#a chorus of fuck offs heard across the land

[merthurians-prat-and-idiot]

They just had to throw one last curveball at us huh

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — eddie x fem reader (7.1k)

summary: 2011– your roommate drags you to a frat party and ditches the second she sees the guy she’s been fucking. left by yourself, you meet someone by accident, someone who isn’t in the fraternity 

warnings: smut, underage drinking, p in v, unprotected sex, grinding, dancing, eddie is trying to be cocky but he’s just awkward and silly

notes: i had a blast deep diving back into my hs and college days to reminisce with this. i hope if you were growing up during this time you can giggle along with me. love youuu oooh! also i hid some easter eggs in here (they’re not hidden at all)

The basement was steamy, and not in a ‘oh it’s a little warm in here but more like, every single person is drunk off their ass and the walls are sweating’kind of way.

College was everything you’d hoped it to be and more.

Your roommate, Kenzie was the type of girl who had an ‘open closet’ policy letting you wear her clothes almost more than your own. You weren’t too keen on sharing a dorm room with a girl you’ve never met before, but thankfully—you had gotten lucky. 

You had heard the horror stories from your older sister about her terrible roommate freshman year and you worried for most of the summer that you’d strike the same type of fortune. It wasn’t until you got a friend request on Facebook and a cheery little message : 

[Kenzie Walmen 2:07 PM: heyyyy roomie (;] 

that you knew you had nothing to worry about. 

She was from the west coast in sunny California, that bright western sky seeped deep into her personality. Kenz was sun kissed and bright haired, pretty ocean dipped eyes to give her the All-American type of aesthetic that most girls wished for. And maybe it was her laid back disposition, or her thrill for living it up and every hour of the day— that landed you here tonight at Delta Kappa Sigma. 

It wasn’t your scene.

You weren’t shy or new to getting drunk, you had even been so brave to take the occasional hit from a homemade bong in your neighbors dorm a few times, but the frat parties were known for their out of control Project X style of getting shitfaced. 

And something about guys with too much testosterone and too much Adidas cologne made your skin crawl and not in a good way. 

“Prints always look weird on me,” you grumble into the mirror eyeing your curves in a leopard lace tank top and black skirt, “is it too much?” 

Kenzie adjusts her off-the-shoulder top, adding a bit of shimmer powder to her exposed shoulder, “absolutely not, if anything it’s not enough.” Neon feathers decorate her bouncy curled hair as she eyes you in the mirror, “add that silver chunky necklace, and you’ll look bomb.” 

She was right, the necklace really pulled the entire look together, and if it were Halloween weekend you could even pass as a Spice Girl or maybe Snookie. 

“Sooo, is Steve gonna be there tonight?” You ask elongating the vowels in the aforementioned name, followed by some kissy faces and porn worthy moans. 

Kenzie rolls her eyes, a dusting of pink warming her cheeks, “yeah… about that. He said he has a “surprise” for me when I get there, so if I disappear, I’m just with him, okay?” 

“Wait wait wait—” you protest, holding a death grip clutch on a bottle of UV blue. “We aren’t even at the party yet and you’re already planning on ditching me?” 

— 

And that’s what got you here, a little more than drunk, holding a piss warm Green apple flavored Four Loko to your mouth, leaning against the corner basement wall in hopes to maybe disappear, wishing you were anywhere but in this cesspool of basement. 

The “DJ” (a frat guy wearing neon glasses with bars across them, scrolling through an ipod and a playlist more than likely named ‘Get Crunk’) was playing Kid Cudi, again. Everyone was screaming along to the chorus like he personally wrote it for them and their experience at college. A headache was brewing behind your eyes as the beat thumped loudly into your chest and radiated to your temples. 

Kenzie left almost immediately upon arriving. Swooped up and tossed over the broad shoulder of Steve the minute he answered the door. You laughed and shook your head, imagining how she was probably face down in navy cum stained sheets by now. 

The hours she spent on her hair and makeup went to waste, only being seen by the dead catalog eyes of Playboy’s finest from their pinned positions on the walls of Steve’s shared bedroom. 

Another sip from the overly carbonated beverage has you shuddering, the fiery ripple of fruit flavored [vomit] alcohol scouring through you like lava, causing your face to screw into a disgusted look.

How can people drink this shit? 

Your bladder screams at you to break the seal, demanding to find relief, immediately. The black lights were zero help in disguising if there were any doors that might lead into a bathroom. Pushing from the wall and taking the last hot sip from your drink, you navigate your way to the stairs. 

A table holding lone solo cups in formation from a forgotten beer pong game is now the proud owner of your empty can.

Weaving through the jungle of fist pumping douchelords and tipsy sorority girls making out for risqué facebook pics labeled [*~Freshman Y3ar!~*] you finally emerge from the sweaty pits of fraternity hell and climb the beer stained steps to the main floor. 

The monotonous beat from the music thumped a little less loudly up here, as if the noise was absorbed by the maroon colored carpeting and the oak cabinets in the foyer. 

The house was dated, decorated with a clash of orangey dark wood mixed with emeralds, dark reds and gold. As if this house was based out of Tuscany instead of midwest nowhere— complete with the rubbery fake fruit and vines that stood solely to collect dust. 

You had never been here before and didn’t know where in the hell to start looking to find the bathroom, and like Alice, you figured you might as well try every door knob in this type of Wonderland. 

The first door you peeked into looked like it was a formal dining room, but instead sat a television on the great oval table blasting obnoxiously loud as a pornstar moaned ripples of “pleasure” through her pink pout. Above her was an extremely tanned guy rocking a set of hard abs, thrusting in a slow rhythm that didn’t match her orgasm. 

A snicker slips from your lips and you gently pull the door closed with a small click, loud whoops and whistling from what you could only assume were a couple of frat guys erupt behind the door.

Watching porn together. 

You’ll have to add that to your growing list of things you didn’t know about the brotherhood behind a fraternity. 

The second door looked more hopeful as it was adjacent to the kitchen area. Upon nearly peeing down your leg, you were shocked stupid when you yanked the door open to find a closet housed with cleaning supplies. 

What the fuck? 

How could a frat house not have a bathroom? 

Your bladder squeezed in on itself and you were certain you couldn’t hold it any longer. Just short of giving up on this quest of relief and going back to your dorm, a gaggle of girls run down the steps leading to the top floor, where you could only assume the bedrooms were. 

“…why are frat bathrooms always so fucking dirty?!” 

Bingo.

Hustling up the never ending carpeted stairs, your bladder was on the brink of exploding as you shoved past a wooden door with a paper sign that read, “no jerking off in the shower!! pipes are clogged!” 

Your sandals clapped along the sea foam tiles floors as you slipped into one of the many metal stall doors. With a swift hike of your skirt up to your middle and pull of your panties, you were finally able to pee. 

A choir of angels sang the HallelujahHallelejuah chorus as you went and you sighed in relief that you had made it. 

“..yeah yeah, okay asshole,” a loud voice sounded from just outside the bathroom door frame, “you still owe me from last time,” the voice now echoed as it hit against the tiles and cement block walls, “no, payment is cold hard cash buddy, I don’t care if you have to dip into your trust fund.”  

A pair of black docs stomp into the tiled bathroom, nearing the stall you were in. There's no way he’ll come to this stall. 

“Tell daddy that you need more money for polos or Jordan’s— I really don’t give a fuck, but you need to pay the fuck up.” 

But as fate would have it…and in your hurry to get to the toilet before pissing all over yourself… and forgetting to lock the door in your haste… the stall door swings wide open— revealing a very bottomless you, to a pair of very wide dark, deer-in-the-headlight eyes. 

A beat that feels like an eternity passes, his hand is choked against his belt in a yank to unthread it, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Your hands fly to cover yourself the best you can, panties still at your ankles, skirt still around your midsection. 

It’s all yells and screams with this random guy stumbling over himself dropping his phone on the ground and spewing, “Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” and you yelling for him to shut the fucking door already. 

His apologies don’t stop as he pulls the door closed, and from the other side of it as you pull up your underwear and adjust your skirt. 

“I swear! I didn’t think anyone was in there! I promise!” 

Your face burns in embarrassment as you contemplate melting into the floor and becoming one with the poorly aimed piss stains and the dirty grout. As good as that sounds you still have to leave, you still have to pass the guy who just saw your bare vag and you still have to navigate your way out of here. 

His phone lays face down on the floor, and you pray it isn’t broken for his sake. You pick it up, flipping it over to see that it scathed by with just a fine crack from one corner to another. His screen saver is a picture of a group of guys in a skatepark in the dark, smoke billowing thickly to cover their faces as they stand on the boards, the one with dark longer hair is shirtless, and painted with tattoos. 

“Shit,” you breathe quietly, “your phone is cracked.” 

You can see the shadows of his feet pacing back and forth but when you speak they stop, “oh..,” he mumbles, clearing his throat a bit, “umm, yeah, no biggie it was broke like that already.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah— hey, if you wanna slide that under the door I can um, let you ..ahem.. finish up in there.” 

Shit. Duh he needed his phone, and you were just holding it hostage in here as your shame hung thickly in the air. God this might really couldn’t get any fucking worse.

A deep breath in through your nose, you fake a mask of confidence and open the stall door. 

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he barged in on you, but now in the fluorescent dust covered light you dared to look a little longer at him. 

Long locks of honeyed brown locks fell onto the tops of his shoulders, covered with a green plaid flannel that hung open showing his neck and a flick of dark lines from a tattoo hidden under a black band tank top. His eyes were just as brown, round and flocked with a grove of thick lashes. Clearly he was the shirtless one in his background picture. 

He smiled sheepishly, pulling his jaw taunt as he averted his gaze to the toe of his boots, noticing your hand stretched out before him to give him back his phone, he glanced at your face, skimming his hand over your palm.

“Thanks— uh…” he started, shifting his weight to lean back against the many rows of sinks, “sorry again, I promise I don’t normally walk in on ladies using the facilities.” 

His eyes met yours and you instantly felt a heat run to your throat, his lips were impossibly plump as he drew them into a tight smirk. 

Fuck are those dimples? Of course they were. God he’s so pretty. 

You smile, “normal people lock the stall, but I was in a hurry… well I was lost!” you exclaim in a huff, fully hands on hips annoyed, “why the fuck would the bathroom be on the top floor?” 

You asked him incredulously like he should know. But on second thought…

“uhh… I dunno,” he shrugs, sliding his phone into the front pocket of his light wash colored jeans, not even looking at the broken screen as he leaned back again, “I’m not exactly an architect.”  

“But you live here?” you question, turning on the sink to wet your hands, “haven’t they ever thought of putting even a half bath on the main floor?” 

He rumbles out a laugh that makes your cheeks tingle, your buzz still in full force, “nah, you got it all wrong, I’m not a member of the ‘fraternity brotherhood of Alpha Mega Steroid’”, he jokes with air quotes, smiling wide when your lips tick up at the ends. “But I am a frequent guest, of sorts…”

This guy seemed to be one of those people who can make a nun blush, witty and dripping with a sexual charm that radiated from him like a ray of fucking sunshine. And fuck that grin of his. You’re in trouble. 

“Ahh, okay,” you banter back easily, shaking your hands to dry them since there were no paper towels in sight, “which one is your boyfriend? Let’s see I know.. Kyle? I think is his name, reddish hair, kinda feminine hands, or are you fucking Steve because I gotta say, I think my roommate might be giving you a run for your money right now.” 

Eddie’s eyes light up, a quirk in his brow as he asks, “Blonde girl? Kinda naive, head over heels for that mop of perfectly styled hair? Shit, what’s her name…Kelly? Kitten? She’s your roommate?” 

Of course he would know her, Kenzie knows everyone, and seems to leave a kind of impression on people that you envied. As bright as she shined, you were the shadow behind her. 

“Yeah,” you say, not hiding your annoyance, remembering how you got into this predicament in the first place. 

Eddie looks just as pissed as you’re feeling, “Oh, Stevie boy and I will be having words later on his lack of tact. They’re the reason why I was out wondering the halls like a fuckin’ ghost in a haunted mansion.” 

He takes note that you’re in the same boat he’s in but in your case, it’s a little worse, being a girl alone in a frat house never ends well. 

“I’m Eddie, uhh…designated dealer,” he says in almost a whisper, “for the deep pocketed asshoels full of daddy’s money.”

You connect a few dots, realization hitting hard in your frontal lobe from conversations you’ve kind of listened to from Kenzie about Steve. 

“Ahh, okay… now that you mention it, Kenz has talked about you before. You’re Steve’s old friend, Munson? I thought she meant like a forty year old or something.”

He laughs, loud and belly rolling like, “nah, minus a twenty from that. Steve and I are just close friends ‘s all… and no, not boyfriends.” 

You laugh then, all bubbly and light hearted that has his own skipping beats. Saying your name, he repeats it, a little grin on his face that he tries to hide, “mm that’s cute.” 

“Cute?” you question, an eyebrow raised as you fold your arms in on themselves, poking a hip out. 

“Yeah… cute,” he says standing fully and peering down at you, “your name is very fitting for you.” 

You roll your eyes playfully at his flirty words. Even though your stomach is somersaulting at the way his eyes seem to drip from heaven when he looks at you, your cheeks heating beneath his gaze.

“Is this the part where we exchange our hometowns and majors, because I’d rather get run over than do that right now.” 

Eddie chuckles, “oh yeah, well I’m actually here on an athletic scholarship.” 

“Really?” you question, eyebrows cocked in disbelief. 

“Yes!” Eddie jokes back, trying to bite back a smile, “if you must know it’s for Tennis, but please don't bother me for an autograph. I'm just trying to be a normal guy tonight.” 

“Noted.” You giggle, admiring the way this banter is coming so easily, maybe it was the liquid courage taking over or the fact that he was actually fun to talk to— either way, this night is starting to take a turn for the better.

“So, what does a Tennis star/designated rich boy drug dealer usually do at these kinds of things besides bursting in on girls using the bathroom?” 

He smiles, dipping his chin and looking at you through those impossibly thick lashes. Pushing off the sink he asks, “Sell a little here and there, sometimes dip into my own stash…what do you usually do at these things?” 

“Well,” you tease, twisting on the ball of your foot and heading towards the door out to the hallway, “I’m not usually at these things.”

“Ohh my god,” Eddie preens in his best valley girl/ Kourtney Kardashian impression, “you’ve never been to frat party!?” 

You smile, at his stupid joke, “Noo, I haven’t actually. Kenzie drug me out for a little pick me up after we bombed our History midterm, to…y’know— live it up— YOLO, all that.”

“Okay okay, letting off some steam after the stress of class, I get it...school was never a cake walk for me either.” 

“Yeah! But then your friend snatched her up, and since I don’t know anyone here… I was doing a very impressive wall flower guise, until my bladder interrupted that… and then a guy barged in on me in the bathroom.” 

Eddie stalks towards you, his eyes roving over your body, “Well… now you know me, soo Miss Lady Wallflower,” he cracks, “shall we descend to the basement and keep this party going?” 

His infectious smile stretches wide, practically ear to ear and you find yourself grinning just as wide, trying to twist your lips to at least hide your enthusiasm a little bit but goddamn— something about the way those dimples compliment the fucking christmas twinkle in his eyes.. ugh. 

He was trouble. The kind you had always craved but never dabbled in. But when in Rome…

“Lead the way.”

—

Eddie had made a pit stop in the large kitchen before returning to the basement. 

“Now sweetheart,” he purred, fishing around the shelves, of a pantry, moving cans of food and bags of chips, “I didn’t plan on drinking more tonight, but I’m not gonna let you drink by your— aha!” 

Eddie stands upright, brandishing a large box of saltine crackers. Your eyebrows furrow in response and he bows low, puts his hand inside the box, “I present to you, Stevie’s not so secret hiding spot,” pulling out his hand, his fingers are wrapped around a bottle of Burnett’s Vodka.  

Your eyes widen with devilish glee as you smirk, “how did you know it’d be there?” 

Eddie unscrews the cap and puts it to his lips for a long six second pull. 

You weren’t watching the way his throat bobbed and gulped when he swallowed each burning swig. Nope, not at all. You definitely weren’t memorizing each valley of cords and muscles as a single drop fell to his sharp chin and jaw. Never, not you!

And you weren’t holding your breath right along with him only breathing when those fucking glorious thick lips popped clean from the mouth of that bottle… his lips shiny from the bitter alcohol like a gloss you desperately need to lick clean. Yeah… no. that was not you…

So it’s only fitting when he speaks hoarsely and clears his throat that you are snapped back to the moment, your core keeping its own pulse. 

“He’s been keeping vodka in the same box in a food pantry since we were in high school, guy is the most unoriginal bastard I know,” he shrugs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and you can’t help but almost pout in the wasted opportunity. 

His eyes meet yours and they look just as hungry as you were feeling. He smirks crookedly and you practically flatline from the depth those molasses colored eyes hold. He moved first, inching towards you like a wolf stalking its prey, your pretty chapstick smile daring him to come closer. 

But the fuse between you is snuffed out cold as a crying girl erupts from the basement steps, her gaggle of friends helping calm her down as they leave the house. 

Eddie shakes his head and clears his throat as if he was just as bothered by you as you were of him. Turning towards the fridge he asks, “I’m sure they’ve got some Sunny D you can chase this with if that’s cool?” 

—

The basement proved to be in the same situation you had left it in: hot, sweaty, sticky. 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes hotly behind you, loud enough to hear him above the music, “it’s like a furnace down here, no wonder that girl was crying.”

You lead him to the corner you were tucked in before, your drink still sitting on the beer pong table. By the way he is standing you can tell that this really isn’t his scene either, but after a while of passing the vodka and orange juice back and forth between you, he seems to loosen up a bit. His shoulders relax as his back leans against the wall next to you. 

Eddie’s words slurring together as his stories became more and more animated, and you giggle along, never taking your eyes off of him. Completely enamored. 

Your stomach burned with a flurry of butterflies when a few of his clients came up to him to buy, each more nervous than the next. Eyeing you suspiciously, questioning if you were some sort of a narc. 

Eddie stepped ahead of you, his shoulders squared and chest out to casually announce that you were cool and were with him. 

You didn’t know that he was waiting for you to object to it, to shove away from him and call him a pig for even assuming that you’d ever be seen with the likes of him besides in the dark, but you never did. 

Hours pass and the music just gets worse. Wiz Khalifa starts singing about colors and Eddie looks at the crowd of people grinding and rolls his eyes. 

The alcohol has you feeling tingly, a buzzing of flirtation sparks your blood and you are closer to Eddie than ever, the smell of his musky cologne and laundry detergent invade you.

Like any drunk girl, you start getting antsy, a little more touchy, and a lot more feely. Standing around isn’t cutting it anymore and you want to move, toss your hair back to some cheesy song, want to feel those hands you’ve been staring at all night run along your body as your hips move against him. 

Running your forefinger along the inside seam of Eddie’s flannel shirt, you look up at him through your lashes. 

“I’m assuming you’re not one to dance to a club remix?” 

Eddie watches your finger stroke up and down, your knuckles barely grazing his abdomen, but the small touch sending electricity to his spine. 

He leans into you, following your lead and pinching the hem of your skirt between his large fingers “you’d assume correct, the music I listen to is a little more head bangy than this.” 

“So,” you say coyly, pulling him towards you just a fraction more, “what you’re really saying is that you can’t dance.” 

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back, his throat sticky with sweat and the hair by his ears wet and curling into ringlets, “oh I can dance my ass off honey, taught Channing Tatum everything he knows.” 

His hands find your hips, and you almost lose the little bit of confidence you have gained when the warmth of them seeps through your shirt, his blunt nails skimming your skin in small strokes.

“Do these little white lies masked as dorky ass pickup lines work for you?” Your hands are on his chest now, the black light illuminating each letter of his Deftones shirt to sparkle like snow beneath your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers into your ear, pulling you tight against him so your chest is pressed into his, “you tell me.” 

The music changes and a throwback song  

comes on, one you haven’t heard in years. 

“Guess you’ll have to show me those moves, because in typical drunk girl fashion… this is my song!” 

You grab Eddie’s hand and stomp to the middle of the floor, pulling him along with you until you’re shoulder to shoulder with other drunk and sweaty college kids. 

“Get low?” Eddie asks from behind you, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of your ear as his hands land heavy on your hips, “seriously?” 

Leaning your head back so your lips could reach him you talk loud enough just so he can hear you, “stop talking and fucking dance with me already.” 

“Goddamn…” he groans when you finally push your body fully back into him. 

It’s sloppy and horribly uncoordinated the way your drunken hips move beneath his hands. You’re both swaying along with the music, trying like hell to match the rhythm of everyone else around you. But in the tiny square footage you have in this cluster fuck of a space, Eddie has all the right moves. 

His palms are pressing you tighter into him, making sure you can feel just how hard he is, how hard you are making him. 

Courage and a few prom night dances under your belt have you dropping low and coming up slow, your skirt fanning out the tiniest bit as your knees are bent to the ground.

And Eddie is practically thanking God himself when you run the fattest part of your ass up his body, on the bunched denim by his shins, skimming the barely there fabric of your skirt against the hole in his knee, and finally up where he desperately needs your body the most. 

When you come back up he moves your hair from the side of your neck, his lips puckering around your earlobe as he nibbles lightly, “spin around so I can see you.” 

He groans again when you shake your head and laugh at his dismay, as much as he is turned on and bothered you are too, but the power of keeping him like this, teasing him with your body— turned you on even more. 

You snake your hands upwards seductively, landing daintily at the nape of his neck, twirling the wet tendrils of curls round and round pulling gently. Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hands roaming freely from your hips to your ribcage running them along the length of your sides, bruisingly hard. 

One minute you’re facing away from him, eyes closed in pleasure as he roves over your body, his lips pressed to your neck, and in the next he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face— eyes locked on eachother, the heat and the alcohol and the endorphins are too much to handle. 

Your once labored breathing snuffs out to nothing when he leans in with licked lips his eyes fixated on your mouth. Standing. Staring. Staring and standing. You’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game. 

“Fucking kiss me alrea—”

His mouth with its plush pillow lips slam into you. He tastes like tart orange juice and a bite of alcohol. Like the way a summer day would taste if it were bottled up. He licks into your mouth and you whine for more of him, clutching onto his neck and pulling him further into you. 

When you break for air it’s loud, smacking lips and lapping tongues, tilting your heads to line up perfectly. When you twist yours again, Eddie holds onto your neck angling it just so with a glint of trouble in those whiskey eyes as he dives into the supple skin at the column of your throat. 

Sucking, swirling— his tongue is hot against you and you’re clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the pilling fabric like he was the only thing keeping you Earthbound. 

You wiggle in his arms, squealing and whining out but he’s holding you tightly against him, moaning words into your neck that you can’t hear above the music. Then he’s on your mouth again, working you into a fit. His big veiny hands move along your back, grabbing your ass softly, then work up to wrap in your hair or lightly scratch at the inch of skin between your skirt and your tank top. 

Doing your own little damage to him, his shirt is shoved up over his chest, your fingernails trailing down his tattooed skin. A rise of goosebumps following in their tracks, and he stops kissing you to suck in a breath, your smile on his lips as you laugh and he whispers a breathy ‘fuuuuck’. 

Your fingers trail down to his waist band, tickling his skin as you suggest an idea with your eyes, one that you’re certain he would understand.

“C’mon,” he mouths, gesturing his chin to the exit as he slowly begins to pull you from the dance floor, up the stairs and into the kitchen area.

Eddie knew what he wanted. Knew it the second you walked out of that stall with that sweet fucking smile on your lips, shy and coy when he called your name cute, like you weren’t at all used to the type of attention he was giving.

And maybe you didn’t want this with him. Maybe you were a: ‘fuck-me-in-the-dark-so-I-won’t-be-embarrassed-by-being-seen-with-you’ type of girl, but you did dance with him, you laughed at his stupid jokes, stuck by him almost all night, but still he needed to be sure. 

He thought maybe in the brighter light you’d change your mind about what you wanted, what you needed from him, but you surprise him when you cling to his side, going up the steps, and backing into a wall pulling him with you by his shirt needily when you reach the top.

“D’ you uh..wanna get outta here?” he slurs, almost sleepily, his bangs fucked up beyond belief, his hair drenched and sticky with sweat and humidity, lips swollen red.

“My dorm isn’t far,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes running your finger along the waist of his jeans, “across campus.” 

Eddie chuckles, “fuck…” he sweeps a thumb over your pouted lips, groaning as he bites his own. “I’d crawl to fuckin’ Alaska for these, honey.” 

Your cheeks burn sweetly from his inebriated compliments. And even though you’re tipsy and so is he, you feel an odd sort of comfort with him—one you haven’t experienced before. 

“Let’s go then,” you whisper into his ear, “I want you inside me.” 

That did it for him. 

Eddie was all but running with you across the campus green, but not before taking off his long sleeved shirt and placing it over your shoulders murmuring how it was freezing and you’d probably get sick. 

Your combined laughter ricocheted off concrete forums and neatly trimmed grass. Passing by the fancy Chemistry Lab building, the Art Museum, the Med School and finally to your painted black brick dorm building: “Wheeler Hall” 

“Here’s home,” you sing out, placing your key into the door and pulling on the steel handle. 

The Wheeler Dorms were the newest addition to the college town. Named after a family that was killed in an accident back in the 80’s or something… you didn’t really remember what happened. 

The side door you had come in through was closest to your room, 011, on the first floor, again, the universe being kind to you. 

“Never been here before,” Eddie said looking around with wide eyes, “any of the dorms actually.” 

You smiled upon unlocking your room and entering, hanging up your keys on the command strip hooks by the door. Whatever confidence he had back at the party is now deflated a bit once he realizes just how different the two of you are. What the hell was he doing here? You’re in college, he’s only here because he deals. 

“Uhh..?” he questions, eyeing the lofted bed, “you know I was joking about being an athlete, right?” 

You giggle and toss your purse onto the futon, “relax, that’s Kenzie’s bed, mine is the shorter one.” 

“Oh thank fuck,” he practically sings letting out an over exaggerated sigh as he plops down on your futon, eyeing the leopard throw blanket, “I may look like a suave Casanova but I’m about as agile as Mr. Bean.” 

Laughter fills the room and you click on a lamp throwing the room into a cozy ambience as you slip off your sandals and sit on your bed, leaning forward, “you’re way hotter than him.” 

Eddie blushes a bubble gum pink sheen, using his still damp and unruly hair to cover his face, “keep being sweet on me see where it gets you.” 

“Is that supposed to be a threat, or a promise?”

“Oh baby, I don’t make threats, not to a girl that’s like you.” 

“Like me?” 

“Yeah you,” he deadpans, standing up and waltzing towards your bed, crowding you in, “funny, sexy, and by some greater power— digs me… at least I hope.” 

“I’m not the type of girl to bring a guy back to my place, Eddie,” you nearly whisper, putting a finger into his dangling necklace and pulling him forward, “you’d be the first.” 

Eddie places his hands next you on the bed, “like your first? Or just here in college first, I’m cool with either I just— are you sure you want this? I can leave if y—”

Cutting him off you kiss him, but not like the heavy kisses earlier when you two were making out like you were each other's oxygen masks, this one is sweet, like melted  sugar on Eddie’s tongue. 

