#and everything below my waist is just agony

[katieaki]

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! Here is a guide to get you started, the summaries of each part of the story thus far, the complete collected text, and FAQ, all in one place. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

The girls..... aren't fighting? Good heavens?? Or? And?? Um??

✨Read the update for free on my patreon & vote on what happens next! ✨Excerpt below the cut.

Artie beamed at her and the sunlight made her silver fangs shine gold. “The fucking ocean,” she said.

Another frigid wave crashed around them and pushed their bodies together. Lou wore only a tank top and underwear and Artie wore only jeans and a bra, and their naked skin slipped easily against the other’s, slick except for the grit of clinging sand. When the waves receded, the sand they stood on shifted out from under them and Artie stumbled again. Lou wrapped her legs around Artie’s waist to steady herself. Her skin was taut with goosebumps and her hard nipples were sensitive as they rubbed against Artie’s chest through her ribbed tank top. 

“You were right,” she said, her lips brushing against Artie’s ear so she could be heard over the roar of the waves that surrounded them.

“About what?” Artie said. Her cheeks were flushed, probably from the cold, and she looked more invigorated than she had in days. Lou realized that her hands had stopped trembling.

“I’m glad I saw this,” Lou said. “I didn’t know I wanted to see this. Hell, I didn’t even know I could want to see this.”

Another wave coursed over them and sent a shock of cold water splashed up into Lou’s face. She laughed and leaned away and Artie adjusted her grip to Lou’s hips and held her tight to her. 

“If I knew you’d be this happy, I wouldn’t have complained once the whole time. I’d do it again,” Artie said. “I’d do it again a hundred fucking times.”

“We’ve been riding forever,” Lou said, laughing. She couldn’t believe how good she felt. “We’ve been in agony. We’re dragged out. I’m all stove up. You almost died. You could be six feet under right this second.”

“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care,” she said. Her smile faded and she looked at Lou with sudden sincere gravity. “You have no idea the lengths I’d go to just to see you smile, even for a second.”

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Mechamaru x Reader

Warning for inappropriate/inaccurate use of drugs I guess? He steal morphine and gets high from it. Also evangelion and depression

Muta Kokichi:

You are a massive Evangelion fan, enjoy playing with puppets or just lay in bed all day.

First Date:

Your grandmother had fallen ill and had to be hospitalized a few months ago so you spent every weekend visiting her. You were so tired from studying that you failed to notice the room number. You walked in and were shocked to see a boy covered in bandages instead of your dear grandma. "Huh?"

You then noticed your mistake. "Shit. My bad, sorry. I thought this was nana's room. So... what are you in here for?" The boy looked at you but his expression screamed "dead inside". "I was born with glass bones and paper skin. It's so fragile that even moonlight burns it. Every morning, I break my upper legs, and every afternoon I break my left arm. At night, I lie awake in agony while it feels like needles are stabbing every pore in my body." 'This guy sounds like he's fun a parties'.

You sniffed the air and almost gagged. "You smell like mold. Why don't you take a bath?" He looked at you like the answer was obvious. "I was born without a right arm or anything below my knees. I have no sensation from the waist down. How can I possibly wash myself?" The boy appeared to be bathing in his own blood. "I think I'm just gonna call the nurse and tell her to give you a sponge bath." You then ran out of the room. "Well that was awkward!"

It was now a week later and you went to visit your elderly grandmother again. "I hope the old folks will enjoy the show I'm putting on!" You went through your bag and checked to see if it was there. You then held on to a small wooden puppet. "All right, everything's good. Let's go!" You walked in and noticed your dear grandmother in the audience. "I hope she likes this over playing bingo all the time..."

You then noticed a familiar face. It was that boy again. It seems that a nurse had propped him up in a wheelchair and forced him to "enjoy" something for once. He was glaring daggers at you. You gulped. This was going to be a long day.

Finally your show came to an end and you wiped the sweat from your brow. "He's creeping me out but at least he doesn't stink anymore!" You breathed a sigh of relief and went to exit when your grandmother surprised you. "Oh, hi nana. Did you like the show?" The two of you chatted and she eventually asked if the puppet could stay at the hospital. You agreed since you thought it would help their morale.

Over the next few weeks you began to notice some changes. Maybe it was just your imagination but we're things being moved out of place? Your grandmother told you stories about how the hospital staff believed that there was a ghost. It turns out items were frequently going missing and a culprit was yet to be caught.

"########, be a dear and ask if I can have some pain killers." You called a nurse but it turns out that their supply was low due to a shortage so you would just have to wait. Grandma only had a migraine so there wasn't any need to give her something insanely strong. You were just going to have to buy some Advil.

"Man, this sucks-" you were cut off as you soon fell over. "What the-?" It turns out that you had tripped on an empty syringe. You saw some scattered pills and followed them like this was some sort of insane trail and the source led to one room. "No fucking way! It can't be him!" You opened the door and were greeted by the sight of the boy getting high on morphine.

"So you're the thief!" It was then that he noticed you. "Huh?" He was smoking a fat blunt and eating Doritos. How the hell did he get all of this? It was then that you noticed your puppet in his lap. "How are you controlling it!?" He looked towards you and then the puppet. "You mean Mechamaru?" Did this guy seriously just name a doll after some sort of robot cartoon?

"Yes, that!" The boy sighed. "Okay but you have to promise not to tell anyone..." It turns out that his name was Kokichi and that he had some sort of strange ability that let him be able to control puppets? You two quickly became friends and you gave him your tablet just to show him the puppet master franchise.

"Those were awful. I'm never letting you pick again!" He then noticed a certain anime. "Hey, let's watch this next." Kokichi was now hooked on Neon Genesis Evangelion. He was a Rei stan, probably due to the fact that she's usually in the infirmary or her body is falling apart. "########, one day we'll pilot a giant eva and fly to the moon!" You laughed and ruffled his hair. "That's just the weed talking." You didn't know it but he really was working on creating a giant mech.

It was a week later and you still didn't show up. Kokichi looked around and called for a doctor. "Have you seen ########!?" The doctor was confused. "Who?" He groaned. " ########! They visit every weekend!" The doctor put his hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Muta, you need to relax. You're only going to make your injuries worse!"

"To hell with that! Where is ########!?" The doctor sighed. "No one with that name has visited the hospital. I know this must be upsetting but you just recently came out of a coma. I'm sorry. You must have dreamt it. I'll give you some time to yourself." Kokichi was now sobbing. "It all returns to nothing.. It just keeps tumbling down, TUMBLING DOWN, TUMBLING DOOOOOOOWWWWWWNNNN!!!"

The heart monitor kept skipping until there was a flatline. The boy died of a broken heart. In came a very happy Mahito. It turns out that he had blackmailed the doctor into gaslighting his patient. "I should do this more often!" He then transformed into the girl Kokichi had fallen in love with. In this form, Mahito began to sing.

"You can sail the seven seas and find love is a place you'll never see. Passing you like a summer breeze, you feel life has no other reason to be. You can wait a million years and find that heavens too far away from you. Love's just a thing others do. What is love til it comes home to you?"

[fallout4-reacts]

k-peasants asked: An actual prompt this time! I know you're busy and have plenty of things to write yet, take your time. Soo I was thinking that maybe companions (and Maxson) horribly failing at confessing to Sole. Like for example they could clear out some Raiders, companion is impressed, tries to confess BAM Sole gets fucking decked by random raider they didn't kill. I feel like you could get pretty creative with that one. Like deathclaws, something exploding, just settlers running in, other companions interrupting etc.

Let's play some game... (Warning : Curie may be intense)

Part 5

Cait / Codsworth / Curie / Dogmeat / Maxson

(Part 1 : Danse, Deacon, Nick Valentine)

(Part 2 : Hancock, Preston, Strong)

(Part 3 : X6-88 alone because of a bug)

(Part 4 : Gage, MacCready, Piper)

Cait : Cait and Sole return quietly to Sanctuary. The path ahead of them is still long, but for the time being, silence is fine. Well, not for very long. After everything that has happened, the fighter remains silent mostly because she is at a loss for words.

It was a shock to discover all of her senses after hiding from reality with Psycho for so long. However, she is currently experiencing one of her most agonizing torments.

Her feelings toward Sole.

It's made even worse by what they just did for her.

Finally, approaching Oberland Station, she urged a stop.

"Pee?" inquires Sole mockingly.

"Talking," Cait says, feeling uneasy.

They notify a nearby tree stump and settle there.

"What do you need to talk about?" inquires the vault dweller.

Cait watches the Charles flows down below, looking for her words.

"You are aware of all that has occurred since Tommy. And right there, you've changed my life. That is a lot."

Sole is worried, but quickly gets back their empathetic look.

"If you want to step back..."

Cait instantly raises her hand and places it on their shoulder.

"No! No, it is not that."

Sole throws themself on the young woman, causing them to fall backwards behind the tree trunk. Cait has a fleeting thought that something is happening far more unexpectedly than she had anticipated. But her thoughts are swiftly brought back to reality when the grenade explodes where they were.

"Gunner?" she inquired.

"Raider!"

As she stood up, the warrior smiled with all of her teeth, holding her baseball bat.

Codsworth : His programming doesn't include it. His programming doesn't include it. In his code, it is not included; he is well aware of the fact that it is not included in his programming.

Not to mention feelings of isolation, agony, and dread, as well as the happiness of seeing his master/mistress come back.

He is a robot, a straightforward bot that was programmed to perform chores around the house. He became an integral part of Sole's day-to-day activities and routines.

Not just as a robot.

As a friend, as a member of the family, and as a close relative.

Far too close.

Yes, it is too close.

As he hands the towel to Sole as they emerge from the shower, he looks aside. This is not something that is programmed into his algorithm. It is not something that he does habitually. In any case, it wasn't. It's mainly now due to the fact that he had never experienced this sort of static that now grabs him whenever Sole touches him or leans in front of him to collect an instrument or a tool, and it is a thousand times worse when Sole undresses. Because he is a domestic robot, then Sole never felt embarrassed by Codsworth's presence.

Today, however, Codsworth is feeling ashamed.

He feels so awful.

He has to explain it to Sole.

With the help of Sole, perhaps they will be able to fix this programming issue and restore it to its previous state.

Normal.

This is not the kind of feeling that he was designed to receive!

"Mom/Sir, would you mind if we opted to have a conversation?"

As soon as Sole reaches for the towel, they drape it around their waist.

"Yes, indeed, Cods, guy. What is the problem here? There is a decreasing supply of Radstag? Would you like me to find some sugar? Is the Assaultron I brought from the hills still making fun of you?"

The Mister Handy's accessories turns three times around him. He adopts a collected tone of voice and makes an effort to ease the peculiar vibrating that his machinery is experiencing.

"In all honesty, none of that is accurate."

This time, the human is unable to stand any longer. They sense that their robot exhibits some abnormal behavior. A pair of pants and a t-shirt are chosen at random by them, and they swiftly put on the trousers.

As they sit on their mattress, Sole lets out a sigh.

“So, I get that this is a very sensitive thing.”

"Very sensitive, to say the least. I am aware that it may come off as unconventional, absurd, or even unpleasant, but it appears that... I have developed a certain... as one may say, some instinct that typically corresponds to humans."

Sole raise an eyebrow once more.

"Typical to humans? Describe it."

At this point, Codsworth musters up all his bravery and takes a deep breath. In doing so, he sits down on the bed next to Sole in the same manner as a typical person would sit down. The one and only issue is that he may have forgets that he is a Mister Handy. Consequently, the bed in question happens to catch fire, Sole still be sitting on it.

They leap on their feet as the fire has quickly spread to them, and they cry out in pain throughout the process. As Codsworth's anxiety levels rise, he makes a mad dash to find a bucket of water at the pace of his truster. By doing so, he arrives at the conclusion that viewing himself as a human being is extremely risky, and that it would be more prudent for him to initiate a defragmentation of his personality module before it progresses to an excessive degree.

