#and without drops in it the bucket would be empty

[sensenmaedchen]

I don't even have it in me to apologize for getting "political". Trump essentially wants the population to be worked to death, growing uncontrolled and getting STDs without affordable medical treatment.

Don't forget to vote, wherever you live.

[yovrnewromantic]

𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐆𝐔𝐘

Benjicot Blackwood x reader

Ben was known for his brutality, receiving the name Bloody Ben from his opponents, but in your hands, he turns to putty. 💌 Based on a tiktok I saw where Ben was shy in the books

Looking that good while swinging a sword is cruel.

It’s borderline criminal how his biceps flex when he lurches forward. The way his eyes glint when he sees the first drop of blood and the absolute beast he becomes when he strikes down on his opponent sends a shiver down your spine.

Lowly grunts fly from Benjicot’s mouth countering his rival’s loud groans. The sound of metal clashing vibrates through the open air, atmosphere. Despite the fighting happening at the moment, it is clear to see that Ben is the better fighter— his harsh blows and agility unmatched. One last exchange has Ben’s foot flying to the center of his competitors armored chest, sending him flopping backwards straight onto his ass.

Applauds were immediate from the small crowd that had formed around the sparring match.

Underneath the attention, Ben flushes, waving at those around him embarrassedly.

You grin, heart full as Ben stares at his feet, approaching the steps where you reside. Leaning against the railing, looking down at him, you can’t help the taunt that slides off your tongue, like poison disguised honey. “Good job, Benny.”

His doe eyes look up at from the steps, the sweetness of your voice easing the tremble in his bones from his post-fight high. Boys have had their jaws broken for using that nickname, but he would never do that to you. Not you. Never you.

When you say it, it makes his blood run hot underneath his skin. Just being in your presence is a thrill, ten times over when compared to fighting. Trying to respond, he clears his throat, hand clenching the handle of his sword as he tries to untangle his tongue and respond to you without making a proper fool of himself. “I— thank you, uh, my lady.”

Ben clamps his eyes shut in shame.

Hunming melodically, you take a peak at the swarms of people behind you, chatting idle. As most know, hesitation was not in your nature. Without a second thought, you snag an empty pail of water. Taking a step down to become eye level, you tilt your head innocently, shaking the bucket on your wrist. “Would you mind escorting me to the well? I’m supposed to fetch some water and I’d much prefer not to do it alone.”

“Oh,” he says, almost disappointed by your offer. At least he gets to hang out with you! he thinks. When you raise a calculated brow, your words dawn on him. “Ohh, of course, my lady,” he blushes, offering an arm.

Your hand grips the meat of his bicep as you saunter past his beaten opponents and warriors unto the path to the woods. The walk isn’t far, daylight guiding your way to the tree line rather than a lantern on your wrist.

Sneaking around with Benji was becoming commoner and commoner. His presence shifting from a want to a need.

As you grow older, the risk of you two being betrothed to another becomes slimmer, seeing as your parents had solidified their place in his court so any rumors that may circulate your virtue no longer mind you.

The silence is comfortable as the pair of you are overtaken by a forest of dark green. Branches snap underneath your feet. Ahead you see two noble women talking together, and walking your way. When they walk past you, they giggle.

One look at Ben and you can see his anticipation rising— his cheeks flushed red, finger rhythmically tapping against his steel chest, and the swift glimpses he takes at the side of your face.

“We’re not alone,” you snide. Benji’s eyebrows furrow and he shoots a look behind him. He opens his mouth to refute, but the words are swallowed by your tongue when you grip his chin and pull him closer.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t restrain the whimper that shrivels up his throat. His hands fumble against your soft skin as your hands push his chest, his back slapping against the bark of a tree.

While your tongue fights for dominance, Benji’s fights to get the taste of you out of your own mouth.

There’s something so addictive about you that Ben doesn’t quite understand. He had felt this way his entire life yet he had only just began to have the grace of kissing you this year.

A stupid part of his thought it would dim this overwhelming feeling to be near you, sedate the heart which you had already stolen, but instead, it heightened it.

Courage, similar to the one he gets from alcohol— when he first was brave enough to kiss you — powers him to grip the curve of your waist and slam your body into his. Your moan encourages him to flip you, your back pressing into the tree.

His hand finds a way under your skirt and the pads of his fingers dig into your exposed thigh, pulling it to meet with his hip bone. He doesn’t want any space between you. He wants you two to be one. Forever intertwined. He really needed to propose your betrothal.

He smells like moon water, blood, and sweat. It only makes you tug his hair harder.

Not far from you, a throat clears.

As your heart momentarily stops, Benji’s lips are separated from yours in an instant.

A boy not much younger than you, awkwardly stands, his cheeks pink with embarrassment for coming across your endeavor.

Before you can blink and before the boy can even speak, Ben has the tip of his sword to his throat, the edge of the silver pressed onto his Adam’s apple. “Get the fuck out of here,” Benjicott sneers, “Or do I have to make you?”

Shaking with fear, the boy shakes his head, eyes wide like a deer and dashing like one when the sword is off his throat and seethed back into Ben’s holster.

Then, he turns to you, a cocky smile on his lips as his hands move to grip your hips. “Now, where were we?”

Giggling, your hand pushes his cheek away from your face, making him stumble in his footing. He pouts, watching as you step off the tree and pull a leaf from your skirt. You tilt your head at the leaf before giddily biting your lip and pulling Ben back in by the collar. His eyes light up, expecting another kiss, but when he closes his eyes, all he feels is your fingers filtering through his hair.

His eyes flutter open when you smack a wet kiss on his cheek. Ben watches you walk away, skirt swaying. Leaves crunch underneath you as you continue down the dirt path to the well, basket throttling in your arm as you disappear and reappear between trees. Dumbly, he touches the spot where you kissed him.