“You talk too much,” you say with a warm smile, wrapping a finger around his curled ends of hair, “no more of that, just kiss me.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist and shifts you up further into the bed, laying your head on a pillow his body pressed into yours. He takes his time with you, kissing your lips then your jaw, working his way down your neck to where the bruises he’s already sucked into your skin were painted. 

Your moans and little breathy sighs have him hard against his zipper, his hips bucking into the tiny fabric of your panties that’s covering up that sweet pussy he got a glimpse of earlier. 

His shirt is somewhere on the floor, you had pried it off of him between locked lips and groans of having to move your lips from his that earned you a throaty laugh from him and the sexiest eyes that drove into you with an intense ferocity. 

He lowers further down your body, kissing every inch, moving your tank top out of the way to eye your orange bra, his mouth between your cleavage, moaning about how orange is now his favorite color. 

Eddie’s everywhere all at once, a hand traveling up and down your thigh, from the crux of your knee to the waistband of your skirt, the other hand is popping your tits out from that new found favorite colored bra of his —smiling wickedly at your peaked nipples. 

You moan lustful bliss as his tongue circles each one, giving equal attention to both, “you like that?” he asks.

“Feels so good,” you whine, “more, please.” 

Eddie smirks with your nipple between his teeth, “don’t have to ask me twice.” 

You weren’t a virgin, but holy shit you felt as if you had never had sex before, well never sex like this. Eddie teased you with his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers pumped inside of you, each curling inward towards a place nobody has reached before. 

He groaned with his bottom lip tucked between his sharp bite rubbing his achy cock through his jeans when you pushed your skirt down laying there in a matching orange lacey thong, bedazzled on the hips. 

“Would it be corny if I say you look like a Goddess?” he asks sheepishly, pinching the stretching fabric around your hips, “because… wow.” 

You bite your finger as if you were really thinking hard on this, hiding a smile, “you’re too much, Munson.”

“Too much?” he scoffs, pulling down your panties and settling himself between your legs, “you haven’t even seen my dick yet.”

You sit up, tits out and naked from the waist down, “well by all means, show me.”

“Greedy girl,” Eddie smirks, “did you bring me here just to get me naked? I’m appalled!” 

You move to your knees, sitting upright a bit so your face is level with his. You kiss him softly, moving to his neck and sucking just right to pull those deep moans from him that make your knees shake. 

Feather light touches skate along the expanse of his chest, working down down down until you’re undoing his belt, thumbing open the button on his jeans and yanking down his zipper.  

When your hand slides between him and his boxer briefs,  Eddie hisses, watching you pump him slow and tight. The feel of your smooth palm against his velvety shaft makes him almost cum right there and then, it’s been awhile since the last time. 

But you’re not hesitating or questioning yourself and he isn’t either. It’s almost fluid like a rocking wave the way Eddie lays you down, a team effort to swiftly shove down his jeans so you can finally feel eachother where the desperation is needed most. 

Legs hiked over his hips, he lines himself up with your gummy slicked entrance. It’s a deep and achy stretch for you, a vice grip for him. The lazy gasping moans you both emit are drawn out, yours practically breathless. 

“Holy fuck,” you breath into his mouth as he peppers you with kisses. He drags his hips out at a measured pace, pushing in just as unhurriedly, enjoying the way your body adjusts, cuffing him like a glove. 

Eddie breaks away from your lips to watch your bodies join together, moaning your name as he presses his forehead on yours collecting your mouth with his. 

“Shit…This okay?” he asks earnestly, nipping at your ear. 

You nod in gasping silence, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he speeds up. Your hands are skimming down his bareback, pressing him further into you with every thrust, begging him for more. 

He snakes a hand between you, rubbing circles in your puffy clit as he thrusts harder, trying to get you there before he loses all control. “Want you to feel good sweetheart, fuck— keep making those pretty little noises, you’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.” 

And he does. You cum hard around him, your walls fluttering and pulsing so fast you practically black out from the mixed pleasure of his fingers rubbing your clit and his cock stuffed in deep. 

His name falls from your lips in tiny little whines and he bucks into you a hard and final time before he groans, holding onto your headboard for support as he’s bottoming out, stringing rope after rope of hot spend inside of you. 

“Baby,” he whispers, “God—” he stops cold, realizing what he just did and what he didn’t do. “Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck! I didn’t pull out, I'm sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!

You laugh wickedly, your body shaking beneath him at his worried panicked face. 

He’s a babbling, out-of-breath mess, “’s not funny! I just got caught up in the moment and you felt so fucking good and I’m still a little dru—”

“Eddie, it’s fine,” you say, holding his cheeks with both hands squishing them together so his lips pucker like a fish, “I’m on the pill.” 

His face is still squished together when he speaks, “oh, well… okay.” 

“You’re fine,” you coo, coaxing him down from the ledge of regret and self hatred, “I—” you lean up and kiss him square on the mouth, licking into it and sliding your tongue against his, “I liked it.” 

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs and before he can open his mouth to speak you’re pulling him onto you kissing him deep and needy. 

The two of you end the night that way, him holding you, your hands in his hair, kissing so much your lips are chapped— never getting enough. Legs entangled together like a weaved basket. You fall asleep before he does, your little huffed breathing making his skin damp as you curl further into his chest. 

Wonder if Verizon is open tomorrow? He thinks when he remembers that his phone is definitely broke from it landing on the bathroom floor—but he’d never tell you that. 

He also wouldn’t tell you how he was supposed to go back to Steve’s tonight because they were leaving to see another old friend in California for the weekend— or how they needed to be at the airport by 2 AM for a 4 AM flight.  — or that Eddie was Steve’s ride because he lost his license in July. 

Nope.

He wouldn’t tell you any of it. None of that seemed to matter when you were sleeping so cute on his chest like that. 

When late morning comes you’re at it again, this time you’re riding him on the futon, slow like a twangy country song his hands rocking your hips. When you both finish you drag him to the showers, pumping some expensive shampoo into his hair and giggling when you tell him to be quiet so you won’t get caught. 

Steve called Eddie’s phone all night, and all morning, sending duplicate texts of rage, wondering where the fuck he had gone. 

Eddie silences the last call from Steve as you’re getting dressed, wearing a black pair of yoga pants and a zip up hoodie. He smiles when you offer to comb his hair, grabbing your wrist to pull you onto his lap kissing behind your ear. 

His voice is low, soothingly sweet and minty from your toothpaste as he asks, “can I take you to breakfast?” 

[jintaka-hane]

Our Lucky Night!

Kid and Killer x ... Fans?

Masterlist

Summary: Kid and Killer are famous. As they run into a bunch of hyped-up cheerleaders, they believe it's their lucky night. Words: 700 Tags: @fanaticsnail

Night falls over the small coastal town, and the Kid's pirates make their way back to the ship.

A short distance ahead Kid and Killer chat animatedly, followed closely by Wire and Heat. They take in the sight of nocturnal bars coming to life, their signs flickering on, inviting anyone in search of fun and company.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

A thrilled, high-pitched squeal echoes from the street nearby, startling them, who look around in surprise.

“OMG look at theeeem!!!!!”

The shrieks are followed by a chorus of feminine shouts of excitement, applause, and nervous laughter.

"They’ve put up the new ones!!”

"Girls, come see them!"

The pirates continue down the street, confused, not quite understanding what’s causing such a commotion. Kid tries to address his crewmates, raising his voice to be heard above the clamor, when a sudden cry cuts him off.

"PIRATES GET ME SO TURNED ON!"

They exchange perplexed glances for a second, then break into a synchronized sprint down the street, eager to discover where the shouts are coming from.

Their four heads peer around the corner to spot a throng of about twenty women clustered at a bar's entrance, jostling each other to catch sight of the two new bounty posters pinned to the facade (likely just to appease the law).

"Why they gotta be so ripped and hot?"

"The higher the bounty, the hotter they are."

The girls stand on tiptoe with enthusiasm, leaning on one another for support as they strain to see the photos more clearly.

"Think they'd ever drop by this town?"

"I could think of a couple of jobs if I joined their crew."

Unconsciously, the pirates begin to mimic the girls, pushing each other competitively to gain a closer look and listen more intently.

"Those scars are mad sexy…"

Wire shakes his shoulders to free himself from Heat's tightly gripping fingers.

"Damn, the redhead is SO fucking hot, I can't even…"

They fix their eyes on the captain's face, just in time to witness how his cheeks flush involuntarily, turning several shades redder than their usual tone.

“Look at him… look at that badass face… look at that wild red hair."

"I wonder if he's also a redhead down there…"

Wire bursts into hearty, uncontrollable laughter.

"Hey, Cap'n, looks like you've got yourself a fan club," he says, delivering a friendly slap on Kid's back, further unsettling him and causing his cheeks to blaze even brighter.

The girls, still clustered at the bar door, continue their lively conversation.

"Think I can rip off the poster and take it with me?"

"You have no cure, you're addicted to redheads."

"Oh, he would be MY cure."

Kid chuckles.

His initial timidity begins to dissipate as he starts to process the increasingly naughty conversation.

"I've heard he's missing an arm."

"Yeah? Well, if he had me, he wouldn't need it…"

"… guys," Kid says, watching as the group of spirited girls continues to heap praise upon him, "… maybe we can stay on land a little while longer…"

“I wanna call him sir!”

“I want to change him, I want to make him worse!”

Kid smiles with a lopsided, mischievous grin, and Killer shakes his head and clicks his tongue beneath his mask, “be careful what you wish for, girls…”

"HAHAHAHA!!"

The cheeky laughter echoes across the harbor, drawing Kid along with it. He laughs openly and shamelessly, hands on hips and chest puffed out, clearly pleased with himself and the admiration he seems to be receiving from the women.

"And look at the other one, ain't he a hottie?"

"The first mate?"

All the Kid Pirates turn towards Killer. With arms crossed in a serious and stoic demeanor, he stays silent, secretly more grateful than ever for wearing the mask to hide his blush from the others.

"Oh, how I love men with long hair."

"I wanna brush his hair."

"I want to sit on his face!"

"… lucky bastard," Heat mutters, his gaze hypnotically fixed on the group of girls.

Kid throws an arm over Killer's shoulders in camaraderie, giving him a friendly shake. “Well, Kil,” he says with a large, cheeky grin, “looks like it's our lucky night!”

"Ladies, how about we head inside for a drink?" suggests one of the women, the others nodding eagerly.

Watching the girls disappear into the bar, Kid rolls his shoulders, straightens his back, and lifts his head high.

"Don't wait up for us, boys!" He calls out before striding purposefully toward the tavern, radiating self-assurance.

Killer follows close behind, his steps measured and hesitant, and as they reach the bounty posters, he casts a quick glance at them.

"Kid, wait," he grabs Kid's shoulder to halt him.

"Huh?" Kid spins around, a broad grin still plastered across his face.

Killer gestures toward the bounty board, and the captain steps closer to inspect it, his eyes landing on the two freshly posted wanted posters

...

"Killer..." he says, clenching his jaw so tightly it could almost crack, "not a FUCKING word of this to the others..."

.

[clintbartonswife]

rip off the band-aid

Pairings: Peter Parker x Wade Wilson Summary: wade carries patterned band-aids. peter is in love. Whumptober prompt #7 : alleyway / radio silence Notes: college!peter parker, descriptions of violence and injury, excessive bad language masterlist   || whumptober2023

Peter hissed as a stray bullet grazed his forearm, having successfully dodged the rest of the emptied magazine, the fabric of his suit tearing and allowing some of his blood to creep down his arm.

"Come on!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "Okay, now you've annoyed me Mr. Robber. Do you know how hard it is for me to fix this thing?"

The bad guy seemed taken aback by the statement, hesitating as he reloaded. That was all the opportunity Peter needed, leaping forwards to deliver a punch square to his jaw, knocking him on his ass. As he scrambled to regain his footing, Peter webbed him to the spot.

"What the hell man, I've got places I need to be!"

"Shush - you tried to rob an old lady, you don't get to complain at me right now." He began backing out of the alleyway, only feeling slightly guilty at the robber's continued protests. Not too guilty though, he had shot him after all. "Stay there - the police will be here... soon. Like, within the hour definitely."

Extending his arm to release another web, he winced at the hot pain that radiated across his skin, willing his healing factor to kick in. Swinging back to his apartment was gonna suck.

Deciding to avoid that for as long as he could, he began to walk up the side of the building. Once at the top, he looked out over the row of flat roofs, smirking.

"Parkour" he whispered, beginning to run. As he leapt over the roofs, he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of freedom, wind rushing past him with a deafening roar.

He eventually made it to the last building, a large road separating this building from the next. Readying himself to swing, his ears picking up on pitchy singing coming from the building opposite.

"I know that voice..."

Already smiling, he swung up to the building, landing on the edge of the roof. Deadpool was facing away from him, bright pink headphones over his ears.

Under the mask, Peter raised an eyebrow, huffing a laugh as the merc continued his off-key singing, wiggling along to the beat. As he reached the chorus, he began to do the funky chicken, turning around slightly with each jump.

"P-p-p-poker face f-f-fuck her face, ca- OH god, webs!! Dont sneak up on me during my gaga time!"

Peter laughed at this, warm feeling in his chest. He had begun to associate the feeling with Wade. It was dangerous.

"Well maybe if you didnt have your volume up so high, you woulda heard me landing"

The mercenary gasped, placing a hand on his chest. "You don't listen to gaga on anything other than full volume, every monster knows that!"

"How many times do I have to tell you you're not a monster until you believe me?"

"Wh - Oh. You do care. As adorable as that is baby boy, I was using the fan name for all gaga stans."

"oh - right. I knew that."

Deadpool placed his hand on his forehead dramatically, "You make me feel old, Webs. You really do. Good thing you've got daddy issues or this would never work."

"Wade -!"

At this, the older man chuckled, moving closer to the spider. "I mean, really it's lucky that I -" He broke off, crowding closer to Peter. "Your arm -"

"'Tis but a flesh wound, it's really nothing, it's practically already healed-"

His voice gave out as gloves gently parted the rip in his suit, allowing Wade a better look. Peter could do nothing but watch with baited breath as the other man pulled out a small case from one of his many pockets, producing a hello kitty band-aid and carefully placing it on the cut. He then bent down to place a kiss on the area, the warm leather of his red mask against his skin sending chills up Peter's arm.

"There!" Wade grinned, seemingly unaware of the mental spiral he had sent Peter down, "All better!"

"Y- yeah. All better. Thanks, 'pool"

///

It had become a thing.

Wade seemed to have a never ending supply of band-aids in the pockets of his suit which he was always too happy to give out. At the end of patrols Peter usually had at least one band-aid stuck to him, even when it was very clear he didnt need it.

Just last night Wade had sent him home with 6 plasters on his back, themes ranging from paw patrol to spongebob. He hadnt noticed until he was getting changed, meaning that the merc had been putting them on him throughout the night without Peter realising.

He wasn't sure if that gap in his spidersense was something to be happy or concerned about.

He chose not to think about it instead.

Today, he was stood on the edge of the roof, waiting for Wade to come back with Chimichangas.

"Oi! Webhead!" Peter looked down, Wade holding up the takeout like a baby Simba at the base of the building. "Uppies?"

He snorted. "You're not a child, 'Pool."

"Don't make me take the stairs you cruel and beautiful bastard."

Peter rolled his eyes affectionately, making sure he was grounded with his footing before sending a web down to Wade and pulling him up. As he did so, Wade vocalised to the tune of 'When will my life begin' from Tangled.

"You're an idiot." Peter laughed, Wade placing the takeout safely on the edge of the roof before hauling himself up the rest of the way.

"I happen to be an idiot with food, so you might wanna rethink that attitude Petey Pie."

"You would starve me?"

Deadpool cocked his hip out defiantly. In response, Peter took his mask off and pouted.

"Ugh! No fair! You know I cant deny your cute little face of anything!"

Peter laughed, taking his share of the takeout with a cheer of success before sitting down cross-legged on the floor. "Pleasure doing business."

"Cold. Very cold." Wade chastised, though his smile was audible. With a hefty sigh, he joined Peter on the floor, pulling his mask up to his nose. "I grabbed you a fortune cookie on my way - I know you like those."

Peter blushed slightly, trying his best to hide his surprise. "Oh - thank you 'Pool."

He accepted the small package, ripping it open excitedly and letting out a small hiss as the plastic sliced into his finger.

"Nobody panic!" Wade yelled, dropping his burrito on to his lap and producing a plaster from his pocket in record time. "Daddy's got you covered!"

"Wade -"

"Shush." he chided, taking hold of his hand and applying the band-aid gently.

Peter rolled his eyes fondly, "Really? Isn't this a bit on the nose?"

"Branding is important for any self respecting merc-turned-hero. Plus, this way people know that if they hurt you I'll gut them with my katanas!"

"Hey! What have I said about the no killing thing?"

Wade dropped his head like a scolded schoolchild. "To not kill people. Which I will stick to... unless you are gravely injured."

"Is this your way of keeping me around?"

"Is it working?"

Peter just smiled, rubbing his thumb against the deadpool-themed band-aid before breaking open the fortune cookie.

'if we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives'

He swallowed heavily, glancing quickly up at Wade who was currently trying to fit as much as possible of his burrito in his mouth at once.

It would be so easy to say something right now - to, for the lack of a better phrase, rip off the band-aid.

Fear held him back, unable to even think of a world in which he didn't have Wade. Sure, the man made a lot of jokes about dating him, but they were never followed up in any way that would even suggest an inch of seriousness.

Peter refused to mess this up.

So instead he shoved the note down the neck of his suit, unwrapping his food and pushing his thoughts to the back of his head.

///

Over the next few months, Peter found himself thinking back to the fortune he had received. The note itself was pinned to his corkboard in his bedroom, meaning it was the first thing he saw every night as he left to and returned from his patrols.

Wade seemed blissfully unaware of the younger man's mental distress, still happily providing themed plasters for every little cut and scrape that he had gained during his endless hours protecting his city.

Peter made a mental note that the range in themes were steadily declining, the majority of them now boldly covered in deadpool's symbols. A small and slightly insane part of his brain convinced him that this was Wade's way of staking his claim, somehow akin to a wedding ring.

Today, he was on his way back from college, tracing his fingers over the band-aid on his forearm. The cut underneath it had been tiny, his enhanced healing definitely having erased it by now, but he couldn't bring himself to take it off.

"Help!"

Peter froze in his tracks, senses dialled to 11. The hairs on his arms rose as he kicked into gear, running to an empty alleyway and stripping his clothes as quickly as he could to reveal his suit, shoving them in his bag and exchanging them for his mask.

Between swings, he quickly typed out a message to deadpool for backup, the amount of police cars racing towards the area a good indicator of the level of threat he was about to face.

The sound of crumbling buildings heightened as he grew closer, sirens and screams building into a frantic cacophony, reaching its peak just as Peter arrived at the scene.

He took a moment to assess, sticking on to the side of a building as his eyes tracked through the chaos in search of the source. He figured it out pretty quickly.

What can only be described as a green goblin soared through the skies on top of a metal... thing, smashing buildings to pieces with his gloved hands.

With a deep breath, he leapt into action, using the momentum from his swing to hit the goblin square in the jaw.

"Queens is not your personal playground!" he yelled, sticking on to the side of a building as he gauged the situation, "Though I'm sure you'll love it in prison! Maybe we should go there now? Save me the trouble of dragging you there -"

He was cut off as a car was thrown in his direction, Peter preventing it from crashing into the building with some cleverly timed webs.

"Well. That was rude."

"No spider tells me what to do" The goblin spat, "You are all beneath me - imbeciles - and should be treated as such!"

At the end of his sentence, he once again launched a car, Peter dodging and catching it once again. "What do you have against cars, dude?"

The cars kept coming, Peter attempting to find a way to subdue the goblin man whilst still making sure that the cars didn't hit him or anyone still in the surrounding area.

He managed to send another SOS to Wade, nerves setting in as he saw the goblin down a glass of green liquid, the man's veins popping out as he let out a scream.

"You shall all fall at my feet!"

"Yeah... the average New Yorker is not into that. Not to kink shame or anything - I'm sure the people who do like it are really happy with their choices - that's the key! Consent and choices -"

His phone buzzed, distracting him for a moment, just long enough to miss the broken off piece of scaffolding flying towards him. It impacted his side, arm faltering mid swing.

He fell to the ground, swearing at the impact.

It took a few seconds before the pain began to register, blood running down his side like a macabre waterfall. Legs weakening, he retreated to the nearest alleyway, dipping behind a dumpster.

"Spiderman! Come out and face me you coward!"

Peter winced, the wound in his side bleeding more heavily than he was comfortable with, red liquid spilling on to the floor as he shifted his weight in an effort to better take cover behind the dumpster.

He could hear the echoing steps of the goblin approaching, but couldnt seem to find it in his muddled mind to move.

Where was Wade?

The footsteps halted at the entrance of the alleyway. Peter could hear the goblin's breathing, closing his eyes as he accepted his fate.

Instead of the pain he was sure was coming, the footsteps retreated, seemingly chasing after something. A few moments later, a cacophony of noise filled the area, followed by quiet.

"Webs?"

Relief rushed through him, Peter managing a weak shout. Wade rushed towards him, looking around for a few seconds before spotting his scrunched up figure.

Peter choked out a weak laugh, moving his hand to reveal the extent of the damage. "Think I could use some of your plasters around now, 'pool"

The merc was eerily quiet, unmoving as he looked at the injury.

"Fuck - 's that bad, huh?" Peter asked, coughing slightly as he curled back in on himself.

That seemed to break Deadpool from his stupor, the man kneeling at his side in an instant. "Fuck, baby boy - I - I dont know what to do."

Gloved hands hovered over his, before retracting back, Wade beginning to whack himself on the head. "How do I fix this. No - fuck, fuck, shitty fucking fuck!"

Peter frowned, fighting through the haze that had started to descend on him in order to pat Wade's shoulder comfortingly, "It's 'kay, I'm fine! See?" He moved his hand from his shoulder to his cheek and attempted a smile. "I'm okay."

"I don't - I don't know how to fix this, Webs. You need a doctor... I need -" He dug through his pockets, whipping out the bedazzled hello kitty flip-phone. "Matt knows a nurse - she's fixed him up before maybe -"

Peter blinked heavily, a high pitched ringing sound starting to deafen his hearing. Fear began to rise within him, sitting heavily on his chest. It was bad - that much he knew, if only from Wade's reaction.

'if we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives'

He nudged Wade's phone away from his ear, demanding his full attention. "I need you to know something."

"You can tell me when you're all better," Wade insisted, listing off their location to someone on the phone.

Peter frowned. "Wade. Please."

"I'm getting help, okay? Just let me get help -"

"I love you." Wade froze, hand tightening around the phone. At his lack of response, Peter continued. "I have loved you for months now. I love - I love your laugh, your smile... I love your voice. I love -"

He was interrupted by a cough, groaning as pain spread through his entire body, fresh blood splattered on his glove. Wade dropped the phone to the floor, applying pressure to his wound, panic clear in his voice.

"Peter -"

"I love your stupid band-aids. I love how they make me feel like I matter. Like you care -"

"I do care -"

"And if I die -"

"You're not going to die -"

"I need you to know how much you mean to me."

Wade's breath quickened, leaning over to yell 'hurry' into his phone. Peter's head felt light, the pain starting to feel more like weightlessness. Distantly, he noted that this was a bad thing.

Frowning, he pushed Wade's mask off, smiling as his eyes took in every crease and crevice of his face. He lifted his arm with great effort, faintly tracing over his cheekbone, down his jawline and finishing at his lips.

With his face bared, the spider could finally see the pure anguish worn on Wade's face.

"Don't be sad."

"Just - Stay with me Petey, you're going to be okay."

His eyes were so heavy, the lids closing against his will.

"I love you too!" Wade yelled, desperation seeping out of every pore. "Fucking goddamn to hell, I love you. Don't leave me -"

Peter couldn't help the grin that spread across his face, eyes fluttering as unconsciousness pulled him into oblivion.

"Over here! He's - help him!"

[corkycare]

[A video file is attached. Press play?]

The video starts with a blinding flash of fiery orange, bright enough to leave an afterimage on your eye should you look directly at it. If the viewer is clever and in possession of all of the necessary context, they may piece together that this recording was started at a distance, by a certain fire and psychic type. The fact that the recording is being taken on a phone which is currently pointing directly up at the ceiling certainly seems to suggest it is not being held up by anyone currently, at least.

The majority of the video is, in fact, just the dark, unremarkable ceiling of the yanmegacopter. There are only a precious few details that can be seen other then this; names, the back of a chair that is currently swiveled around to face backwards, and half the face of one Lauwittoni. The right half, to be specific. Her face is pale, almost sunken looking, with deep bags under her eyes and a tightness around the brow that suggests that the conversation currently happening in the copter is wearing down her already paper-thin patience.

“Aw, pauvre puce, you have no stomach for teleportation, huh?” We hear Corky’s voice coming from the chair that is currently swiveled around. Someone says something inaudible off screen that makes her laugh. “Of course, petite puce, I’ll save the babying for when we land then.”

"Not now, Rakurai? I'd figured you'd have had more urgency."

"I'm just trying to spare the poor thing’s dignity over here. Like a gentleman, not that you'd know much about that."

"I just didn't know that you would wait so long." Amy spoke flatly. Even with all the venom in their words, there seems to be some underlying energy behind their voices that sounds…playful?

“I gotta make sure you lot have some semblance of patience. Good things come to those who wait. And also look how it turned out last time I threw down with someone with zero patience.” The sound shifts subtly, seemingly Corky leaned back closer to the camera, to the front where Lauwi is sitting, to say this.

Something shifts in Lauwi’s face. Suddenly, the exhaustion and annoyance melt away into an expression of distant bliss. She has a serene smile on her face as her gaze shifts down, and she slowly slides out of frame as the phone slides forward. Our view shifts, and now instead of seeing the ceiling, it seems the phone has slid across the dashboard and is now directly against the window. And all we can see through that window is the rapidly approaching ground.

The rest of the occupants, now somewhat more difficult to hear through the sound of the roaring engines, erupt in a chorus of concern and confusion. They each pose their questions calmly and politely, one at a time, like so;

“What the fuck-” “ARE YOU DOING THIS ON PURP-” “Lauwi I know you’re stressed but this isn’t-” “OSTIE DE CRISSE DE TABARNAK YOU STUPID BITCH WHAT ARE YOU DO-” “I’m going to hurl.”

None of this seems to have much of an effect on Lauwi, however, as the only thing the viewer can see (the ground) continues approaching the copter at a speed typically considered inadvisable for a safe landing.

“Lauwi for fuck’s sake,” Corky’s voice is much closer now, it seems she must have clambered back into the front seat properly. “This isn’t how it works, there are other people here! We’re the only ones that are supposed to go down like this.”

The sound of the engines shift, and our view is thrown into chaos as the sudden change in direction launches the phone off the dashboard entirely. The feed becomes a blur, spinning around the inside of the yanmegacopter much too quickly to be able to make any details out, the sound clipping repeatedly as the microphone is bumped into various surfaces. Finally, the view settles into darkness, and the noise of the engine cuts off into a suffocating silence. The sound of a door opening and then slamming can be heard.