Curie : For a while now, the synth has noticed the difference. She understands that having a human body provides her with not only abilities to better explore the world around her, but also the opportunity to explore a complete intrinsic world in the same way.

Some sentiments and emotions.

And out of emotion, she realized she had a tremendous feeling for Sole.

This exploration was everything but subtle. She even felt upset at her friend, initially unable to comprehend why her thoughts kept returning to them.

Curie realized that she had romantic feelings for Sole. The trouble with this delicate circumstance is that Sole is the only person with whom she feels safe discussing her heart's torments. So, the only way out of this dilemma is to confront them and disclose everything.

Curie is still anxious.

And she is completely unaware that this is normal.

She coughs to catch the attention of her companion, who is working with Clem to erect a retaining beam to keep an artificial ceiling over the cave containing Vault 88.

"I can talk to you?" she asks timidly.

Sole rests their shoulder against the massive iron and rubber framework, wiping their brow.

"Is it critical?" they asked her, beckoning Clem to assist them.

"I believe so. It's quite significant.

Sole sighed. Curie believes that now is not the moment, but she fears that she will lose her mind if she doesn't speak. She sighs lightly.

"I understand you are busy…"

"A little, yes," replies her friend. However, their tone has softened significantly. "Curie, you appear to be dealing with a personal issue. If it seems vital to you, speak out. You know I'm always there for you."

Clem looks at the synth and seems to believe that this is the worst moment of the existence for a small talk. But the young man would never dare to oppose Sole, so he attempts to assist them maintain the pillar.

"Here it is. For some time now, I've been experiencing a peculiar storm inside of me, which is causing me to lose control. And you. I think about you all the time. I can't stop. I can't comprehend. I understand, but..."

Curie pauses and quickly looks up at Sole. Her companion has shifted their expression. Their gaze appears even more compassionate than before. They place one hand on the massive pillar to keep it in place and clear their throat.

"If I understand what you're saying—

"The ceiling!" Clem wails simultaneously, springing back.

Sole looks up at the pillar, and Curie's brain detects an unexpected alteration in their face. From affection to fear, the synth barely has time to understand what happens when a massive rock detaches from the ceiling and falls squarely on Sole.

She is so shocked that she can no longer hear Clem's screams of horror.

Dogmeat : "Wouf! Wouf wouf wouf wouf!"

"What?"

"Wouf!"

"Oh, I love you too, my too cute puppy!"

Elder Maxson : It's an unusual idea, but not an unpleasant one. Anyway, Sole has a lot of odd, but successful, ideas.

Maxson enjoys this short walk along the edge of Nordhagen Beach. His Knight urged that Maxson attend the meeting with the settlers' delegate. They had a difficult negotiation, but the BoS is now confident of a steady supply for the remainder of their tenure in the Commonwealth.

Then night fell as they respectfully celebrated alongside the locals.

Then, with the moon high in the sky, Sole insisted on having this little walk.

Maxson finds the trek pleasant... romantic?

He glances toward Danse, who is patrolling the area to ensure that the moment is not squandered, and then turns to his subordinate, who has stopped while perceiving his expression.

"Is something wrong, Elder?"

"On the opposite, or it depends."

Sole didn't appear to be reassured by the answer. The commander clears his throat and attempts a benign grin.

"I reflected on this atmosphere, landscape, and moment. Everything is just perfect."

'Perfect, indeed,' says Sole, distractedly.

Maxson insists, "In perfect company."

The Minutemen General's gaze is once again drawn to their superior. They appear to hesitate before smiling slightly but say nothing.

"What I mean—

"I understand what you mean. I'd have to be stupid, deaf, or blind to miss what you mean."

Arthur frowns. Sole's tone is not hostile, yet their response is uncommon.

"Do I understand that my feelings for you are not shared?"

"Oh, I apologize. It was rude of me. I must have become a little wild while wandering this land, mostly alone. I'm sorry for offending you."

Maxson grabs Sole's hand in his.

“So if I said to you—

"The code of conduct prohibits fraternization between superiors and subordinates," Danse's voice abruptly cut him off.

Maxson almost curses the man beneath his beard, but he stands straight with dignity and strives to maintain his demeanor.

"—that I am very pleased with the conclusion of this transaction and that it is now time to return to the Prydwen?"

When Sole gets their hand back, they can't help but smile faintly. They exchange a glance with Danse.

Maxson then understands.

He curses himself.

[shurishoe]

Request: riri x reader x shuri smut when the reader gets terribly injured by namor himself and after reader heals up she's in for a treat from shuri and riri also could you do a vibranium strap in the story shuri makes riri a strap and they have some funnn

|•|Please Stop|•|

Pt 1

Warning:Smut,Angst

Tears ran down your pale face, during a attack on Wakanda Namor had found you. He was mad at Shuri so he decided to give her a little warning, he threw you through a glass window in the lab almost throwing you down into the caverns below. A scream escaped your mouth as you begging him to stop “Please! Please stop this madness!” You cried out as you crawled away from the ledge, a sharp pain stinging at your side as Namor drew closer. A large grin swept over his face as he kicked you in the stomach, a scream of pain and agony left your mouth. You were now on the edge of falling into the caverns, the speeding trains Shuri built for the vibranium was gonna be the death of you. A teasing tone took over Namor’s voice as he stepped on your hand and looked you in the eyes “If you survive, Tell Shuri. She will regret war with Talokan” he growled before pushing you off the edge. Sobs racked through your body as you plummeted through the sky, you hit a sharp ledge cause you to cry out in pain before you were sent falling again. Finally when you hit the ground everything was going blurry, you kept tapping your Kimoyo beads trying to get Shuri but she wasn’t awnsering. You tried to get Riri but she wasn’t awnsering either, you felt yourself pass out after a little and kept trying to wake but you couldn’t

Days has passed since the attack, When Shuri tracked your Kimoyo beads and found you she was worried sick. Her and Riri were scared to death of losing you, they couldn’t loose you. You had been out cold for four days and both of the girls were always beside you, reassuring eachother it would be okay. ————————————————————— Shuri and Riri were both hard at work in the lab trying to figure out how to destroy Namor for hurting you, what they didn’t know is you had awoken while they were in the lab so when you woke you found yourself alone in y’all’s shared bedroom. You slipped out of bed with a wince, you moved your hand to your rib only to find it covered in bandages. A small sigh escaped your lips as you limped out of the room, you were met with a worried Okoye. “Okoye?” You mumbled “y/n?!” Okoye looked at you with relief washing over her expression “thank bast your okay, The Queen and Mrs.Williams have been worried sick!” Okoye mumbled “I’m alright, can you take me to them?” You asked and Okoye nodded before moving to help you walk down to the elevator.

When you reached the lab Okoye helped you walk in, Griot tried to notify Shuri and Riri you were there but they would just brush it off and tell Griot to quiet down. Till Okoye spoke up “My queen, Mrs Williams. Your favorite wakanden is here” she chuckled watching Riri and Shuri’s face light up when they saw you, they ran at you embracing you in hugs and kisses. After a moment it came to a halt when you were hugged a little to hard and winced “I’m so so sorry” Shuri tripped over every word with nervousness just flowing through her “Are you alright how are you feeling?” Riri asked quickly, you only responded by giving the pair a kiss and a small hug. “It’s alright, I’m fine.” You reassured as you leaned against Shuri while Riri pampered your face in kisses, Shuri kept her hands around your waist as she looked down at you. “Namor will pay for this” Riri said as she gave you another kiss. “Later Riri, Later” you whispered

@ziayamikaelson

[balshumetsbaragouin]

Hip Hip Hurrah for the first chapter of 2024! This one starts off with a bang as Danny finds himself fighting off a large metallic adversary while feeling miserable.

The update for Saturday is on schedule, so expect to see it then.

Still not convinced you want to read? Have a sample below!

The morning of All Hallow’s Eve crept up on him, the march until the end of the month slowed by the pain marring his every waking moment. The ticks of time on the clock stuttered to a miserable snail’s pace, as every beat of his heart left a throb of answering agony somewhere in his body. The headache, that he’d given up medicating away three days back, curled around his skull pinging from one area to another to dig its nails into his lobes, but never abating. He’d thrown up all night, head hovering over the bowl just out of splash back range, tears in his eyes as each heave intensified the pounding in his skull. His muscles felt like they’d torn, shredded by his ghost fighting activities or too much movement in human form. He regretted the couple rounds of Dance, Dance, Revival he’d done with his friends, everything below his waist a mess of knotted muscle and burning nerves. 

It was Monday. He had school . The thought of doing more than wiggling his toes and breathing brought a sense of pervasive doom. Maybe I’ll die the rest of the way and be freed from this suffering. He grunted, pushing away the thought, as he forced himself to roll over and look at the clock. It read ninety minutes before his usual alarm, so he had time to get it together and make it through the day. He took a deep, careful breath and let himself drift down onto the surface of the sheets, taking in what still ached where. Headache, legs are killing me, I’m freezing, and it feels like my bones are on fire. The last two caught his attention, reminding him of the last time he’d had a fever. 

He forced himself out of bed, shuffling into the bathroom to grab the thermometer and shoved it under his tongue. He’d leaned against the sink in the dark, and waited for the shrill beep of the device. 99.3. He was almost normal human temperature. He was boiling. Fuck. I shouldn’t go to school with a fever. Hell, maybe I should start taking this more seriously and head to Frostbite for treatment? He panted into the dark interior of the bathroom, wrestling with his options in the early morning silence. He didn’t have time to sneak there before school, and if he skipped, his parents would ground him until next year. He could tell them he was feeling ill, he did even have a fever. But then, they’d want to run tests and— He worked his way through the dark to his room, and returned with some extra shower things. He was going to take a bath and soak out the pain. Then, it was breakfast and school. Then the evening’s patrol. He just needed a slower start. It was fine. 

[dottie-writes-haikyuu]

Guilt

This is chapter 8 of my fic Not Everyone Survives (But I will do the Best I Can). Tags and other chapters can be found here!

Guilt is a beast that comes in many forms. Everyone experiences it differently. Guilt is a pain that can be often misplaced. It has a habit of multiplying. If not dealt with, it has the power to consume.

Guilt consumed Keiji completely. It was what ran his mind as he patched Koutarou up, blaming everyone as he completed his tasks with a systematic efficiency; disinfecting all of his wounds— the bandages he binded with were discarded, leaving the man in a sports bra. He cleaned the gashes on his side, the wounds that seared his torso from his right shoulder to his left hip, all of the deep claw marks in his arms, the severe bite wounds in his legs, gave stitches where they were needed, and eventually got the guts to look his lover in the bruised face while he grabbed the bandages.

He’d almost lost this face. Forever. All over some silly argument.

It would’ve been his fault, if he had. It was his fault to begin with, for saying that shit to him. For arguing with him, for losing his filter, for letting his anger manipulate his mouth. He couldn’t stand himself. He hardly ever could.

Then a stir from the man below him wiped all thought.

—

Everything hurt. He couldn’t take a deep breath but he could breathe a bit more deeply than he could with the bandages. A soreness settled deep into his bones, with a dull, persistent throb that seemed to resonate with every heartbeat. His head was pounding, each breath reminding him that agony was a clingy, sticky thing that stayed with you long after the original cause. He didn’t try to open his eyes yet. There was something holding his bicep, something being wrapped around it. Was he dead? Without even telling Keiji he loved him after fighting with him.

Without even apologizing for being a murderer.

He opened his eyes slowly, hesitantly, but eventually got sight of the ravenette who’d been mid-bandaging his arm, those blue eyes on him.

His breath hitched, and it hurt. His vision blurred, and he sniffled. That voice he thought he’d never hear again uttered his name:

“Kou?”