The tip of his finger catches a crunch by his ear. Swiftly, he grabs the object. The leaf looks small and withered in his palm. He can only imagine how much of an idiot he looked like with a brown leaf tucked in his hair— the same space where you usually bury his gifted flowers in your own hair.

“Come on, Benny!” you call out, your sultry eyes finding him from just a glance over your shoulder.

Ben is quick to follow because who is he to oppose you?

ima be honest, i don’t what the fuck this is. this shit is so bad

not edited or proofread ❌ lowkey i refuse to believe in Davos Blackwood so…

Had this in my drafts. Leave me alone if this makes you want to throw up.

[obsesssedblerd]

According to Shiu Kong, this little assignment was supposed to be simple. You and your infuriatingly attractive work partner, Toji, infiltrate a formal dinner party to get information about a target that you’ll have to assassinate later on, and then sneak back out without being noticed. 

It was simple, until it wasn’t. 

One of the target’s bodyguards had been eyeing you and Toji carefully for the last hour, despite both of you blending in with the rest of the couples at the party. “Maybe it’s because we both look good,” he told you when you mentioned it earlier, gesturing to your red dress and his dark suit, but you weren’t so sure. 

During a speech, Toji places a hand on the small of your back, then leans over to whisper in your ear, “Time to go. He’s definitely on to us.” 

You raise a brow. “Oh, are you finally admitting that you’re wrong?” 

“Shut up and walk with me.” 

You roll your eyes, but walk when he takes your hand and leads you behind the crowd, both of dropping off your empty champagne glasses on a tray when you pass a waiter. When you two slip into one of the venue’s quiet hallways, you feel the bodyguard trailing behind you—a small distance away, but still nearby.

“The entire party will be filled with skilled assassins,” Shiu briefed you two before beginning the mission, “If you are caught, you will be greatly outnumbered, so make sure you don’t get caught.” 

Toji also knows that the bodyguard is following you two. You can tell by the way his mouth presses in a tight line. He’s thinking of a plan. The door that leads to the car you both arrived in was on the opposite side of where you are now. To get out safely would mean getting the bodyguard off of your trail. He turns left, then tugs you down another long hall that’s filled with multiple doors. He quietly opens one, then ushers you inside before getting in as well, shutting the door behind him. 

You bite back a yelp when your back immediately hits a wall. “Toji,” you whisper, “is this a closet?” 

“Yes. That guy will more than likely think we took the door that leads to the basement. All we have to do is hide here long enough for him to disappear, then go back the way we came.” 

The closet wasn’t cramped to the point of extreme discomfort, but it was still on the smaller side. You can tell from the faint smell of cleaner that it was where the custodians stored some of their supplies. The tiny, dim light bulb above of you both is your only source of light. When Toji sees your brows furrow, he scoffs, “What? Got a better idea?” 

“...Why didn’t we just take the staircase that went towards the side of the building when we left the party?” 

“Too many people, dumbass,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blink in surprise. “Do you really think he’s that idiot’s only bodyguard? What’s better? One person pursuing us, or multiple people pursuing us?” 

It takes a lot to remember that you’re supposed to be quiet. However, you’re pissed, and it doesn’t stop you from whisper-yelling, moving your hands around animatedly. “First of all, you empty-headed piece of shit,” you hiss through your teeth. “I said the side, not the front. The side entrance of the building was down the stairs. The door is literally at the bottom of the staircase. The bodyguard was on the other side of the party when we started walking. By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, we would’ve been gone.” 

Toji takes in your words, and the smugness fades from his eyes as he slowly makes the connection. Then, he exhales. “...Oh.” 

“Oh?” Now it’s you scoffing in disbelief. “Oh? That’s what you have to say? Didn’t you look at the fucking map that Shiu gave you of this place the other day?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, so I got the fuckass map mixed up. Cry about it later, let’s just get through this.” 

“Yeah, you always get shit mixed up and that’s why we always end up in dumb scenarios such as this one.” 

He glares at you. “Look, if you really think that—” When moving his hand, it knocks a bucket off of the shelf, and it clatters noisily to the ground. His eyes widen, and your heart drops. 

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching from down the hall. Quickly.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he quietly hisses through gritted teeth, and he drags a hand through his dark strands. It’s the first time you’ve seen Toji look worried. 

“Oh, god,” you whisper, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart. “Do you think we can knock this guy out? Or even kill him and run?” 

“He’s more than likely got a gun, and back-up on the way,” he replies, and right on cue, you hear a gun clicking, as well as the bodyguard muttering something into a phone. Shit. 

Your breathing picks up. The only way you two were getting out of this in one piece is if the bodyguard abandons his plan after seeing you and Toji in the closet-

Bingo. “That’s it!” You whisper-yell again when your new idea hits you.

“What? What’s it? You got something???” Toji asks you, and the footsteps are dangerously close now. You’re out of time. 

Your eyes meet his. “Play along like you fucking mean it,” you tell him firmly. 

“What do you– mm!” His words are cut off when you grab the front of his jacket, push up to your toes and slam your lips against his. Once he gets over the initial shock, his hands are on your waist, and he’s shoving you up against the closet wall, deepening the kiss by slipping his tongue into your mouth. 

It pulls a small moan from you, and you begin fumbling with his tie as his hand trails lower down your body, grazing your leg through the open slit of your dress. You run a hand through his hair, gripping slightly, and the sound he makes is between a groan and a growl. It makes heat rush through your entire being. You’re just beginning to pull his tie all the way off when the door to the closet opens. You hear a shocked gasp, and you and Toji break your heated kiss to look over at the bodyguard, whose face is flushed a bright red. 

“Do you fuckin’ mind?” Toji asks him irritatedly, slightly out of breath from the kiss. 