The phone is picked up, and again the view swings around the copter. Professor Amaryllis, Casi, and Sneaks seem to have managed to stay in their seats thanks to the life-saving powers of the humble seatbelt, but when the view settles pointed at the front we get a quick look at Lauwi running off outside the copter and Corky’s notably empty seat. Corky, apparently now at the back of the copter and holding onto the phone, is the last thing we hear before the feed cuts off.

“Osti de crisse, was that fucking recording?”

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 20 - In the glow of the moon

Chapter 19; Masterlist Summary: Some conversations cannot be avoided. Especially when it is Bruce, who becomes impatient... Warnings: Swearing; angst. Too much talking. Author's Notes: Alas, we've made it. This is where the story ends *sniffles*. While I've got a short epilogue in mind, it's going to be more of a post scriptum, so I'm treating this as the conclusion to the journey. And what a journey it had been! 🥺 It only took me a year and a half to finish the series, but I'm so glad I did. Those idiots did not make it easy, but I'll sure miss them. This chapter is a long overdue punchline some of you had been waiting for. I hope it meets your expectations. Thank you for reading, waiting and supporting me in the very rocky process. You all made it much easier to convince my brain it was worth continuing 💕 And thank you, Shet, for dealing with my whining, doubts and endless drama - always grateful for you! Hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think? Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5 (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added).

(gif credit: @1038276637)

In the morning, you dared believe the universe must have a soft spot for you within its core. As soon as your eyes opened, your gaze noted two things. One, Bruce was gone. Two, there was a note with his handwriting on your bedside table.

Without letting your mind run away with the first fact, undoubtedly working itself into a spiral like no other you rolled over to pick up the page. The contents were simple: “Sorry I’m gone. The hospital called to say Alfred had been signed out, so I went to pick him up. See you soon.”

The spark of relief drowned out everything else as you dropped the paper onto the covers and smiled at the ceiling. Everything was still fucked. But this was something. Something that could take your mind off the reality. It was easy to admit that one thought. You missed Alfred. Missed his clever blue-grey eyes that saw through your bullshit. Maybe it was what you needed… Maybe.

The thought was a motivator to drag you out of bed and into the closet, absentmindedly searching for anything you could wear. The first proper wake-up of the morning came when you entered the ensuite and found yourself facing the mirror. Finding mussed hair and a red bruise on your neck. A few more below, scattered like flares across your body. Drawing attention to what happened. Making it impossible for you to deny it, even before yourself. A wave of shame rolled in your stomach, erasing the budding hunger. You turned your head the other way and never looked back until you were ready to leave the bathroom.

It was cold enough for a turtleneck, anyway.

The distraction kicked in as soon as you made your way downstairs. A chorus of voices could be heard coming from the kitchen. A sound you had not heard in the tower since the explosion. A quiet sigh of relief was all the noise you made as you headed into the room. Eager to see what was going on. Having reached the doorway, you peered inside. Bruce was the first one you saw, leaning against the kitchen counter with a timid yet bright smile. He seemed happy. Lighter than when you had first met him.

Another dangerous thought you did not want to entertain. Your gaze slipped over Bruce to settle on Alfred. He was leaning heavily on his cane, but no bandages were in sight anymore. Only a fading yellowish bruise and darker circles underneath his eyes. Dory was talking with him animatedly, her hands gesticulating broadly. A grin broke out on your face as you stepped through the threshold, immediately drawing attention to your arrival. All three pairs of eyes landed on you. Without meaning to, you met Bruce’s gaze first. The look in his eyes shifted, but his face was still open. As if he was happy to see you. Even after the previous night. You never had the time to pull that revelation apart.

“Glad to see you join us, darling” Alfred crossed the remaining space towards you with a bright smile.

Affection filled the caverns of your heart, making it impossible to get rid of that one feeling. The one that reminded you that you had not felt this welcomed anywhere in a very long time. That this, the three of them, almost felt like the home you had lost twenty years ago. You swallowed past the lump in your throat to reply, a cheeky smile masking the emotions tearing through your chest:

“Pardon me, I didn’t know we’ll be having a kitchen party” an answering scoff from Bruce was enough of a validation for the weak joke, “It’s good to see you back, Alfred” you met the butler’s gaze with a fond look of your own, not hiding just how much you had meant it.

You knew he understood, instantly adjusting his stance to open his arms and invite you in for a hug with a quiet croon:

“Oh, c’mere,” you did not need to be asked twice, returning the embrace with care, mindful of his lingering frailty.

But Alfred’s hug was everything but frail, instantly making you sink into the comforting touch you did not know you had missed. After a beat, aware of the company and the prolonged silence, you pulled back, squeezing his arms one last time. Over Pennyworth’s shoulder, you caught Bruce’s gaze again. The softness in his eyes was replaced with something more tender. Almost as if seeing you close to Alfred meant much more to him than he could say. You sent him a small smile as the butler spoke again:

“I see my boy at least had the decency to invite you to stay for longer” the older man threw a pointed look over his shoulder at Bruce before setting his piercing gaze back on you.

You did wonder whether the blush on your cheeks was as telling as you worried it might be. Because there was no escape from it.

“Of course, I-” Bruce’s offended rebuttal was never meant to be heard.

Only because you feared what he might say and whether you could mitigate the effects without the scene dissolving into chaos. You threw Bruce an apologetic smile and interrupted him with faux chirpiness:

“He did. At least until everything settles down in the city,” the apologetic note was not easily eradicated from your voice.

Because no matter what, you still felt like perhaps you were a nuisance to them. Like maybe you should have disappeared a long time ago and never bothered them again. But then Bruce was the one to ask… And the previous night, he seemed happy with you staying… You barely resisted shaking your head against the barrage of thoughts as Alfred remarked:

“Well, we’re certainly not short on space” he glanced at Dory as if awaiting her approval.

You followed his gaze only to see the older woman smile at you warmly. Giving her blessing with your favourite question of the morning:

“Coffee?” she raised the mug to accentuate the gesture.

“From you? Always” there was no need to think as you flashed her your brightest grin and joined the woman by the counter.

Perhaps it was alright for you to stay. Just a little longer.

***

The illusion of peace lasted approximately 32 hours and 27 minutes. It shattered in the afternoon of the second day of Alfred’s return as Dory left the dining room table, leaving you alone with the older man. As if he had been waiting for the occasion to arise, Pennyworth instantly settled his heavy gaze on your face. You got as far as awkwardly clearing your throat before he launched the first question:

“How are you doing?” you knew the nonchalance in his tone was only a means of keeping you calm.

And making you stay at the table, despite the alarm bells in your head urging you to run away. Because hell knew Alfred was damn good at seeing through your bullshit. Unfortunately.

“I’m good,” you pasted what you hoped was a convincing smile.

Hoping it would be enough to deter him. Foolishly.

Alfred leaned forward, putting more weight onto his forearms as he levelled you with another long look:

“Are you?” your heart stumbled in your chest as if begging to say: No, I’m not; he paused, seemingly to find the right words before driving another striking blow, “Because it took me a little over a day to see that things are not exactly easy between you” you could see the tactful turn.

The exact moment when Alfred noticed he needed to be gentle with you. When he saw your fragility and discovered the cause without you needing to say it aloud. That need to run and hide only grew stronger.

“Well… we get on just fine” you shrugged, aware that it was a futile attempt on your side.

It wasn’t a lie. Even after that night, things were fine. As in, Bruce talked to you, still shared his work updates, and checked in on you throughout the day. But he kept his distance. And you tried your best not to dwell on the fact fearing the heartbreak that would follow if you did.

“I know that you do,” compassion in Alfred’s eyes told you he noticed it too, “But I also know Bruce. And I can see that he’s desperately trying to fix something, but he doesn’t know where to start” the hint of hurt in his face was enough to crack your heart.

It was one thing to know you had been hurting Bruce. Another to hear it from someone else. Someone who knew him more than you. A wave of shame threatened to drown you as you gasped quietly and trained your gaze on the table. A lone tear slipped from the corner of your eye and dropped onto the cloth. There would be no more pretending.

“What do you want me to say?” the hysterical note crept into your voice as you heard yourself spill confessions you never dared put into words, “I’m scared, Alfred. Always had been. Because there are feelings that I can’t get rid of no matter what I do” more tears rolled down your cheeks as the desperation you had tried stifling reared its head “I don’t want to hurt him, but…” you trailed off, your voice breaking under the weight of emotions.

But that was it. The truth was spoken for the first time and somehow more terrifying. You knew how it sounded. How utterly pathetic it was to be afraid of the thing many were willing to die for. But you could not help it.

“You’re also hurting yourself, though” Alfred’s gentle statement was enough to make you look up.

You fixed your red-rimmed eyes on his face, resisting the sudden urge to scoff. He was right, but that did not change anything. After twenty years of hurting, what was some more? An eternity? Easy. Much easier than whatever was going on right now.

“That’s inevitable” you could only shrug, staring at him blankly.

Because that’s just the thing. It’s inevitable. There is no outcome where you could have this and walk away unscathed. No such variant of the reality.

From the disbelief on Alfred’s face, you knew he disagreed.

“What if it doesn’t have to be like that?” you opened your mouth to protest, but he did not let you speak just yet, “What if you could have everything you wanted and be happy?” the conviction in his eyes was something you wished you could share.

But you couldn’t. It sounded like a fable, a tale too good to be true. It sounded like your childhood before.

“I don’t think that’s possible” you levelled him with a resigned look and brushed the drying tears from your cheeks.

Suddenly you wanted nothing more than to burrow underneath the covers and disappear from the world until the morning. Only Alfred had one more thing to say…

“I beg to differ” with his tone urging you to listen, you fell quiet as he continued, “I can’t tell you what to do or think, but… You make him happy” his gaze softened as your heart panged, barely able to sit idly for much longer, “And I know that’s mutual” though there was no need, you nodded weakly, confirming the correct assumption “Love is terrifying, but it’s also worth the pain” unable to withstand the vulnerable moment, you closed your eyes, hiding the pain he could find there; he hit the metaphorical bullseye “Don’t let the fear take it away from you” as Alfred finished the speech you let out a long exhale.

As if sensing you were barely holding on, he stood up from the table and left the dining room. But not without reaching out to squeeze your shoulder first. Only once you were alone did you let the tears flow freely.

You desperately wanted him to be right.

***

Only two days later, things came to a head with the most unexpected beginning. Although it was late, you were still busy with work, reading up on different witness accounts of the aftermath of the flooding. While you were still officially off work for another week, you wanted to make sure you had something to write about as soon as you could. And as much as you wanted to, Riddler’s case was off-limits. The decision was difficult to accept, but it was a no-brainer. You could not write about events that hit so close to home and expect it to be unbiased. And any good at all.

So, with a heavy heart, you began a quest to find something new. To your utmost surprise – Bruce offered to help. And help he did, sharing various stories he has heard during his patrols, dropping hints towards the whispers passed around in the dark. You were more grateful than you knew how to express.

Glancing at the clock in the upper corner of the laptop screen, you groaned at the late hour. Perhaps it was time to finish for the night… Perhaps you could- You never got to end the thought as sudden feedback sound rang out in the study. Its whine made you startle, head snapping up in rapt attention at whatever would follow. That was familiar. A memory from what felt like ages ago. It took you another moment to catch up and recognise the song. The subtle strumming was almost indistinguishable. And then…

You got up before you knew what you were doing. Like a siren call leading sailors to their demise, the increasing volume of the music dragged you down the stairs. Once you got closer, you could hear him sing. Quietly, as if he never wanted anyone to have heard him, but still. His low, gravelly voice was enough to increase the cadence of your heartbeat and make you pick up the pace.

‘You're just like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather

In a beautiful world’

You knew the lyrics well enough to feel the familiar tension fill your chest when you reached the study and held your breath upon the sight.

‘I wish I was special

You're so fuckin' special’

Bruce had his back to you, the broad plane of his shoulders covered with a washed-out black t-shirt. Body hunched over the guitar. Without seeing his face, you knew that his eyes were closed. As the volume grew, his strumming got angrier. Dexterous fingers hit each note as they were supposed to. The pain in his voice perfected the picture and made you tighten your grip on the railing. It was terrifying to think about the song choice and what it meant. Whether it meant anything at all.

The longer you stayed, frozen by the sight, the more you knew you should have never given in to the pull. Because now you could not walk away. Not without talking to Bruce. Even if only just about the music. The longing got almost unbearable.

The guitar’s tone slowed; the riff returned to its gentle opening. Bringing the number to a close. Bruce’s voice turned smooth, rolling over your torn heart like a soothing balm. But only just so. Before you realised it, a solitary tear had rolled down your cheek. You whispered the closing lyrics alongside him:

‘What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here

I don't belong here’

Bruce finished the song with a long exhale. For a moment, you contemplated running back up the stairs like you had never been there. But you could not move. Your mouth opened on its own accord:

“You’ve got a beautiful voice” you winced as Bruce flinched, his body tensing as he turned to face you with a shock evident on his face; still, you trudged on and added, “But that was a rather gloomy choice, don’t you think?” an unconvincing smile graced your face.

Because you knew Bruce would see beneath the mask. He would notice the drying tear on your cheek and the pain in your eyes. That one look would be enough for him to tear you apart.

“It felt accurate” Bruce shrugged, his façade drawn up and ready to hide all hints of emotion.

But you could see him look at you, gaze searching and assessing. Noticing everything there was to see. Like he always did. Unable to withstand eye contact much longer, you let your gaze roam as well. Slipping over his forearms and hands, still carefully holding the instrument. As if he expected you to leave so he could continue. But it was not that easy.

“If you’re a creep, then I’m a weirdo” you gathered enough courage to look back up at him, finding Bruce still gazing back; it was enough of an encouragement to make you drop the nonchalance, a veiled confession ready on your tongue “Kindred freaks and all,”

For the first time since he looked at you, you saw Bruce’s mask slip. A flash of surprise passed through his blue eyes and, then, something more tender. The aching chasm in your chest grew wider as you stepped down from the landing and took a step closer to him. The movement woke him up. Bruce took off the guitar strap from around his neck and placed the instrument back on the stand. Silence echoed in the vast room.

“I didn’t think you’d hear me play” when he raised his head again, part of that wall hiding him from you was gone.

In its place, you could see wary curiosity. As if Bruce did not expect to see you tonight or have this conversation. As if you caught him by surprise. For some reason, the idea settled with heavy guilt in your stomach. Because maybe you were trespassing, bothering him with your presence when he would rather be alone. You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat and whispered:

“I’m sorry” your body had half made up its mind to turn around on your hell and march up the stairs.

Like you should have done when he finished the song. A goodbye was ready on your lips before Bruce spoke, making you freeze:

“Did you mean it?” the cautious tone arrested your attention.

As did the fleeting hope in his eyes. Gone so fast you assumed you had imagined it. Your heart skipped a beat as you understood what Bruce was asking. There was only one thing it could be. As if eager to spite you, your mind readily offered the memory. A sentence blurted out in a moment of passion. Your undoing, as it seemed. Heat filled your cheeks as you felt yourself shake. Panic took over; its job was simple – you couldn’t admit it. Not yet. Ideally never. So, you did what you do best.

“Mean what?” a confused smile was ready on your lips, masking the descending terror with a weak attempt at deflection, “The line just now? I-”

You should have known better. Bruce interrupted your pathetic one-woman play with a simple injection:

“You know what I mean” frustration rolled off him in waves, making him clench his hands into tight fists as Bruce stared at you with growing desperation.

Urging you to drop the act. But it was too late. The cold panic had settled, freezing you on the hardwood floors. Freezing your mind on that one thought – you couldn’t tell him. He can’t know.

“Bruce, I’ve no-” you tried again, without the foreign smile and bullshit nonchalance.

In your head, a pleading chorus was rising in volume. Drop it. Please drop it. But Bruce did not want to listen. He took a step closer, briefly reaching out his hand before letting fall back down. As if he wanted to touch you but soon realised that would not do.

“Please, just- Don’t lie to me” his voice broke on the last word, pain squeezing your heart like a vice; it only got worse when Bruce added, “I don’t think I can do this anymore” he glanced at you almost passively.

Almost as if he had not just crushed your heart in the palm of his hand with that one sentence. Cold fear rose in your throat as you took a step forward, voice wavering as you asked the only question you could:

“Do what?” even though you knew.

You could feel it in your bones. Bruce was done with this. With you. You could even guess why. And if that was it, the end, then you could not blame him, only yourself. A new wave of tears rose in your eyes as you waited for Bruce to cut the cord and end your suffering.

“This,” he vaguely waved his hand at the space between you before turning to pace the room, restless energy permeating every cell of his body, “It hurts too much to pretend. And- I mean, it’s pretty obvious. You must know by now” what? The question painted itself in the crease between your eyebrows as Bruce glanced at you with passion in his gaze, begging you to understand, “It’s not like I’m good at hiding it anyway” the following scoff was self-directed, as if Bruce was angry with his actions, or lack of them, as well.

But none of that explained what he meant. The bewilderment was evident on your face. You could tell Bruce saw it because he let out a long frustrated sigh. He stopped pacing, eyes trained on the floor as if taking part in a heated debate you were no part of. You reminded yourself to breathe, still frozen in your spot with no pointers towards where it was going. What was going to happen next. You opened and closed your mouth in a question that never quite came and went back to staring helplessly at Bruce. Fully aware of the pained look in your eyes and the shaking in your hands.

Later, you could pinpoint the moment he snapped. When the silence became too much to bear, and Bruce rushed in to fill it with words. More words than you had ever heard him say, unprompted. He walked back towards you, eyes wide and awake despite the late hour. But nothing you could see in his face warned you of what was coming:

“I know I’m new to this whole thing, but… I think I’m in love with you” oh. Oh. The breath hitched in your chest. The sincerity of his confession was the reason why you swayed on your feet, only just managing to grasp the railing before you fell at his feet – literary and figuratively; before you could process what Bruce had said and what it meant, he trudged on, seemingly unable to stop now that he began talking “Hell, I know I am, because nothing has ever torn me apart and put me back together all at once. No one else, but you” remembering to breathe, Bruce took a greedy inhale as his eyes met yours; the blue of his irises was set ablaze with that emotion you could never quite decipher. Until now, “I’m tired of pretending this is fine when it’s anything but. Nights like that last one are the worst because, for a moment, I get to feel what we could have, but then you- You leave, and it hurts twice as much because I know what I’m missing. What I’ll probably never have unless it’s with you” tears rolled down your cheeks as you stared, feeling the fear and love wage war in your heart. It was almost impossible to understand what was going on. And why the pain in his eyes only seemed to grow with each confession, the words dropping heavily onto the space between you, staining the floorboards with blood and despair. Yet still, Bruce’s next words slashed your heart anew, “And sometimes, I think… I think that maybe you’re the same” he looked at you again, the unasked question evident on his face.

A question you could not answer. The fear had won, claiming reign over your head and heart as you stared back. Still too frozen to move. Still unable to understand what had just happened. Bruce loved you. He was in love with you. He reciprocated, even though he did not know it. Fuck. All at once, you wanted to howl - be it from joy or pain, you could not decide. What now?

Your thoughts rushed a hundred miles per hour, spiralling and panicking. Worrying about every single what-if you could think of. All your mouth could form was a plea:

“Bruce, please- Don’t-” you did not even know what you were begging for.

Mercy, mostly. But with every second passing, you began to understand there was no way out of this. For better or for worse.

As if reading your feverish thoughts, Bruce closed the gap between you and reached out a careful hand, letting his fingers skim down the length of your forearm. Immediately, he had drawn attention to the chill you could feel settling in your bones as goosebumps followed his tentative touch. The sole-minded focus was still in his eyes:

“I swear I’ll leave you alone, detach myself from whatever is going on between us, if you’ll tell me I’m wrong” softening his voice a notch, Bruce searched your face, looking for the answers himself, “Tell me you don’t think of me like that and I’ll let it go. I promise” his hand clasped around yours, squeezing your palm as a reassurance that he meant it “Just tell me- Tell me you don’t love me” there, simple.

Or not so simple at all. A shudder went through your body as Bruce repeated the cursed word. Now it was entirely in your hands. The weight was resting on your shoulders, waiting for you to choose. For a second, you considered taking the way out that was still there. Faint and going against every promise you had made to yourself, but it still existed. You could deny everything, tell him he had it all wrong, lie and flee the scene with only the price of Bruce’s wounded heart on your conscience. But you couldn’t. Could not make yourself consider it beyond the basic set of assumptions and potentials.

Instead, you could only offer him an incomprehensible stutter, a collection of sounds paired with the colour draining from your face:

“I can’t- I-” the desire to run was still there, growing stronger with each second Bruce had spent staring at you.

He must have read it in your eyes for the moment you turned on your heel, body poised to run up the stairs, his arms were around you in a second. Caging you with your back pressed to his chest. Your shocked gasp was the only sound you could make.

“Don’t run away from me now,” Bruce’s plea was whispered right into your ear, making you shiver, “Please” only once you had the time to breathe, you noticed how lose his hold was; it would not take much to free yourself, should you want to “I’ve got you” the reassurance got through the white noise in your ears, making you relax.

Even if just by a fraction. You could feel the rise and fall of his breath at your back, the wisps of air across the back of your neck and cheek. One of his hands traced small circles on your arm, slowing your heart rate to a manageable pace. That was it. You couldn’t run from it anymore. You took a deep breath before you spoke:

“I’m so scared,” the admission was easy enough to utter.

A fragment of truth you owed Bruce. The reason for everything, as he would come to understand very soon. His embrace tightened slightly as he pressed a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head. It was almost enough to quieten the panic.

“I know, my love. Trust me. I know” the gratitude at his understanding was quickly overshadowed by the nickname he used.

The heart stuttered in your chest, unable to process it. My love. Two words that had never been aimed at you; have never related to you. A term of endearment you had come to envy in the quiet of your heart, yearning for something you never expected to have. But here it was, within your reach. If only you were brave enough to take it.

You closed your eyes, willing the courage to fill your veins as you pressed your back to Bruce’s chest. He wouldn’t hurt you. The statement filled your head like a mantra as you slowly forced more words out:

“You see me. The real me and it’s scary because what if you come to hate me? I don’t think I could survive that” it all came out in a rush of breath, leaving you gasping.

But it was out there. The truth for Bruce to hear and take in. The bravery was draining the energy from your body as you waited for a reply, a comment – anything at all. Anything to show you he understood.

He did not disappoint, offering you another gentle squeeze before speaking:

“I could never hate you” the certainty in Bruce’s voice was what you later considered as the thing that tipped the scales.

Because, for once, you pushed against the denial and believed him. After all, Bruce was the one with more to lose. The first to reach out. To come clean before you. Goddamn it, if he was brave enough, maybe you could be too… Maybe.

Cold shivers ran through your body as you tried to give voice to the words that had been choking you for days. If not weeks. You never thought to keep track and were too busy keeping them in. Despite everything. Perhaps there was no better time than now.

You squeezed Bruce’s hand to assure him you were not running away and turned in the embrace. It was better that way. Proper. You met his boundless gaze, now filled only with hope and the feeling you had recognised as the love he spoke of. It was enough. With a shaking voice, you released the confession from the prison you had made for it:

“Christ, I- I- I love you” the words came out wavered, and your breath stuttered with each syllable, but the light in his eyes was a reason to go on, “So fucking much it kills me” now that you started, the admissions did not seem to stop, slipping through your lips in a steady stream, slowly gaining speed “I’ve no idea when it happened, only that now you’re all I can think about. Every day, I go crazy because of you. Because I want you so much, I don’t know what to do with all those feelings. Sometimes it feels as though they’re going to tear my heart apart” running out of steam, you swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in your throat; it felt like a fraction of the weight had been lifted, now drowning in the blue gaze that did not stray away from your face. There was one last thing to add, a conclusion stating the obvious “But I’m still afraid,” the cursed punchline you did not seem able to shake off.

Only now, once the words were out, you allowed yourself to look back at Bruce. His shy smile acted like a magnet, drawing out your helpless twist of mouth. Your eyes followed the line of his nose (slightly crooked to the right) up to his eyes. Instantly drowning within the depths of blue irises filled with affection. Almost as if what you revealed did not change anything for him. As if, somehow, it would be alright. He would try rather than run away from you and your complex feelings no one seemed to fully comprehend. Not even you yourself. Too lost in his eyes, you only noticed he had reached up to touch you when you felt the gentle thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. Caressing your skin and quelling the worries.

“Of what?” Bruce’s simple question acted like the needed push in the right direction.

A reason to put into words and label what you never dwelled on. But now, you had no choice but to piece it apart. Even if only because Bruce deserved it from you. He earned an attempt at trying from you. Because, when faced with the reality that he felt the same, you knew you could not deny it anymore. It was terrifying. And oh, so hopeful. You let the feelings in his eyes anchor you in the moment as you spoke:

“That you’re going to leave. Or something takes you away from me” you could see the recognition pass through his face, making the addition nearly redundant “I don’t have a great track record with love” still, the sad scoff could not be kept in.

There was something freeing in seeing the knowing look on Bruce’s face. In knowing that he understood the feeling, perhaps better than anyone else ever could. That, no matter what happened next, you were placing your heart in the palm of someone who gets it. That you had fallen for that same boy you felt a kinship with days after your childhood ended. It was almost poetic.

“I don’t plan on leaving” when Bruce gave voice to the affirmation, you wanted to believe him.

Because he said it before. Every time you let your insecurities win. You clenched your teeth against the denial bubbling beneath the surface and asked a question:

“Why?” hoping he would know what you meant.

It was the only way you knew of asking him why you were the one to make him care. Why you? Bruce only smiled in response, leaning in to kiss your forehead before effortlessly meeting your gaze and baring his heart. Again.

“Because you’re incredible, beautiful, smart, and you see me. You see Bruce Wayne where everybody else sees a symbol, an idea of who I am” the sincerity of his words made your heart seem too big for your chest, each beat threatening to be the one that would make it implode, “Only you see me as I am” as did the gratitude and love in his gaze.

Showing you that the feeling was mutual. You saw Bruce just as he saw you. Like no one else did. The discovery was enough to make you sure – it was worth it.

Aware of the likely sparks in your eyes and the foolishly lovesick look on your face, you cleared your throat and whispered a question:

“Can I kiss you?” you did not know why it felt necessary to ask when you never did before.

When it was probably a given, considering everything he just said. The only thing you were sure of was that you had to let him know. Had to show how much it meant to hear him say it.

Bruce’s fond smile was an answer enough, but he still brushed away your concerns.

“You don’t have to ask” leaning in, he nudged your nose with his and waited for your decisive move.

After all, it was you who had asked. Getting onto your tiptoes, you returned the playful nudge and placed your hands on his shoulders. From then on, everything was a reflex and acting on well-practised instincts. Your eyes closed as you leaned in, slotting your lips over his in a tender kiss. Bruce responded immediately, tightening his hold over your waist and opening his mouth underneath your tentative tongue. The kiss quickly turned heated, drawing out a muffled gasp from your throat and a half-stifled whine from his. Your fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck as you gently sank your teeth into his bottom lip. Enough so to make Bruce groan and pull you closer.