And he was sobbing. It hurt his ribs so bad, crying, and it hurt his side and all over, really, but he couldn’t make it stop. Loud cries that had him screwing his eyes shut as the ravenette hugged him close and whispered comfort and cried with him and apologized and he apologized too because he was the guilty party and he’d almost died he’d almost lost Keiji over that stupid argument and stupid Vega and the stupid tank and he was so stupid stupid stupid—

“Oh wait, Kou, breathe, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“I— sorry, Kaash— didn’t mean—“ he managed to get out between sobs and coughs. “Don’t…hate me—“

“What— no, Kou, nonono I don’t hate you, I could never hate you. Stop trying to talk for a second, okay? I’m gonna help you sit up. It’ll probably hurt a little, because Crown’s painkillers aren’t as strong as ours, but it’s okay. Alright? On three. One, two…”

Pain lanced up his torso and he whined, the ravenette shushing him and eventually letting him lean on him. Gentle hands soothed down his shoulders and across his collarbone, directing him to breathe in.

He had to think really hard about breathing, and it still ached like hell. It took a while for him to be able to breathe, Keiji talking him through it softly.

“In…good. Out. There we go…”

By the time that he could breathe normally again, he was tired. He turned and pressed his nose into jet black hair, those arms falling to wrap around his waist.

“Y’took my bandages off?”

“Yeah, Kou, I didn’t want you dying ‘cause you couldn’t breathe.”

“Mm. M’sorry for arguin’ with you.”

“Don’t be, baby, I’m sorry for being a dick. I truly didn’t mean what I said about Komi. When I get upset, I just kinda say things. If I were upset with you about Komi, I would have told you way sooner.”

“M’sorry for…almost dyin’.”

“That’s not your fault, it’s mine,” Keiji murmured, rubbing circles in his skin with his thumb.

“No it wasn’t, you didn’t tell me to go out by myself, and—“ he ran out of air, hacking and coughing. Fuck he probably wouldn’t be allowed to bind for a while.

“You have to take talking slowly, okay?”

He nodded, exhaling through his nose.

“And you didn’t… know I’d get in a situation. And you didn’t tell me to yell at you that morning,” he said, taking more measured breaths between phrases.

“You didn’t tell me to yell at you either.”

“I needed to be yelled at. I…I murdered Komi.”

“Kou, you had to do that.”

He shook his head.

“No, listen, if you hadn’t killed it, all four of us would’ve died and Torch would probably wouldn’t exist, because they’d have collapsed. Who’d have been captain? Konoha?”

Laughable.

He shrugged. After a few moments, he spoke again.

“Keiji?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A kiss was pressed to his cheek, and he tried to turn more, causing the ravenette to look up. After some twisting that made his ribs and his new wounds scream in protest, he managed to capture his boyfriend’s lips in his.

He didn’t have them for long, though. The moment breathing started feeling a bit strained, Keiji gently pushed him off.

“I thought I wouldn’t get to tell you again,” Koutarou admitted. “And I hadn’t said it that morning. And I thought…”

“I know. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Did…did Terushima…?”

Those arms around him tensed, and he had his answer. Guilt flamed him, scorched him, ate him alive. The hot flames of it licked at him, and he hadn’t a choice but to let it consume him.

Kentarou burst into the room, and he looked up. The blonde was fuming.

“He’s dead.”

“I’m—“

“I don’t want your apology, I want it to be you instead,” the other man hissed, striding across the room. Keiji was standing up in an instant, and Iwaizumi could be heard down the hall. Those eyebrows were furrowed, face screwed up, but the eyes wouldn’t look at him— wouldn’t face him. The dark skinned hands shook, waving around erratically as Kyoutani spoke. “You killed him, because your stupid ass decided to go out all alone and get ganged up on and he decided to play hero. It should’ve been you.”

Yeah. It should’ve. He kind of wished it was.

“That’s enough,” Keiji snapped.

“He’s the reason Yuuji is dead!”

“Oh, and antagonizing him is definitely going to bring him back,” Akaashi snarked.

“I’m gonna—“

Iwaizumi ran into the room, yelling.

“Kyou, stop it! Cmon, leave them alone. They’re going home soon.”

“He’s the reason Yuuji is dead,” Kyoutani repeated, a hurt hatred leaking from every syllable.

“Kyou,” Iwa said simply, almost a plea. The blonde seemed to want to say more, but after a few moments, he sighed heavily.

“I’m not fucking apologizing.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to leave them alone.”

The other stormed out of the room, and Iwa gave an apology for the man before walking out after him.

Footsteps raced down the hall, and Kai and Eve ran in.

“Kou!!!” Kai cried, throwing herself onto him and squeezing him. It hurt but he tried his best not to show that, simply hugging her back as she started crying. “Why did you go out by yourself?! You could’ve left us, you big idiot!”

“She means we love you, and we’re glad you’re okay, and if you pull that shit again we’re going to castrate you and take you off of life support early,” Eve murmured, her voice wobbly. His older sister sniffled, running an affectionate hand through his hair. He leaned into it.

“M’sorry.”

“You’d better be,” she said. “No but don’t apologize. Just, that was almost bad.”

“I know.”

“Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

Before she could say any more, more footsteps came down the hall and Kuroo, Yaku, Lev, Kenma, and Yukie came in, too. There was an immediate uproar of voices and chatter.

Safe to say that Koutarou was doted on for most of the day, with teary-eyed “I’m so glad you’re okay”s from most. Guilt ate at him all day. Guilt for worrying everyone, guilt for being the reason Terushima was dead, guilt for a lot of things.

Then again, Koutarou Bokuto wasn’t exactly a stranger to guilt.

Previous chapter | Next chapter

[serenailith]

yesterday’s gone (we’ll make it through)—xix

on ao3 here

previous | next

His Sister’s shout barely cuts through the rush of noise, the whirlwind of sound careening through his mind. Dream grits his teeth to stifle the scream clamouring to escape. To be heard by the universe, to be given life in such violence. Shrieks and sobs, laughter and chatter, so much too much make it stop please I do not want this.

Something sharp hits his forehead, but Dream hardly feels it over the suffocation. He curls in on himself, wraps himself in as much protection as he can offer, but nothing can save him from the agony ripping him apart. Limb from limb, he’s shredded. He can’t hold back the scream now—it reverberates louder than the cacophony in his head.

Warmth blossoms on his cheeks; it startles him. His dazed mind dredges up a recollection, hazy though it is. He knows that touch. The chaos drowns out everything else, and Dream struggles to focus on the hands cradling his face.

“—wrong?—tell—Dream? Please—”

Dream cries out as another wave crashes over him. Something shoves itself through his chest, claws at the dreamstuff he has always been, wraps itself around the heart he’s had for so little time. He chokes as it tightens; it’s cold and vicious, unrelenting, and he might die from it, he will not survive—

“Come back to me, my love,” a voice whispers, breaking through the discord drowning him. “Don’t leave me, okay? I’m right here. Come back. That’s it, just like that.”

Pressure against his forehead, tendrils of softness trailing along his skin. Dream raises a hand, forces his fingers to uncurl only to wrap them around Hob’s wrist. He hears a soft hiss, but Hob doesn’t shake him off. He accepts the painful grip. Dream exhales shakily as the din abates. The violent being in his chest releases its hold.

“My Lord!”

Lucienne. He breathes out her name as her quick footsteps rapidly near. Stones clatter, water suckling at the shore, and hot lips brush his hairline. Dream can’t admonish Hob for the affection displayed, as unbecoming as it is, and Lucienne says nothing of it, either.

She’s always been so loyal. Discreet.

A cool hand wraps around his free one, and he hears, “You’re home, my Lord. You’re home.”

After a few minutes during which Dream settles into the core of who he is—who he always has been and forever will be—he forces himself to sit upright. Death is crouched to his left, watching him closely, with Lucienne beside her. Hob’s hand is steady on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. Almost too tightly, but Dream keeps his complaints unspoken.

Hob’s fear is all too clear.

Dream stumbles to his feet with the aid of his love and his librarian, while his Sister stares at him with wide eyes. He gulps in air and leans heavily against Hob. An arm snakes around his waist, and it takes all of his willpower not to bury his face in Hob’s neck and plead for them to just go to bed, to fall asleep wrapped in one another as they have been. It’s much more preferable than this.

But he’s finally back in his realm. He’s finally reconnected to the Dreaming, and, as painful as it is, it’s exactly where he needs to be. His connection isn’t the same as it was before, however. It won’t be until he’s retrieved his tools of office.

That requires knowledge.

It requires help. Answers.

The relief at being—as Lucienne said—home vanishes abruptly when he sees what’s become of his realm once they’ve passed the towering gate. Desolation meets his eye everywhere he looks. The castle, his castle, stands in disrepair. Even as he watches, a stone falls from its place, crumbling as it plummets to the ground below.

He collapses to his knees at the sight. Or he would, were it not for Hob’s hold on him. He has relied on Hob more in the last two months than he has ever depended on anyone. It would feel like a weakness at any other time, but right now, it is a borrowed strength. He clutches at Hob’s arm as he’s hauled back onto his feet.

“What happened here?” he rasps out, turning to meet Lucienne’s steady gaze. Her expression remains sympathetic. “Who did this?”

“My Lord, you are the Dreaming. The Dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were, the realm began to. . .” She hesitates for a split second, as if hoping to find words that would make the situation less horrible. “Decay and crumble,” she finishes gamely.

“And the residents? The palace staff?”

Hob holds him more tightly even as Lucienne explains that most have gone, left either to look for him or because they believed he’d abandoned his post. She delivers the news in perfunctory yet gentle tones, and Dream would thank her for it if he could find the proper words beyond his hurt.

Did his subjects truly think so little of him? They held the sincere belief that he would leave behind his duties to the Dreaming, the Waking, and everything they include? How could they?

“If I may, sir,” Lucienne murmurs. “It wouldn’t be the first one of the Endless had just—”

Enough. He is not the Prodigal. He has a loyalty and a responsibility that he will never walk away from. How could they find truth in such an impossibility?

He vows to remake the realm, and Lucienne gives him a small smile. Death grins from where she stands, and Hob buries his nose in Dream’s hair. Dream closes his eyes, stifling a smile of his own, when lips press to his scalp.

Dream can hardly contain the tears that threaten to spill over when he sees just how far his realm has fallen apart. Thankfully, the three he’s with will never hold judgement over him. They pretend his eyes are dry, that his voice doesn’t tremble, that Hob isn’t the biggest reason he’s still on his feet and moving forward.

His Sister leaves them minutes later: “Call on me for anything, Dream. I wish to help, and I can’t if you’re being an idiot about it.”

She leaves him with a squeeze of hands and a gentle kiss to Hob’s cheek.

Being back in the Dreaming is a start. He’s connected. He says as much to Lucienne, but he needs his tools. He’s still weak despite the newly-regained power, strength he hasn’t had in over a century. He needs the help none else can offer.

Absorbing Gregory the Gargoyle sends a sliver of pain through Dream’s chest. Oh, how he has changed in the presence of Hob. How human he has become, all for love. He wishes to apologise to Abel and Cain, to explain that he needs to do this though it is hurting him nearly as much as it pains them. Instead, he merely admits it isn’t fair, does what he’s come to do, and turns away.

He pretends that he does not see the knowing look on Hob Gadling’s face as he passes.

Lucienne was right, Dream thinks as he sinks into the Waters. They do not recognise him any longer. He fights to not think of Hob, of the man he has left on the shores. He has to focus on the task at hand. Failure is not an option.

He gathers his offerings, meets with the Three-Who-Are-One. It goes as well as Lucienne predicted, and he leaves with answers that echo in his brain, remind him that he’s no closer to his tools for the responses of the Fates. The only firm answer regards his sand, and even then, he can’t be certain Johanna Constantine still holds it.

He thinks, as he approaches Hob and Lucienne, that this endeavour will prove more difficult than he could imagine.

Hob brushes hair from his face as Dream comes to a stop beside him. “Everything okay, love?”

“It will all be righted,” he promises, and Lucienne’s pinched expression smooths out.

She has faith in him. She’s maintained that faith for over a century with no recompense. Lucienne has kept the realm running in his forced absence, simply because she believed he hadn’t abandoned his post and he would be back.

“I must go after my sand first,” he announces before peeling away from Hob, striding away.