The bodyguard steps back and stammers out his apologies. “S-So sorry. I, uh, I didn’t think this would be– Please forgive me.” He shuts the door, and on top of the rapidly departing footsteps, you hear him clear his throat before saying, “No, no. False alarm. Just two guests having a private moment.” You grin, then laugh quietly. A split second later, Toji joins you. 

“Wow,” he breathes out, then looks back at you. His face is a bit flushed, and his lips were slightly swollen from kissing, but he’s mostly relieved. “Good idea.” 

“Thanks,” you say, “can’t believe it worked.” Your gaze drifts back to his lips, which now had hints of your gloss on them. “You’re a good kisser,” you mumble without thinking, and you immediately wish that you can take it back. 

“Yeah?” He asks, the corner of his scarred mouth lifting. 

No point in avoiding it now. You meet his stare head-on. “Mhm.” 

“Right back at you.” His voice is low; a bit sultry. When you feel his thumb lightly stroke your waist, you remember that his hands are still on you. Your arms are also still wrapped around his neck. “We should go, huh?” He asks. 

“Right,” you mumble, but don’t move. You don’t want to. “He’s gone now, so it should be safe for us to leave.” 

Toji doesn’t move either, and his eyes don’t leave yours. “Right.” You notice how they darken with hunger. Arousal swirls in the pit of your stomach, pools in between your thighs. 

He leans in and kisses you again, much slower than before, but still as intense. His lips drift towards your neck; kissing, then suckling a small mark onto your skin. “Toji…” you sigh blissfully as your head falls back to give him more access. “We’re in a closet,” you say, the last shard of common sense within you making a desperate attempt to remind him. 

“Shh…” He hushes, enjoying the way you shudder when his fingers drift even lower than before. “They think we’re fucking anyway. No one’s coming back for a while,” he assures, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “It’s just us.” You tilt your head to look back at him, and his thumb gently drags across your bottom lip, messing up your gloss even more. 

“Let me have you.”

----

a/n: hehehehehe cliffhangerrr 🤭

[twistedsanctuary]

𝐀 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Fish on the beach near where you live are mysteriously disappearing. Your father, a fisherman is still working hard to find some, to get income. And you, his only child, want to help. Nobody had thought what type of fish you'd see.

Genre: Yandere

Media: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Floyd Leech, Jade Leech

Note: English is not my first language. Expect grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. Hopefully, this will suffice. This is my very first story that will have different parts.

Warnings: Not proofread, Disturbing content.

I. Curiosity

If you look at it this way, the irony of fighting your exhaustion is that it also requires energy to fight back against it. Bored and tired. That's what you are right now. You've already studied and done the assignments for your class tomorrow. The only available things to do at home are play with the neighboring kids outside. And yet you don't feel like playing, despite their protests to join.

The kids had come to the extent of crying out that they'll play your favorite game just to make you play with them. They've mentioned how dull the game of tag and hide-and-sink would be without you. Somehow, like the light of the party. Listening to the calming crash of waves and the ear-piercing squawking of seagulls flying by, it's been a therapeutic experience to let the sand sink over your bare feet. The water ever so relaxingly gazes at your toes, its warm waters have given somewhat like a salon for the rich people.

Basking in the sunlight, the sun slowly going down; there still rests (Name). Admiring something in the distance of the ocean, you've come to notice the sky. It's almost past 4 P.M.

It's windy today. The children's shrill laughter drowns out because of the waves that sounds ever so therapeutic— Strands of hair flap on your face gently, following the direction of the soft wind. With a blank mind, your eyes stare up.

One... two... three... four... birds. Three fly in the same direction while a single one went on a different path, your eyes followed the direction of the singular bird, until it's lead you to see your father in your peripheral view. Your eyes land on him as he throws in his net in his Johnboat, plopping his bucket hat on his head with no care of it's untidiness. It's almost night, so why is he setting off for sea, when he usually does it early in the morning?

"Papa, are you leaving to fish again?" Taking a break from your little relaxation, your palms push down the sand to support yourself to stand up and stride to your father.

Noticing your presence, his head turns to where you are, promptly giving you a wide eyed stare before reverting back to his usual-slight empty smile. He nods and continues to pack his lures. "I'm having trouble findin' fish today," said by him as his smile dropped slowly. There were a few mumbles that came out from him that we're audible to you.

"As well as my other fisher friends." His eyebrows furrow with pure concern and confusion, his eyes glint a perplexed emotion while staring at the horizon of the dangerous waters beyond. "I'm gonna go check 'gain, this time... farther than my usual fishing boundaries." He then goes on to push his boat into the water. Before the boat fully floats on the water, (Name) proposes to be of help to capture fish alongside him.

"Papa, wait I'll help!" Stretching out your hand to reach out for nothing, as if stopping him to catch up by doing one step closer. Boredom is a killer and it always finds you. What else to do, when you're just sitting in the sand waiting for something to happen?

"Sure kiddo." He ushers you with a gentle smile, pointing at the boat with his head to indicate for you to get in the boat. Smiling widely, you hurriedly get in the boat as your father pushes it.

"Okay kiddo, can you help pull the net?"

"Not that I'd expect fish to show up..." He mumbled.

"I'll try..!" You exclaim and hear your father chuckle while you stared at the ocean and beyond. Gripping on the edge of the boat in anticipation. When the boat started to be carried by the waves, he jumps in and starts maneuvering the boat with two paddles. The ocean breeze blows softly against your skin, a few seagulls flying along with your boat, as if guiding your journey until it redirects into another direction. Soothing, one might say. A few shared silence between you two as you bask in the silence of the sea, away from shrieking children, away from the vendors in the village. Silence.

"Enjoying it too?" interjected your father, rowing the boat while keeping track of the distance between the boat and the land. It was but a mere speck to your point of view, a dot. That was how far the place was. Only a small island with mountains and places that your people had built for entertainment and cultural significance.