That long-buried, sentimental part of your brain could tell this kiss tasted different. More carefree, unrestrained. Nothing stopped you from tracing the confessions on his skin as your tongue whispered words only Bruce could hear. You did not think anyone ever kissed you quite like that. Like it was the only thing he wanted to do until the end of time. Like the time spent caressing your lips and body was his holy ritual and never a waste of time. Like it mattered enough to be something Bruce devoted his attention to. Until you broke the contact to catch a breath, you were only his, and he was yours. Then, as your eyes met again, wearing matching infatuated looks, the kiss became a promise of more to come. You noted his blushing cheeks and offered a remark:

“I like what you called me, by the way” from the way Bruce’s eyes lit up instantly, you knew it was no slip of the tongue.

Even more so, it was a reason for your heart to beat faster. He meant it.

“My love?” his gaze traced the movement of your tongue, licking your drying lips.

And collecting the remains of the taste of his kiss. A pleasant shiver ran through your body as Bruce repeated the endearment. You could get used to it.

“Yeah, that’s new” you nodded, not even trying to school your features and erase the hope blooming there.

Bruce smiled, drawing out a gasp from your lips as his fingers crept beneath your shirt, lightly touching the skin on your waist. It almost distracted you from his next words.

“It can stay if you want,” without needing Bruce to elaborate, you knew what it meant; the feeling only grew stronger as he added, “If you’ll stay,” a meaningful pause signing off the conditional.

If. You still had a choice. At least, Bruce seemed to think so. What he did not know was that you had already decided. Or that your heart has chosen for you. There was no alternative there. But the slightest bit of uncertainty in his eyes told you he needed an answer:

“I’ll try to” the honest reply was a perfect opening for another question, one that you had been holding back for a while, “Are you mine?”

It was the final assurance you needed from Bruce if only to convince your head it was safe to give him your heart, body, and soul. For as long as he was willing to have them. For as long as he would have you.

Bruce used his unoccupied hand to squeeze your palm as he lowered his head to catch your eye. You had no doubt he caught the nerves lurking there; impossible to be exiled entirely. Unknowingly, you held your breath, waiting for his answer as if the world depended on it.

“If you’re mine,” Bruce’s reply was simple, bringing out your chuckle at the banter you had fallen into.

The joy was reciprocated, too, if the creases at the corners of his eyes were anything to go by. Not for the first time since you had met, you had been struck by a thought, a recognition that he was beautiful. The sharp features and striking eyes always pulled you in and made it impossible to look away. To stray your eyes from his. To find anyone else worth looking at. At this moment, in the dark gothic study, lit up only by the fireplace and the lamp, you knew it was always a lost cause. You had lost a long time ago.

Instead of replying, you kissed him quickly, relishing in the sharp gasp you got in return. When you parted, an answer was easy to conjure:

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one willing to put up with this” upon Bruce’s questioning look, you motioned at the meagre space between you, highlighting the truth he might have missed.

That there was no competition there. Only Bruce was willing to endure you for this long and in this way. He was the only one wanting your love and loving you back. You were not quite ready to piece apart why (or how) that could be.

“I’ve always been told I’m relentless” the cheeky uptick of Bruce’s mouth was a hypnotizing sight.

You did not miss the telling glimmer in his eye or the smooth move which resulted in your body being pulled closer to his. Almost flush against his chest. It was impossible to deny your brain’s desire to offer you a recap of every moment you had shared which had begun in that way. And to stifle the shiver and the knowledge that, if the universe were gracious, you would have many more coming. The reminder was enough to make you smile and return the playful smirk:

“Good for me” struck with sudden weariness and feeling the rapidly dropping adrenaline, you tugged Bruce’s hand and wordlessly led him towards the sofa; only once you had fallen onto the cushions with a sigh and curled up next to him, you asked the question “What happens now?”

You knew Bruce would get what you meant. He always did.

You felt him shift, one arm coming up to rest around your shoulders, drawing you closer. The other hand was placed on your knee, providing gentle warmth and helping you stay present with him. It was almost too easy to let go and fall back on his constant support to keep you grounded. The doubts were still there, rising and falling like the natural ebb and flow of the tide, lapping at the edges of your conscience. You suspected they would probably always be there, somewhere. Ready to take over at the tiniest chance of something going wrong. The best you could do was hope that would never happen.

As if sensing your mental chatter getting louder, Bruce leaned in to leave a trail of kisses on the shell of your ear and nuzzled your temple. The resulting sigh was effortless on your part. As always.

“We try not to fuck it up” he had his answer ready, eyes trained on you and waiting for whatever might come up.

You had to admit it sounded simple. Almost doable. But…

“And if we do?” you turned to catch his eyes with what you knew to be a wild gaze.

You needed Bruce to say it. To promise he would fight for whatever you were to become. It had to work. Please. You already knew you would be willing to sacrifice a lot for this fragile thing between you. It was already a fact.

A fact Bruce could undoubtedly see in your gaze, for the confidence bled into his voice as he replied:

“Then we’ll try harder” he grabbed your hand, which restlessly picked at the loose thread on the hem of your shirt and squeezed it.

On a reflex, you threaded your fingers through his and pressed your palms together. You had no choice but to trust him. To do the unimaginable and place your heart in his hands, surrendering control in the process. You swallowed past the fear in your throat and pressed your mouth to the corner of his lips. It felt like an apt conclusion to the conversation long overdue.

A little later, once another kiss had ended, and a new one had not yet begun, you raised your head from its comfortable placement on Bruce’s shoulder and fixed your gaze on the black and white guitar resting on its stand. An in-direct reason you had the conversation in the first place. You briefly contemplated sending a thank-you letter to the manufacturer but were struck with a better idea.

“Bruce?” taking pleasure in how his name rolled off your tongue, you marvelled at the rare peacefulness of the moment.

There was nowhere else to be, nothing else to do. Nothing, but feeling the low rumble of his voice as Bruce hummed.

“Mm?” he kept tracing letters onto the skin of your arm, leaving you to guess their meaning on your own.

Sometimes you were willing to bet he was repeating the confessions he just spoke of. The thought drew an involuntary smile onto your face.

“Play me something” you met his gaze with that same affectionate look in your eyes.

There was no need to specify the request - you knew Bruce would choose well. He only grinned at you in response and disentangled from your embrace to stand up and pick up the instrument. You watched his forearms flex, tendons dancing beneath the pale skin as Bruce placed the strap around his neck and bowed over the guitar. His eyes closed in concentration, but he was not tense. It was a far cry from how you found him over an hour before.

With a breath trapped in your chest, you awaited the first notes. When he began the rhythmic strumming, a fond chuckle escaped your lips. You had to admit Bruce was nothing, if not predictable. Humming the chorus alongside him, you met his questioning gaze. You smiled, mouthing the words that were no longer forbidden. Love you. Sweetheart.

“Something in the way, huh?” the laugh spilling through the gaps between the vowels.

“What? You did not specify” teasing edge you would have never even imagined becoming so accustomed to.

“I knew I didn’t have to,” and then, just to see him roll his eyes with that enamoured exasperation “Babe,”

[sleepydross]

Chapter One, Route_A: Clerks, Too A Chapter of the 'SEER' or 'Spontaneous Edifice Emergence / Reification' Storyline. "Chapter One, Route_B" coming when I can. CW: Damage to fingers, mutilation, body horror, disturbing imagery, fleshpunk concepts, blood and injury, surreal terror / horror, harsh language etc.

Song Title: Everything Burns Eventually (I think)

Description: A person whose voice sounds vaguely masculine sings about how fire (Passion?) is churning and burning (Lyrics specifically mention 'churning and burning,' like, as part of the chorus. It's… weird.) and tearing across the land, and consuming everyone that it touched. It sounded like a raging orgy, or something. It started to be a little… more blunt than most modern songs about sex and horny shit, uh, in the last verse, from what I remember. I just remember… I remember it struck me as odd. No one else seemed to notice, but it was… strange.

I remember the lyrics said, they said, "And the fire's burnin' and churnin', burnin' and churnin' and all the fat little kids sizzle like they're on a griddle."

I almost said "What the fuck?" when my brain processed it, and then… The song was over. After that it was, I don't know, some pop shit. I'd heard it before, it played like, once a night when I was on shift, you know? It was normal.

I thought maybe, maybe it was just stress, you know? I thought I imagined it. Maybe I did.

The doors slid open, and another customer walked in. Jackie looked up, and said, cheerfully, "hello!"

Mostly, the cheer wasn't fake. J liked xis job, liked working the night shift… liked that every single hour that passed was another hour of pay to make xis life better. Fake cheer was only a necessity because of the exhaustion. Xe hadn't slept very well, during the day before - nightmares had assailed, and eventually won ground, in Jackie's mind. They'd been real bastards, too, pervasive and cruel.

They were snakey, awful fucking things and xe'd woken up screaming loud enough to piss off xis roomate.

"Great deals!" the customer replied, cheerfully. She was a nice looking older lady, hair dyed a bright purple - scrubs indicated she was a nurse, and the fact that it was two in the morning indicated she was a seasoned nurse working some graves. Whether she was coming or going, Jackie had no idea, but the response felt… off kilter, strange.

"Yes ma'am, UltiMart's got pretty solid bargains!" xe replied, bemused more than anything else. A terminal case of desperation to work nights meant xe had only very rarely showed up to the store during the day, and even then, it was only to pick up partial shifts or cover for coworkers who were sick - it wasn't anything long term. Terminal overnighters were an odd kind of kin, like that recognized like, and they'd share their little jokes about the lack of daylight.

While the old lady did her shipping, J did what J did, checked the list of all the shit xe needed to get done, and then moved down it until xe found a task that was suitable for a time when there was a customer in the store and got to it. Each of the coffee makers was an absurd Austrian thing that looked like what aerospace engineers worked on when not making space ships - they even had touch screens, which had thoroughly confused a number of customers who, for whatever reason, lacked the basic decency to just read the very simple on-screen instructions.

They made a damn fine cup of coffee, at least.

While the old lady did her browsing, J did what needed to be done with the coffee machines. First, xe had to pull out the tray all the coffee grounds were dumped into by the individual bean grinders, and brush them out - and then wipe them down with the bottle of food safe sanitizer hanging from xis belt.

A song started playing, an unfamiliar one - which was, in and of itself, something of an event. The store's radio had been standardized for the three years xe had worked at the fucking place, with new songs being added only very rarely. It was covers, always covers of popular songs from years past, because (presumably) licensing fees were less.

This song, however, was wildly unfamiliar. Right then, it was december the fourth, and the ugly American phenomenon of Christmas music had already begun, with essentially every song being some softly shitty, saccharine song about how Christmas was good and lovely (it wasn't) and how snowing it was definitely going to be (or how not snowing it would be but how it was in fact still Christmas in Vegas). All of it was thankfully constantly rubbing its ass across the floor of a room labelled 'easy listening' like a dog in heat, and thusly, was incredibly easy to tune out.

This was not easy listening, and was not dragging its ass. It started up right away with a strange, slightly overdriven scream of a note on what could've been a guitar, or what could've been a violin having its various indelible rights violated. J looked up, confusedly, staring at the nearest ceiling mounted speakerplate. The first words of the song were definitely in English, but they were unintelligible, howled with such ferocity that J couldn't make anything out.

Unnerved, xe let the cleaning routine finish on the coffee machine and wiped down the grill people set their cups on, cleaning up loose droplets wondering how people could make so much off a mess with a damned device that was largely automatic, and-

The music was loud, louder than it should have been, loud enough to be downright unpleasant. Whatever the verse was supposed to be about, J heard the word 'fuck,' and then 'death is our business, and business is good' and wondered with a kind of dim anxiety what xis boss was doing with the damned radio. Usually, she didn't fuck with it in the middle of the night, neither the volume nor the station, preferring to change it during morning shift change if she changed it at all.

Baffled, xe threw the soiled towel into the trash can behind the counter, passing through the swinging, saloon style waist-high doors to get to the register - the old lady was meandering her way back towards the front of the store, and three years of instinct told xim that she was done and ready to check out.

As she approached, the singer was howling the words 'hunt, fight, kill, spill' over and over as the guitar player went absolutely fucking bananas. It sounded like a challenge song made by a sadistic modder for some guitar-legend type video game - not meant to be musical, really, but instead meant to be as hard and inhuman as possible.

"Sorry about the radio!" J half-shouted, in the most customer service voice that xe could manage. "We have no control over it in the store, its controlled remotely!"

"What radio, sweetie?" the old lady asked. This simple question was not one that would normally frighten anyone, but when she asked it, with that fake sweetness that all the music tasted of, a trickle of icewater ran through xis spinal fluid.

"The, uh, really loud song that's playing, right now!" xe told her, confusedly, as she set… something, on the counter.

"Sweetheart, I'm old, not deaf, you don't have to shout," she said, still sweetly, but with a freezing, hard edge.

"S-Sorry," J said, trying to shut out the music that felt like it kept getting louder, and now had words in it like 'fuck, consume, eat, devour' mixed in with the other ones in some kind of charnel, wylde hunt of a crescendo. "Let me, just uh, ring you out."

So, J did what J always did when unnerved - focused on process. Grab the items, get them in place on the counter, find the barcode, scan them…

But the old woman had set, on the counter, a huge wet hank of something that looked an awful lot like intestines, loosely wrapped in some kind of slick plastic that was labelled with the store's branding, but was definitely not something xe had ever sold before. This had happened once or twice, though usually not with something so viscerally disgusting, but strange products made their way to shelves in rural areas - they had, after all, a whole goddamn minifridge by the door full of live bait and weird bottles of deer attractant or whatever.

This was marked as 'Sausage casing, natural, unprocessed' which was pretty much exactly what it looked like was inside - intestines, unprocessed, raw guts. Sure, that was fucked, and sure it made J want to go leap out a fucking window into a hot shower that would presumably be waiting out the window as a matter of course, but… It was hunting season. Rural freaks… bought all kinds of weird shit.

"I can't wait to get home and tuck into that," the old lady said, as J scanned it. J looked up at her immediately, with a kind of sluggish trepidation rising up alongside the ice-water level in xis insides. "Hard to get good, fresh intestine these days, oh boy, but you all… Well, like you said! Ultimart has some great deals!"

"Y-Yeah, absolutely," J replied, at that point, shaking. It hadn't been like this in a long time, the anxiety, the terrible feeling that something was getting worse and worse every moment, and whatever the fuck it was, it was wholly inconceivable and impossible for a human mind to understand. Early on, working the graves, that had happened a few times and required medication to quell - but it had been at least half a year since such a thing was a necessity.

The last item that J scanned was a knife, which xe was incredibly sure that they didn't sell - but it rang up in the POS system just fine, despite being a bowie styled weapon with blade length J was almost entirely sure was illegal. After several long moments of staring at the weapon, and then at the screen, xe said, "I need just a moment, okay, ma'am?"

"Oh come on now, I really would like to get home to sleep," she said, barely audible over the blood-horny shrieking of the 'music.' "What's the problem anyway?"

"I'm fairly sure this knife is of illegal blade length," J replied, evenly. "I'm going to call my manager real fast, just to make sure you're not exposed to liability, and neither are we, okay?"

For a long moment, the old lady stared at xim, paper white skin, eyes like puddles of mud with spots of green algae floating on the surface, pupils lightless pits that seemed overlarge, and then she said, "check me out, boy, or I'll use the knife on you."

"W… Excuse me?" J asked, softly, having never once been threatened by a fucking grandmother whose hair was still tinged cyan with blue-rinse. She looked like an octogenarian but had just-

"Sell me my fucking knife and my guts, boy, and let me go home. They're on SALE!" she all but barked, voice deeper than it ought to have been. For a long, ice cold moment, a temporal crystal of a ten-second cluster, J just fucking stood there, struck silent and immobile.

"I'm… I'll be right back," J said, stalking off away from the register before the old lady could be any more of a freak. Some reasoning had to be done, and xe wasn't going to do any of it standing right there with nightmare grandma. Once behind the enormous display stand wherein all of the scratch off tickets were located, xe took a long breath and pulled out xis phone.

No service. That had happened a few times before, always at crucial and stressful moments for it to happen, but it meant xe was on xis own and had to made a damn decision. Decisions had never been J's strong suit, nor had making them, nor had making good ones - but in this case, there were a few scraps of logic to cling to.

Tattered though those scraps were, the items had been entered into the POS, and were up on screen. They had prices matching the tagged prices, and that meant at least, at LEAST a manager and an assistant manager… nothing got in the system without their approval.

If anything legal-related happened, it'd happen to them. Employees below management weren't to be held responsible for such things, especially if they didn't do anything out of the ordinary but check out a registered item. After another moment of exhaustion and fear, and decision making, J headed back to the register and faced down nightmare granny with the music she couldn't hear blaring in a new, brutal, howling hellscape of sound. Satan himself and all his choruses roared and bleated.

"Okay. I had to do a quick check with the management. Everything is fine. My apologies for the inconvenience," J said.

"You fucking freaks get worse and worse every year, I swear," the grandma said, digging in her purse and tugging out a series of bills. J had been threatened, had been nearly beaten, had been yelled and screamed at, people had tried to scam xim, but no one had ever been quite as scary as this old lady and her widening pupils. Whatever she was on, and she WAS on something, it had dilated them at that point to a level that the irises could scarcely be seen.

"Sure," J said, because 'freak' was hardly the worst xe had been called by customers. Xe took the bills, checked their values, and then quickly and quietly typed the amount in the POS. The drawer snapped open, the automatic change vault dispensed the coins, and then J handed her the bills. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

"Great deals!" the old lady crowed, and then she gathered her guts and her long knife and her chocolate bar and can of coffee, and fucking dipped. That was it, she just left, walkd out the doors into a soothing darkness that absorbed her readily as if she was made of it and simply evaporated back into it past the glass.

Finally free of whatever the fuck that was, J started to emerge from behind the counters, only to realize that xis hands were wet. Soaking, dripping, and xe raised them to stare at them, finding them wet and slick and-

"What the riddling goddamn fuck?" xe asked, as the smell, the familiar smell of iron and pennies touched xis nose and that special kind of instinct-triggering vital red pattered weakly onto the floor. Already trembling with the shock and the anxiety, the worker-alone stalked into the back room and grabbed one of the GOOD cleaning paper towels to dry the red away. It was a hazmat issue, for starters, and that meant procedures had to be followed and-

"Where did it come from?" xe demanded, heading to the sink with its three huge, wide bays - and then past it, to the hand sink, where xe could wash without violating biohazard protocols. Once all the iron stink was gone and with it all that vital red, J stalked back out behind the counter, taking careful note of the pattern of blood droplets on the floor, so that he could fill out a biohaz report and clean it all properly.

At the register, J saw the blood running out from underneath the drawer, and decided this was a great time to wake up from what was most assuredly a nightmare. The howling chorus of murder and violence carried on its carrion chorus until at last, xe hit the button to open xis drawer and-

Silence. It cut out, a shocking and startling abuse of sudden peace. Inside of the drawer, the bills were soaked in blood, floating in the liquid as if it had been full up before the money was even placed inside, and none of that made sense…

Confounded, confused, xe reached in and tried to take one of the bills out - and then jerked xis hand back as the drawer snapped viciously shut, so fast that the reaction was more instinct than anything else. Strangulation of a scream was something J had experience with, and xe choked the rising scream in xis throat, and choked the bile of horror down with a guttural swallow.

Xis pinkie finger was gone, cloven off cleanly between the two middle knuckles, at an angle. Blood squirted, red and so vital, and J walked with numbness and purposeful intent. Each footstep was a labor of necessity, a cold wrought iron act that could only be forged out by someone who had experienced pain, horror and sudden and unexpected wounding before.

In the back, xe grabbed another of the good cleaning paper towels and wrapped it around the digit, taking great effort to fold the flap of skin over the stump for the moment. Whatever had happened, the bone had slowed down the cut, and perhaps that was the only reason there was so much of the digit left. With duct tape from the emergency toolbox, xe secured the makeshift dressing.

A lot of things were happening in xis head at once, most of them related to trying to get xis fucking finger sewn back on. It wasn't a terrible loss, a pinkie that was barely used for anything, and the pain, the pain was so immense but so much less than xis mind would have thought had xe been made aware of the cut before it came.

It ached. It hurt. It was-

"Need the bit," J muttered, feverishly, half-drunk with adrenaline and half-sick with horror. These new steps, back out to the register, were accompanied by the forceful requisition of a pair of heavy metal tongs that were normally used for pulling hot wings off the cook plates. Shaking still, J used the POS to open the drawer, and stared into it, seeing what was wrong, what xe had missed.

The bills that strange woman had given over, they weren't the source of the blood - xe wasn't even sure it was really blood. Somehow, all the fleshy horror of the inside of the drawer was almost not a surprise. The various slots for all of the bills had been replaced with chambers full of blood, oozing from little holes near the top and soaking all of the coins and paper, drowning them in thickened red. The fingertip, the digit, was hissing and smoking, that smoke the acrid horror of digestion. The inside lip of the drawer was lined with a thick, wide row of misshapen but unmistakably human front teeth - misshapen, but razor sharp.

Pain. Beneath the layers of tissue, thick plates of bone formed the basic skeleton of the drawer, though the outside remained mottle gray metal. Wrong, it was all wrong. It was a horror. Disgusted, enraged, J wedged the tongs in and watched it snap shut. This animal was nothing but that, an animal, operating on instinct - and it kept trying to close, grinding aggressively against the shaft of the tongs… and then gave up. This gave J only a moment to snap the remains of the digit from the single dollar slot.

This time, when it snapped shut, it was done. Xe set the digit on the counter, having fully given the screaming fuck up on hazmat protocols, and was distressed to find that there wasn't enough flesh to sew back on. It was just grotesque, awful bone and some tendon gumming it all together.

Frantic with afterthought, J checked xis hands and… they had burns, mild ones, on the palms. It wasn't blood, it was some digestive fluid that smelled and felt a lot like blood, but was just a bit thicker and-

J opened the drawer again. It was still there.

"Fuck," xe said, because if xe was just crazy, it'd be a lot less fucking scary.

It was that moment that xis phone started beeping, and the wounded worker fumbled the device out and squeeze-pressed the side button to reveal…

Six thirty AM. It was morning, and not just morning, but half an hour past the end of xis shift. Xis relief, an assistant manager, hadn't shown up, and was half an hour late - and this was when xe would have to call xis boss, if xe had ANY FUCKING SIGNAL.

Xe did not have, in fact, any signal, fucking or otherwise.

Panting with the extreme exhaustion of an adrenaline crash and the staggering pain of a severed digit, an executive decision was called for - and this one was easy, in the extreme, to make. Without even pausing to think, to wait, to hesitate, J walked to the manager's desk behind the front counter and opened the non-manager drawer on it, retrieving the emergency key for the doors. With that in hand, xe stumblefucked to the rear door and fully closed it, tricking it to latch with a little wiggle of the 'if you press this, the fire department will come' bar that forced them to leave that particular portal open, if only just, propped that way.

That done, xe walked to the front doors and reached up to the sensor controls, disabling the sensor so it wouldn't open for anyone. A final step had to be followed, and xe followed out, because at that moment, clinging to procedure was basically all that was keeping xim fucking sane. With a certain amount of disdain, xe slapped on the 'Closed due to emergency circumstances, please wait for a manager, or otherwise find another location to serve you' sign on the front door.

Xe then stepped out into the cold of morning, locked the doors, and turned to the parking lot intending to head right next store to the apartments where xis manager lived. If the phones were down, xe would pound on the fucking door and wake the poor woman up.

Except, facing the parking lot, that preternatural darkness still enveloped everything but the pumps and the area beneath the bright canopy lights. Something was wrong with that darkness, something that J couldn't quite figure until xe walked halfway across the lot and saw something that made that cold ice-water-in-the-cerebrospinal-fluid feeling come on back.

Bricks. Through that thick, syrupy darkness, xe saw bricks at the edge of the parking lot, at the very edge of the store's lot. Baffled, nauseous, xe made xis way to that edge and pressed xis wounded hand to the brickwork and just… breathed, slowly, carefully. Walking down the wall revealed just another wall, at the edge of the lot farthest from the doors - and then, xe walked down that door to a pool of light that had been hard to even notice through the black.

They slid open smoothly. J stepped into the entrance of Ultimart, and turned around as the doors shut, staring across the parking lot at pumps that had been mutated and warped, blended together and superimposed with pumps that had been mirrored. Light shone out of doors to the right, to the left, and to the locked doors with the posted sign directly across the lot.

"Welcome to Ultimart! We have great deals and fantastic meals!" a voice called. J turned, slowly, looking at a cashier that stood behind the counter. Frightened, sick with anger, xe walked up to the swinging doors and stared over them.

The Cashier was not standing there. Instead, thick rivulets of bone ran down from a bare and exposed pelvis, tubes connected to various internal organs emerging from blistered, scarred up, cauterized flesh - the tubes themselves were thick, glistening white connective tissue, wet. The bone formed pillars all the way to the floor, lumpy and uneven like melted stick candles.

There, at the floor, that bone grew in sickly, plantlike tendrils straight into the gaps between the tiles. Those cartilaginous tubes ran down through holes below the register.

"Working hard, or hardly working?" the cashier asked, like a fucking freak, like a disgusting nightmare. Neither of this things eyes were the same color, and both of them failed to focus equally, pupils seemingly set at entirely different levels of dilation. "Great deals!"

"Fall over and fucking die," J said, quite evenly, before walking back through those same goddamned doors and past the overlaid, mutated pumps. Xe unlocked the doors from the outside, and then re-locked them from the inside, and walked behind the counter. There, J sat down against the cigarette wall, and just… stared at the register. Blood was still dripping from the counter, and the bone and tissue still smoked faintly.

Finally, after a few minutes, xe said, softly…

"Fuck."