“Sire?” Lucienne calls, but he doesn’t stop. He hears a small huff of breath behind him then scurrying footsteps—two pairs. “Sire, pardon me for asking, but where are you off to?”

“Back to London.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Hob—”

A hand wraps around his arm, and Hob tugs him around so they face each other. “No. I will go with you, and you will deal with it. Don’t be an idiot about this, too.”

Lucienne gasps quietly, staring between the two. Dream scowls—nearly snarls, really—at Hob’s insolence. How dare he be so impertinent in front of Dream’s subject? In Dream's own realm, as if Hob has any power here, any right to demand things of the King?

But Hob doesn’t cower. He stares evenly back at Dream, holding onto his arm as if releasing Dream isn’t an option. In his brown eyes linger the fear and concern.

The cold, vicious thing idly scratches at Dream’s chest, reminding him of its existence. It’s ugly, twisted, now revelling in his ire if he won’t give it his pain. Dream swallows down the rage and forces himself to draw in a steadying breath. The thing disappears with a scoff and roll of its eyes.

“Your presence is unnecessary,” he tries.

He has never loved such an infuriatingly stubborn being as much as he loves Hob, even after the man shakes his head and says he’s coming along. As badly as he wants to sigh, Dream refuses to show his frustrations. He knows he will never win this, not unless he cheats against Hob.

Dream has been cruel before, unreasonable and unjust. Being in captivity for over a hundred years had given him too much time to ruminate over his past—successes and failings, in turn—and living with Hob Gadling for the last two months taught him the value of thinking, talking, trying.

So he will never cheat against Hob.

He ignores the surprise in Lucienne’s eyes at his not-easy-but-still-given acquiescence. “On one condition.”

“Name it, duck.”

“You leave me behind if you must.”

They all know it’s a lie when Hob agrees.

[starsasunder]

“How many times have I told you to be more careful?!” \\ hades to astreae

this turned into more of a drabble, so it's below the cut, but it's my first time actually getting to write astraea, so. sue me.

Dodging out of the way of the creature's swiping claws, Astraea clutches at her ruined shoulder with her staff in hand as she rolls to safety beyond its reach, panting as she tries to catch her breath. Pain courses through her, throbbing from the venom it had inflicted on her. Her face is smeared with dirt and her robes are torn where its claws ripped straight through to the bone, but despite it all, she wears a fierce grin on her face as she eyes the serpentine creature in front of her.

"Come now, relinquishing one apple won't hurt that -." She cuts herself off and rolls sharply to the side, dragging out a ragged breath as the creature lunges where she was just standing. Staggering slightly before catching her balance, she backs up a few more steps, just to be sure she is out of reach.

"'Tis rude to interrupt, you know," she scolds, voice strained as she shudders involuntarily, the venom coursing through her like a fire burning up her blood. The dragon hisses at her, eyes gleaming, and tightens its coil around the towering tree but does not leave its guardpost.

She huffs and, with trembling fingers, begins to draw in the air, weaving glowing golden sigils that hang in the air, waiting to be invoked. Her eyes never leave the creature as it watches her warily, an alarming amount of intelligence and caution behind its eyes.

"Your master... failed to mention how fierce their little guard-pet was... when they asked me to fetch these for them," Astraea hisses through gritted teeth, the slow-burning agony of the venom causing her to struggle to draw symbols which she could normally sketch in her sleep. "I will allow you thank them for me when I place your head on their desk."

Stardust coalesces around her hand, slick with blood and pale from the loss of it, and scatters around her. Beneath her feet, a glowing golden array blooms and lights up the darkened courtyard. The offer hangs in the air for a long moment, the golden glow of the magic array glinting off the serpent's brilliant green eyes. And then she feels the comforting, familiar tug of her aether being expended as the magic activates and he answers her summons. A soft sigh of relief passes her lips as he appears before her, claymore already in hand.

Hades opens his mouth to demand an explanation of her, but she is already moving, throwing up a shield of pure aether between the two of them and the serpent as it makes to strike. The dragon strikes, slamming its head into the barrier three times in quick succession and she winces as she's pushed back. It withdraws before either of them can retaliate, hissing as it retreats to the safety of the tree's boughs, eyes burning with fury.

She staggers but he's already there, an arm looped around her waist to catch her fall. She leans into his side and lets him support her weight, her head swimming, but keeps her eyes on their foe. "There's no time to explain, just... please, help me this once, Hades," she begs, her breaths rasping as she struggles to remain on her feet. She should not call him that, should not be using his name when this is technically Convocation business, but it is just them and everything hurts and she has known him as Hades for far longer than she has known him as Emet-Selch.

"Just what have you gotten yourself into this time?" He's irritated, she can hear it in his voice, but she had not expected anything else from him. Her legs buckle, at last giving out, and without question he gently lowers her to the ground. Before she can protest, he steps forward, putting himself between her and her opponent. "A Ladon, Astraea? Really?"

She laughs softly but quickly chokes it off, the motions sending agony down her arm, which now hangs limply at her side. "One of Fandaniel's creations... It has unfortunately taken up residence in this garden... and Halmarut asked me to bring them one of the apples from this tree," she says, her voice strained. "This particular one's hide is resistant to my magicks, and it's venomous... I had intended to take one without harming it, but it was too quick."

She cannot see his face, but she can picture it: the way his expression undoubtedly twists, golden eyes flashing as he scowls at the creature before them. "Your recklessness will land us both in hot water, but so be it. Fandaniel will be disappointed if we destroy it, but he can recreate it if he so wishes. Stand back," he commands, and she has little intention of disobeying. Summoning a wash of cleansing aether to her hands, she busies herself with drawing the venom from her arm while he deals with the creature.

Because he does not have to concern himself with sparing the creature, it falls to Hades's blade in record timing. By the time its body hits the grass with a thud of finality and he whirls to check on her, she has finished drawing the venom from her arm.

Hades strides over and sinks down next to her in the grass, hands hovering over her still-bleeding wound. Golden eyes scan over her injuries and the pool of green venom slowly sinking into the grass, then meet her gaze with an intensity that takes her breath away. “How many times have I told you to be more careful?!” he hisses, eyes alight with his ire as his fingers tremble above her torn skin.

But Astraea knows this man, knows his love for her, and recognizes his anger as love in disguise. Smiling softly, she reaches out and laces her fingers with his as she focuses her aether, slowly closing the wound with a murmured healing spell. "I know, my love... And I'm trying. But that is the nature of my work as Azem. Sometimes I am going to get injured, but you must have faith that I can handle it and if I cannot, I will call for you."

"And what will you do if I am unable to come to your aid next time?" he demands, the dim glow of her healing spell casting his face in a pallid light.

"Then I will summon Hythlodaeus, or Elidibus, or any of our other friends," she says softly, simply, and her lips turn up in a soft smile as she draws his hand to her chest and places it against her heart. "Please, my love, it was not my intention to worry you so. I am fine."

"Good intentions or not, you did," he grumbles, his eyes softening as he reaches down to pull her into him, settling back in the soft grass with her in his lap. His hands smooth down her back and over the rest of her, his touch soothing, but she knows he is inspecting her for injuries. She hums contentedly nonetheless and leans into him, closing her eyes and relaxing under his touch.

They sit there in silence for a while, basking in each other's presence in the late afternoon sun. Astraea's eyes droop, and she finds herself drifting off to the sound of his steady, even breaths. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is Hades grumbling, "Next time, forget what Halmarut or Fandaniel say... Just kill the damn thing."

[scentedluminarysoul]

Again!

During exercise yesterday, my back cracked, and today I'm in so much pain, I can barely move.

And this is supposedly exercise specifically for the back!

But I suspect it's actually designed for able bodied, healthy people. Not for chronic pain sufferers. Like. Is it really that healthy to quickly twist your upper body from one side to the other, when your vertibrae have exessive bone that impinge your discs/nerves? I remember being told slow movements are better, as to not hurt yourself (further)

The woman who hosts it has been skinny, fit, and abled her whole life. The type who regularly does "cleansing fasts" aided by an alternative medicine practitioner...

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

You're My Mess | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi! This was a request from the always wonderful @the-kestrels-feather :)

Warnings: some blood / Bucky's injuries, ~nudity~ (but not smutty)

-------------------------------

A metallic scraping sound nearly scared you out of your skin. Maybe it was just noise from the street below. Maybe your weird neighbor was playing with his katana again. You pressed play on your paused tv show and tried to continue watching, but the sound persisted. It almost sounded like- was it coming from the front door?

In nothing but a pair of underwear and one of Bucky’s shirts, you tiptoed toward the peephole. It went against everything scary movies ever taught you. You can’t go investigate a strange noise. And you should never say “Who’s there?”- that’s how you end up dead. You wanted to make it to the end credits, but your many viewings of Scream clearly taught you nothing.

You held your breath as you peered through the peephole- if someone was here to kill you, you at least wanted to know who. And through the distorted lens, you saw a familiar face.

“Bucky!” you chirped as you threw open the door. Your hands were on him in seconds, grabbing his face and pulling him in for a long, long over-due kiss. 

“Hey, baby…” he dropped his forehead against yours. God, he needed this. He needed you. And nothing welcomed him home quite like his best girl wearing his shirt.

He pulled you into his body with a groan and a grimace. He’d taken his fair share of beatings- and a few of Sam’s- on this mission, and his body hated him for it. Yes, the serum would have him good as new in no time. But it didn’t dull the pain. It couldn’t save him from the vibrating agony that pulsed with each beat of his heart. The throbbing inside his head. But he needed to hold you. He didn’t care that your elbow dug into his stab wound. He’d been gone too long. And with his arms wrapped tight around your body, every last ounce of anxiety dissipated. 

“You okay, babe?” With your head pressed to his chest, you heard the pained sound rumble inside his body. It pinballed against his ribs and echoed under your ear. Bucky always came home a shell of himself. Empty. Hurting. It killed you.

“I’m good, just-“ he craned his neck back and forth, “sore. And tired. And I missed you."

He caught a glimpse of his dirty hand around your waist, and nearly recoiled. "Shit, sorry. I'm a mess. I shouldn't be-"

"But you're my mess. Come on, let’s get you inside, Sarge.”

You gently tugged him through the door and welcomed him into the warmth of the home you shared. He missed this space when he was away. The warm light, the shelves lined with classic books, the half-burned candles. This small apartment gave him a safe hideaway from the world that hated him, and shielded him with nothing but love and light. 

“Here, I’ll take this…” you slid his bag from his shoulder and dropped it to the floor. “And this-” Your hands made quick work of his belt, removing it and its many sheathed knives. “You know, sometimes I can’t believe that you actually have a utility belt,” you laughed. “I mean, you’re like Bat Man… or Wonder Woman”.

Bucky gave you an affectionate eyeroll and a strained laugh.

“Oh, and I’ll take this too,” you said, unbuckling the holster from his thigh. You couldn’t believe they made holsters big enough to wrap around Bucky’s beefy quads. His ‘thighs of betrayal’, as you often called them. 

“Alright, now come're,” you pulled him over to a kitchen chair and made him sit before sinking to your knees in front of him.

“Woah, woah, sweetheart,” Bucky teased, “At least buy me dinner first.”

“Oh, hush”, you stuck your tongue out at him. Truth be told, you’d been ready to jump his bones the moment you saw him. And wrapping your hands around his thigh to remove his holster had your mouth watering. But if he was hurting, if he was exhausted and depleted, your desperate lust for him could wait. He needed to heal before you replaced his stab wounds with bite marks and hickeys. You freed Bucky’s feet from his combat boots and made a move toward the shoe rack, but Bucky stopped you.

His hand darted out and hooked around your fingers, “don’t”.

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m just putting your boots away-”

“But- can you come here?”

He hated being needy. And clingy. And desperate. But after his time away, he needed you close by. He needed to make up for all the miserable days and cold nights spent without you. He needed his best girl. 

With a gentle tug, he pulled you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you as you straddled his hips, locking your bodies together. He rested his chin on your shoulder. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. A deep sigh fell from Bucky’s chest. The fear dissipated. The dread fell away. And suddenly, it was just you. Just you and Bucky and the home you shared. He checked his ghosts at the door and fell into the peace you brought.