You feel the boat slightly sway; preparing to throw, your father stands up; net in hands and tosses the it in the air, which takes a form of a pancake-like structure, landing in the water and sinks down. Your head peers down at the bottom of the sea, subtly seeing fishes swimming away, fast. You help your father pull the net that wasn't heavy. Hearing the sigh of disappointment from him, your eyes train at his face, displaying signs of stress and anger. "I knew it, we can't find more of 'em when we get farther." Seeing him like this, aches. Deciding to look away from his saddened state, your eyes move to the side as you focus on your surroundings instead. Something catches your attention in the water, something.

Something moved. It was not the water, it's under the water. You didn't see it, for it quickly dived back down. Your heart skipped a beat for a moment. It wasn't as big as the fish your father would catch; it was much bigger. You'd imagine something like your big dining table at home, you could only estimate at that size.

Only, however; your imagination gets the best of you as fiction fogged your mind.

You might not see it, but it sees you. You could have sworn that there is a head of a person. But you knew nobody else set sail except for your father. Nobody set sailed, it was just your father that left to fish.

And no human would be able to submerge underwater without breaching out for oxygen, staying there for a long time.

Floating in the still water with just a glorified wooden bowl, you squint your eyes in the direction where you saw the moving being. You've yet to tell your father about what you think you saw... but bothering him would not be such a good idea. Burdening him further with your imagination would just give you a patient smile and a pat in the head.

He's currently fixing the net, emptying it and placing the barely collected fish that plopped in the boat. Ignoring his mumbling, you lean into the side of the boat to get a clearer view. Something barely emerge from the waters, spotting half a head, hair that droops down to their face, eyes and forehead above the water, watching you. It was a boy. His skin seemed unnatural, it had green tints. Despite being far from your reach, an unnerving stare was exchanged between you and him. An unknown message behind his emotions. And despite that, you don't know what expression you were wearing; too lost in his unwavering gaze. You've no idea of the threat about to befall you when you're leaning closer to the edge of the boat.

You are curious.

Closer, and closer, and closer you got. Almost falling off the boat. You swear you could see the creature, the boy; smiling with it's eyes squinting ever so slightly as his brows raises.

As if broken from a trance; the boat shakes, a strong grip reached out for you, tugging you back with your wrist. "You could've fallen, be careful!" You turn around seeing your father's worried face as the boat sways back and forth because of your father's erratic footsteps towards you. you turn to face the creature again, only to realize it's gone...

But it's somewhere nearby. You're curious, so it was too. It has to be. He must've seen how close you were to the water. Sitting up straight and shaking your head, strong heartbeats pump out from your chest, you clutch it with a shaky hand, "Sorry, Papa." You try to laugh it off, stuttering while looking down at the boat. Your father smiled and pats your head, flashing you a slight smile as a sign of comfort. "Be careful next time, 'aight?" Sitting back down, you nod in agreement.

The boat starts to sail once more, paying no mind to the relaxing scenery or the wind that blows with delicacy. Next time. Thinking... will it come back? Will you see it again if you come with your father when fishing? You want to see it again. Try to understand it.

You keep staring from where you saw the boy, until you see something floating near the boat. Gasping at it... because it's something chubby?... You're tempted to reach and grab it, but before you could take an action, you see it disappear under the surface of the water before going deeper. "Eh?" Thinking it was just an illusion from your wild imagination, you shake your head to hopefully clear your mind. Your love of the ocean is taking a toll on you. Rowing back to the island, you can only hope to be part of another expedition with your father to see those things once again.

That lingering feeling of curiosity stays on you, and so did the boy about you.

As they say, curiosity killed the cat.

However, cats have nine lives.

What was the problem with using one?

II. Newfound addiction

When returning to the shore, you're still searching for signs of the mysterious boy. But you didn't see anything... until a few days later. The sun is still shining brightly; the sky is bright and blue, filled with a tint of white from the clouds gazing down upon you. The soft sound of waves hitting the shoreline returns you to your senses, as these past few days have been dense. So... peaceful... calm. You take a deep breath as the feeling of plump lips kisses you from behind on your temple, your head softly held by their touch. "Mama..." You whisper as she stands behind you, breaking the interaction and silently gazes lovingly at you from behind. You don't look back, simply staring at the ocean with wonder.

She holds your hand in return, whispering sweet things to you, and responding. "Yes, dear?" Looking up to glance at her face with a faint smile, she gave you one of her beautiful grins and squeezed your hand gently with eyes that softly stared back at you. "I wanna go explore the island today... Can I?" No amount of games could satisfy your growing boredom. You know how to play each of them and win them all. There's no challenge anymore. Nothing to overcome. Perhaps a new pace of hobbies would change it?

Not breaking contact with you, she acknowledges it with a closed-eye nod and caresses your cheek lovingly. "Of course, dear. We could stay here long." She takes a small pause, humming to herself in thought. "I'll wait for you here back here, m'kay? Be back before nightfall." Excited and thankful for being given permission, you smile sweetly and nod. Your mother lets go of your face, falling to her sides. You sprint towards the shore, your mother smiling behind you warmly as she waves for the temporary goodbye.

You've been eyeing this cave near the mountains that connected to the shore, it seemed like a good place to stay in the meantime... If you don't mind the crawling crabs there. It isn't submerged in the water, in fact, the cave is still near the sand. If your guess is correct, the water would only reach until your calf.

Enthusiastic about the thought of having a cave for yourself, you saunter to the entrance- watching where you step, you momentarily look up to see your father tying the net. You stare in his direction for quite a while, thinking of when you could join him once more on one of his expeditions. After that experience, you didn't feel like playing with the others anymore. You were seeking adventure... maybe that's why you were interested in exploring.

Maybe... just maybe, you want something new.