[canonicallyanxious]

Got a lot of free time on my hands rn [who could say why...] so i put a bit of effort into this year's top 10 lists by which i mean i stole canva's assets for myself and rubbed my gay little hands all over them pls enjoy

absolutely did not have braincells for a proper movies/shows list this year but i will have a special shows-adjacent list out at... some point idk

Full lists along with notes/ramblings under the cut:

Favorite 2023 Album Drops

10. Cherish - Vacationer

9. Phone Orphans - Laura Veirs

8. Praise a Lord Who Chews but Which Does Not Consume; (Or Simply, Hot Between Worlds) - Yves Tumor / this album is gender and no i will not be offering further explanations at this time

7. Red Moon in Venus - Kali Uchis

6. My Big Day - Bombay Bicycle Club

5. Metro Boomin Presents Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse - Metro Boomin, various artists / specifically the deluxe version which has some personal faves the og doesn't, like take it to the top and infamous

4. Unreal Unearth - Hozier

3. The Age of Pleasure - Janelle Monae / full disclosure this one is so high on this year's list because watching them perform this live did rewire my entire brain

2. The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We - Mitski

1. Javelin - Sufjan Stevens / the vinyl for this album comes with an art booklet made by Sufjan that includes 10 mini-essays about love, and reading them for the first time felt like putting my heart in a fucking blender. [you can also read them all here for free if you feel like doing that to yourself tonight]

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

SOS - SZA / the greatest mistake of my life was leaving SOS off my 2022 album list and it will forever haunt me. unfortunately it was also a big grower for me and was released too late in the year for me to realize its genius in time. can't put it on my 2023 list either but pls know it is number one album of the year. in my heart

Soft Machine - Arlo Parks / i think this could have ranked higher had i managed to get around to checking it out when it actually dropped but unfortunately my dumb ass didn't catch it until v late in the year so there you go

House of Groove - Roche Musique / compilation so technically there's a bunch of artists on this record, found this one a little late in the year but wanted to shout it out bc i really enjoyed every track i heard off of it, no small feat

Sorry I Haven't Called - Vagabon / i have no excuse or explanation for this exclusion, there were simply too many records i loved this year

Favorite 2023 Song Finds

(note: per tradition, not confined to 2023 releases, just bops i listened to for the first time this year)

10. So I Danced - DPR IAN (2023) / i forgot to include the year in the graphic and i am too lazy to change it soz

9. Angelina - Milo Korbenski (2021)

8. No Good - Young & Sick (2019)

7. Better Now - SebastiAn, Mayer Hawthorne (2019)

6. Liquid Love (Mr Jukes Remix) - Billie Marten (2021) / one of those remixes i like better than the og, and to be clear i like the og quite a lot. also as i was putting together this list i learned that Mr Jukes is actually the name of the solo project of Bombay Bicycle Club's lead singer so like the more you know!

5. Hair Receding - Xenia Rubinos (2013) / i heard this song for the first time in December which usually would put it at an unfair disadvantage compared to songs that i've had the full year to get attached to but listening to it shook my molecules so vigorously i had no choice but to put it on this list

4. Zero (JID Remix) - Newjeans (2023) / look i am fully aware this song is a blatant kpop ad for coke zero and the chorus literally translates to "coca-cola is tasty / coca-cola is tasty" but that doesn't mean it isn't a BOP. another remix i prefer to the og, i think jid's verse and subtle production tweaks really elevate it to something i never want to stop playing when it comes on

3. Been Thinkin' - Hikes (2019) / or: my most played song of the year! don't examine what this probably reveals about the state of my psyche too closely!

2. I'm Your Man - Mitski (2023)

1. Bruises - Angel Haze (2015) / though i was genuinely v surprised this one did not make it onto my spotify top 5, considering every time it came on this year a fugue state did overtake my whole body and did not dissipate until i had played it at least another four or five times

[caravelmp3]

UNDER THE CANYON MOON

pairing: josh kiszka x female!reader warning(s): mostly fluff, just brief mentions of alcohol and sex  word(s): 2k note: hi hi hi !! this is just a little something i wrote up the last couple of days with the inspiration of light my love, canyon moon by harry styles, and the interview where josh talked about road-tripping the u.s. last summer <3 i don’t write one shots often but let me know what you all think bc i might shuffle some more out soon lol. hope you all enjoy !! :) 

The Los Angeles sun was hot, beating down onto the city basking in its late-summer hues. You parked your car on the street in Silver Lake and carried a bag of food and drink tray to the door of a recording studio, more than prepared to be swarmed by hungry boys who had been cooped up in the studio since five a.m. on the dot that morning. They had a breakthrough the night before with a new song, and after getting home and going to bed for a few hours, the creative juices started flowing again and they were back in the booth. 

A windchime on the door sang as you pulled the door open and walked inside, greeting their manager who was at a table by the door. 

“The boys here?” 

“Down the hall,” he nodded, pointing a finger in the direction of the hallway. “They’re more rowdy than usual so be prepared,” 

You laughed and turned down the hall, walking towards the studio. The walls were decorated with memorabilia of rock and roll greats and record plaques, and among them, you spotted a picture of the four boys with their Grammy award. It seemed like time had passed so quickly. They won the award for the first album and they were already working on their third, shooting them further into stardom. 

“Coffee’s here!” You shouted in a really bad New England accent when you noticed the recording light was flipped off above the door. 

You stepped into the room to a chorus of cheers and “thank god you're here”’s that made you laugh while sitting the food and drinks down on the table and they all rushed over. You handed out the specific orders and pointed to which drinks was theirs when they got handsy and tried to grab everything from her out of both excitement and some desperation for caffeine. 

“Our savior,” Jake said, reaching out and grabbing your shoulders to give them a gentle shake before taking the coffee you were holding out to him, and then you handed Danny’s to him, too. 

“Just the coffee girl here,” 

“Well, you’re a little bit more than that,” Josh said, walking over to the table to grab his full cup. 

You pressed a hand against the table, leaning over to him. “Just a little?” 

“A little bit,” he shot you a wink before swiftly pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

You were more than just a “little more” than the coffee girl, you were typically their designated drunk driver, the one who took all of their candid photos, the mediator in times of need, and well, the girlfriend of the lead singer, too. 

Everyone in the studio took their food and drinks and scattered among the seating area in a break from recording. Instead of one tiny room with all of them cramped together, they had a wide open space with booths for the different instruments and bean bag chairs and big comfy, velvet sofas, and there was dim lighting with deep toned rugs that gave off the vibe of a more relaxed feel rather than the fluorescent-light, tiled-floor feeling that made them feel rushed and confined by rules they didn’t set themselves. 

You liked the studio, too, and often took naps on the sofa while listening to them play instruments individually in the recording booths and while they were writing. One night they had found you at two a.m., bundled up with a blanket on the bean bag chair after they spent the night writing in the front room on the piano, but it wasn’t the first time as you often napped in their Nashville recording offices, too. 

“You guys been busy today?” You asked jokingly while lowering onto the sofa armrest, receiving nothing but glares shot in your direction. “Okay, okay, touchy subject,” 

With a mouthful of bread, Sam pointed to Josh, “Josh finished a song, didn’t you?” He was grinning. 

You hummed in joy and surprise, grabbing Josh’s knee as he sat next to you. “Really?” 

It had been a rough few days for all of them as they tried to shuffle out a few more additions to the new album. It felt incomplete with something missing, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on what it was exactly, so they attempted to bring back and revamp old songs, write and record new ones, but nothing seemed to stick, until now. 

“Yeah, wanted to wait and show you later, but someone can’t keep his trap shut.” Josh said, pretending to be serious before cracking a smile and taking a sip of his coffee. “Just wanted it to be a surprise,” 

“Well it can still be a surprise, I’m surprised now,” you said. “Can I hear it? Or read what you got?” 

Josh nodded and stood, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him. There was a little recording room fit with a piano inside, his writing journal placed on the music stand where he had scribbled notes and keys and melodies in pen. He picked it up and handed it to you. 

“Nothing seemed to click until last night, when I started putting it together.” He said. 

“Is that why you wouldn’t tell me what it was when you all got back to the house?” 

Josh shrugged, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, yeah, I wanted it to be special when you first heard it.”

You sat the coffee cup down onto the floor while lowering into the small chair in the corner, holding the journal like it was the most delicate piece of art in the world. In silence, while Josh watched on anxiously, you read the words he had splayed across the blank page. 

     Can you light my love?      Flames glowing bright as the sun      Deeper than oceans you run      Watch as our world has begun 

     Your mind is a stream of colors      Extending beyond our sky      A land of infinite wonders      A billion lightyears from here now

You felt your throat tighten, tears tempted your eyes. 

It was a love song. 

“Josh-” 

“Oh god you hate it don’t you, you dread it, despise it,” 

“Oh shut up, I’m in tears right now, you know I love it.” You looked up at him with a smile and a sniffle. 

His words across the page were sloppy, some cursive, written in different pens of different colors, some lines crossed and scribbled out, others underlined. 

“Your mind is something I will never fully understand.” You told him as he sat down on the chair next to you. “How the fuck did you come up with this-” 

“I was thinking about our trip out here, the week we spent driving out and all of the stuff we did… and how I think I fell more in love with you.” His voice softened. 

You reached out, placing your arm on his shoulder, fingers playing with his curls. “I can’t put it into words how much I love it, how much I love you,” you said, “and you make me sound so lovely when in reality I know I was a pain in the ass that entire trip.” 

“Yeah, but my pain in the ass,” he kissed the inside of your arm. 

Two weeks before the boys left Nashville to head to Los Angeles, Josh called you at midnight with an idea in mind – the two of you renting a camper to drive out to L.A., falling into all of the tourist traps along the way and stopping in random small towns to sleep while exploring the in between, which would definitely beat the boring four-hour flight. And you, half asleep and across the country, agreed. 

It would be fun. Right? 

And it was. Every time someone asked how it went, you called it “the most magical week of my life.” 

While the others waited behind for their flights the next week, you and Josh set off from Nashville, heading west with only the destination in mind and a trusty map in hand. Everything else just came to you both. 

The first stop was three hours in the trip, in Memphis. You and Josh roamed Graceland on Elvis Presley Boulevard and had lunch near Sun Studio before taking in the mementos and relics at the Blues Hall of Fame where Josh talked your ear off, rattling off more details about each band and singer than was on the info-cards on the wall. 

Then it was two hours to Little Rock, falling asleep in the back of the camper after a take-out dinner outside of a random supermarket. Sitting in lawn chairs in the middle of a parking lot, you held Josh’s hand under a blanket and watched the pink sunrise over the hills, and then it was back on the road again. 

From Oklahoma City to Amarillo, you fiddled with the map when Josh got lost after a wrong turn in a small town where he insisted on seeing the giant 66-foot LED soda bottle sculpture, and in the middle of northern Texas, he made it up to you by cooking your favorite dinner. You thanked him in a quiet whisper as you crawled into the bed with him that night, sliding under the covers where he greeted you with warm hands and kisses against your neck that made you squeal with the tickle of his mustache and he grinned against your lips. 

Josh got to choose the music all the way through New Mexico – Neil Young and Crazy Horse to John Denver’s Thank God I’m A Country Boy, and you were only able to squeeze in Joan Baez every hour when you stopped to stretch your legs on the side of the road, belting the words to him while he laughed at your voice cracks. 

And after you both pitched the tent in the Petrified Forest in Arizona, Josh hummed the tune to some new song while you two sat under the midnight stars in the canyon with a roaring fire, his arm around you, his sweatshirt draped over your shoulders. When he tried to start telling you a scary story after you heard a weird noise outside the tent, you blindly hit him in the dark and accidentally hit his nose, causing you both to burst into laughter after the initial panic left. He laughed loudly into your shoulder as you held his face in shock, catching the scent of your lavender lotion, and his body relaxed when the laughter died down, feeling so at peace in his life with you there. 

It was the tail end of the trip, but the excitement hadn’t died down yet. After showers in the camper in the middle-of-nowhere-Arizona and five hours west, you and Josh found a bar outside of Las Vegas that resembled Coyote Ugly, so you both had a round of tequila sodas and margaritas before walking around the small town that evening and sleeping off the tipsy-headaches in the air conditioning. On top of the covers, you looked at Josh napping in the sunshine, cheeks flushed red, curls poofy from the wind, and you felt your heart grow in your chest before falling asleep next to him. 

And then came Los Angeles, the final stop, the dreaded one. But you and Josh didn’t tell anyone that either of you were sad to be back with them in L.A. when they asked, and instead, you two smiled and hugged everyone after piling out of the camper in the drive-way of the Silver Lake house. 

Cleaning out the camper, tossing cheesy novelty t-shirts at each other and laughing at how many socks you two managed to lose along the way and how many bug bites were added, watching the developed clips Josh had filmed of scenes in the desert and you asleep in the passenger seat, you both were nostalgic about a trip that just ended. 

It was so easy, so freeing to just be together on the road, with only the destination in mind. It revealed a part of them that the other didn’t see often, like your tendencies to get your lefts and rights mixed up while giving directions, and Josh’s equally awful sense of direction didn’t exactly pair with the fact that he was a maniac while driving in the first place. 

But those parts were just added to the long list of why you and him loved each other in the first place. So you became the designated driver after Amarillo and Josh stuck to telling you “left or right” for the rest of the time. It was a compromise, another reason why you two worked so well together. 

It was a form of love in itself. 

“We’ll have to drive all the way back to Nashville then, so you can write more songs about me.” You teased. 

Josh rolled his eyes but cracked into a grin a second later. “Let’s not get too carried away,” but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t always mentally reliving the night under the canyon moon.

[writing-wh0re]

“I bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. We’ll see how cute you look later when I get you home.”

And

“I don’t care how good it feels you’d better not cum until I tell you to.”

With Draco please ❤️

All writing will be #writing-wh0re-requests. 

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,206. 

Warnings: Smut18+, Possesion Kink(?), Jealousy, Unprotected Vaginal Intercourse, Edging, Male Performing Oral, Choking Kink. (Let me know if I missed anything)

A/n: Love these prompts you sent me Anon! I hope I used them well x 

I walk hand in hand with Draco through the bodies of people in the stadium as we follow Lucius to our seats, excitement bubbling inside of me ready to witness the quidditch world cup. 

“Y/n! Hey, over here!” I quickly spin around coming to face the familiar voice as Fred and George Weasley smile at me. 

“Excuse me.” I smile at Lucius who rolls his eyes as I walk over to the twins, both of them engulfing me in a shared embrace as I giggle. 

“Surprised to see you here.” 

“Bet she’s only here for Krum.” 

I roll my eyes at the pair, quickly looking back at Draco who is standing on his own due to Lucius probably finding our seats a jealous look across his features. 

“I’m actually here with Draco, we’re kind of a thing now.” 

“You and Malfoy?” George asks somewhat shocked as I nod, crossing my arms over my chest, raising an eyebrow. 

“Secretly dating for six months actually, care to explain why it appears to be so shocking?” 

Fred nudges his brother, his hand falling onto my shoulder. 

“It’s not that you’re dating Draco, it's that you’re not dating him.” Fred chuckles causing George to roll his eyes. 

“It’s that you’re not dating him.” George mimics gesturing to Fred, causing me to shake my head at the pair. 

“Bloody children.” 

I hear a throat clear behind me, the twins stopping their laughter, their eyes falling to the person behind me as I look over my shoulder, a smile creeping onto my face, Draco keeping his gaze on Fred and George. 

“We should go find our seats.” 

“Lovely seeing you.” 

I smile at the twins, quickly hugging them both before they run off to find their seats within the stadium. I feel Draco’s hand on my waist pulling me against his body, my back falling against his chest, “I bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. We’ll see how cute you look later when I get you home.” My breathing hitches as his body warmth leaves mine, the sound of his feet receding bringing me back to reality as I quickly follow behind him. 

I sit next to Draco, him beside his father as he places his hand on my thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles on the jean cladded skin as I smirk. 

“I can’t wait to have your cock.” My whisper is drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the Irish take to the skies, his grip on my thigh tightens confirming he heard what I wanted to say as I clap my hands to join in the festivities. 

| | | 

Draco locks his door, his back against the wood as he sighs. 

“What am I going to do with you?” 

I place my hands on his torso as I go to kiss him, my lips landing on his cheek, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. 

“Strip, slowly, show me what’s mine.” 

My arousal rushes to my core, pooling in my panties as I slowly pull my clothing off, Draco’s eyes wandering up and down my body, becoming more and more exposed to him. 

Draco strides towards me, his hand around my throat, his eyes locking onto mine, my breath hitching. 

“I’m going to make the world know who you belong to.” I nod softly causing a chuckle to fall from his lips, “Let those Weasley’s know to keep their filthy hands off what isn’t theirs.” 

His lips crash against mine, his grip on my throat tightening as his hand wanders over my body, squeezing my ass before spanking me hard. He walks us backwards, my back landing on his comforter, he kisses down my jaw and along my neck. Sucking and biting at the skin, littering me with his mark, his fingers dance across my thighs before a single finger runs up my glistening slit, collecting my wetness. 

Draco sits back between my legs, his eyes wandering over my body under him, his lips wrapping around his finger, tingles rushing to my core a whimper passing my lips as a smirk dances across his. 

“You taste so sweet baby girl.” 

Draco sits off the bed, wrapping his arms around my thighs pulling me closer to him, his mouth falling to my core. 

“Dray.” 

His tongue slips past my folds, tasting every inch of me. I giggle softly when I notice him trace the letters of his name on my throbbing clit.

“I fucking own you.” 

“Only yours.” 

My fingers brush through his hair as he continues to swirl his tongue on my clit, a single digit slipping into my drenched core, his finger curling every now and again, hitting the spongy spot inside me, my vision going fuzzy as he sucks my clit. 

“Feels so fucking good.” 

“I don’t care how good it feels you’d better not cum until I tell you to.”

I roll my eyes back, grinding my hips against his tongue and finger, his hand holding me down as he continues to eat my pussy like it's his last meal, completely devouring me. 

“Please.” My legs start to shake softly as he shakes his head against my core, I bite my lip and grip the bed sheets, fighting the urge to cum as he pulls away from me. My chest rises and falls as I attempt to catch my breath, Draco rids himself of his clothing, his cock springing free, the tip leaking with precum. I go to sit up only to be stopped by his hand wrapping around my throat. 

“You wanted to have my cock, didn’t you princess?” 

I meekly nod as he slides inside of me, I arch my back, the feeling of his cock stretching my walls out, a low moan passing his lips. His hands fall to my boobs, playing with my nipples as he thrusts in and out of me with practised rhythm. The sensitivity of my core sends a shiver down my spine, my walls contracting around his cock as he chuckles. 

“You take me so well.” 

“Faster, please.” The words form into a breathless plea, Draco lifting my legs to rest against his chest as he picks up his pace, the sound of my wetness filling the room, a chorus of moans and gasps fall from my mouth. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

“You, Draco, fuck.” My back arches, the pad of his thumb rubbing my clit in harsh circles. My walls clench around him, a hiss passing his lips, his head tilting back in pure bliss.  

“I’m close.” 

“Cum for me baby, cover my cock.” 

My eyes roll back, his cock twitching inside of me, his hips stuttering as we reach our highs together, his hot release flowing inside of me as my mind feels cloudy. 

Draco pulls out of me, the feeling of being empty causing me to whimper as he kisses the side of my head. 

“I will hex those Weasley twins or anyone who touches you.” 

“I don’t doubt it, but uh do you think your parents heard us?” 

Draco’s face falls white. 

“Fuck.” 

I giggle at his reaction as he sighs, getting out of bed to see if his parents did hear us.

| | | 

Taglist: 

@gaycatlord-stuff

@andreaareynoso

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@black-like-my-soul

@maybesandohnos

@mathletemadison

@marrymetheonott

@cigarett3saftersex

[kurosstuff]

A/N: so here's a donna x reader thing I thought of!! Also the reader is a maiden a head maid to be more exact- made the header with the only pic that DIDN'T come out terribly??? Idk how the fuck to make them?? Its- technically first pov but isnt exactly written that way idk man I'm dumb

Warning(s): blood, angie swears because I say so. Goes into slight depth of a small injury. FEMALE READER, panic attack(s) SPOILERS!! AND ANGST- this isnt a nice fic. It's not even close haha(but I changed some stuff around to make more sense so fuck you♡)

Donna Beneviento x F!reader: Right place. Wrong time

Parties sucked. Being a handmaid was fun and all but the biggest downside is you have to attend these.. events? You weren't entirely sure what they were but Lady Dimitrescu was very clear on you attending to assist her and the other lords during this time

"I swear if it weren't for Mother Miranda" Lady Dimitrescu spat out at the drunken fool-no her brother? You weren't actually sure what he was to her but they acted like siblings. Mother Miranda help anyone who asks- last person who did landed in the cellar "I would have kicked you out." Taking a drag from her cigarette. Leaning down and blowing into his face making the man start yelling as Moreau hide behind the table yet again-unless he wished to be dragged into the fight as well as he usually did during this time

If it weren't for two things happening with you. You'd probably laugh. But with how many villagers there are-the ones who hurt you. Your anxiety was racing. Even worse when the lord-no the women you were very interested in was here as well. The mysterious women dressed in all black as usual, Donna Beneviento and her doll companion, Angie by her side looking around frantically at all the new people. Jumping up and down excitedly

Deep breath...

Deep.. breath..

Turning you started out the door. Thankfully being the head maid you wouldn't exactly get in trouble with an extent of course(also helped the fact the lady and her daughters were well aware of your anxiety and were surprisingly kind about it?). As you moved you were unaware of a pair of painted eyes glancing at you before turning to another

-

The cool breeze in the air calmed you as you roamed around the garden. If it weren't for the weather it would have been such a beautiful sight. Well more then it was. Dispite the chilly air as winter was just rolling around the corner. The indication of it creeping up a bit closer with the speaks of ice and snow arounding around and on the flowers. Personally decorating then with their own weather, the crunch under your feet became louder as you got farther away from everyone

"So this is where you went?" A voice called out behind you, stiffening in response you could only hope for the best as you turned-half expecting one of the sisters, but you knew better then to assume that-if it was they'd have bitten you gently-as they could-before dragging you off somewhere

Turning around your assumption was proven correct. Standing infront of you was a small porcelain doll, odd colors painted on but overall handled with such care-you stared in awe before remembering yourself. Kneeling down a bit infront of the doll you smiled

"Why, hello Lady Angie" you started with a smile-watching the mock of a shock on her face, her mouth a gap more then it was before "would you like something?" Speaking softly to ensure not upsetting the doll if you even could? You weren't sure but you've heard that she had a temper of sorts on her

With a mock scuff Angie threw her hands in the air happily "ooo! 'Lady'? Can't remember the last person to call me that seriously" with a scratchy giggle she bounced around you happily. Almost intrigued with you "and what do I want? Hmm" she stopped infront of you again crossing her wooden arms in thought

"Walk with me"

She spoke suddenly after a moment rushing off you in tow- before her foot caught the long dress of hers. Almost sending her falling if you didn't grab her hoisting her up in your arms suddenly. Standing frozen for a second before placing her down gently

"Sorry Lady Angie." Looking her over you nodding in note of no injuries seen on the poor doll "rude to not ask but I'm glad your alright" before looking around her again to ensure you didn't miss anything.

Angie stood head titled to her side interested, holding her arms up to you she made grabby hands like a toddler would when wanting up. "Pick me up" she ordered with a giggle, kneeling down you gently grabbed her. Picking her up you held her against her hip, almost like a mom holding a baby or a toddler it seemed to be the best choice-her reaction was a happy laugh. Pointing off to a room she nodded her head towards there

"Off we go then Lady Angie" you said, walking to the door across the wintered garden. Opening the room to show the indoor version. After all Bela-the eldest likes to do some research on them every now and again-and some of the gardening things held vegetables for the other maidens to keep them "fresh" as they said.

The greenish room should more of the vibrant colors of the objects then the snowy wind from outside. Catching your attention was the chorus of 'down's' repeatedly from the doll-who in turn was put down on the floor gently. Rushing off she called for you to join her. Following close by you couldn't help but smile at her child like nature-dispite her crazy nature, it was very enduring

Turning the corner you didn't expect to see her maker-the lady of the Beneviento house. Donna Beneviento also the same one who caught your attention from seeing her for the first time. Growing a bit flustered you bowed your head towards her-gaining a snicker from Angie who whispered-or at least seemed like it- to the veiled women. Of what? You weren't sure but it must have been something if she suddenly jolted up almost nervous like

"Hello Lady Beneviento" you responded carefully. It was obvious to anyone who sees the Lady- she seems to not be be used to being social with others, "its nice to meet you, My lady" speaking formally as you've been taught-and reprimanded for repeatedly in the past. Thankfully now it stuck

Nothing but silence filled the room. No talking. No movement even from Angie who just stared at the Lord. Your anxiety crept up even faster now, did you say something wrong?

"..WELL!" Angie suddenly jumping up bringing her wooden hand onto your pant leg pulling you forward- with such strength for such a small doll. "Come on" she tugged again annoyed like a child would if their toy was taken from them

"Give me attention!" Smiling you followed her to the smaller table you've seen before- when you first entered you never knew why the Lady would want such a small table. Now with Angie you knew why. Sitting down infront of the doll you leaned forward awkwardly in the seat

"Thank you Lady Angie" smiling at the doll like child who held a cup of 'tea' flavored air towards you with a cackle and nod-unaware of the gaze on you both from the veiled women who underneath smiled slightly at the sight

After a couple moments of playing tea, Angie's attention was stolen from a butterfly getting up and chasing after it with a yell of- profanities which you could have only assumed she learned from the other Lords. Movement was heard behind you-aware of the other women you pretended not to hear as to not scare her off

A flower crowded your vision for a moment before you took it gently. Fingers grazing across the other women's gently-ignoring the way she flinched away almost like you burned her somehow "thank you Lady Beneviento" you replayed glancing over at the veiled women who moved to sit beside you-almost so still you would has mistaken her for a statue-if not for her breathing hitching softly as a smile crossed your face. You didn't want to scare her off as she finally started to relax around you, slightly but enough

Holding the flower you looked down admiring it with a soft smile- which if you remember correctly Bela-during her studies-called it a Calla lilies. Whatever it was, it was a beautiful flower. While looking at the flower you failed to notice the one who gave it to you watched intently. Almost like she was flustered- but it was hard to talk with her veil to anyone. Anyone but Angie-who giggled behind you. Ditching the Butterfly for the scene before her. It was not only surprising that Lady Beneviento gave it to you but it also confused you as to why. Twirling it in your fingers gently you glanced up to the black veiled women "Thank you Lady Beneviento" smiling before remembering you already thanking the women-you grew slightly embarrassed from the lack of response-unsurpising as it was.

Laughing that scratchy tone-almost like a disk being scratched you drew your attention to the doll clinging to your pant leg once more "oohh~" Angie started in a tease "Donna thinks your pretty~ I can see it I guess" Angie giggled pulling at your pants for attention-if it weren't for what she said you'd compare her to Daniela for her need of almost constant attention

"What?" Was all the response you gave as the veiled women yet again stiffened in response-before abruptly standing up. Looking up at her smiling getting up as well. Angie curling herself around your leg like that of a cat against their scratching post, the Lady before you stopped almost as if debating something before turning and leaving hurriedly. A groan was heard as Angie unwrapped herself from you and chased after Lady Beneviento'

"Aww why can't we keep them?" Was all that you heard before they left the room. A smile grazed your face at the comment. It wouldn't be all that bad to be a maid for the two Ladies. You looked at the flower in your hand unaware of the glowing yellow eyes watching with a knowing smile.

-

A loud call of your name rang through the building loudly- the same way it was usually used for a certain sister. Gulping the lump down you straightened your outfit as best you could to be at least somewhat presentable, the flower safely in the pocket of your front shirt poking out.

Rushing down the hallway hastily while making sure not to make it seem like your running. Getting to the lady of the castle while running from one of her daughters? Yeah not that fun. The memory of the incident where you did accidentally set one of then off thinking you were trying to run away. Rubbing the scar on your wrist shivering at the thought.

Yeah. Not again.

