he lays out your top and panties on the counter.

“Do you want to wait on the bed, so it will be a surprise?” you ask him, a bit of a playful twinkle in your eye. 

He doesn’t - he never wants to be more than an arm’s length from you again - but Dex humors you and goes to sit on the bed. Through the reflections in the windows, he watches you get dressed - ruining any semblance of a surprise. 

Something warm fills his chest as you turn and examine yourself in the mirror, clearly pleased with the way the fabric swirls up when you spin. You smooth your hands over your breast, belly, and sides, before you finally turn and slink your way to him. 

You look Heavenly. The piece flatters your body perfectly and the little boy shorts make the outfit look far more innocent than he suspects it is supposed to be. His body would have no trouble responding if you wanted to slip out of those pretty panties and crawl into his lap. 

Dex wolf whistles as you do another little spin, giving him a proper full view, and you giggle like a schoolgirl. 

“I love it,” you tell him, voice full of mirth. “Thank you, Dex.”

“Of course, angel. Anything for you.”

Anything. 

And one day, you will know he truly, truly means it. 

--

whoops I wrote more of this au im not sorry

[blackberreh-art]

im sorry i just came online and you're telling me that now finding women hot and liking to draw hot women is "male-gaze"??!?!? good LORD send the flood

genuinely, please ignore that person, because even ignoring the fact that it reeks of terf ideology and dog whistles, it's just another sad proof of the fact tat a lot of our communities are filled with weirdos with puritanical ideas that truly believe that any level of eroticism makes it so you no longer engage with content "correctly"

you'd think people would learn that if a content is not their cup of tea they could just... not interact with it? block you? filter out tags? but nah, this people are just here for the moral signaling and trying to put themselves in a pedestal

anyways, pls never stop, i love your art and i just think elias with huge tits is something that i didnt know i needed until i saw it in your art and well! let's just say i find it hot!!!

(i already commented in your tiktok earlier today but like. wanted to send you even more great vibes over here, cause this is the place where the Real Freaks live. never change, love what you do. more slutty door guy for the masses i say!!!)

Women gotta be entirely sexless!!! otherwise its FOR THE MEN!!!! aukhsdajsdasd

I'd say 'don't worry i have put them out of my mind' but ALAS Im still Very Annoyed akuyshdauhsdasd. It HONESTLY scares me how puritanical the internet is becoming. I feel so old when I say I miss early tumblr, well before the porn ban 😔Just gotta keep fighting back against it!!

Fear not, I always think about Elias with Huge Tits! Thank you thank you, and keep an eye out for more slutty door guy Tonight probably asuhduashdkiasu

[kingnlionhearts]

oc ask game!!

thank you @siravalondulac for tagging me!! 🫶

what is something that your oc would never purchase for themselves, but would be (secretly?) delighted to receive as a gift?

as a princess, taryn can pretty much buy everything could ever want. but when robb gives her flowers, it makes her the happiest girl in the world. if they're travelling and robb sees flowers, he'd literally stop the entire army for five minutes while he hops down from his horse to pick flowers to taryn 😭 (she keeps them all forever) (i think she'd have a little diary too to keep all the flowers pressed inside)

is your oc ticklish? has anyone ever dared to find out?

oh she definitely is. robb is the only one (except maybe her siblings) who gets close enough to her to find out. taryn pretends that she hates it, but she feels safe enough to let her guard down and just giggle and be happy around robb 🥺 and robb love love loves hearing her laugh, so he'd annoy her all the time just to make taryn giggle

how easy does your oc find it to apologize?

she's like me (very british) and apologises for everything. but taryn definitely over apologises. she bumps into someone or knocks something over? she's apologised five times before you can speak. she'd definitely apologise to inanimate objects too. she's also terrified of doing things wrong — that would definitely make her more quiet and close in on herself, but i don't think it would stop her saying sorry for something

when did your oc first see a dead body? if they have not seen one yet, how might they react to doing so?

well lucky for taryn she never sees her twin brother's dead body!! besides graphic injuries at tourneys, i think the first dead body taryn sees is the assassin that comes to kill bran. she kills him in self defence but it absolutely tears her apart. the next she sees is the wildlings in the forest and it sickens her. robb doesn't let taryn anywhere near the battlefields so she doesn't have to see all the bodies. but she ruins that herself when she rides into battle for robb this one time in act two

does your oc have any recurring dreams? have they ever told anyone else about them?

not currently. in act four, she's haunted by the red wedding and sees it all happen again every time she closes her eyes. but she has no one to confide in since most of westeros believes taryn killed robb

is your oc stingy with their money (or other resources)? or are they something or a spendthrift?