Being deep in thought and frozen in place, your father had already noticed you. Deciding to acknowledge you, he smiles and waves. Despite being far, he had already seen you clearly by your stature. You wave back at him, sharing the warmth of the greeting. It was cut short when you spotted another person, possibly a fellow fisherman speaking to your father. Finally deciding to continue your small adventure for the day.

However, forgetting to look down on the shore... you step on something that felt like broken glasses. Looking down with discontentment, you lift up your foot to see a broken beautiful shell.

Oh...

Oh, what a waste. A pretty shell like that would've been so good in a collection... Well, it still could be. You can still collect broken shells. It'll be a special collection, unlike any other.

A sea shell collector that collects broken shells.

You bend down to grab the seashell, grunting as your hand becomes wet with saltwater as you gather all the broken parts and bits of the seashell. Dusting off the remains of the sand in the item, you stood back up and admired it up close. It glints an interesting hue of blue and purple that gives a harmonic mixture of colors.

Trying to find where to keep this precious item... You pause. You don't have anywhere to place it, or keep it. You keep in mind about your clothes that have no pockets on them. There is another you've forgotten. You look up and the winks of sunlight make your eyesight blurry. The sun is about to fall, indicating the soon-to-rise moon. This shore gives a feeling to those theatres you and your family have gone to. Where everything seems like it's out of place, and then everything comes together.

You look around one last time and collect more shells before turning your back to the sea and start walking to where your mother is. Hands clenching on the broken shell, it pierces through delicate skin with its sharp edges, threatening to draw blood around it. Dangerous, you'd think. Preventing yourself from adding more pressure further. This shell was a reminder to you. You wanted—needed to see more. Exploration.

Like the forest. The forest is always beautiful.

When you and your mother arrived at your small hut, it was quiet. The candles lit in all corners of the room. The prominent smell of burning wax digs into your nostrils, taking in its scent. The fire pit had also been burning, in the center of the room. Your father must have felt cold from the upcoming weather. You notice your father in the corner, sitting down on the floor reading a book. Once again, like instinct he looked up with glee, then looking down at what was in your hand.

"Enjoyed collecting?" He asks and you nod unreservedly, quite proud of what you have achieved today without anybody. You hear your mother walking to the kitchen to prepare for supper later. His hearty chuckle fills the room as he gestures for you to sit on the floor next to him. In which you comply, still holding out the broken seashell. "So ya'v started to collect sea shells, ha?" He continues, closing the book he was reading. "That's how me 'n your mother started out.~" He smiled fondly at the memory he's replaying on his mind. He stopped, realizing it's been silent when he started to daydream about the memory.

"Did you make new friends?" He asks very eager for your response, looking up and placing a finger on his chin, pretending to think about what you would say.

"No." A very blunt and dry response was only given to him. Your father sighs and smiles, like surrendering. "That's 'aight. It's hard makin' friends." You smile in agreement. That was exactly what you thought too. Yes, you've had your fair share of friends... but... it gets tiring to keep socializing. You just want to shut everyone out and start from scrap.

Maybe someday. Just maybe. You think back to when you saw the boy.

III. A Friend

Once more, you see yourself back at the shore to hunt for sea shells. This time, you have come prepared. A small bag to carry for your future seashell collection and a bucket. It was all you could borrow from your mother when you asked her for an item to carry your seashells. After that, you asked for permission to let you explore, in which she's allowed you.

You walk inside the cave, further noticing that it was indeed just until your calf, which is safe... hopefully. You've made further exploration inside the cave only to find out it wasn't large at all. Only 10 steps ahead and you're already at the end of the cave. You've claimed this cave as your castle. Thinking of how to make it yours, you decided to decorate it using the rocks available; given to you by Mother Nature herself. With all your might, you grabbed all the big rocks you were able to carry and placed them inside the cave. You arrange them and place them one by one so you can block the water from entering the side you've blocked it from. It took skill to successfully keep the water away from the other side. A little break later, you're ready to continue once more by scooping out the water using the bucket you have. It gets you and your clothes wet in seawater in the process.

Now, there's finally space for you to place your soon-to-be sea shell collection. But you separated the destroyed shell out of all the others. Exhaling with contentment, you leave the cave to find more shells to add. You've gone a pretty long way in finding new shells. Using the bucket to dig and find some, but nothing popped up. But that did not render you to stop. You keep going and continue your search.

And you see one, glistering with an orange hue with brown spots all over. Near the water, almost ready to be dragged away to the ocean and never to be seen again. Observing it farther as you walk closer to it, with eyes that squint; it looked like it had the same design as the one that you crushed. You dared pick it up before it got dragged into the ocean, grunting as standing up felt so... lazy. You look up and... then you see it.

The boy from under the ocean.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Knot Undone Spills Forth Tangled Possibilities

Very simple Monster Hybrid!König post today. I hope you enjoy, even if the post is very short!

TWs: mentioned sickness

Wordcount: 1.4k

Art from This Post

A Knot Undone Spills Forth Tangled Possibilities

Training with monster König did not go well. In fact, it went so far from well that you’d positively say it was horrible. You swore up and down as he chased you around the gymnasium, only stopping occasionally to loop through the rafters above like a big cat.

“König! Get down from there!” you yelled up overhead.

The monster only crawled around further, looking almost like a bat with how he used the talons on his big feathery wings to maneuver through the beams. His long furry tail trailed through a series of loops along the ceiling behind him.

“König!” you called again, your hazmat suit crinkling as you stomped your foot.

Finally, he snapped his head to look at you.

Even though you were his trainer, looking into the empty sockets of his eyes had chills crawling up your spine. He croaked out a small caw, then turned away to go back to playing with the metal beams in the ceiling.

You watched his massive body twist and turn as it wove amongst the beams above. On one hand, you were truly impressed that he was able to do it without getting stuck, but on the other hand you hadn’t even managed to get his control cage on his back before he had bounced away to do his own thing.