Rounding the corner to the front of the manor your Lady and Lady Beneviento stood almost like they were waiting for something, or someone. A loud snicker brought your attention to Angie who stated up at you, bowing your head at them respectfully-thankfully remember the first rule anyone would know

Rule 1- don't look at any of the Lord's until they gave you some sort of signal(you technically broke it? But they either didnt care or mind)

Lady Dimitrescu placed a single hand on your shoulder sending a tingle of fright and anticipation through you "I will be giving you my own head maid, Donna dear" she started nodding in your direction giving you a odd smile-almost knowing? Of something "to help around your home" with that decided-it was clear she would not be changing her mind. Not that you'd want her to either

"Oo! We get the pretty lady?" Angie giggled loudly making her run around you in circles chanting something along the lines of "Pretty!" And "tea partner" smiling softly at her, Beneviento tensed up in embarrassment at the thought of you in her home. But accepted none the less

Calling out your name as you all got ready to finally leave. You turned to your former Lord "Now" she started giving you a stern look "be on your best behavior. Treat her right." Placing a hand on your arm her nails slowly turning to claws before turning back to normal. Like a warning

-

Entering Beneviento's home you noted how.. homie it really was. Like a normal house minus the dolls around. Some on shelves others on random chests or just sprawled on the floor.

Smiling like a little kid on Christmas you let a small "woah" as you glanced around the Lady of the house watching you intently as you neared one of her dolls, a defensive one who attacked if an unknown/violent person enters in her home on instinct without her command. Nibbling her lip nervously under her veil she hoped you would grow uninterested in the doll.

She was wrong

"This is so cool!" You escalated getting way to close for everyone in the room. The other dolls stared worry surrounding them from their Mothers nerves being shot. The doll sprung to life-a sharp intake from Beneviento, Angie moved to get you away, She slammed her eye shut. Awaiting the scream of pain to come out. The blood. But nothing came. Slowly she opened to see what could only be a silent but swift kill.

Her mouth opened in shock. You held the doll gently in your hands-it didn't even try to harm you just stared curiously at you, "I'm assuming you made this as well m'lady?" With a tilt of your head you sent a smile her way. Shock and disbelief was all she felt-even Angie was stumped about this.

"W.." for the first time since she first learned to talk. Angie was at a lose for words. "Well of course you dummy!" She just as quickly regained her ability. With a nod of your head you placed the doll where it leapt from gently smoothing out its outfit and you moved back. Hands on your hips before turning to face the two once again

"Well I think its cute!" The dolls around the surrounding area chattered excitedly, their mother stood yet again stumped. They obviously liked you-and she had no idea what to do about it.

She ignored the giggle of Angie who stared at her knowingly.

-

That started your new routine.

Everyday you woke up, changed. Accompany Angie around to clean as she entertained(teased) you. Everynow and again one of the Dollmakers dolls that are capable of walking yet have no speak or full will of their own like Angie would pop up and just stare at you. Or follow you. But if you looked at then they'd run off

So that made you have another rule.

Rule 2- if one of her dolls pop up don't look at them depending on who they are, and if you see them politely smile and wave. Do not engage unless they do.

It seemed like almost everyone in the house liked you to some extent. Almost everyone. You knew the Lady Beneviento at least somewhat liked you even during the small times of seeing her.

Yet during the last couple of weeks you barely saw the Lady of the house herself. Just at breakfast through Dinner. When you bring the food in she brought the tea. She refused to let you make it- Angie said something about how that's her favorite thing(and only thing) she cooked. All the other times you assumed she had little to no interest in you.

That all changed when one day you drew her attention to you even more then you unknownly had.

While cutting the bread you glanced up watching Angie as she ran around the small room, in awe about how life like she was, even after the amount of times you've seen it and heard it- she acted like a child- it was heartwarming but it was still a surprise. "Fuck" you hissed moving your hand away from the knife, in your obviousness you accidentally cut your thumb. Some specks of blood. Looking up from the deafening silence Angie was frozen in the middle of the room staring at you mouth agape. As usual you imagined if she was truly alive you wondered if she'd outright laugh

Which she did. And to your horror mimicked you

"Fuck" Angie copied gleefully. 'Oh no' was all you could think of as you rushed to her "FUCK!!" She yelled out louder then the last

"No no Lady Angie please" you attempted to calm her. What if Lady Beneviento heard? Would she be mad? Or find this funny? You were almost scared to find out "don't say that word please" at that she froze before slowly turning her attention to you

If this was anyone else. Like for example the daughters you served at your time in the Dimitrescu castle you'd be dead right about now. That's when it finally settled in. You just gave an order. To one of the lords. And if not the most unpredictable one at that considering how out of the ordinary she is. They all were in their own sense but Angie is arguably a very very unpredictable doll. If you weren't already worried out of your mind, you are now

"Um-" you started before she floated close to your face frozen. It was a couple minutes. Long painful silence. If it weren't for this situation that was happening admiring the work done on the doll would have been something you would have been doing

"Fuck" she giggled making a deep sigh of breath you held in this moment. "Hehe~" laughing that weird laugh of hers rushing off leaving you alone in the living room. Around dolls that seemed to pierce daggers into you much harsher then usual. Like Donna knew what you just taught Angie that. Like she saw

But.. she couldn't have. She's in the basement.. right?

-

That night Angie still said the word and laughed like the 9 year old? You guessed? She was, but never said it infront of her mom. Thank god for that. But.. that didn't last long either

"Motherfucker" was the first thing you heard leaving your room. Looking at the small doll in question who just giggled at your shocked expression "you are a motherfucker" before rushing off laughing

"WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT?" you yelled after Angie who in turn laughed even harder in horror you tried to wrap your mind around it. Did you say that? No. You're 50% sure you didn't say that word yet. At least not here

Standing in the hallway for a moment. Someone was behind you watching frozen not at you telling but at the young dolls profanity. Turning around you saw the one person you hoped wouldn't see or HEAR anything.

"L-Lady Beneviento!" You exclaimed bowing your head down harshly, "sorry about that I don't know where she heard that from" hoping to Mother Miranda she wasn't mad.

Silence.

A ear piercing silence surrounded you both in the hallway before the sound of a chuckle-then a deep soft laugh escaped the veiled women in front of you. Bringing her hand under her veil to probably whip away tears she probably had escape from how hard she laughed. Standing in shock at the scene infront of you-growing flustered before a smile crept on your face.

You could only hope you'd hear that lovely sound again.

"...thank you" a hoarse voice so soft you had to hold your breath to hear it clearly. It was even more apparent that she hardly spoke to anyone if it was that hoarse. But it was still the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. A smile crept up your face as your heart swelled in happiness. "Donna." She interpreted your thoughts making you blink in confusion

"Call me Donna"

-

After a couple of months you and the two Ladies of the house got closer. Angie followed you around like a duck yelling profanities or teasing you about your crush on her mom- that she somehow figured out. Just like now.

"Donna and Y/N sitting in a tree" Angie sang, dancing around the coffee table. Donna sitting next to you drinking a cup of tea under her veil "K-I-S-S-I-N-G" Angie spoke making the veiled women spit the tea out onto the table and the surrounding area.

"ANGIE" You yelled flustered but chuckling at the exaggerated reaction from Donna who was frantically whipping the spilled tea off of herself. Leaning over with a napkin you helped a bit

Silence filled the room when Angie ran out laughing the only slight of sound was the tick from the clock which sat above the door to the living room. Tapping the table you glanced at the time, realizing what the time was you jumped up catching Donna off guard

"Oh! Donna I have to see the Duke" you spoke looking away unaware of frozen panicked state. You hadn't left the house since the day you moved in, so you weren't aware of the jar, unaware of the village's state. Unaware of everything. With a gulp behind the veil the one thing that mostly plagued her mind.

What if you left?

What if you saw what she helped do and left her? Forever?

She couldn't deal with another lose- especially not you. Looking back you smiled at her gently, grabbing her hands gently rubbing the too with the palm of your thumb "I'll be back. I promise. I won't ever leave you or Angie, Donna I swear it"

Taking a deep shaky breath Donna nodded her head. "Alright. Just... don't be gone too long ok?" Donna begged-Hopeing it wouldn't seem too desperate- if it was you'd never comment on it.

"Of course" you promised.

-

The trip to the Duke wasn't easy nor was it too hard, bumps and bruises here and there. But in the end it will be worth it.

"Ah, the young helper from Lady Beneviento's correct?" The Duke spoke allowed rolling out of no where- you'd never figure out how he could do that. Or how the single horse could pull such a big guy either. A large grin appeared on your face

"Duke! Hey what's up?" Going over towards his shop you looked around a bit "it's been a bit quiet hasn't it?" The Duke froze turning towards you looking as you gushed over some of his items. A smile suddenly came onto his face

"Ah yes" he cleared his throat "I believe their planning on some..celebration of some sort for the Lords. And Mother Miranda of course" he concluded

"Ah, that makes sense!" Before you would say anything else something caught your attention. A single flower. A rose. If you could remember from the many books-and studies with Angie it means "Love" pointing to the rose "I would like to buy that one please" you spoke the Duke following your gaze and smiled softly

"Ah, a beautiful rose for a beautiful lord, my dear. Perfect choice" pulling out a couple more then just the single you assumed he'd pick he held them out to you gently, before you could pull your coin pouch out he held a hand to stop. "It's on the house, dear. You don't owe me anything"

"Oh! Well.. thank you Duke" smiling you took the Rose's gently in your hand turning and rushing off, rubbing the scar on your wrist in nervousness. The Duke watched in silence- he could only hope you'd stay safe looking back in his shop at the three statues he concluded- life isn't that fair nor kind to anyone.

-

Holding the flowers tightly so you wouldn't drop them yet gently so it wouldn't break, you smiled gently, today is the day, you were finally going to tell Donna how you felt. How much she meant to you.

Rushing up the trail to the house you couldn't help but shiver, a slightly unnerving shiver-almost cold. Obviously worried about the whole confessing thing. With a rub of your wrist you gulped deeply, biting your lip slightly-Donna would never cast you away for how you felt-she wasn't like that...

Right?

The closer you got to the door as it came into view, the more worried you became, walking around the sprawled out dolls around you took a deep breath and opened the door

"Donna. Angie I'm back!" You called out

Silence

Nothing came back. No quick pitter patter from the wooded feet of Angie sprinting towards you. Gulping down the lump in your throat you clutched the flowers a bit tighter still being mindful of how much strength you put in it.

The doll room! That must be were they are, walking around the couch you started down the hall before you froze everything happened in slow motion. The flowers falling, the white red speaks appearing in your eyes.

"No..."

The scream that pierced out of your throat in horror. Anguish and grief. The bloodied body of Donna laid on the floor Angie beside her. Blood pooled around them, it was obviously Donna's and by the looks of it- it stopped pouring out. Dropping to your knees with a heavy thonk-you ignored the pain in then. The static in your ears as blood rushed from your face. Bringing Donna's head onto your lap. You shook her gently

"Donna" you started tears rushing down harsh against your cheeks-all you saw was the blurrier vison of the women you loved "wake up" you begged shaking her yet again. Trying desperately to ignore the painfully obvious dull in her eye as her veil moved slightly, before you on instinct moved it to cover her whole face.

"Don't leave me" sobbing harshly you brought her closer as you shook. "I" gulping down the sob from your horse throat "I love you, please don't leave me alone"

"Please. Come back"

All you got was silence

Then another scream

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Infected/Undead Boyfriend (Ryan Chen) 3 (FINALE)

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Part 1  -  Part 2

Warning: some language. Long chapter ahead!

When It Rains, It Pours Part 3 (FINALE)

It was always raining in November-– or was it now December?

It was hard to tell: the rain had turned harder and harsher, solid ice and snow fell across what was desolate and overgrown lands, where the city life grew smaller, a distant reminder that they still hung in an area. The coating of snow grew harsher the more the days passed, and bitter was its storms and winds to you and your surroundings.

How you managed to get out before losing yourself was an amazement to you and those of your rescuers.

"Hey, five minutes before we depart—you good?"

You blinked lazily, back to the surrounding sounds that were not of the dead crawling and walking on the grounds, of laughter and joy that you had missed and forgotten the sounds of. You remembered where you were: the warmth of the fire spreading across your limbs as you looked up from the floor, a hand in reach for you to take.

Justin was the first and the only one you had really spoken and befriended who wasn't a relative to you, a friend you shared rum and morbid chats with when the two of you were on night duties, staring up at nothing by the sky. He was cute: brown hair and eyes, pretty smile, but he was just another hole filled.

'Okay, okay, humour me with this,' He asked you when the blizzard was raging outside of your camp, the howling winds rattling against the iron doors. 'If you could take anyone with you, in the world, where would you go and with who?'

There was only one name that came to mind that night, the lines of your face creasing as you smiled sadly. 'You'll have to let me think about that one.'

"You good, tiger?" You took his hand as he hauled you up to your feet, dusting away the snow from your worn jeans. "You seem... out of it. You can tell me, I can get someone else to do this if you're not feeling up to it."

"No, it's fine, I'll be out in five." There was a haunting, dreadful pause from Justin, observing you silently when time didn't seem to go any faster, before he nodded, heading out of the hall, his distant figure fading through the groups of crowds waiting.

You gathered your things slowly, fumbling with the leather jacket, dipping your fingers into the deep pockets, fumbling with the smooth edge of the card still occupying it. Never did it seem to lose its feel, thankfully. Get a grip on yourself. You sighed, securing your knife into your boot. Three years... three fucking years and you still mourn.

The snow had settled once you had been brave to face it, crunching satisfyingly under your boots each step you took to the stables, waiting there was Justin and a few others you didn't take time in memorising their names.

"You ready?" Justin asked, strapping more ammo into his backpack. "Help yourself to some more. Heard there's infected up north from here roaming. Potentially they could come down."

"Yeah, thanks." You grabbed a large bar, stuffing it away before paying attention to the black stead you had named Diamond. "Hey, girl. Ready to stretch those legs?"

The beauty snorted almost in reply, a genuine smile gracing your features when you had clamoured up, mentally and physically preparing yourself for the arduous journey that would take place. An hour away from the Jackson base was the Crow's Nest: the barren hub used to scout the area, to keep eye on roaming hordes.  

"The snow has settled, but with it, the dead grow. Watch out for yourselves, keep close to the path and don't stray." Justin gave final warnings before you all set off, the large electric gates of the once well-known powerplant creaked open, a vast, vicious cold greeted you the moment you stepped out.

The journey left you frozen and missing the heat from indoors, reminding yourself why you had gone out in the first place was to get away from everyone, but now you had dearly missed the sweet sight of civilisation creeping back to normal. I can be back and everything will be fine. You told yourself, and you foolishly believed it.

When you finally arrived, there were little dead who had managed to get through the other side of the pen, and taking them out was no issue. The base on top was all but a cosy place: desolate, reeking of decay and too cold. When you finally reached the windows that showcased the cast white outside, did you finally breathe out in somewhat respite.

"See that out there, that's the city you came from, right?" Justin pointed out to what looked like nowhere, but even where the sky and snow met with vast starkness, there was still an outline of a desolate and barren city, broken and crumbling skyscrapers still reaching to the chilling sky.

It was miles out, you realised, but the routes out were like a maze on its own.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of going in there for fun?" You asked, the man beside you rolling his eyes exasperatedly. "You would have to be fucking insane to want to go back in there."

"Even so, what kept you sane?"

The name you so missed to say was on the tip of your tongue, memories that swept through your mind nearly brought you to tears. Maybe, in some reality, the two of you could've been that couple, living out your days in a decaying city, filled with dead, going down as the world would never miss you. But in some ways, it was for the good. You blinked the tears away before any could fall.

"Faith, a hell of a lot of it." The winter sun was dead as well as the last of those memories. "I'm done with it, done for good."

In the distance, when the snow settled quietly, a dull, thunderous cry, followed with the faint sounds of bangs going off, a chorus that never seemed to quieten, only did its cries grow louder and louder, until-

"Infected have made their way into the bunker!"

You turned with Justin in surprise, the thuds of gunshots and its chambers thudded in time with your heartbeat, rousing the adrenaline as you moved like clockwork to make your way back down, back into the darkened, gloomy hallways so narrow it barely fitted enough, but now stood with both humans and dead.

Even war has never looked like this. There were bodies already, a mixture of dead taken down and those who had fallen, bleeding to the ground in puddles, eyes frozen and bodies stiff. "Come with me down to the east wing." Justin guided you away from the onslaught, away from the crowded corridors as the two of you run further away from the noises.

"You know how many they'll be?" You rasped, trying to steady your breathing, the grip on your knife straining your fingers.

"I don't know," Justin answered. "But whatever you do, don't think recklessly. You're a strong fighter, so don't think about dying."

"I could say the same with you." You stopped when you stopped outside the double doors, slightly ajar and smeared blood wiped across the handles and door. "You ready?"

No. You thought. I don't even want to be here. "Yes."

The door was opening wider before you could realise: the noise loud and shrilled, as were the following, inhumane cries and shrieks that followed. Through the darkness of the room: the boiler room, you could see, maybe four or five dead, twitching and grotesque.

And two of them charging towards you both.

Justin made light work of the largest one, leaving you to deal with the other, all snarling and baring its mangled, blackened teeth. You reared back as it did too, causing you to collapse into the wall but not fall, supporting yourself and keeping its head from coming any closer to the flesh of your face or neck.

You struggled for what felt like forever, until you kicked it as far away from you, shoving it into Justin's grip as you charged, using your knife to lodge it into the jellied head, one final cry came before its head slumped, black blood seeping through.

"Good job," Justin let it drop against the wall. "A bit quieter would've been better though."

"Yeah, thanks though." You caught your breath, iron in your throat when you exhaled, feeling like knives stabbing you a thousand times, not helping with the cold of the room. "Shall we continue onwards?"

"We could take down the rest of these- Hey, watch out!"

You turned in time to hear the raucous grunt of something collide into the side of you, causing you to stumble, crashing into the boiler behind you, the wind knocked from you with such force, your vision dotted. "Shit!" Justin shouted from the darkness, and you could hear the struggle, gunshots and more animalistic roars. "Justin! Are you okay?"

"Go! I'll distract it!" You heard his retreating voice, the heavy footsteps follow before you had time to catch the large creature leave, a dreadful smell of mildew and rotting flesh filled your nostrils, almost making you gag.

"Fuck." You grunted to stand, head dizzy, aware that the noises and clicks were coming from the rest of the dead in the surrounding area you shared with them. "Shit!" Quickly, you picked up the blade fallen, dodging the remaining dead as you continued in a haze through to the back of the room, hopping over the wall to get through to the bunker. The sounds of the dead never faltered, sounding all around you and nowhere at all, limbs shaking, clothes drenched not with water.

I'm going to die, I'm going to die—I'm fucked, I'm fucked. You tried to keep moving, but you kept running into dead ends and parts cornered off, leading you to believe that there would be no way of escaping.

Something scampered in your peripheral, large and skinny, you braced for the worst when its shadowed body crawled around in the dark, closer and closer. You pulled your gun out, trying to steady your breathing and keep an eye on it. It didn't move like any of the other dead—perhaps a new one you weren't aware of.

You decided to try and take a shot, the bullet ricocheting off a pipe and exploding with gas, letting out and creating a thick, never-ending mist that you found hard in trying to see through. There was the sound of shoes scraping against the floor, someone running towards you and grabbing you, and you screamed, their face guarded as you tried fighting them off you, away from the floor so they wouldn't have full control over you.

Your fingers gripped the gun, reminding yourself to not let go of it, and you finally- after some struggle- kicked the creature in the stomach, letting it stumble back as you finally tried to take another shot.

In the mist that was fading slowly as you tried to focus, the legs of the figure finally appeared, a full body appearing like someone of a horror film, head turned from you as you squinted to whatever was standing in front of you, your time to take the shot faltering.

"Ryan?"

The lithe humanoid figure was as dishevelled as you could recall once he twisted his torso to look back on you. A distant memory that floated in your mind, of peace and tranquillity, it now stood in front of you as some bitter, warped illusion. He was everything you remembered of him, the same clothes but now wearing a different jacket to the one you still wore in honour, his hair seemed longer, more messy and unkempt, strands pulled out from the bun, guarding his soft, unsteady dark eyes. He looked thinner from the last, a walking apparition whose skin was washed pale and bruised black and blue, his cheeks hollowed and eyebags darkened.

"Oh, god," the grip on the trigger loosened shakily, eyes dotting with sudden tears. "It's you, isn't it? I'm not fucking dream, am I?"

The man didn't seem responsive at first, playing into the belief he was some sort of hallucination after all, but his mouth opened, a quiet voice answering. "Yes, it's me."

The noise that left your parted lips was shaky and warbled, a string of tears flowing down your cheeks when everything slowly fell apart. "Why," your words were twisted and you fumbled clumsily. "Why... why did you leave?"

He was silent, the hard struggle in understanding what he was thinking. He seems… ashamed. You thought, watching his shifting eyes. You watched the pain that didn’t seem to be hidden beyond his eyes, even when he spoke. “… You belonged with them, not me.”

“How would you know that? I—you could’ve come with me, Ryan. We’re an open community, we can help you-”

“No,” his voice was strained, his eyes more red than usual. “I can’t be fixed.” He lifted his black t-shirt, the skin bruised as his face had been, inflamed and almost maimed. “I was bitten.”

“But you didn’t turn.”

“No,” his smile was soft, downturned. “Perhaps turning would’ve been the better option. But I live with these decisions. You need people, not me.”

“Ryan,” you took a hesitant step towards him, still, the tears fell. “Do you know I still think about you? Even after all these years.”

“No,” he laughed silently, his eyes glassy and cold. “I did too. A lot.”

“Please, please come with me. I promise you, we can help you—we could fix you.”

Ryan watched, not showing signs of moving away from you as you slowly made your way to him, outreaching your hand for him to hold. Just… just to hold once more, to feel him again. How you craved it like it was a lifeline.

“I—I can’t describe how I’m feeling right now.” His words were hushed when you were close to him, feeling his breath fan against your wet cheeks. “You don’t have to describe anything,” you murmured. “Just… let it happen.”

He leant into you first, his lips were warm and memories swarmed in your mind like you were drowning. His being, his smell: so sweet and inviting, your memories were swelling and rising, bringing a feeling of levitating, back to a time when you felt loved and needed. Back in his arms in an excluded room, forgotten altogether but in each other’s arms.

When you pulled away, he leant his forehead against yours, warm and damp from cold. “I missed you so.” He muttered softly. You had so many thoughts, too many emotions that everyone argued with things they wanted to say before the other. But the same thing was in your mind, replaying over and over again.

It plagued you, as you took his hand into your own, squeezing as if your life depended on it. “Ryan, I-”

Your words were there, masked and clipped from the noise that came from in front of you, a large reverberating noise that was sharp and rung, smoke appearing as Ryan stumbled forward, allowing you to catch him. He was limp, colder than usual and not from the cold. He was shaking, muttering something in a quiet, weak voice, but you couldn’t hear him, even when you flipped him carefully, seeing his mouth open and close, you looked up in time to witness the devastated eyes of someone you wanted to forget.

“Get away from it,” Justin’s words were followed by him stepping closer between the two of you, gripping your shoulder. “You’re lucky I came in time. I heard gunshots, I got worried-”

“You shot him.” You weakly said, frozen and still holding Ryan, the grip on him still tight and there for him to know you were still holding onto him, keeping him safe.

Justin seemed as confused as he tried lifting you off the ground, “I’m trying to help you, that thing-”

“Stop it. Stop it!” You swatted his hand away sharply, reaching around to hold and stabilise Ryan, the shot to his stomach was bleeding profusely, soaking through your fingertips. “He’s dying, he’s fucking dying.”

“Hey, hey, what—” he said your name, shaking you out of the breakdown. “It’s infected—look at me, what do you mean?”

“I love him, Justin! I know him, I know him! Ryan Chen, he’s not one of them!” You were blubbering and muttering constantly before your eyes landed on Justin’s, wild and red and sore. “Help me, please, I can’t lose him again.”

Justin hesitated once more, before he urged himself forward, peeling the heavy bag from his back to bring out the gauze and wrappings, whilst you sat and remained rigid, and you wished you could’ve stayed where you had been, to begin with.

-

You noticed now, how quiet things could be when you were left with just your thoughts, alone in the world when you pushed so many away. Your fingers were knotted together tightly, wrung together in a tangle when you fidgeted, nothing to distract you from the unknown time ticking.

“Hey, you’re the girlfriend of “Ryan”?”

You looked up to the woman who had come through to greet you in the small waiting room, blinking away your thoughts to be back with the present. “Yeah, yes… how is he doing?”

“He just came out of surgery and is in a stable condition.” Relief was one of the emotions you were feeling, but it was hard to explain anything else at that moment. “You can go in to see him shortly.”

“Thank you.” A gentle hand pressed into your shoulder, squeezing encouragingly. “Hey, he’s gonna be okay. He seems strong.”

“He is,” you uttered sadly. “He’s a fighter.”

-

“Ryan! Take it easy! We’ve got all night!”

Your laughter was bubbling, easy and light, as you were led down the long path, where the trees grew in size and foliage, grew thickest, hiding your bodies as you ran beneath the moonlight. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“We’re almost there.” He was not as out of breath as you had been, but his smile was bright and blooming, skin radiant as if he was reborn. “I’m not dragging you back to get more stitches.” The two of you stopped eventually, continuing at a brisk pace until you reached the end of the hill, watching over the once city the two of you had resided in, distant yet glooming.

“It… it still looks like shit as I remember it to be.” You exhaled, looking over Ryan from your right side. “That place still holds a lot to remember, don’t you think? The outbreak, the deaths, the burning of bodies.”

“I got to meet you.”

“You did,” you squeezed his hand encouragingly. “After I fell through the ceiling. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You shared a laugh, all thoughts aside when you stared across the distance. That city did hold some darkness and pain to you, but you knew that you would get out of there, not as one, but as two.

[infernal-fire]

five types of love.

what to expect: smut, swearing, friends w/ benefits arrangement, mention of Imposter syndrome, fluff, angst, heartbreak, overstimulation, implied creampie, rough sex

a/n: a little warning; you will be choosing your ending - there is a happy one and a sad one. a huge shoutout to @mollygetssherlockcoffee​ and @angrybirdcr​ for talking to me about the fic and offering such amazing advice! and @tuiccim​ was so damn lovely, even offered to beta this (though all mistakes are my own).

summary: you once heard that there were eight types of love. you only knew of five; the five that caused you to fall for one, blue-eyed menace.

Ludus: uncommitted, casual love that can attribute to a flirtatious and fun conquest. Not to be mistaken for Eros.

“I think we’re forgetting the reason why the mission failed in the first place. If the older fellow took a suggestion once in a-”

“-Tony, you know damn well that there were civilians in there.”

Steve and Tony glared at each other from across the briefing room. The tension in the room was exorbitant, but then again, it had been that way since Bucky joined the team. 

“This is exactly why we need the new girl. You super-soldiers and billionaires are getting tangled up in each others’ asses and forgetting about what it’s like for the normal people,” Rhodey sighed.

“The last thing we need is another trainee fucking up orders,” Tony snorted and began messing with his tech. The projector flipped through random screens, FRIDAY most likely filtering out the irrelevant news. 