“I’m so glad to be back”

“And I’m so glad to have you, babe. I’m so- wait, hang on…” You pulled back a bit and met his eyeline. “Why’d you knock? Did you lose your keys?”

Bucky let out an exhausted laugh, “No…but they were in my bag. And I was too tired to look for them.” He let his head fall against your sternum. He could fall asleep like this. “I just wanna go get in bed and sleep for fifteen hours, or so.”

You wriggled free from his grasp and tried to pull him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, Sarge.”

But Bucky resisted. He almost didn’t have enough energy to stand, let alone shower. “But baaaaaby,” he whined, “I’m too tired”. His slumped shoulders and under eye circles told you as much. His mission was supposed to be four days- but he was gone for nine. Double the work, double the effort, double the fatigue.

“I know, Buck,” you said, cradling his face. “But you can't get in bed like this. Your hands are all covered in in gunpowder and there’s blood in your hair- blood I’m hoping doesn’t belong to you…?”

He nodded.

“I promise you’re gonna feel much better after a shower.”

He shrugged. He just wanted to crawl into bed with you- anything else was simply a distraction.

“It’ll be a lot easier to get the blood out of your hair if we do it now,” you said. “The longer we wait, the stickier it’s gonna get.” You could just see Bucky tomorrow morning, raking a comb furiously through his bloody hair and ripping it out at the root. “Okay, how about this: You stay here.” Bucky perked up. “I’ll go run a bath- that way you can relax a little bit and won’t have to stand in the shower?”

He thought it over for a moment. The idea enticed him, but didn’t convince him.

“And I’ll join you. I’ll help you get cleaned up. I can take care of all this…” you grabbed at a few strands of his hair. “And I’m sure you’ve got some wounds that need cleaning. Deal?” 

You knew Bucky’s injuries couldn’t get infected, but leaving them unattended felt neglectful. Regardless of the serum, he needed care. And you needed him to know how much he meant to you. After each mission, you cleaned and bandaged his fast-healing wounds. You gently freed them of debris and broken glass, checked on them until the serum made them vanish.

Although unnecessary, it showed Bucky just how important he was to you, how highly you valued his well-being. Before you, he didn’t care to disinfect or cover his injuries- he let himself bleed. 

Bucky didn’t hear anything after you promised to join him in the bath. His desire for sleep vanished, revealing an even deeper need: you. Your body against his. Your hands in his hair. Of course, he’d thought about fucking you since the moment he left- but this was different. He needed to feel you. To know you were there. To hear your steady heartbeat. Each new mission brought with it the fear that he’d never see you again. And it scared him more than any Hydra agent ever could. It was a fate worse than death.

Bucky nodded against your hand, his stubble scratching your palm. 

“Okay, you sit tight. I’m gonna go start the water.” You made an attempt to get up, but Bucky wasn’t having it. He refused to let you go for another few minutes, and you let him take his time. Coming down from a mission was hard on him. You moved at his pace.

When he allowed you to get up, you headed for the bathroom and filled the tub with water. Bucky remained in his chair, exactly where you left him. He felt himself nodding off a few times, but refused to plunge into full-blown sleep. He found himself teetering on the edge once again when you called to him.

“Ready whenever you are, Sarge!” 

You padded toward him, your clothes missing, and found him blinking away sleep. “Come on, I promise this won’t take long.”

At the sight of you, Bucky perked up. “I mean, if it takes a long time, it takes a long time…” he said, making grabby hands for your waist, “who am I to rush you?”

“You’re a fiend, you know that?” 

“I know. But I’m your fiend.”

With his hand in yours, you dragged him in the direction of the bathroom. A pitstop at the laundry room let Bucky shed his bloody clothes, giving you the chance to lay eyes on his body. You still weren’t used to his Adonis-esque physique. And you knew you never would be. But the blood and bruising distracted you. Red slash marks ripped across his abdomen. Purple bruises stained his shoulder. A bloody stab wound dug into his chest. And his back was just as bad.

“I know it looks bad…” he said, “but I’m fine. I promise.”

Bucky’s definition of “fine” never quite matched up with yours. And seeing him hurt never got easier. You swallowed the lump in your throat and ushered him down the hall. 

He grimaced as the hot water met the gashes littering his legs, but the stinging subsided when you stepped into the tub. Or maybe his open wounds still throbbed in the scalding water- he wasn’t sure. He was too distracted by you pulling him into your body. His shoulders rested against your chest and his head fell back against your shoulder, his nose brushing along your neck.

“Is that even comfortable?” you laughed, “looks kinda like you’re gonna have a crick in your neck by the time we’re done here.”

He took a deep inhale. And let out a long sigh. “Don’t care. Missed you.”

“Missed you more”.

You let him rest like that for a while, let him drink in the feeling of home. But you watched the water slowly redden, like you were steeping raspberry tea. “Okay, babe. We gotta get to work”, you said, forcing Bucky to sit upright. He watched you loosen the drain and run more water until the red tinge vanished. But he knew it would return soon enough. 

“Just tell me if I hurt you, okay?” 

He nodded. And you got to work. You let your hands weave slowly in and out of his locks, gently scrubbing and massaging his scalp with shampoo. He didn’t like putting you in this sort of position, but couldn’t stop himself from enjoying the feeling. He’d missed you so much. He thought about you constantly and ached for your touch. And even though the two of you sat chest-deep in blood-stained bath water, he smiled. He hummed in approval every now and then. He leaned into your touch. He felt safe.

Coagulated pieces of dried blood fused his strands together. You cringed when they plopped into the water. Every time you pulled your hands from his locks, a red stain smeared across your palms. Lathering and rinsing and re-lathering Bucky’s hair dyed the water crimson. And you feared it would never end. He’d loosen the drain, let the tub empty, and fill it again- only for the sickly scarlet tinge to return. You’d promised to do this for him, but it seemed as though you’d run out of shampoo before fulfilling your promise. 

Just as you used the last bit of shampoo, your hands returned from his scalp without a bloody stain. You dragged your nails across his scalp and inspected every last strand, finding no blood in sight. Finally. 

“Hair’s all clean,” you said, “now just let me condition”. Bucky gave a small nod, too tired and entranced by your scalp massage to really listen. 

And when you finished with his hair, you moved to his body. Both of you sat stewing in a bio-hazard of blood and grime- it almost made you sick. Breaking your promise, you made Bucky stand and take a proper shower. He groaned as you helped him up, but found his smile again as you pressed your body against his. Your hands worked over him slowly, ridding his battered body of gun powder and ash and dried blood. You helped him feel like a new man. 

And then it was your turn. Guilt soured Bucky’s experience when he noticed your blood-stained nails and red-streaked body. And he was determined to make it right. Just as you’d done for him, he carefully dragged his hands over every inch of your skin. He was thorough- maybe a bit too thorough- but couldn’t resist touching you. And you’d never protest. 

“You hang right here for a sec,” you said, “I’m gonna go grab us some clothes-”

“I mean, do we really need clothes?” He shot you a tired wink. Even exhausted, this man was a menace.

“I mean, no. We don’t need clothes,” you dropped your towel. “But you do need some bandages.”

Bucky sat on the edge of the tub while you carefully cleaned and covered his wounds. He never protested when you played doctor. Sure, it was more work for you. But he knew it made you feel good to take care of him. And it made him feel good to know how much you cared. 

“All done,” you admired your work with a satisfied sigh. “Let’s get you to bed, babe.”

Bucky followed you like a lost puppy, nearly stepping on your heels as he walked. This was the moment he’d been waiting for since the second he left. And as he collapsed into bed next to you, he finally felt at peace. 

“Can I…?” he asked, motioning for your chest.

“I’d be upset if you didn’t.”

With that, Bucky rested his head on your chest. His wet hair sent goosebumps flooding across your skin, but you didn’t care. You stroked his back and left kisses against his scalp, whispering ‘I love you’s every now and then. He returned each and every one. His arms wrapped tighter around you, as though he feared you’d disappear. 

“Go to sleep, Buck. I know you’re exhausted.”

“I know, I’m just-” a yawn interrupted him. “I just missed you.”

“And I missed you. But I promise I’ll still be here in the morning.” You pressed another kiss to the top of his head, “rest, baby.”

He took a few more seconds to drink in the environment: your warm body under his, the cozy blankets, the smell of your shampoo in his hair. And with his last conscious breath, he told you once more just how much he’d missed you.

————————————

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @mrsdrysdale18 @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @duchessoftheheart @seitmai @itvy5601 @hisxsoulmate @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @masteroflightningz @evangeliamerryll @god-ofthunder @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen

[inklore]

sub!steve making the sweetest little noises when you grab at his hair and tug.

drain me out.

pairing: sub!steve rogers x (f)reader

warnings: a bit of sub/dom dynamics, oral sex (f+m receiving), teasing, taunting, steve being a begging mess, praise (good boy). 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.

word count: 934

etc: look i’m submissive down to my very bones but there’s something about sub!steve that literally makes me into a puddle of juices!

“Please,” Steve whines. From your position at his waist, looking up through your lashes as you run your tongue over the outline of his covered cock you can see his bottom lip wobble. His eyes pleading. His knuckles have gone white from gripping the sheets so tight, and you know if he grips them any harder his super strength will have them in shreds.

It makes you smirk. “If only people could see their world’s mightiest hero right now.” The tip of your tongue flicks against the tip of his clothed cock, making his hips stutter and a hiss leave Steve’s lips. His lips look raw and swollen from him biting them so much from your relentless teasing. You’re sure if you were to kiss them you would taste the bitter tang of dried blood. “What do you think they would think, hm? Seeing you leaking and begging to be fucked. Think you’d still be their hero then?”

Your words cut through him like a hot poker to that part of his brain—and his cock—that's running on nothing but lust and desire. The needy “fuck” that slips from his lips, his brows furrowed as he looks down at you almost in agony.

You can feel your own arousal coming to a precipice that's almost hazy, almost makes you as needy as him. But unlike the man below you, you have self control. But each time one of those weak whimpers fills your ears your cunt aches more and more.

Steve looks beautiful like this. Completely naked except his boxers; that are soaked from your tongue and the pre-cum leaking from his throbbing cock. His chest moves heavy with his breath, his hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead, his cheeks a bright pink as if the two of you had been fucking for hours. But you haven’t, that glowing flush and beautifully weak look is from the need Steve feels right now; the want, the desire. He always looked the most fucked like this.

Like some fallen angel pleading for forgiveness; gorgeous, ethereal shine of his light eyes that fill up with needy tears.

“Please,” Steve begs again. It coming out more like a sob this time, “I’ll be good, so good.”

“Will you?” You rub your palm along his shaft.

“Y-yes, fuck.” His hips jut up into your palm, trying to add more pressure as they roll. You can feel his cock pulse.

“Have you earned it?” When you remove your hand and replace it with your naked core, straddling his hips, gyrating your hips against his length; the noise he lets out makes your breath hitch. Makes a smile spread across your face as you see his hands lift from the sheets, reach out to touch you but stop inches away. The pain in his eyes as he holds himself back, his mouth hung open, eyes clenched in frustration.

He’s so beautiful when he’s miserable. When he’s being tortured by you, its fuel to a deep fire that burns through you. You almost feel demented at how much you enjoy seeing him like this. But the feeling soon fades when he opens his eyes and you can see the undiluted passion and lust mix with the way he looks at you; like you’re his savior, like you have everything he needs and more.

“I’ve earned it, please.”

If your own ache wasn't becoming a bit too much, you know you'd make him cum just by rubbing your wet pussy against his cock. But for as much as Steve wants you, you want him just the same.

So you move yourself up his body, positioning yourself so your legs are on either side of his head. Your leaking cunt hovering over his mouth. “Make me cum,” you run your thumb along his jawline, his skin burning you like a hot iron, “and I’ll let you cum. Okay?”