You muttered curses under your breath as you watched him playfully swing by his tail from side to side as he chirped happily.

“I need to clean you!” you whined.

König took a moment to stop swinging. He looked at the rake by your side, then at the massive sponge and bucket on the other. Without another word, he dropped down to the floor with a reverberating thud and scrambled to your side.

“Clean,” his voice sounded like a hoarse death rattle, “Clean!”

You sighed as you held up the rake, “If you stay still I can clean you.”

“Clean!” he parroted again before rolling onto his back and splaying out his tattered black wings, “Clean! Clean!”

You slowly trudged over to his side. You grimly noted that his feathers were rough and patchy and his black fur was tangled in thick knots. Evidently, he hadn’t been able to clean himself properly since his last trainer.

“Okay, so,” you sighed heavily, “you’ve got a lot of matts. I’m gonna need to go grab some scissors, okay?”

König whined and rolled on his back playfully.

“Just stay here,” you warned him before hurrying off to the handler equipment room.

You flicked on the lights and looked around the room haplessly. Evidently, whoever had been here before hadn’t had so much as a thought of consideration as they dumped everything into a mound. All the equipment had been haphazardly thrown around recklessly. To your horror, they’d completely jumbled all the organization of the room. What was normally a neat and tidy room had somehow turned into a muck room since you had gone to train König in the gym. How they’d manage to undo all the careful maintenance you and your cohorts had been practicing for ages was beyond you.

You scrambled to look through the ruins. You came across collars and chains and balls and more as you searched through the piles. You had the horrible feeling that you’d never find the trimmers. How could you when the room was like this? You worried that König would be off in the rafters again if you didn’t manage to find it soon.

Just as you were about to give up hope, you saw a glimmer of steel. You sighed in relief as you pushed a heating blanket aside to find the trimmers buried underneath. How you managed to find them was beyond you, a simple chance of fate, but you took it with both hands and lifted your hope and the trimmers from the pile.

You were used to making a mess by now, but something clattered to the floor when you brought the trimmers to your chest. You screwed your brows together and looked at the ground.

It was just a simple rope puzzle. It lay on the floor, tangled more than usual, but it was obviously meant for some of the more intelligent hybrids. It was just something to keep them busy. Something to keep them occupied.

Something to keep a hybrid like König occupied.

It clicked in your head. You no longer cursed whoever had wrecked the room before you. Instead, you’d bow and pray at their feet if they walked in that moment. Praise the bastard for giving you the answer to all your problems in the form of a simple puzzle.

You scurried out of the room with your new toy as quickly as you could, nearly forgetting the trimmer in your excitement.

When you made your way back to the gym, König was predictably up in the rafters again. 

“Hey!” you yelled as loudly as you could, “hey König!”

You heard a low rumble up from behind you.

You slowly turned and looked up to see König hanging upside down like a bat from the rafters, his head just a few feet above the door. You wondered how long he’d been hanging there, almost like some winged opossum.

“You!” you yelled and held up the trimmers, “come down here so I can clean you!”

König chuffed and crawled up his body to get back into the rafters. You huffed and puffed as he weaseled his way through the beams to get away from you.

“Hey!” you yelled at his retreating form, “wait, get back here!”

“No.”

You ignored the shivers up your spine when he spoke, a natural side effect of the nachtkrappe voice, and charged after him. You crashed across the runway, your hazmat suit crinkling like a paper bag with each and every single one of your movements. You could probably be heard from the other side of the gym at this rate. You shoved the thought aside and pushed forward.

“Hey you ugly mutt, get down here!” you howled as you scrambled after him.

“No!” König croaked back and swung from the rings hung from the ceiling. You couldn’t help but groan. Now that he found the rings there was no way he’d be coming down soon. Not unless…

“I have something for you!” you yelled as loudly as you could. Your lungs burned with the effort as you hung your other tools by your side.

König, to his credit, at least momentarily paused at your suggestion. However the flight rings proved to be too tempting and he was soon winding round and round the red and white plastic again.

“Come on!” you complained loudly, “we can do ringwork later, we need to clean you first!”

That got his attention, at least.

König lunged down directly at you. You squawked loudly as you threw yourself out of the way of his big grey talons. He thankfully didn’t baffle you with his wings and instead curled his long tail around your legs, tripping you in the process.

You pulled yourself to your feet and brushed yourself down. The rubber suit was thankfully durable enough to withstand a bit of wear and tear, but you still checked to make sure it was intact. You’d hate to get sick because of a small tear in the suit. Whatever nachtkrappe’s carried, you didn’t want to catch it.

“Okay, so,” you pulled yourself together, “I have an offer for you.”

“Offer, offer,” König parroted as he tilted his head back and forth, the fluorescent light glinting off his tusks and horns menacingly.

“So,” you held up the trimmers and he hissed, “stop that! Look, if you let me trim some of the matts, I’ll give you something fun.”

“Fun?” König thankfully perked up.

“Fun!” you repeated and held up the rope toy, “this is just a little rope puzzle. You think you can finish it before I finish trimming you?”

König snorted out a plume of putrid smoke, “Ja.”

“Ooo, confident!” you chuckled as stepped closer, “well, let’s see how well you do.”

You tossed him the rope. He struggled to catch it in his front claws on his wings, but he managed to carefully lace it through his fingers and settle on his front.

You flicked the trimmers open and sauntered over to him. You picked up the rake along the way with a smirk.

Finally, you had a way to make him sit still.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[gloomwitchwrites]

Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, fake kissing, real kissing, suggestive themes, teasing

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Part Eight of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

Price takes you to the first safehouse.

Chapter Seven // Chapter Nine

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

Dead people pale rather quickly.

Price is sensitive about it, shielding you from the two motionless men as he helps you toward the door.