“If you have a problem, maybe you should say it to his face,” Steve seethed, now standing up to match Tony’s stance. Usually, this type of jab at Bucky wouldn’t rile him up, but the super-soldier was at his wit’s end following the events of the latest mission.

Beside him, Bucky lightly tugged on his friend’s hand, signalling him to disengage.

“You’re with them?” Tony incredulously questioned Rhodey. 

“I’m with the idea of calming this room down.”

“Besides, she’s already been prepped for her first mission,” Natasha piped up. “We’re supposed to have a sit-down in 5 minutes... that is, if you boys can get your shit together.”

The room broke out into a chorus of muttering and everyone settled in their seats again. Captain strode to the front of the room and pulled up his game plan, fiddling with the map FRIDAY was projecting. 

You, on the other hand, could not decide how to act in front of the Avengers: Laidback? They wouldn’t take you seriously. Know-it-all? No, that was Stark’s play. Timid Tiffany? If you wanted to seem secretly conceited? Sure. That would work for now.

When Vision floated out to bring you in, you didn’t even flinch at the unforeseen phasing. Impressed at your lack of a reaction, Vision faltered before ever-so-courteously introducing himself. 

Could this sentient being laugh of his own volition? You gave him your name and dramatically curtsied to test your theory; he could laugh, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it was not at all robotic. 

You felt the room intently eye you as you ambled to your seat beside one, blue-eyed menace. You half-expected the team to introduce themselves, but who were you kidding - anyone could hear the argument from three corridors away. There was no point in pretending like they wanted you here, but that wouldn’t deter you.

You glanced at your neighbour, met with the pleasant face of the one and only. James Buchanan Barnes was known to be a handsome devil, but the reputation of the Winter Soldier often precedes him; that, unfortunately, does not stop you from eyeing him. 

When he caught your stare, you scolded yourself. You’re such a creep. 

When he smirked at your ogling, you praised yourself. Oh, hello there. 

This is gonna be fun.

Eros: sexual, passionate love that is fueled by lust.

It didn’t happen after the first mission; he had the decency to wait until the fourth mission to knock on your door. 

You had been putting away the last of your belongings, finally adjusting to the grandiose living conditions the Avengers Tower provided.

As soon as you unlocked your knob, the door flung open; Bucky's stare was partially inhibited by his hooded eyes. He hadn’t always looked at you like that. 

Like what?

With unadulterated craving. 

That day, he strode in like he owned the place. You didn’t expect the shove that caused you to land on your bed with an oomph. Bucky wasted no time, climbing onto your form, straddling you. By the time you understood what was happening, a single finger was pressed into your lips.

“Either tell me you don’t want this right fucking now,” he leaned in, close to your face, “or shut the fuck up and let me use you.”

You whimpered in response.

“Not good enough.”

“Use me.”

That’s all the affirmation he needed. 

You pushed off the bed to try and meet his lips but he firmly pinned you down by your shoulders. Bucky reached into your panties and circled your clit without hesitation. It only took some swivelling, his intense gaze and the unexpected plunge of his fingers in your channel to make you see stars. Bucky had made you come before kissing you.

When he finally slotted his lips against yours, it was nothing short of all-consuming; you hadn’t even realized the absence of clothes on your body. Had it been ten minutes? Or thirty? It was hard to tell when you were being ravaged by another.

He made you come twice more: once with his fingers’ repeated dipping and pressing into the soft, spongy part of your cunt. The second time was with the talented sucking and flicking of his tongue. Technically, it was the third time.

None of your past partners had been this steadfast in their duty to pleasure you. You were already putty in his hands, ready to be moulded according to his needs. Part of you was ready to tap out, unable to fathom the likelihood of coming over his cock again, but the better half of you needed it.

In your orgasmic haze, you failed to notice that his clothes were being discarded - if you did, it would have given you the opportunity to gawk at the body that you so desperately wanted to see shirtless. When you finally registered his naked person, your hand involuntarily traced the connection between the metal arm and flesh. He threw his head back and groaned before kissing you again. 

He pulled off, just enough to get a good look. 

“Look at you, all fucked out. I didn’t even put my cock in.”

He pumped his shaft with fervour before pushing the blunt head against your slit. You winced at his attempt to put it in.

“Made you cum three times and you’re still too fucking tight,” he muttered and ran his length up and down your folds. Once he had accumulated enough slick he tried again, this time, successful.

You moaned as he slowly sunk in and buried his cock to its absolute limit. If the walls of your pussy had a voice, it would be absolutely hoarse. You also realized that he only bestowed the three orgasms in hopes of reprieving the pain of the stretch. Without the preparation, he might have torn you in half.

When he began moving, the only thing that was slow or soft about him was his lips against your skin. The thrusts were punishing; if it wasn’t obvious that he was angry before, this made it clear as day.

You screamed and moaned, alternating between keening and arching your back; the pleas did nothing to falter his furious pace. The smacking of your skin was only heightened by the slick that your cunt produced in attempts to accommodate his length. Every time he pulled out, his balls were connected to your sex with a string of come.

If someone told you that you could come five times within forty minutes, you would have face painted and dressed them up like a clown.

Now you laid in bed, being used like a rag doll, begging Bucky to stop you from coming a sixth time that session. It was usually the dirty talk that got you off, but he hadn’t said anything aside from the occasional ‘shut up’ or ‘shhh’. His movements alone had you convulsing around his length.

His thrusts didn’t get sloppy. Rather, they increased in force, as his cock sought space beyond your cervix. You tried to scream, but all that came out was more broken tears and cries. At last, he let out a pornographic moan as his load flooded your insides. Sure, you had let past boyfriends come in you, but you never actually felt the liquid shoot up inside you, until today.

Following the pop sound that his cock made as it pulled out, you whined again. You could feel your heartbeat throb down there. 

He flipped you onto your stomach and smacked your ass, laughing at the way you sobbed in pain before disappearing from your room altogether. 

He was gone as fast as he showed up. 

And he ruined everyone else for you.

In all fairness... you asked for it.

Philia: the deep, virtuous love that is formed in a good friendship. Lovers share a strong bond when Eros and Philia feed into each other.

What started as a release from the frustrations that accrue on the battlefield turned into a deep connection that neither of you had anticipated. Sex had only been used as a tool in the act of psychological detachment until that day. 

It was a failed date of some sort: either you had been stood up or the guy was a total moron. You could wrack your brain for the memory, but in any matter, it was all irrelevant now. 

You were upset, not just at your lack of a love life, but at the imposter syndrome that had weaselled its way into your liveliness. Feeling like you weren’t enough was catching up to your daily life and even Bucky had noticed the hesitation during your post-mission escapades. 

Before you knew it, your hand was knocking on Bucky’s door at the ripe hour of 1 AM. 

You heard the muffled thumps of his footsteps and considered booking it out of there, but before you made up your mind, the door opened.  As you had predicted, Bucky was wide-awake. 

“What?” 

You had wanted to sass him for his tone but decided against it since you were the one who interrupted his 1 AM activities. You shook your head from the clouds and mumbled incoherently, starting to walk away. The coldness of his metal arm abruptly gripped your wrist.

“Are you okay?”

You hated that question. You could be doing so good, holding in the burden of a horrible week, but the moment someone asks you that question, the dam would disintegrate into dust, only to be washed away by the inevitable waterworks. 

The sob you let out didn’t loosen his hold. He let you cry and watched as you tried to wipe away the unrelenting tears, still refusing to close the gap between your bodies. Finally, you shuffled into his arms where he bear-hugged you, cupping the back of your neck and holding it to the junction of his neck. 

"You smell nice,” you sniffled. 

He lightly chuckled before dragging you into his room and seating you on the bed. He ordered you to stay there and rummaged around his cupboard before pulling out a bottle with red liquid sloshing around. 

“You keep that in your room?” you snickered, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, before blanching at your state. Hell, he had seen you naked, how you look right now is the least of your concerns. 

“In case of emergencies,” he winked. “This seems like a real emergency.”

A fresh wave of tears pooled in your waterline as you peered at your hands that were picking at each other. 

“I don’t have wine glasses, so we can just chug.”

Bucky stuck out the bottle and you grasped it firmly before gulping one-fourth of it. That’s all the coaxing it took to get you to spill. 

You don’t even remember what you talked about, but before either of you realized, 3 AM blinked on the digital clock that hung above the bed frame. You were almost asleep, now resting on Bucky’s lap while he occasionally hummed or offered his two cents. Right before you drifted off, the super-soldier lifted you, placing you under a cover. He climbed in from the other side, one hand cupping your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re okay,” he whispered.

Your eyes drooped but swiftly opened as Bucky leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. His lips barely touched yours, grazing their presence, but you moved, tenderly catching them. He returned the movement, the delicacy of his actions reflected in the softness of his eyes. 

You pulled away and the two of you wordlessly bore into each other’s eyes. At last, you succumbed to the fatigue, as did he; both of you resting in the others’ possession. 

Mania: an unhealthy, obsessive love that plagues the mind.

It was the third time Bucky didn’t show up at your door after a mission. Three missions, each of them ending in something that would have indubitably pissed him off - after all, they were HYDRA bases. That’s when you first suspected it.

The second was when you noted his intentional avoidance of your presence. Whether it be the kitchen, the gym or the hallways, the stealthy ex-assassin didn’t have trouble actively dodging you. Initially, you chalked it up to wanting space or simply taking a break.

Then you heard it.

Why was it that your gut told you to go right then? All this time you had been biding, yet it was at this precise moment that your hunch asked you to speak to him. It could’ve been the duration of the month that it took you to prepare yourself, but it had to be now. You raised your hand, prepping to knock on the door, but stopped.

Your hand froze mid-air. The elegant laugh of another girl sounded behind the door. It was faint, the noise slightly suppressed by the wall between you. 

It could be anyone. 

But it wasn’t. Your intuition, the one that told you to come here right now, was wise enough to know that this wasn’t just anyone. It was her. 

You cupped your mouth to stop the sob that threatened to liberate itself from the confines of your constricted airway. You fell forward, onto your knees, as if to pray to the gods to not let it happen. But it already did.  You let go of your mouth, gasping for air from holding your breath all this time. 

Shoulders sagged and spine bent, you stalked back to your room like a zombie. Face devoid of all emotion, you fell onto the corner of your bed and crumpled into a ball.  For twelve hours, you laid there. Sometimes sleeping, other times letting the tears leak out of the corners of your eyes. Memories of his fingers weaving through your own, the pleasures that chilled you to the bone. Most of all, the way you held his head to your chest as he whimpered about the nightmares that invaded his nights. It felt like those things happened to someone else. Nothing more than a distant memory.

Your heart clenched, tugging on the heartstring that you once thought was connected to him.

-

It was as if he knew you stood outside his door that day. There was an unspoken agreement to never speak of it. Yes, yes, don’t ever speak of it. The dam that you built so carefully will come crashing down.  He stopped avoiding you, but you wished he didn’t; it was crueller to be reminded, easier to pretend he didn’t exist. 

Be honest with yourself.

You didn’t pretend like he didn’t exist. 

In fact, the first thought after waking up? Bucky. Last thought before going to sleep? My Buck. Every time he wasn’t around? James Buchanan Barnes.

Please, don’t act like every waking moment isn’t spent loving him. Because deep down, you know what’s true.

He never did introduce the mystery girl to anyone at the Tower, but you knew his disappearance after missions could be credited to her. Did he take out his anger on her as he did to you? Or were you nothing more than a toy?

Guilt was one of the few emotions you could make out from the rare occasions you caught his stare. Longing was there too, but you couldn’t be sure that you weren’t projecting.  Months went by, waiting for thoughts of him to abandon your disturbed mind. The time never came.

As promised, he ruined anyone else for you. 

Pragma: the type of love that endures all shortcomings. Committed relationships that stay in love have an element of significant Pragma to them.

a happy ending.

That relationship may have ended but it didn’t mean he would come back to you.

He did come back. But he wasn’t yours.  Bucky made that clear when two more relationships ensued the last. Each time, the buffer period between them was filled by you. 

His back-up plan. That’s what you had been reduced to. 

After the third time he brought a new girl, you’d think you would be used to it, maybe even uncaring. Unfortunately, the opposite would always prevail.

Steve caught your fist and tutted, commenting on the bad form. You stopped, shook your shoulders and began hopping on the balls of your feet again.  Jab, jab. Swing.  At first, you’d imagine the faces of those girls. Nowadays, it was easier to envision the pads Steve held as his best friend’s face. 

“Bucky’s girl broke up with him.”

“Oh,” you made out, focus slightly wavering. 

“You know what happened?”

“Are you asking me ‘cause you wanna know or because you already know?”

“I already know,” he sighed, lowering the hand pads. 

He exhaled your name, shaking his and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “When are you two gonna stop playing around?”

“I really don’t understand, Steve.”

“You know why she broke up with him?” You blinked, tongue poking the inside of your cheek in anticipation of an answer. 

“He moaned your name during sex.” 

“God, that’s so corny,” you huffed, now beginning to make your way out of the boxing ring. 

“So what, you’re gonna do nothing? Keep letting him use you?” Steve jogged to catch up to you.

“No,” you faced him, “I’m not letting him use me as a fallback anymore. I’m putting an end to it.” 

Steve pursed his lips and shot you and exasperated look before shaking his head.  “Don’t let something good go to waste.”

It used to be something good.

You wondered if you could hold up the promise you had just declared to Steve; in the past, you failed every time he showed up at your door. Bucky knew exactly how to play into your emotions, how to say the right things every time. And just like that, the next morning you’d end up in his arms. That stops today.

Determined, you practically punched the button to go up on the elevator and impatiently tapped your foot. As the doors slid closed, you took one look at yourself and turned away, fighting the urge to fix your appearance for him. The doors opened again and you check the floor number, ready to step out, but stopped at the sound of your name.  His ex. You almost ran off, unwilling to put up with an angry ex, but she called on you again. You sheepishly stood there, as if you were the one who did something wrong, until she stepped in and pressed the button to go to the lobby.

The silence stretched on, much like your patience. Does she even know who you are?

“We were both fooling ourselves.”

You turn to check if she was speaking to you. Her stare was unwavering and she maintained eye contact that almost made you squirm.

“We both love different people.” She smiled, an obvious melancholy tainting her face. You stood there, absolutely clueless as to how you should respond.

“It’s too late for me, but it’s not for the two of you. Just... don’t let him go. He’s one of the good ones.”

You turned again, now looking down at the ground. Even if she expected you to say something back, it was impossible, at this point. Your mind was in shambles, everything she said contradicting the choice you made five minutes ago. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened and she stepped out. She turned one last time and nodded as if you knew what to do now. 

Bucky’s door was unlocked. You called out his name, barely above a whisper and sauntered with hesitation lining your every step.  Nothing. Empty. He wasn’t there. 

It was a sign. You almost ignored the advice his ex gave, ready to walk into his room and end things. Your shoulder slumped as if your bore the weight of the world on them as you slunk back to your room. Now it would take another outburst or another month to prepare yourself to talk to him again.

As the days went by, you barely saw him around. It reminded you of the times he intentionally ignored you, except this time, you weren’t sure it was intentional. When you did see him, it was clear that he wasn’t doing good; his beard was unkept and scraggly, the bags under his eyes heavier than any trauma he carried. You pretended as though you didn’t notice and went about your routine. 

1 AM

A knock sounded at your door. You knew who it was, how could you not, but hoped it wasn’t him anyway. The encounter would most likely end with tears or sex and you didn’t favour either outcome. 

You waited a minute. Maybe he would leave if he assumed you were asleep. The knock sounded again.

You cracked the door open.  Whatever you were expecting, surely, it wasn’t this. Eyes red and puffy, it was clear he had been crying and most definitely not sleeping. 

He held up a wine bottle, and chuckled pathetically at himself. 

“Maybe this is bad idea,” he sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his left arm. 

It didn’t feel right to say anything. Rather, you opened the door wider and beckoned for him to step in.

“Emergency?” you asked with a little smile. God, you were so close to crying and he hasn’t even said anything.

“Oh yeah. Big emergency.”

He sat on your bed and felt the sheets, trying to remember the feeling of it on his knees. The days he would buck into you while you clutched them like a vice. The soldier pursed his lips and watched as you settled beside him.

“You don’t have to talk... if you don’t want to,” you said. Your voice cracked and you almost smacked yourself for being so weak around him. 

“But I do. I should talk. I have so much to say... Can I explain?” He turned to face you, reaching out for your hands, holding them in his own. You didn’t say anything, opting to return his request with a pleading look in your eyes. He knew what the look meant: just don’t break my heart. Again. He took a deep breath in acknowledgement, trying to form the words that would help you understand. 

“I can’t believe I hurt you. I swear, I didn’t know I was doing it, at first.” You mustered your best unbelieving look, almost scoffing for good measure. “No, really,” he hastily added. 

A few tears streamed down your face and you frantically tried to wipe them. Bucky took one look at you before he began breaking down, tears slipping down his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry... I just- I don’t understand? I thought things were good?” you questioned. You had given up on trying to wipe your tears, as did he.

“I wasn’t supposed to fall for you. And by the time I realized, we were so far in. Then I found a distraction... and I really thought I was over you,” he paused, wondering if he should continue or not. You showed no sign of speaking up, so he went on.

“I didn’t think you cared. I didn’t think you felt the same way. I was so convinced that you wouldn’t blink twice but then... but, I-... I heard you at the door that day. I wanted to kick her out and hold you, but I-...”

“But you what? You what, Bucky?”

“I thought it was too late for us. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Then why are you here now?”

“Don’t be mad,” he murmured, retracting his hands and fiddling with his fingers.

“I don’t think anyone can ever replace what we had. Maybe... still have? Because you’re it for me. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize that. I was on the brink of losing myself.” He looked up at you, eyes brimming with a new wave of tears. He mumbled your name weakly, croaking out a please at the end.

You curled in on yourself and fell into his arms, hoping that was enough of a answer.

“I can’t promise you that everything will be back to normal by tomorrow morning... but with some time, I can learn to trust you again.”

Above you, Bucky hurriedly nodded. At the state he’s in right now, you suspected that you could ask him to sell his soul and he would agree.

“And if you ever break my heart again-,” 

“-I would die before that happens,” he finished for you, kissing the top of your head for good measure.

“I love you,” you whimpered, “so fucking much.” 

“I love you too. I really love you too,” he affirmed and encased you with his arms again.

Though there had been some rough patches on the road to happiness, with Bucky by your side, you felt as though you could make it through anything; for that, is the power of pragmatic love.

an unfortunate ending.

The tears that would’ve been shed during the ceremony have dried on your pillowcase about five hours ago. Now, you sat beside the team, waiting for her to walk down the aisle. 

Bucky looked nervous, as if he were reconsidering his life decisions. The little devil on your shoulder was holding onto every little thing he did: the wrinkle of his forehead, his repeated tugging on the suit and his flustered glancing around. Oh lord, and when he accidentally locked eyes with you? You may have bitten your lip and looked away in contempt but the shoulder-devil was as persistent as ever.

He secretly still wants you.

Shut up.

He wants to call it off.

Get a life.

At last, the lucky girl stood at the end of the winding path and you couldn’t help but sneak a look at the groom. His tension and nervousness crumbled at the sight of her; it was difficult not to feel happy that he had found the one that made him feel this way. 

It may have been him for you, but that notion was long forgotten, a nuisance of memory at most. Your love for him, regardless of the storms it has endured, is no longer respected or wanted by either party.

If he loves her, why does he come to you when things get bad?

You shook your head at that, having no answer for the nature of his secret infidelity. It was nothing more than taking out his frustrations on you - much like the old days.

Your reminiscing was cut short when a voice asked everyone to rise for the bride. You stood and straightened out your outfit, flicking off the little white petal that clung to your maroon dress. A hand grasped your own, and you turned to see Steve smile reassuringly. You squeeze his hand in appreciation and turned your attention to the white-clad figure walking down the aisle.

And that’s all you remember. You wish you could recall the rest of the wedding. You really do. Too preoccupied with what was going to happen after the event, you disassociated from the ordeal altogether. No matter how hard you grilled yourself, nothing would come to mind - dissociative amnesia only occurs as a protective coping mechanism during traumatic events; was that what Bucky’s wedding was to you?

What type of question is that?

For once, you agreed with the little red beast that sat on your shoulder. Long ago, the first time you saw someone else Bucky’s arms, the devil pierced the pitchfork right through the angel’s heart. These days, it was all you could think of. 

After the bride and groom exchanged ‘I do’s’, you willed yourself to stay a while longer. Your only companion, Steve, slow danced with you in silence, knowing that whatever he says would be of no consolation. Bucky did have half a mind to ask you for a dance, but he saw you leave. You didn’t think anyone did. He waited for you to turn and look at him one last time, but you never did. It’s okay, he thought. I didn’t deserve her anyway.

No one saw you after that.

On your bed, Steve found a single note that didn’t explain anything more than what he already knew. If anything, it simply affirmed that you were gone for good. Your things packed up, no trace of a person ever having lived there. Even if he pulled some strings, it would take years to find you again. 

After all, you had already been lost for quite some time.

hey folks. i know this seems a little desperate-sounding but i would really appreciate reblogs and would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on the story. what was you favourite part? which part made you feel some way? i really love knowing these things. love each and every single one of you.

Masterlist

Shoot me a message or fill out the form in my bio to be added to my tag list!

[waywardimpalawriter]

Laundry Day (Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader)

Laundry Day

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader

Bucky Bingo Square: Domestic AU

Characters: Bucky Barnes,

Setting: two months from the ending of “Hey Bartender”, set in the Marvel universe but canon diverged the snap never happened.

Rating: M (Mature), +18 only please

Warnings: cursing, mature themes, angst, longing/yearning, idiots pining for one another,

Word count: 3,002

Summary: Sunday’s the dreaded laundry day when there’s not a stitch of clothing to wear except the man your currently crushing on, soft Henley shirt.

Notes: Bingo Square fill and written for the lovey @autumnleaves1991-blog​ and Write Wednesday prompt.

Tag list: @buckybingo​

You’ve heard it many time, how cool you own a bar. Can drink whenever you want. Let me drink for free. Last thought getting a snort from your lips while looking through the laundry pile. The main reason owning you a business sucked you never get a day off to do normal shit like the fucking laundry that seems to pile up before you know what’s happened. Wondering if like rabbits it multiples while mating.

Huffing out a resigned sigh, tossing the last article of dirty clothing back into the basket thankful you wouldn’t need to schlep the bags to a local laundromat. Instead could get a little light cleaning done while the built in laundry room, a big thank you too granddad for putting the room in, did at least part of the work.

“Fucking hate laundry day,” low growl leaving your lips and tugging on the only clean clothes left.

Hefting the plastic basket on to your generous hip, grabbing the towel off the bedroom doorknob to add and heading towards the small room just off the bathroom to the left. Dropping the basket down you go back out to put on some music. Grabbing up your cell phone happy to have brought large capacity storage so your whole collection could fit. Setting all of Lady Gaga’s music on shuffle ‘Monster’ flowing through the small speakers positioned around your living room in specific areas for optimal sound quality. Wide hips swaying to the beat black Henley brushing the tops of your thick thighs incased in shorts, knee high socks keeping the rest of your legs warm and helping you slide across the oak wood floors. Not caring what you look like at the moment, expecting no one to show up on an early Sunday morning.

Bright smile slides over your lips the song changing to ‘Born this way’ belting out the words thankful and not for the first time you don’t have neighbors. Owning the whole building does come with certain perks. Meaning it didn’t matter how loud you got no one would call the cops on you for excessive noise or lousy singing. With those thoughts in mind you head back to start sorting clothes getting a load going, grabbing the swiffers dust clothes, mop and bucket on your way out.

Leaving the last two by the kitchen island, spinning back body moving to the beat of the music. Picking up bits of trash making you frown for a moment, knowing you weren’t that messy but shrugging off the thought tossing the trash. Starting to dance around, straightening lamps, running the dust cloth over the expanse of hard wood furniture and nick knacks from your childhood. Getting into the rhythm, beat caressing your body, tingling your senses making you move in ways you wouldn’t show another living soul only these four walls.

Finishing up the living room, you stand back to catch a breath admiring your handing work when ‘Shallow’ starts to play. Bradly Cooper’s smooth tenor caressing your ears a soft sigh leaving your lips. Your body starts to move to the melody, slow and sensuous, arms wrapping around your tummy as you sway. Twirling as Lady Gaga’s voice takes over, stepping around the couch that faces towards the tv positioned in the middle of a brick wall. Bursting out to sing the chorus, you keep swaying picking the tempo up. Draping your body backwards over the couch careful not to knock a lamp off the side table. Grabbing up a remote to use as a makeshift microphone, singing your heart out to no one but the empty room or so you think.

Raising back up slowly to spin away still belting out the lyrics breathlessly, wide smile on your face happiness thumping through your veins. Feeling freer than you have in a long time all thanks to a song that comes to an end with loud clapping ringing through your apartment. Making you scream out and throw the remote towards the source of the nose. Squeak existing your breathless lips that hang open staring at Bucky Barnes’s imposing figure filling the doorway of your apartment.

Catching the black plastic wrapped remote in his flesh hand before it landed against his chest, smirk sliding over those oh so kissable lips. Not that you haven’t dreamt of at least a couple nights a week. “Fucking hell Barnes how long have you been standing there?” Quickly moving towards your phone to cut the music.

Turning to take in his rumpled appearance. Chestnut hair tucked back into a messy ponytail few wisps hanging out to frame his face. Sculpted by the finest artists all angles and edges begging for your lips to caress. That’s graced with shadows of a sleepless night of tossing and turning in a to soft bed and a floor too cold for comfort. Sold wall of muscle that is his shoulders and chest covered in a wrinkled green Henley top button open to bare just a hint of collarbone. You try not to lick dry lips at the peek of skin wanting to bury your nose in the hollow of his throat and nibble to see what sounds you could drag from those sinful lips. Snapping back to the present when he begins to speak before your wondering eyes could take in the bottom half of his fackable body. They lock with his for a moment longer than proper catching the dark circles and weariness he tries to hide behind that boyish smile.  

“Long enough,” clearing his throat to push down the arousal building up. In truth he tried knocking first, pounding followed with a couple of shouts of your name to accompany. Hearing the music spilling from behind the close door Bucky pulled the key you gave him last month out to let himself in.

Unprepared for the sight his eyes would land upon after pushing the old hard oak door open. Music hitting him square in the ears, not unpleasant a tune but a touch loud. However, that’s not what caught his eyes, no it’s the way you moved around the apartment to the melody. Body swaying, rolling and bending in ways that had him gritting his teeth to keep from stepping forward and pulling your soft body against his strong chest. Wanting to fill the spot of invisible partner, dipping you in his arms, wrapping them around your thick waist. Teasing the column of your throat with his lips after bending you backwards over his arm.

You’re a fucking temptation to his body and damnation to his heart and soul. One Bucky Barnes would gladly partake of if he didn’t feel so tainted, hands coated in invisible blood, mind splintered with nightmares of memories and lies. He wouldn’t saddle you with him as a burden. He’d push those feelings back bury them, accepting the friendship you offer and a shelter from a world he’s yet to fully grow accustom too.