taryn definitely isn't afraid to spend money. she is half lannister as well as being a princess. but she knows that just because she can buy everything, she doesn't need to. she definitely has a soft spot for sweet treats so that's where half her money goes. but i think taryn's love language would be gift giving. so if she finds something that reminds her of her friends or robb, she's immediately buying it. taryn would also definitely be a trinket girlie 🥺 in her room in the red keep, i think she'd have so many little things on her windowsill. if tarynrobb ever got home to winterfell and ruled there as king and queen in the north, their room would be full of taryn's bits and bobs. modern au taryn would have an army of jellycats 🫶

does your oc have a sweet tooth? or do they prefer to avoid sweets and sugary treats?

yeppppppp. she's definitely friends with all the cooks in the red keep and they let her sneak food all the time and pretend not to notice. i feel like taryn could be pretty good at baking. she's far from an expert, but she'd love making butterfly cakes and cookies. the first time she tried to make robb a birthday cake definitely went very badly but he didn't care and ate all the burnt bits regardless

is your oc easily provoked by insults or mockery?

taryn is very non confrontational. if her feelings were hurt, she'd just go quiet and internalise everything. joffrey loves provoking her, but taryn doesn't get angry (even though she deserves to)

where is somewhere your oc has visited that they never want to visit again?

king's landing 😭 she would like to never set foot in the city ever again after she leaves. but that doesn't go to plan at all for her. also the twins, quite self explanatory

is your oc ever somewhat flirtatious?

no, she's way too shy 😭 i think she could be unintentionally if she's just trying to be nice (my oblivious princess). but robb brings her more out of her shell 🫶

this was so much fun 🥹

no pressure tags: @madeofstaardust @houseofamidala @robnikmeria @goldsnows

[slavicafire]

they went for the detox and she died. she died.

[autism-swagger]

Non exhaustive list of religious themes/motifs that are present in Hive/Hive and Daisy's relationship because I'm obsessed with them:

The fact that Hive is already borderline/full on revered as a god by members of Hydra in the know, not to mention that, while the Inhumans under his sway are technically chemically altered, they're also like. An actual cult.

Hive's weird pose that he does (that I swear he does more than once but I could only find screenshots of one example) ⬇️

Crosses being repeatedly associated with Daisy thinking she has to die for her sins ⬇️

(Yes this makes Lincoln Jesus in this scenario. Go with it.)

This scene ⬇️ is like. Jesus-on-the-cross adjacent to me. It's just such a specific pose to do, y'know? Plus the whole. Giving blood. Thing. "Drain me" this "This is my blood. It is poured out to forgive the sins of many" that. Yadayada et cetera et cetera.

And last but CERTAINLY not least

Daisy literally getting down on her knees to plead with Hive?? Girl you might as well clasp your hands, close your eyes, and full on pray at this point.

Do I think they should've gone farther with this aspect? HELL YES I DO!!!! But what we did get is so catered to me specifically. It's amazing I love it.

[s4ndg3m]

hear me out on scag x split guys. they both start with "s" it's practically canon.

[swordscleric]

I can't stop thinking about the post from a few days ago about how Critical Role has been great at doing personal faith but didn't put the necessary work in to discuss the religious/god angle of c3 in-depth. Like the fact that Cardinal Respa was linked to both the Dawnfather and the Chained Oblivion is, on a personal level, very interesting (fallen/corrupted priest goes hard) but like does that mean that there's a Papacy somewhere in Exandria dedicated to the Dawnfather? If so, are there more cardinals who ordain the bishops of the Dawnfather? Are there Conclave-level intrigues going on in the Dawnfather's Sistine Chapel? Why is the Dawnfather so Christianity-coded in vibes alone if there's no actual outline of his religious organisations? With Downfall the Dawnchild/Dawnfather thing makes the allusions to Christ as Son of God co-existing with the Father textual - was there a Dawnfather Schism around whether the Dawnchild was a separate mortal? Was there a Reformation about how the Dawnfather's Pope kept selling indulgences? Is that why the priest of the Dawnfather Grog & Pike offer a drink to doesn't partake because of a cultural shift between Protestant-Temperance-League-coded and Catholic-coded Dawnfather congregations? Why do I have so many questions about the religious organisation of one of the most important Prime Deities in Exandria and to Critical Role's 3 campaigns? How on earth were the cast (and us as the viewers!) meant to care about the gods if all they had were "really tall kings" instead of interrogating how religious organisations provide both a place of healing and community to a wide range of people and also a place of horrific harm and abuse for a wide range of people?