Steve nods profusely, his eyes round and doe like as he stares up at you. A hint of a smile on his lips, “can I touch you?”

“Of course.” You smile as you push the hair back from his forehead.

And without another word or edging Steve’s mouth is on your aching cunt, and you can't help but let the gasp out at feeling his mouth suck at your swollen clit; his tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves so precise, so delectable, just the way you like. The two of you were in sync that way. You knew what he liked, how he liked it, what could have him cuming in minutes. The same way he knew the way to touch you, to have you a whimper mess just as him, to have you leaking juices down his cock.

Steve devoured your cunt as if it were to be his last time doing so, his palms at your breasts as he squeezed and played with your nipples. Then moving down to your ass to grip and push you against his face, making you ride his tongue.

When your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping and pulling, bringing his face closer, you can feel the little noises he makes against you vibrate through your body. His eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in your pleasure—in the feeling of your tugs on his hair, the taste of you coating his chin.

It’s not long before you’re cuming on his tongue, his name falling from your lips like the sweetest praise his ears could ever hear.

You smile down at him as his lips press to your inner thigh, a pleased look on his face. “Good boy.”

[subtle-edge-of-rot]

Babes no 🥺 you could never be boring. Pretty muse with a beautiful brain. You say words and I lay down my life for you, that's how this works 🤼🏻‍♂️

Also, since I'm still not done with my horny thoughts for the day--

I like to think about the absolute agony Vince would go through daily when you guys aren't together yet. Like, you're close enough to cuddle and touch, close enough to sleep in the same bed sometimes but he still has to fight off the urge to touch you more than platonically.

He'll let you sit on his lap during movie night, a little nervous that his heartbeat is too obvious when you make him hold your waist while you sit. Your head is leaned back and he's so close to you he can smell your shampoo. Other times when you come down stairs, kinda wanting to just be around him and you end up falling asleep in his bed with him. He'll be able to sleep next to you and see your pretty face first thing in the morning, tightly coiled around him with his arm flush against your chest and his fingers grazing the lining of your shorts.

There was one of the times when you were showering and he realized you forgot your towel on your bed, knocking before coming in to put it the room for you. He expected to just set it down and book it out but then you pull back the curtains a little, peeking your head and practically half your body around to thank him with a smile. He'll see water drip down your neck and roll down your shoulders and arms, what he can see is just serving to tease him when he looks at your chest that's barely covered above the nips.

And then when you're both up late, you don't mind walking around in your sleepwear too much, the classic one of his shirts and some underwear. It goes barely past your fingertips when your arms are down and he's walking around shirtless, feeling your eyes linger on his low riding sweats and happy trail. He knows you're looking and pretends not to notice, accepting the hug where he can almost imagine what it would be like for your lips to kiss his skin after they brush against him.

He would be teased ruthlessly when you get up from cuddling on the couch and Vince refuses to move for a couple extra minutes, catching an earful from Bo when you leave the room. Its not like you couldn't feel the little bit of a hard on you gave him though, it's just unfortunate for him you're not the only one who noticed.

As you got closer to your first time with him you could feel him get a little bolder, sighing against your skin and ever so softly brushing his lips against the back of your neck, his hands holding you close against him while he's behind you in the kitchen. He'll feel just below your chest while you don't have a bra on to feel the soft squish on the back of his hands before he leaves you to go downstairs.

-💙

Blue you are too good to me let me smooch you five hundred times please ily also I’m laying down my life for yours too no questions asked

You managed to make me feel that ache of longing that Vincent feels while he’s pining after you and it’s so raw and deep down—he craves you viscerally, wants nothing more than to finally, finally, have you under him in his bed so he can show you just how much he desires you.

The need just grows from a soft little nudge in the back of his mind to an overwhelming sense of urgency. He’s not sure where you stand on everything, and he’s not exactly in a position to try and woo you (he is a murderous non-ethical artist after all), so this goes on for far too long. To the point where everyone in the house feels the tension between the two of you—even Jonesy. So he’ll take your platonic cuddles and touches, because thats all he feels like he’s ever going to get.

Vincent has a near-constant hard on around you, and of course Bo notices it because he’s Bo, and he’ll definitely tease his brother about it, telling him to just go for it already (even though Bo is wildly into you as well).

So poor Vinny has to endure until you confess to him in no uncertain terms that you’re into him regardless of the murders or the house of wax or anything. It’s unconditional and pure and he’s certain he doesn’t deserve it. But that first kiss just blows him out of the water and his cravings will go up by ten.

God imagine the first time having sex with him. It would be so intense and emotional and so so so good 😭😭😭

[ginazmemeoir]

Since it's Krishna's birthday I couldn't help but write his birth story. So here y'all go, you're welcome. Oh also fun fact about Janmashtami : it always rains tonight. It might be just a drizzle, but it always rains tonight.

Devaki’s screams rent the air as she pushed and kept pushing. This was the eighth time she was giving birth to someone. The prison guards could hardly be bothered, and instead laughed at her like hyenas, their mere gazes leaving marks on her skin. Vasudev covered the prison bars with a flimsy cloth, and went back to assist his wife.

She was crying when Vasudev returned back. He bent down by her side, supporting her, and was about to go in front to assist with the delivery when Devaki squeezed his hand and stopped him. Panting, she said, “I don’t know if I want this child Vasudev.” Vasudev was stunned upon Devaki’s proclamation. She had given birth seven times, all sons, and six times had watched them being murdered by her own brother, the brother who had loved her more than any brother could love a sister. The seventh time, Vasudev had quietly given the baby to his first wife Rohini and instructed her to head to Gokul, where his friend Nanda lived. They had simply lied to Kansa and cited that Devaki had miscarried.

How cruel fate was. The couple had watched six of their children murdered in front of them in cold blood, not even a day old. The seventh, they did not know of his fate. Of his first words or his favourite food or the way he laughed. And yet, this eighth child carried hope. This child would be their salvation. Devaki continued “I cannot bear to watch another child snatched away like that Vasudev. Please I’d rather this child die on my womb, or I die while giving birth so at least I don’t have to watch him die. Please Vasudev, I cannot do this anymore” cried Devaki, tears raining down her once lustrous bronze skin, her once luxurious locks lying limp and lifeless by her side like her soul. “No Devaki. I cannot imagine the pain you endure, each time you push another life from inside you, but know this – this child is our salvation. This child is the reason six of our children were murdered. This child is the reason we sent our seventh son into hiding. This child is the reason we have wasted away in this prison for years. Devaki this child must live. Our child must live to avenge the deaths of our children. To avenge us. This child must live if the universe carries even a shred of mercy for us. For Devaki I would sooner kill both of us than watch another child tortured by your brother.” Vasudev’s eyes burned with an intensity Devaki hadn’t seen in a long time. Most of the time they were sad or scared, reminiscing their past. Their married bliss had ended the day it began, with her brother imprisoning them over a prophecy. Vasudev’s words breathed new life into Devaki. She would not let this child die. She would live. She would make sure the child lived. And she would make sure she heard her brother whimpering in agony as her child crushed his skull open.

The gods had given a prophecy. Devaki and Vasudev’s eighth child would be the death of Kansa. And Devaki did not want to prove the gods as petty liars.

With a final push and a scream, that was thankfully masked by a loud thunderclap, Devaki expelled her child out. Vasudev cut the umbilical cord with a flint stone he had dipped in cheap somaras which he had stolen from the guards yesterday, and cradled the child in his arms, lying beside Devaki, giving this child his parents’ touch one final time, the shared breath and heat warming him. He was dark, dark as the rainclouds that had gathered over the entirety of Brijbhumi that day, as the moonlit night that held secrets and wonder. A small glow emanated from his body, barely lighting his immediate surroundings. The couple kept looking at their son, prerplexed, and the baby looked back at them. He had big soft eyes, and instead of crying, he just looked up at them and gave a small laugh, reaching to grab his mother’s hair. Devaki’s tears fell on his face, as she kissed his forehead and hugged him tight. She then looked at Vasudev, and they understood what had to be done. Vasudev took the baby, and opened his prison door. Turns out if you get drunk with the guards ever so often, they don’t notice things like missing keys.

Vasudev stepped out, and half thought that he and his son were going to be hacked into pieces, but the entire cellar was quiet. The whole world seemed to hold its breath, time itself felt suspended. Only minutes ago the guards were cackling, and yet they now slept a deep slumber. Vasudev quickly stole a dagger, and placed the baby in the laundromat’s basket, covering him with a heavy warm cloth. He exited the prison quarters and entered into Indra’s wrath. The clouds overhead boomed with thunder, and rain covered everything as far as the eye could see. Unperturbed, Vasudev kept walking eastwards, until he reached the Yamuna. He looked for a boat, searching the banks of the usually idyllic river, which now coursed with the strength and vigour of the mighty Saraswati, and yet found no boat to carry him and his son. Time was running out, and his son’s life outweighed a safe passage for him, he could already imagine Kansa’s men running towards him. Vasudev then did the only thing he could – let the river decide his life. He walked into the river, determined to reach the other side. The yojana wide river divided Mathura and its outskirts from the countryside – where his son was to find sanctuary. Vasudev kept walking, and the Yamuna’s waters kept rising and rising. The heavy rain pelted Vasudev, and he kept his swaddled baby on his head in his basket. The spaces between the bamboo basket refused water from filling in. Somehow, he reached the middle, when he felt the water threatening to reach his chin, the river hell bent on drowning him and his son. No mere river was going to stop the descendant of the mighty Shuri, the prince of the Vrishnis today though. Vasudev held his breath and kept swimming forward, the basket safely above the surface of water. Surprisingly, there were no crocodiles in the river. Vasudev had only swam a bit further when the river level started lowering and lowering, until it reached his waist. Vasudev was perplexed, the river was usually the deepest at this point, then why did it suddenly lower down to below his waist? Lost in his thoughts, Vasudev almost missed the giant creature slithering towards him, and that is when he realized he and his infant son were about to be devoured by a sea monster that liked toying with its prey. The creature reached Vasudev, its smooth obsidian scales emitting a green glow, extending to its full length, spreading out its thousand hoods and shielding Vasudev and his son from the merciless rain. Had he not known better, Vasudev would’ve thought it was Adi Shesha, the thousand hooded snake, upon whose infinite coils Narayana rested. Time was running out, and Vasudev picked up speed, the serpentine creature slithering along. Climbing out of the river, he kept picking through the wilderness and hamlets, the creature’s presence scaring off any hungry predators.

At last, Vasudev glimpsed the village of Gokul. Overjoyed, Vasudev rushed down the hillock, which was dotted here and there by the occasional cow. He entered the safety of the village, his frayed nerves calming down, and started searching for Nanda’s home. Even though he was the village chief, his house was tough to spot, the only thing differentiating it from others was a larger gateway and a bigger courtyard. Surprisingly, Nanda was already standing at the gates, waiting for him. Vasudev rushed up to him, and began to speak when Nanda asked, “Vasudev, how did you come here? How are you barely wet?” Vasudev looked behind him, and found the creature had returned. Maybe it was scared of society? “There’s no time for that Nanda. I have come to entrust my last son to you,” said Vasudev, as he hastened to enter Nanda’s home. There was a lantern in front of each room, and the large house was empty except for the cows in the outside stables. Vasudev kept searching along the corridor, until he found Nanda’s wife’s room. He expected to see his elder son sleeping with her, but instead found her snoring loudly, with a baby lying beside her. Vasudev quietly placed his son beside her. The baby started crying, clutching onto his father even as he laid him on the bed. Vasudev quietly removed his hand from his grip, and sang him a lullaby. It was about a bee returning to its hive after a busy day in the meadow. He had never got a chance to sing this lullaby before. Devaki and he and spent each day perfecting it in prison. The baby quietened and went to sleep, and Vasudev left, his vision blurry, when he was stopped by Nanda. “Wait here.” he said. Nanda then returned from his wife’s room, his baby with him, and handed it over to Vasudev. “Here you go Vasudev. You may take my daughter home with you.” Vasudev looked at Nanda with disgust. Was his friend so lowly that in favour of a son he would condemn his daughter to the confines of a prison, frequented by a monster that would kill her the moment he got to know? “I know what you were thinking, and I would never do that Vasu” said Nanda, sensing his friend’s thoughts. “Yashoda gave birth to her yesterday, and hasn’t seen her since. I took her to Goddess Gauri’s temple the same day, to seek her blessings. I can’t explain what happened Vasu, but I heard Gauri. She spoke to me and she instructed me to give her to you when you came. Why do you think I was waiting for you outside?” “Oh come on Nanda, you’re just making up stories now.” said Vasudev, even more repulsed now. “Why would I lie Vasu? Is this what you think of me, a murderer? Trust me Vasu, Gauri Devi spoke to me, she told me to give my daughter to you! Who are we to defy the will of the gods?” Nanda reassured him.