Hands on your wide hips, scowl contorting your beautiful features, “I didn’t give you that key so you could barge in whenever you like Bucky.”

“I brought breakfast,” pointing towards the little white bags on the small wooden table by the door. Giving you the saddest puppy eyes he could which only makes you huff and roll your own.

Shaking your head, “You think you’re cute don’t ya Barnes?” Trying to infuse a touch of anger into your tone but it comes out more playful teasing than growling menace.

“Of course doll, you wouldn’t have me any other way,” wiggling his brow, scooping up the bags to follow you into the kitchen. Kicking something over he looks down teasing smirk slides over his lips before giving way to a playfully sheepish look, “Guess I finally kicked the bucket huh?”

Trying to hold back the laughter but it comes out on a snort that has a deep gruff laugh issuing from Bucky which in turn makes you giggle harder. Holding your stomach as it aches from the mirth lighting your features. Taking notice of the fact years have disappeared from the weariness he normally carries. Eyes sparkling in early morning sunlight shining in from the kitchen window. His beautiful steals your breath for a moment as you calm down, turning to start the Keurig, reaching for the pods of coffee you keep just for Bucky.

“Incorrigible Barnes, sit ya ass down while I make coffee,” couple of short giggles break free with another shake of your head.

Placing the bags down before dropping into his usual seat, “Two…”

“Spoonfuls of sugar no cream or milk I remember along with the dark roast that’s your favorite,” shooting him a smile. Grabbing your cell, changing the music to shuffle your whole library, turning the volume down so its more background noise than actually listening. “What brings you by this morning? Besides taking ten years off my life of course.”  

Snorting at your quip with trying to hide that he’s smitten by the fact you’ve memorized how he likes his coffee. “Hadn’t seen you in a week doll, thought I’d drop in with breakfast and see if you need help with anything down in the bar.”

Taking a few moments to actually looking over your plush frame. Big mistake because he notices how those shorts mold to your wide hips and thick thighs begging for attention. Knee high socks shouldn’t look so damn sexy but on you he’s shifting in his seat to take pressure off the erection building in his jeans. Eyes dancing to take in your upper half damn near choking on his own spit at seeing you wear his Henley. Stretched out with age and use from his days in hiding and a little thicker in build. The way it stretched over your lush breasts cupping the generous globes outlined for his eyes to devour. Flowing against your tummy he wouldn’t object to laying his head on while cuddling into your body. Wanting to place kisses and nibbles on the skin hidden from his widening cerulean eyes. Shocking him back to reality with you placing a steaming mug of coffee in front of him.

Palm going to his forehead, “Really doll, what exactly are you feeling for?” Glancing up to search your turned down face. Catching the soft scent of Egyptian musk, mixed with clean linen and something sweet added that he’s sure belongs solely to you.

“Seeing if you have a fever, you checked out on me there for a few moments Barnes,” gently pressing the pads of your fingers into his neck, counting a pulse and sending goosebumps to skitter across his body.

Taking the hand from his body, the urge to pull you into his lap strong with your warmth radiating into his. “I’m fine sweetheart honest just lost in thought of this beautiful dame I know.”

“Lucky woman,” slowly pulling your hand back tramping down on the hurt flashing through your body. Heading back to start your own coffee, “Make yourself at home as usual,” shaking your head watching Bucky toe off his biker boots and prop his mismatched sock feet into the closest chair. Rolling your eyes, “Way to comfortable,” exasperated quip leaving your mouth as you head back and change laundry over.

“What’s with the get up anyway?” Not wanting to shout, Bucky followed to lean against the door jam of the all to small room. Coffee mug hovering near his lips thankful for not taking a sip when you bent over to add cloths to the dry.

Plush ass on display for his eyes to map, flesh hand tightening around ceramic mug while vibranium plates whirl with a clinched fist at his side. Tempting isn’t even a word he’d use to describe the torture your presenting him with. Quickly averting his eyes to the ceiling, but not before catching the peek of silken looking skin his shirt bares while sliding up. Searching now for something to distract himself. Before he did a very stupid thing like pull you into his arms and see if you fit against him like he’s imagined one too many times. Burying his face in your neck and tease the tender skin with three days worth of beard wanting to see if you’re sensitive and ticklish.  

Brought back from those sexual thoughts when you speak, words tossed over your shoulder, “It’s all I had to wear, everything else needed washing. Price I pay for owning and running my own bar,” shrugging you bend to pick up the next load swearing you hear a groan from the man behind you. Yet when you turn he just gives you a smile that seems to make his cerulean eyes dance.

“Ah that explains why you’re wearing my shirt though not how you got it,” against better judgement, Bucky reaches out to tug the hem. Baring a briefest hint of cleavage to his desire darken eyes, with all three buttons open. He swallows harshly taking a bigger sip of his hot coffee than meaning to but the slight burning mouth pain distracts him from those thoughts that could get him into trouble. “I’m not complaining doll just curious if you’re stealing my clothes when you come over to my place.”

Snorting, “It’s not your shirt Barnes, your clothes wouldn’t fit my wide ass,” placing a hand on his shoulder to push him out the doorway. “If anything it’s from a pervious boyfriend and just stretched out.” Though you can’t help but glance down at the shirt racking your brain to remember who left it behind. Till you remember not having a boyfriend for the last couple of years and even then you didn’t let them keep stuff at your apartment. Only Bucky, who has his own key and drops by when he needs a break from the Compound and Avenging. Eyes widen in shock at the realization that in fact this shirt belongs to Bucky and must’ve got put in with your laundry one of the last times he stayed the night after a bad mission.

Deep in thought, you miss the low growl leave his throat at the mention of other men or the way he frowns when you insult yourself. “You have a gorgeous ass doll stop putting yourself down,” gently grabbing your upper arm to spin you around and face him. “And yes that is my shirt, there’s a stain,” swallowing hard but still brushes his fingers over the darken slightly yellow patch between your breasts. “Right here, it’s dripped mustard from a Coney dog about three weeks back remember. We went to Coney Island since you never went, sharing the cotton candy and almost getting sick,” soft chuckle leaving his parted lips. “You’re laughter at the corny shows, riding the Ferris wheel, I almost felt normal for once,” vibranium hand dropping back to his side, he heads to the table and plops down into his previous seat. Cursing his actions, head cradled in his hands hiding from his behavior and you. Wanting the earth to swallow him whole for his stupidity in voicing those words instead of keeping them bottled up. For touching you without asking permission, but God does he want a repeat and this time not let go.  

Frozen by his words, heart aching for how he still feels, the searing touch of those cool metal fingers, but most of all by the realization he remembered a day you hold dear to your heart. Eyes close for a moment to gather your thoughts, taking a deep breath and heading for your cooling coffee. “What’d you bring for breakfast?” distracting them both of you from the elephant in the room.  

Head popping up so quickly your sure he’s cracked his neck, half smile tugging at his lips, but not reaching his eyes, “Your favorites of course.” Reaching for the bags to pull out a small assortment of breakfast pastries.

“Trying to fatten me up Barnes?” You jest though back peddle at the scowl Bucky sends you. “Okay, okay I won’t do that again,” hands up in surrender but under your breath, “till your gone.”

Caught in mid sip, “You do know I have superior hearing right?”

“Your point Superman?” Bringing your mug with to sit down on Bucky’s left.

“I heard what you muttered,” grabbing the cream cheese kolache and taking a health bite while keeping eye contact with you.

Shrugging, “Then I’ll keep those thoughts to myself from now on,” picking out your favorite pastry to nibble on. “Oh and don’t worry I’ll get your shirt back to you once the rest of my clothes finish. I’m sorry it’s so stretched out.”

“One of these days doll,” muttering the rest to himself. Thoughts running through his mind on how much he’d like to bend you over his lap or better yet spread out for him to taste. Till you understood the beauty held in your countenance, the sway of your wide hips and plush body. Learning just what you do to his body and heat. But he knew those imagines held a deeper sway than you’d let anyone else see. Ones needing more than searing touches and intimate kisses but true actions to show you the truth.

Confident on the outside but tormented by dark thoughts and self doubts. That revelation skitters across Bucky’s mind like hot iron dunked into cool water, shocking his system to how similar though different as well, in ways he didn’t want to examine not yet. Registering the last comment Bucky looks up at you, tracing the features of your face, how your body looks in his shirt with golden sunlight bathing you in a warm halo. Speaking the words before his brain can shut them off, “Keep the shirt doll it looks so much better on you and by the way you didn’t stretch it out I did.” Flashing you his patent smirk before taking another drink of lukewarm coffee. Never so thankful for laundry day, stretched out shirts and the beauty sitting next to him.

[troubatrain]

new year’s day - m.tkachuk

a/n: i wasn’t going to write a part two to tis the damn season, but i couldn’t help but feel like new year’s day was an excellent excuse to write one so here we are. i started this blog about a year ago sometime after new year’s and it’s been a little crazy but you guys are honestly awesome. i just wanted to thank you for constantly supporting my fics and chaotic ways i write and all of the people who i get to idea dump with. thank you & have a happy and safe new year’s!

Life was sweet.

Matthew had been blissed out since the moment you both arrived back in Calgary, like the last piece of his life had fallen back into place. You were the kind of peace he needed, someone who anchored him down before his ego got the best of him, and someone who could see past all of the bullshit to begin with. Matthew knew a storm was on the horizon, the talk about what any of this means after you left to go back to St. Louis. Matthew fucked up the first time, because he a dumb kid who wasn’t ready for anything life was about to throw at him. He got scared, all of the new pressure in his life got real and he ran away from the only thing that comforted him.

For the moment, none of that mattered. What was important to him right now was watching you laugh with a few of his teammates in a dress Matthew intended on taking off later.  A laugh he could have recognized anywhere. It was New Year’s Eve, and Matthew was hosting, something he never thought would happen. His teammates thought he was kidding when he asked if they wanted to go to his place for a New Year’s Party, but he was being serious. You outdid yourself, telling Matthew he couldn’t possibly have a party with any sort of decorations.

“You look good with a girlfriend Chucky,” Matthew’s stare was broken but Mark’s voice behind him. A hand lands on his back of his neck to cover the blush. You made him better, that’d been clear from the moment you walked in your freshman English and sat next to Matthew. He had a perfect grade in that class, because he spent a year trying to impress you before he finally just asked you.

“Trying not to fuck it up this time,” Matthew admits sheepishly, because he was so nervous about losing you again, “She’s always been it for me, but I can’t just ask her to stay here-”

“You don’t have to, just let her know she’s part of your plan,” Mark suggests, and it makes sense to Matthew. When you dated the first time, he had all these plans. His plan for where he’d go before he got drafted, his plan to play his first year, and none of them ever included you. Well they did, but Matthew wasn’t about to tell you he wanted to marry you at seventeen. You deserved to know that when he thought about his future, it was with you. 

It was here. It was watching you joke with Johnny and Sam like you’d known them for years. It was the first game you went to after you landed and Matthew got to skate out for warm ups and see you against the glass. It was the other morning when he caught you peeking out the windows of his condo while snow was falling, your eyes sparkling at the site. Matthew couldn’t think of anything else he wanted for the rest of his life besides you.

Matthew excuses himself from the conversation, catching a glimpse at the time. It was five minutes to midnight, a New Year was about to ring in and he got to spend it with you. He sneaks behind you, grabbing your waist and pulling into him, “Hi.”

“Matty,” You squirm, giggling while Matthew tickled at your sides. He didn’t care who heard you call him Matty because it was you. You look up at him, a smile on your face while you pressed a kiss to his cheek. Matthew scoffs, pointing to his lips, “At midnight bubs.”

“Yeah bubs,” Sam teases, Matthew lifting up his middle finger. You grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

“Just admit you’re a big baby Matthew, it’ll save us some time,” You smirk, Sam breaking out in laughter. Matthew was a big baby, constantly whining when he couldn’t pull you close in bed or pouting his way through something he didn’t want to do, “Now countdown to midnight with us…”

Five

Four

Three

Two

One

A chorus of cheers and New Year’s wishes filled Matthew’s place, but all of that was static with your lips pressed against his. His hand was splayed across your back, the bare skin peeking out of your dress was on fire from his touch alone. His other hand was tilting your chin up, holding you close to him.

“Happy New Year baby,” Matthew mutters, another quick kiss to your lips before he pulls away. Your eyes fluttered open, snapping back into reality.

By the time it was two in the morning, Matthew had managed to push his party guests out and his next task was you. You were spinning around his bedroom, and Matthew was waiting for you to trip over your own heels every second. You finally flop down on his bed, kicking your feet out, “Please?”

Matthew sighs, pausing from unbuttoning his own dress shirt and sitting next to you on the bed. He unbuckles your heels, “Have fun tonight?”

“I like it here,” You whisper, as if you’d been afraid to admit it. You snuggle into the bed, your eyelids getting heavier by the minute, “Because you’re here.”

“I like it here more when you’re here too pretty girl,” Matthew grins, his eyes soft when he looks down at you, “You need to get out of this dress.”

“Get me out of it,” You smirk, picking your head and giving Matthew a wink. If you weren’t five tequila shots deep he probably would have, but he knew you were far too drunk for that. He chuckles, shaking his head and tossing you one of his shirts and walking into the bathroom. He finally got back into his room, your head on his pillow while you waited for him.

He finally jumps into bed, throwing an arm over your waist and pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “Goodnight.”

“Matty?” You call out, whispering before he falls asleep on you. He hums, waiting for you to speak, “Don’t give up on me this time.”

And Matthew could have sworn he felt his heart break.

***

You woke up with a massive headache, only getting worse by Matthew’s snoring in your ear. The past week had been nothing short of perfect, Matthew pulling out all the stops to prove he really did want you back. You roll over in his arms, tracing the side of his face, he wasn’t going to wake up. Matthew hadn’t changed, and that meant he still slept like a rock. Your fingers moved along the stubble across his chin, a new addition with change you were starting to love.

You finally got out of bed, tossing on whatever hoodie Matthew had closest to the bed and padding down the hallway to turn up the heat. Calgary was cold, a bitter kind you were in a hate/love relationship with. Most of the love came from why you were here, and the weather was something you just needed to deal with. You walk through the living room, plastic cups from the night before were covering the place. Confetti and polaroid's thrown across the coffee table with intentions for them to be a problem for another time. You pick one up, of you sitting on Matthew’s lap. You were looking at the camera, a wide smile on your face while Matthew was just looking at you.

“I want that one,” Matthew’s raspy morning voice caused you to jump, his long arm reaching over and holding the picture in his hand, “For here.”

You give Matthew a small smile, watching him run his finger over the picture. He’s quiet for a minute, biting his lip like he’d been debating what to say, “Matty?”

“I see you in my future,” Matthew breathes out, his last and final confession he had to make to both of you, “When I think about all of the things I want, you’re always there.”

“What if it happens again?” You whisper, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. The very real fear of this imploding on the two of you scared you like no other. You had to put those pieces back together alone, and you weren’t sure if you were prepared to do it again, “What if this is too much and-”

“It won’t be, I’m ready this time,” Matthew assures you, “I was ready then too, but I didn’t think you’d be. I had to give you up because you deserved better than following me around while I got myself settled. I am, I’m here and I’m ready for this.”

Matthew’s voice was raw, pleading with you that he was telling you the honest to god truth, “This isn’t going to be easy.”

“I’d rather do hard with you than easy with someone else Y/N,” Matthew smiles, his dimples poking out.

“Matthew I swear if you break my heart again,” You threaten, poking your finger into his chest, “I will let your brother kick the shit out of you.”

Matthew chuckles pressing kisses all over your face, the sound of your laugh flooding his place. You spent the rest of New Year’s cleaning the condo, picking up the empty champagne bottles left from the night before and spending the day on the couch before your flight left.

***

What Matthew didn’t know then, was that it would work. Long distance was rough, but you’d both made enormous sacrifices for each other. It took planes, trains, cars and a whole of patience, but by the time the next year rolled around- things still seemed to work. You walked through the lobby of Matthew’s place in Calgary, your suitcase felt heavier than it had been on any of your previous trips. You had a late Christmas present for him, one that if you didn’t give him in person it wasn’t going to be the same.

“You’re here!” Matthew hops off the couch when you let yourself in, he grabs your waist picking you up and spinning you around. Matthew presses a kiss to your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you stopped him, “Babeeeee…”

“Quit your whining, I have something for you,” You stop him, opening up your suitcase and pulling out a folder. He furrowed his eyebrows, sliding it open. It was a job offer. One for your dream position. In Calgary.

Matthew was stunned, speechless while his eyes read over the offer four times. It was real and if it meant what his brain thought it did it meant that a year of long distance was about to be so fucking worth it. His finger ran across the paper, looking up at you. You had a grin on your face, happy with yourself for not telling him until this very moment.

“I’m going to take it, if that wasn’t obvious-” You start to explain, but Matthew had scooped you back into his arms before you could finish speaking. His arms were holding you tightly, muttering something into your shoulder, “What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Matthew’s eyes were bulging out his head, and you narrowed your eyes at him. He was lying to you, you just gave him the best news of his life and he’s lying to you.

“Stop lying”, You demand, stepping out his arms, “Do you not want me here?”

“Fuck, no baby I do, I just-” Matthew sighs, running into his arm and rummaging through his drawers. You stood by the door, confused as to what had gotten into your boyfriend.

“I was going to do this tonight, I even flew out our families, because I got you back on New Year’s and,” Matthew steps back into the room, a blue box in his hand in a color you’d be damned if you didn’t recognize, “In all of my life, I’ve only ever known that I was supposed to be with one person, and that was you. You’re my soulmate, and the world has constantly tried to pry us apart but I swear it just made us stronger. We’re the best god damn team in the world Y/N, and I think we’d be even better if you married me?”

Your hand was over your mouth, tears spilling out while Matthew’s soft blue eyes were staring into yours. He was right, you were the best team in the world. You were two people who could look at each other in a crowded room and know what the other was thinking. You were in love, and the few years where you tried to convince yourself it wasn’t always going to be Matthew at the end were just a part of the story. You nod your head, watching Matthew put that ring on your left hand and you couldn’t help but think about the way you’d get to tell your children and grandchildren your most epic love story.

Because after all, you wanted his midnights, and everyday after that.

[shootthemessenger]

i did things to you only lovers would do in the dark [b.d.h ; w.v.]

part 1

billie dean howard x fem!reader x wilhemina venable

requested: something with billie dean howard (and/or wilhemina) where they are friends with reader parents? maybe reader and billie/mina get involved just for fun but they start to fall for each other and don't know what to do about it. Would love to read how they got together in the first place [anonymous]

disclaimer: strong language, sexual nature, prominent age gap (all legal), teacher x student relationship, gets fairly nsfw

not edited

gif belongs to @hotel-a-h-s , @stupidl0ve

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You huffed, loosing yourself within the math notes on your desk as clear frustration dripped from your features.

“Excuse me, miss y/l/n. Do you have something to share?” Ms. Venable’s voice interrupted your loathing as you sheepishly moved to meet her eyes. Her face was stern, glasses settled on her nose neatly to complete the look. The stirring in your stomach causes you to clear your throat. Her eyebrow quirked upwards, a questioning look beckoning you to speak.

You fought the deep blush creeping up your neck and cleared your throat, “No. I’m sorry, Ms.” an apologetic look made its way onto your face.

The professor simply rolled her eyes as she crossed her hands over the stand in front of her, “Pay attention in my class.” It took all you had not to slide downward into your seat out of embarrassment but you held your composure and forced yourself to listen to the rest of her lesson.

By the time it was over you were quick to scoop your belongings into your backpack and prepare for your walk home. But Ms. Venable has other plans as her voice interrupted you once again to call you towards her office.

You sheepishly followed her, stomach burning in fear at the lecture you were sure you were about to receive. When you finally reached her desk she watched you closely, “You know, I expect you to actually listen in my class miss y/l/n. This is the third time this week I’ve had to correct your behavior. Your grade is significantly dropping and if you swing below a ‘D’ I’ll have to force you to drop the class.” She spoke pointedly, her lips moving slowly as your eyes practically glued to them.

“Of course Ms. Venable, it won’t happen again.” She mumbled something along the lines of, ‘i hope not’ and dismissed you from her desk. You promptly shuffled away from the woman, stomach fluttering partly from embarrassment and partly from intimidating attraction.

When you finally did arrive home you searched for something that was going to take your mind off of your interaction with Ms. Venable; party due to the fact that you were in no mood to deal with the turned-on feeling she tended to give you.

You finally settled on working, desperately attempting to catch up on the fine details you needed to hash out for a new project at your parent’s company; which you had only recently started working at.

At some point you had lost track of time, and by the time you had come to the sun was disappearing behind the hills and leaving you with little light beside the glowing screen of your laptop.

You could tell it was rolling into late evening; it must have been nearly eight o’clock. You finally decided to close your laptop, standing to stretch your aching muscles as your bones popped.

Distantly, your mother’s voice sounded from somewhere in the house. When you opened the door to your office, the hallway was dark and empty but the voices and sound of clicking silverware echoed from the dining room.

“Mom?” You called softly down the hallway, hearing some of the movement in the other room cease.

“Yes dear?” She questioned back, beckoning you down the hallway. When you moved into the open space, two sets of eyes landed on you along with your parents’.

“Honey, I’d like you to meet Billie Dean Howard and her girlfriend, Wilhemina Venable. Ladies, this is our daughter; y/n.” Your father introduced, motioning to the two woman across from him.

Ms. Venable caught your eyes first, coaxing a nervous smile onto your already-blushing face. Your breath caught in your throat as you gathered the courage to speak, “oh-uh...I know Ms. Venable.” You attempted to swallow the embarrassment.

A wicked smile spread across the red-heads face, “Miss y/l/n, is one of my favorite students.” Her voice was unusually soft, something you could only assume to be a result of the casual setting you were in.

The blonde beside her smiled a much softer smile at you, “Oh, I’ve heard lots about you.” She purred, her voice soft and exciting in the most amazing way. Wilhemina hummed in agreement, the smirk not leaving her face.

She could see your flustered state and you assumed Billie could too because her smile was just as wicked, butterflies building in your stomach the longer the two women stared at you.

Despite the tension, obviousness consumed both of your parents as your mother broke the silence, “Billie Dean here is going to star in a show we’re producing.”

“You’re welcome to join us.” Your mother spoke once more and motioned towards their meal, causing the three of you to break the trance you were in. You smiled politely, “No thank you, I’ve still got work to do. I just came for a glass of water.”

A dissapointed look flashed across both women’s faces as you moved to the cupboards. You could feel them watching you, feel their eyes burning holes into your back.

“Y/n, here, has recently taken over a sector of our company. She hopes to inherent it all one day.” You father chimed in, causing you to smile softly as you poured your glass.

“Be careful, Miss Billie Dean, she could be your boss one day.” He joked, chuckling softly. Billie’s eyes met your, intimidatingly winking. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind.” She spoke, lifting the glass of wine to her lips as her eyes traveled over your body before meeting yours again.

You cleared your throat and the inherently sexual gesture and shuffled back towards the hallway. As you exited the dining room, you called back to them without turning, “It was nice to see you!” A small chorus of pleasantries sounded back to you as you made your way back to your office.

When the door finally closed a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. Your glass clattered as you set it on your desk, trying to recover yourself from the sexual-tension you had been feeling.

It had been some time since you had settled back down at your desk, little to no sounds were coming from the rest of the house and you could have only assumed the dinner had ended.

Your eyes were growing tired as you sat back in your chair. A knock at your office door startled you, causing you to sit up quickly as you welcomed whoever it was to come in.

Billie Dean’s face peaked in from the hallway, a sweet smile plastered across her features, “Your mother told me to go over this paperwork with you before we left.” She stated softly, bitting down on her bottom lip.

Wilhemina’s figure could be seen looming behind her, no doubt peaking in at you from the hallway.

You smiled at Billie, adjusting your position in the chair before motioning them to sit in the chairs across from you, “Sit, please.”

They both moved in and settled in their respective seats, Billie passed the paperwork to you as you moved your glasses onto your face to look at it.

“So I suspect this is why you’ve been so distracted in my class.” Wilhemina finally spoke up to soothe the silence. You laughed softly, typing away at your computer.

“I’m learning to juggle, Ms. Venable.” You glanced briefly at her before your eyes traveled back to the computer. “Please, call me Wilhemina. No need for formalities outside the classroom.”

Your smile grew, “Of course, Wilhemina.” You could almost swear you heard her take a sharp breath but chose to ignore it as you passed a paper towards Billie, “will you sign here please.”

Billie took the paper and pen, following your orders before taking the end of the pen between her teeth. “Here you go, sweetheart.” She passed it back to you.

The breathy moan that rumbled in your throat at the nickname sounded just under your breath and you hoped no one had heard as you continue combing through the paperwork.

“I think she liked that, honey.” Wilhemina spoke light-heartedly, making your heart nearly drop to your stomach. You stuttered as you attempted to cover it up with an excuse, failing miserably when nothing coherent came out.

Billie’s smile transformed into a dark smirk, “Did you like that?” You did what you could to muster up a nod, not daring to meet either of their eyes out of sheer embarrassment.

“Look at her when she’s talking to you.” Wilhemina’s sharp voice interrupted the thick air, a playful tone hiding underneath the sterness. Your heart fluttered as you quickly looked up at the both of them.

A ‘good girl’ from one woman was followed by an ‘oh, and she’s good at following directions’ from another. You swallowed thickly and struggled to maintain eye contact with the both of them.

Billie pushed herself out of her seat, a frown making its way to your face at the assumption that she was preparing to leave. When she noticed your expression a laugh tumbled from her lips, echoing as she moved around the desk and behind you.

Her fingers danced softly against your shoulder as her head dropped until her mouth was hovering just above your ear, “Just let me know if you want me to stop.” Her teeth grazed against your earlobe.

You were quick to shake your head as Billie began to travel down your neck, surely leaving marks along her way. “Look at me.” Wilhemina spoke up, quickly being rewarded with eye contact from you.

The dark look in Wilhemina’s eyes mixed with the feeling of Billie’s lips sucking at the soft skin of your shoulder forced a moan from your lips; one that seemed to please both women as they hummed in unison.

“You look so pretty whimpering underneath her.” Wilhemina seemed to be speaking from a distance as your eyes fluttered closed; soaking in the feeling Billie was giving you with her lips exploring your exposed skin.

Billie paused, her lips sliding back up to your ear, “Fuck, what I would give to watch you fall apart all over Mina’s fingers.” She moaned softly after her statement, nails digging into your skin just enough for you to feel it. You whimpered, desperate for either woman to give you some sort of release.

Before you knew what was happening, both women were moving towards the door as your mother’s voice called through the house, “Billie Dean? Are you ladies still here?”

Billie used her thumb to correct her lipstick, locking eyes with you before swinging the office door open, “Just leaving, Mrs. y/l/n. Thank you for everything.” She winked at you before moving into the hallway. She mouthed a quick ‘we’re not done here’.

Wilhemina locked eyes with you before smiling, “I expect you to be focused in class tomorrow, miss y/l/n.” With that, both women stepped away and the door was pulled shut.

Man, you were in for one hell of a time.

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