“Don’t look,” he murmurs.

But you do.

Sick curiosity is like a sponge absorbing a spill. Even with Price’s arm around your waist and his verbal instruction prompting you not to, you still glance down, still gaze into milky, soulless eyes. It’s such a human thing to go against the grain, to do the opposite of a given warning when you know that it’s best to do as you’re told.

Blank expressions and sagging skin. Bloodless.

Why is it such a shock? Why do you gasp, stepping to the side as if the dead man will reach out to snag your ankle?

“I said to not look,” chastises Price, but there is no irritation in it. There is sadness, and a defeated sort of tone that draws up memory.

A memory of rattling pops. Drops of red on concrete. A splintered, downed door. Unmoving limbs all piled together. Reaching. Reaching and clawing toward the exit.

“You’re fine,” continues Price, squeezing your hand. “You’re safe.”

Are you? Are you safe?

Shakings hands indicate otherwise. A tremble in your lip and the stinging burn of tears are a story all its own.

It is betrayal. A sharpened axe of the executioner.

The bucket is full, contains a head, and it is this man’s face staring back at you.

It could have been you.

It likely would have if Price hadn’t been lurking nearby. That is an issue all its own. One you want an answer for but won’t ask. Not now. It isn’t the time.

You cling to your savior because it’s the only security you have. Who can you turn to? Not Alex. These are his men on the floor. It is his text you saw. Alex’s friends can’t be trusted, and even the few friends you did manage to make might just be Alex’s pawns. It’s possible that you have no one.

Only Price.

But even that is rocky.

Three years and no contact. Did he come on his own? Did someone send him? Does any of that even matter?

Price herds you around the unmoving figure, opening the apartment door, and poking his into the hall. “Clear.” He glances back. Grimaces. “Sorry.”

“For what?” you whisper.

Price shakes his head, gaze momentarily dropping to the floor before returning to your face. “Nothing.”

The hand grasping yours tightens, fingers intertwining as he tugs you out into the empty hall. Price’s warmth is refreshing yet so familiar. You remember him—at least your body does—because it instinctually sinks closer to him, keeping pace without effort.

And Price doesn’t let go of your hand, and you do not dare break the connection. Walking hand-in-hand down the hallway like a couple on their way to the grocery store, you briefly forget where you are and what has happened. That is what you tell yourself, what you picture in your mind. If you don’t, you might burst into tears.

This is Thirst all over again.

This is Dimitri. Nikola. The safehouse.

All of it.

Didn’t Laswell say that this move, that this “fresh start,” is a chance to forget and begin again with no shadow hanging over your shoulder? Where is she? Why is she not keeping tabs? Or maybe she did and Price is the one sent to deal with you like he did three years ago.

Price comes to a stop at the elevators and glances around. Frowning, he twists to look over his shoulder.

“What are you looking for?” you ask softly.

“Stairs.”

“They’re at the opposite end.”

“Fuck,” mutters Price. Still, he doesn’t release your hand.

Pressing the down arrow, Price slides a little closer to you, shoulders nearly touching. When the doors open, revealing a few people inside, his fingers stiffen. The pause lasts only a second before he steps on, tugging you along with him.

Using his height and large, muscular upper body to his advantage, Price guides you to the very back of the elevator. Instead of leaving the two of you to loiter at the back, Price pins you into one of the corners, creating a cocoon with his body. Moving in close like a lover, Price places one large hand above and to the right of your head. He leans in, lips dangerously close to yours.

“Play along,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, before closing the distance.

Price’s lips play a dangerous game. There is no stagnant gentleness but full pursuit. There is no reason for Price to be kissing you like this, for his tongue to slip inside, or for him to lightly suck and nip at your bottom lip.

Everything in you responds, coiling tight, hands reaching to grasp the front of his jacket, to pull him closer until his need rubs against your lower belly. That one touch is enough to break the kiss, for you to pull back and inhale.

Price’s hand not on the elevator wall comes to rest at the left-side of your throat. His fingers turn inward to grasp, to pull you back to his mouth. You open for him in the quiet. You open for him as the elevator stops and dings. You open for him as the doors surrender to passenger demands and more people pile in.

“Giggle.” Price is nearly voiceless. In sudden embarrassment, you do giggle. Once it’s out of your mouth, Price is on you again. Tasting. Tasting so much more than he’s ever taken.

You shift to the left, glancing over his shoulder, questioning whether anyone is looking. Everyone else in the elevator is purposefully keeping their gaze averted.

“Eyes on me.”

Your gaze snaps back to Price, and you’re met with a heated stare. The space between your legs immediately warms and you squeeze your thighs together instantly, silently denying the connection.

The elevator dings, and the people standing just beyond Price’s back begin to exit. He waits until they’re all off before grabbing your hand and guiding you away from the wall of the elevator. Rushing toward the entrance to the parking garage, Price keeps you hidden from view, his massive shoulders and upper torso a shield from outside eyes.

Near a dark corner of the second level of the parking garage, Price approaches a black SUV with tinted windows. The sight of it there instantly draws forth the need to escape. It is a biting dog that won’t quit. Digging your feet into the concrete does nothing. Price drags you along without even glancing back.

Approaching the front passenger door, Price opens it, pulling you in front of him. With one hand on your waist, Price helps you slide into the seat. His fingers linger too long, and when he finally removes them, their phantoms remain. Hopping in the driver’s seat, Price starts the vehicle, backing out of the parking spot quickly, and heading for the exit.

Briefly, just before the two of you turn onto the street, the voice inside your head tells you to open the car door and toss yourself onto the pavement. It insists that you should run and run and run until everything is behind you again.

With the thought comes an itch in the tips of your fingers, a sudden internal jolt to do as it says.

But where would you go? What would you do?

Someone will come after you. Someone will find you.