“The gods don’t care about us Nanda. They stopped existing for me when they made me watch my sons’ heads being bashed against walls or crushed by hammers. But even so I will take your daughter. Maybe Kansa might spare a girl?”

Saying so, Vasudev took Nanda’s daughter and vanished into the night, heading back to his prison. Even though the babe wasn’t his, he had already named her – Maya – after this night, an illusion, a reality that felt like a dream. He did not know what fate awaited this girl, but at least his boy was safe for now.

Maybe the gods did have a plan. A plan that was tucked away under Yashoda’s arms in the tiny hamlet of Gokul, snuggling against the only mother he would ever know.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Frigid.

Pairing: Yandere!Rosaria/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.5k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Modern AU, Non-Con, Semi-Public Sex, Drug Use, Toxic Relationships, Victim-Blaming, Implied Past Assult, Dissociation.

Touching Rosaria was like touching ice.

Or, like having ice touch you, at least. She didn’t like it when you touched her – if she did, she wouldn’t have her hand clamped around your wrist, right now, there wouldn’t be a chill washing over your skin, inching towards your chest, making your heart beat a little faster every time the threat of frostbite began to seem more like a strong possibility than a distant fantasy. It was jarring, really, compared to the heat of the bodies around you, dancing and moving and sweltering, despite how crowded the club felt, despite how much you wished they would stop. You’d been the one who wanted to come, you were the one who usually liked this kind of thing, but suddenly, the music was too loud, everyone was too close, you could still feel your last drink burning at the back of your throat. It was all too much. It was all too hot.

Except Rosaria, of course. Never Rosaria.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt warm, around her.

She was sticking close to the walls, thankfully. You were glad you’d chosen a smaller club, easier for Rosaria to navigate as she dragged you across the cramped space. It was too dark to see where she was going, darker than it usually was, but you didn’t mind letting her pull you along. You were used to it, the graceless way she pushed through couples and groups and inebriated patrons, the quiet apologies you let out as you followed her, how easy your own feet were to trip over as the bright, flashing lights and the sour flavor coating your tongue made it more and more difficult to think. It was almost a relief when she found what she was looking for – the side exit, the one you liked to use whenever you got too overwhelmed. It was sweet that she’d thought to use it tonight, too, even if you couldn’t remember telling her about your little escape route.

The alleyway it opened into was narrow, just as dark and just as stifling as the club, but the music wasn’t as loud, the air wasn’t as choking, and more importantly, you were able to collapse into Rosaria, burying your head in your chest as she caught you by the shoulders, begrudgingly accepting your clumsy affection. She didn’t like being touched, but you really liked touching her. It made sense that she’d make an exception for you, in the moment, at least. She always made an exception for you.

“Rosey,” You started, slurring the nickname into something near-incomprehensible. There was a tap to your shoulder, a row of blunt nails skirting across bare skin. In the back of your mind, you wondered if she was mad at you. “I can’t… It’s too warm, Rosey. My head hurts.”

“Obviously.” Her tone was lighter than it usually was, more playful. Not quite patient, not yet, but more sympathetic than she usually bothered to be. Like she was talking to a child, rather than a friend. Like the two of you hadn’t already done this a hundred times. “You overdid it, princess. You’re drunk.”

You shook your head, absent-mindedly. You didn’t feel drunk. You felt… dizzy. Out of it. Disoriented in such a way that meant trying to find out why you were struggling to keep your balance only made you more likely to fall. “You had more than I did,” You mumbled, because it was true. You knew how Rosaria could be. You’d wanted to be good, tonight, even if she claimed to be content nursing her third glass of wine. “’s not fair. I’m don’t even feel that—”

“You’re always so careless, too,” She said, cutting you off. Speaking over you, like you’d never said anything at all. Her grip tightened, and you backed away, pressing yourself against the nearest wall. Rosaria didn’t let go. “Drinking so much, staying out so late… It’s a miracle you haven’t learned your lesson, yet. I’m a little surprised no one’s ever taken advantage of you.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. The wall was unpainted, uneven, bare cement and little else. It hurt to touch, to lean against, especially with Rosaria resting her weight on you. It hurt to move, when you finally thought to fidget. “You're being mean,” You whispered, and her hand fell to your hip. Your dress was too thin, too tight. It felt like you were bleeding out in a snowbank. “Would someone really do that?”

“I would.” She was too close. She was too cold. You didn’t find the constant chill comforting, anymore. “In a heartbeat. Especially after you start acting like such a fucking tease.”

You wanted to go home. There was something pounding in the back of your skull, now, throbbing, blocking out whatever Rosaria might’ve said, making it impossible to process anything but the black dots fraying at the edges of your vision and Rosaria’s lips, chapped and painted red and on your neck, the corner of your jaw, only lingering for a moment before her teeth dug into your jugular and you screamed, the shrill sound immediately cut short by a palm against your mouth, keeping you quiet despite the little whimpers you let out as she pulled back, allowing something warm to run over your skin and pool near your collarbone. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it would get on your dress, if it would leave a stain. You wondered if she would apologize, when it did.

“Spoiled little brat,” She growled, nearly under her breath. Her grip loosened, Rosaria shifting, but any reprieve was short-lived, quickly replaced by two fingers pressed into your tongue and a row of nails clawing at your waist, pulling at your skirt, leaving you to gag and whimper as ice-cold fingertips dug into your thigh, cold enough to leave you trembling. She wasn’t holding you, not really, not tightly enough to call it restraint, but your body felt weak, your legs were shaking, and you couldn’t imagine trying to run. You couldn’t imagine trying to stand. You were almost thankful for the knee she forced between your thighs, for the trace of stability she thought to offer. You wanted to be thankful. You were trying to be thankful. “No talking, alright? I need you to keep quiet. Can you do that for me?”

Right. Obviously. Rosaria was so smart. She always knew what to do, so she must’ve been right, and she was so kind, too, letting her fingers slip out of your mouth as soon as you offered her the small, eager nod she was looking for. You were glad she was wearing leather, a jacket a size too big and pants that clung to her like a second skin – it gave you something tangible to hold onto, something to hide your face in, even if you hated the texture, the sound, the way it felt under you as she cupped your pussy and some thin piece of fabric tore, forcing you to shy into her just a little more. You almost asked why. If she didn't like your dress, she could’ve just told you. If she didn’t like you, she could’ve said so in a way that didn’t make you feel so…

So bad.

“You said you were hot.” Rosaria was talking before you could, though, explaining herself. Why was she allowed to talk? Part of you wavered, flickered, realized that she wasn’t being fair, that she wasn’t being nice, but Rosaria was good at this kind of thing. She must’ve known something you didn’t. That’d make sense. She knew a lot of stuff, compared to the handful of foggy ideas that separated your mind from total oblivion. “I’m just helping you out. You’re not stupid enough to turn down help, are you?”

You shook your head. You weren’t, even if she chuckled at your meek response, even if you couldn’t see how grinding her hand into your cunt could help you feel anything but hot, like you’d been in the sun for an hour too long. Like you were being burnt alive, and Rosaria was the one stoking the flames.

Your thoughts were spinning, now, twisting, spiraling, the need to shut your eyes and make it stop almost overshadowing the slick building up between your legs, that awful, sticky feeling that made you squirm, holding Rosaria tighter and attempting to weakly push her away at the same time. The embarrassment was palpable, that nagging sense of shame, only made worse by Rosaria’s huff of a laugh, by the lingering sensation of her teeth ghosting over your skin and the way you jolted into her, anything intelligent you might’ve said replaced by a small, submissive whimper. It was embarrassing. You wanted it to stop. You wanted her to stop.

But, she didn’t. She wouldn't. You couldn't force her to.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to ask.

It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like much of anything, honestly, as her fingers slipped below the black lace of your panties, as she toyed with your clit and drank in those pathetic sounds you might’ve thought someone else was making, if your own voice hadn’t been so recognizable. Your body was too numb, your nerves already too burnt, Rosaria’s chest too cold where it pressed against yours, like your life depended on little more than ice and sleet. It didn’t feel good, but your face must’ve been flushed, your pupils blown out, your scrunched expression littered with hints that you were in anything but agony. Rosaria sounded smug. She wouldn’t sound like that, not unless you gave her a reason to. She wouldn’t do that to you, not unless she thought you deserved it.

“For fuck’s sake,” She drawled, slowly, like she didn’t have anywhere better to be. She didn’t have anywhere better to be. She wouldn’t have bothered to spend time with you, otherwise. “You’re already so damn wet. If I’d known you’d be this needy, I wouldn't have bothered with the fucking pills.”

You opened your mouth, but you were barely able to get out a strangled cry before something was inside of you, your panties pushed to the side and two long fingers scissoring you open, too quickly, too suddenly, too violently. It was like she’d broken a dam, like some necessary barrier had been crossed and crushed, like everything you’d lacked, earlier, everything your mind had been merciful enough to block out came flooding in for the first time. There was the sting, tight and tearing and impatient, but there was pleasure, too, something beyond awareness, something beyond discomfort. It was a fire, smoldering and invasive, and you didn’t like it. You didn’t like the way your hips bucked to meet her hand, or the new weight behind your eyes, or her smirk, her smile, her self-satisfied sneer. You didn’t like that she was happy. You didn’t like that you were in pain, and she was happy. If you were being honest with yourself, you might’ve been able to admit you didn’t like Rosaria at all, right now.

“S-Stop, Rosey, it hurts—” She had a pattern, now, a tangible pace, a vengeance you wished you'd never provoked. She must’ve hated you. She must’ve. You couldn’t think of another reason she’d curl her fingers like that, another reason she’d abuse every sensitive spot that made you whine and tremble and tense-up, another reason she’d be so mean, especially to you, especially now, especially here. It wouldn’t even matter if you made noise, if you cried out, if you screamed. It couldn’t be louder than your rapid heartbeat, your racing pulse, the wet clicks that only got worse as Rosaria slipped a third finger in and left you to clench around her, too humiliated to care about the slight pain. “Please, I don’t wanna—”

“What did I say about talking?” She was being cold again, ruthless, but it was a playful sort of cruelness, her tone just lilted enough to make you feel guilty for trying to convince yourself she was such a monster. “You don’t want to what? Sit pretty and let me do all the work? Stand there and cum?” There was a laugh, a flick of her wrist, and the heel of her hand came up to grind against your clit. Instantly, you wished you’d never said anything at all. “Do it. Make yourself useful, for once. Cum.”

You didn’t want to. You really, really, really didn’t want to, but there was nothing you could do to stave it off, to get away from it, to keep your knees from buckling or your body from going rigid or Rosaria from kissing you, stifling the breathy moan that threatened to spill out between choked sobs and quiet pleas for her to stop. At least she was gentle about it, as gentle as she could be, pointed canines barely cutting at your lips, a cloud of lingering cigarette smoke barely choking you, her touch barely forceful enough to bruise, as she cupped your cheek with her free hand, tilting your head back and encouraging you to lean into the gesture.

It was almost sweet, how she lingered, how she didn’t pull away until after the aftershocks had faded, until you’d stopped trying to resist, until you were too tired to do anything but collapse into her when she let you go, catching you the moment you threatened to fold into yourself. It was a small mercy. You didn’t want to spend the rest of the night on the ground, sobbing yourself to sleep in some dark, claustrophobic alley. You didn’t want to do that. You didn’t want to be here.

You just wanted to be with Rosaria. You just wanted to be anywhere else, with her.

“Rosey,” you tried, testing the waters. You tried to blink, to stand up on your own, but your eyelids felt heavy, you felt heavy. Rosaria only hummed, in response, snaking an arm around your waist. Already, you were struggling to remember why you couldn’t stand. You were struggling to remember why it hurt so much, when you tried to. “I… I’m not having fun, anymore. Can we go home?”

“You’re lucky I like you, princess.” You were. She was such a good friend, and she always came out drinking with you, and she always took care of you the day afterward, too, when you were sore and hungover and, more often than not, too bruised and battered to get out of bed. Even if the kiss she pressed into the top of your head made you shiver, even if the ghost of her icy breath made your skin crawl, even if a part of you was still begging to keep her at a distance, you were lucky to have her. You were thankful you had her, thankful enough to ignore how low her hands dipped as she held you up, thankful enough to stop yourself from thinking about the slick dripping down your thighs, and the cut on the side of your neck, and the chalk coating your tongue, tasteless and unremarkable, but not completely unfamiliar.

Thankful enough to look up at her and smile, as she finally sapped away the last of your warmth.

“Let’s go home.”

[wkemeup]

Closure

summary: Y/n finds the closure she’s been searching for.  pairings: bucky x reader warnings: grief, the end of the series a/n: ok guys, we’re at the end. I hope you enjoy the final installment in this series. Thanks for all the love and support! 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

You didn’t realize you were lingering in the back seat of the taxi until the driver cleared his throat, gesturing to the expired meter. Vision coming back into focus, you turned to find Bucky holding the door open for you, a pinch in his brow of concern. Sunlight danced down from over his shoulders, the cool breeze slipping through his hair. Hanging from the reflective onyx of his left hand was a bouquet of flowers.  

“Coming, sweetheart?” Patience coated Bucky’s voice, a gentle smile on his lips.  

You spared a short glance to the driver whose eyes met you in the rearview mirror – unreadable and impatient as he tapped his fingers on dashboard. You muttered out a quick apology and took Bucky’s hand. The air was crisp against your skin, the smell of freshly cut grass and the chirp of birds lingering around you. It had been a while since you’d ventured this far out of the city, to the town you’d grown up in.  

Bucky’s right hand felt sturdy against your own – something real and tangible – as he tugged you forward beyond what your feet allowed. He offered a squeeze as you stepped onto the cobblestone path. You tried not to look at the sea of tombstones around you or the flowers planted at the head of the graves. Ribbons propped up on iron stands and wreaths honoring fallen heroes.  

You followed the familiar path, weaving through pathways and following a guide you’d thought was long forgotten. Bucky didn’t say a word as he allowed you to lead him through the cemetery, but you could feel his gaze lingering on the headstones bearing remembrance ribbons. A soft, saddened smile ghosted his lips.  

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped walking or that you’d found your destination until Bucky squeezed your hand again.  

Riley’s name stared back at you. Etched in stone, barely weathered since its marbling. A garland hung around the headstone, likely courteous of Riley’s mother judging by the stunning arrays of pinks and reds in the flowering. A gold ribbon sat at its base. You didn’t allow your eyes to drift to the dates listed under Riley's name, to be reminded of the dash that connected the year he was born to the one that stole him away. He was so young... so young... 

Bucky nudged the bouquet into your grip, but you clenched your hand to a fist, unable to take it. If he was thrown by it, you couldn’t tell. Instead, you felt the warm touch of his lips press to your hairline before he knelt down over Riley’s grave and set the flowers under his name.  

Bucky took his time returning to you. His right hand still entangled in yours, though the metal of his left rested at the top of the headstone as if laying upon a shoulder. You could see his lips moving, a breath of a laugh in his voice, though you couldn’t tell what he was saying.  

When he was finished, Bucky brushed the blades of grass from his knees. “Do you want some time alone?” 

You shook your head. You hadn’t been to the grave since the funeral and Sam had barely been able to keep you upright then. You’d hoped it would be easier with Bucky at your side, but a paralyzing guilt swarmed in and plagued through your body— physical as it warped in your stomach, your entire body clenched as if it were made of stone. 

“Is this wrong?” you whispered, a tear slipping over your cheek. The breeze kissed it away. “Do you think... Is it wrong of me to bring you here? Would he... Would he be angry with me for—” 

“No,” Bucky replied sincerely. He gathered you into his arms, the firm pressure of his left holding you steady as the gentle embrace of the right ran soothing patterns along your spine. “No, sweetheart. If Riley was anywhere close to the man you’ve told me about, I know he’d want you to be happy. He wouldn’t want you to close yourself off to the world for his sake. I know that if things were reversed, I wouldn’t want that for you, either.” 

You nodded into Bucky’s chest, daring a glimpse at the headstone as you held him tightly against you.  

“He’s a part of you. I understand that,” Bucky eased, no trace of jealousy on his tongue. “I’m honored that you asked me to come with you, that you wanted me to meet him. I owe Riley a lot. I owe him my life, I think.” 

You squeezed your hold around Bucky’s waist, understanding. Without Riley, you would have never crossed Bucky’s path, never would have met in the empty library at the VA or got coffee at Luciana’s or fallen in love under the oak tree in the park. You shuddered to think about what would have become of him if he’d never left his apartment that day, if he’d kept himself holed up for an eternity, blind to the light.  

“It’s a selfish thought, I know,” Bucky admitted. “I hope wherever he is, he knows that you’re safe. That you’re taken care of and loved. Riley was a good man, Y/n. He deserved to come home. He... He deserved this life.” 

The life Bucky currently had.  

He didn’t say it aloud, but you knew that was what he meant.  

The truth was, you weren’t certain if you and Riley would have made it together, even if he did come home from his second tour. He would have wanted to go back again and you would have let him, just to see him smile through the video screen. His nights at home would have been spent in agony.  

Riley was a good man. A man determined to fight for his country, even if it cost him everything. Including you.  

“He would have liked you,” you mumbled into Bucky’s sweater.  

“I fell in love with his girl,” Bucky chuckled. “I’m not too sure about that.” 

A smile lifted your cheeks, settling a hand against his chest to lift your gaze to his. Blue eyes shined back at you. 

“You were right, though.” The smile that graced Bucky’s lips was enough to ease the tension in your muscles. You felt the breeze nip at your ankles, drawing you closer to his embrace. “You make me happy. Riley would have liked you on that alone.” 

Bucky kissed at your temple as you turned to face Riley’s name upon the stone. The flowers danced against the gust of wind as it picked up a petal fallen at the roots. You watched as it swirled up into the air, spinning and fluttering as it were simply made to fly.

“We should head over to Sam’s before dinner gets cold,” you said after some time.  

“He’d have our heads,” Bucky agreed, a laugh in his chest purring against your ear.  

He started to lead you back to the road, but he stopped when he felt your hesitancy. Your eyes were drawn on the headstone, lingering. Bucky's lips grazed the crown of your head as he pulled away from you, stepping back as he nudged where you needed to go.  

You sighed, taking the last few steps up to Riley’s grave alone. Slowly, you bent to your knees, placing a tentative hand over the grass. Six feet below, you hoped it still laid over his heart. You closed your eyes, your fingers curling into the warm comfort of sun soaked greenery.  

There weren’t words to convey what you’d wanted to tell him in that moment.  

The aching of his loss. The regret you felt when you’d allowed him to leave. The missteps in your relationship.  

The love you would always carry for him. The gratitude in leading you to Bucky. The healing you’d learned by befriending Sam. The gifts he’d given you in his absence.  

The pink petal that had been twirling amongst the breeze landed on your fingertips. The feather light sensation of it nearly slipped your notice. Tears slid over your cheeks, though they were born of a bittersweet relief. You turned your hand over to gently grasp the petal in your hold, running your fingers over the smooth edges.  

Sensing Bucky’s eyes on you, the pride beaming on his face, you tucked the petal into your pocket. He extended a hand to you and when you rose, you didn’t feel the weight pushing down on your shoulders. The presence of the petal in your pocket granted you its lightness.  

And as Bucky’s hand wrapped around yours, you felt the gentle push of the breeze as it drifted you closer to his embrace.  

[onihitokuchi]

moments (K. H.)

A/N: Hello, everybody. I know, I said I needed some time off of Tumblr until the end of my exams. But I guess life had other plans! If you´re curious about the circumstances, and how I found my inspiration for this, you can read my little rant at the bottom of this post. It´s just a little short something my mind came up with. Please don´t expect too much.

(I don´t own Naruto nor the characters in this story except for my own characters.)

Words: 693

TW: blood, death, loss of a loved one

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He knew life had been hard on her for the last few months.

The war had ended and Konoha was on its way to being rebuilt. It was a time of something new, of something unknown, but something exciting nonetheless.

And as Kakashi strolled through the broken village - welcoming the warm evening sun that kissed his face - he could practically feel the relief and happiness of all the citizens that littered the streets to clean and repair the shops on both sides.

The loud chatter and laughs seemed to get carried with him as he walked out of the village center. A small smile hid beneath his mask. Even his own contentment had been unmissable in the last few days. He knew that everything would be ok in the end, he always had known.

But as the Shinobi finally reached his final destination for the day, his happy thoughts vanished from sight. His shoulders fell and a sigh escaped him as he saw the familiar silhouette of the small woman in front of the memorial.

The new memorial that had recently been put up, for all the lost lives in the fourth war. And as he watched the woman, her back hunched over and her eyes fixed on the grass below her feet, the memories from the day the end of the war was declared rushed back into his mind. Every single moment.

He remembered that exhausted but grateful smile that had graced the woman´s face while she looked at him. He had stood next to her in the final moments - both had promised to protect one another at any cost. And he still remembers how fast her heart had been beating against his chest as she engulfed him in that bone-crushing hug, as the realization had finally settled in.

A hug that had shown so much emotion, a hug with so much love. He´ll never forget that one moment. The moment that had shown him what he really wants in his life - what he needs.

Yet, everything had to crumble down once more.

He was bewitched, he knew that. Kakashi was followed by death - he had been all his life. The feeling of loss and grief and everything in between had been a standard for him in all of his existence. He thought he was used to it.

But he couldn´t quite explain why it had hurt so much worse, watching the woman break down in front of him, the blood of her family coloring her face as she cradled the body of her little brother in her arms. He still can´t explain where the woman had found the force to let out such a blood-curling scream that haunted him at night.

The only thing he had been capable of at that moment, was to watch her weeping in agony. His lung felt empty, his heart heavy, and his eyes burned. And he didn't want - no, he couldn't think about how she felt at this exact moment.

Because he knew, that this was nothing anybody had ever felt, or thought, or seen before. Nobody had nor would ever feel like she did at the point where she lost everything. Just how nobody would ever feel the same as him at the time his fist had rushed through Rin´s chest, or as he had to leave Obito behind. Alone.

The fallen leaves crunched under his feet as he strode over to the lone woman. Kakashi now understood what someone meant when they would say that people become only a shadow of what they used to be when they lose someone dear to them.

No greeting from either side could be heard as both silently stood next to each other. Still, he understood her even without any exchange of words.

His arm wrapped around her side, his hand only ghosting over the woman´s waist. He knew that now was the time, that he would have to offer his comfort to her. Just like she had done all these years now.

And as her hand found his one, their fingers interlocking, he knew he would be there for her.

Every single moment.

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Soo... These last few months were really hard for me. I had a lot of stress because of all the learning I did and then I sadly also lost a dear person. It was not immediate family, still, it hurts. I needed some time off from learning and everything that went around, so I decided to write a little something in hope of it helping me grief.

And it helped. At least a little bit. It will be better someday, I know it will. But things, especially things like this, need time.

For anybody in a similar situation: I feel for, and with you. And if anybody needs to talk about anything, I always have an open ear.

Love to you all. <3