Might be Alex. Might be Price. Or someone far worse.

“You did that on purpose.”

Price turns a corner. “Did what on purpose?”

You turn your head in his direction, frowning. “In the elevator.”

Price’s mouth is still a brand on your lips. They’re slightly tender, perhaps even a bit swollen, and there is no doubt that Price meant every kiss. People pretending don’t come together like that. They don’t engage with such passionate need.

Price stares out the windshield, but you catch the smug smile. “Was I better than your boyfriend?”

Yes, is what you want to say. Because it’s true. Alex never kissed you the way Price did.

“That’s not the point,” you snap.

“Lying to me about liking it?” Price tilts his head enough for his gaze to momentarily sweep in your direction.

“Eyes on the road,” you mutter, deliberately staring out the windshield.

Price makes several more turns before turning onto a highway. “I’m taking you to a transfer location before we move on to a safehouse.”

“The same one?” you ask, unsure of how that would work exactly. That safehouse is on the other side of the country.

“No,” answers Price. “Different.”

You lick your lips. Swallow. Saliva sticks in your throat. “What if I don’t want to go?”

Price laughs in disbelief. “You’d rather face Obolensky?”

“Alex,” you correct, automatically,

“Still sweet on him after all that, love?”

“John. Stop.” This time you turn to him, redness coiling between your ribs.

There is no denying the connection you and Price have. Three years later and it’s still fucking there. It’s still sitting in the crevices like seeds in the concrete seeking the sun.

“No ‘Captain’ this time? When you’re mad with me, you usually call me by my title.” Price says it with a bit of rough sweetness. He’s teasing but he’s also pushing like a disgruntled boyfriend.

“You’re changing the subject.”

Price shrugs and signals, taking an exit ramp into one of the nearby neighborhoods. When he doesn’t answer right away, you give up, leaning back in the chair to watch the houses go by. Some of them are clearly well loved and looked after while others have boarded up windows and overgrown lawns.

“Laswell wanted to send someone else,” says Price, cutting through the silence. “I told her that would scare you. Volunteered to do it myself.”

“Is that the only reason?” you ask, hoping that he’ll answer truthfully.

“No,” is all he says, leaving it at that.

Price pulls up to a house at the end of a street. The white paint on the side of the house is starting to peel and there are bars over the windows on the first level. He turns onto the long driveway that ropes to the back and ends at a carport. Price comes to a stop beneath it. The enclosed side faces the other houses and the open side faces the house itself.

The car is off and Price is at your door before you even have a chance to place your hand on the interior handle. There isn’t any conversation. Price offers you his hand and you take it, sliding your fingers over his palm. As he helps you out of the SUV, his other hand lightly hovers on your waist.

He’s the one who shuts the SUV door. He’s the one who walk with you up the small steps. He’s the one who punches in a keycode (not a key) and brings you inside into a kitchen. It’s plain. Simple. Minimalist. But clean.

Price heads down the short hallway into what you guess is the living room. You follow, find only a sofa sitting in the empty space. Standing in front of a thermostat, Price makes a few adjustments before turning to you.

“Hungry?”

You shake your head. “No. Thank you.”

“Coffee? Tea?”

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

Price nods and heads into the kitchen. Retrieving an electric kettle from one of the cabinets, Price fills it up with water before plugging it in and hitting the tab. Heading for a different cabinet, Price removes two mugs. You said you didn’t want anything and yet he’s making you some anyway.

“Shower is upstairs,” he says, digging around in the pantry for bagged tea. “Up the stairs. Second to the right. First is the bedroom.”

You nod, tugging on the sleeves of your shirt. Price glances in your direction and frowns. “Something wrong?”

Everything, John.

“No,” you shake your head, stepping out into the hall.

On soft feet, you enter the living room and head for the stairs. Pausing at the base, you glance over your shoulder at the front door. The voice telling you to run comes again, but you squash it, knowing this isn’t the time.

“There are extra clothes in the bedroom,” calls out Price from the kitchen.

You don’t answer him. Instead, you head upstairs, stopping at the first door.

“What the fuck,” you mutter, staring down at the lone mattress on the floor and the worn dresser pushed up against the wall.

It is a “transfer location” so it’s understandable that the amenities of a safehouse might not be extended to a place like this. Sighing, you yank open the dresser. Digging around, you find some black sweatpants that will fit and an oversized Harvard sweatshirt.

Taking them into the bathroom with you, you explore all the cabinets. There is shampoo and conditioner along with razors and body wash. The towels have seen better days but they’re clean and smell fresh.

You don’t need to shower. Price dragged you into the one in your apartment, but you didn’t really bathe. You just stood under the hot water until you couldn’t stand it anymore and your legs didn’t shake. But taking another one is just an excuse to put some distance between the two of you.

It isn’t until you start peeling off your clothes that you notice the blood. Not everything came off. There is blood in places you didn’t notice before. The mirror isn’t much help. It’s old and your reflection is slightly blurry. You check everything. There is dried blood under your nails and on the back of your neck. It’s in your hair too.

Turning on the water, you stand under its spray until it grows cold and runs clear. You take your time removing yourself from the steamy room. You take even longer drying your body and hair, putting on the clothes you picked out.

It isn’t until you open the bathroom door that connects directly with the bedroom that the world suddenly comes to a halt.

Price is standing next to the mattress. It’s no longer bare but covered in multiple blankets and a small pile of pillows. Next to the bed is a small folding table no taller than your knee. On it is a steaming mug of tea. There is another mug of tea but it is in Price’s fist as he brings it up to his mouth to take a sip.

All of this is true, but that isn’t what’s stopped you.

Price is…hardly wearing anything. It’s just a pair of grey sweatpants. No socks. No shirt. No hat. Just an expanse of bare skin and brown tufts of hair across his broad chest that trickle downward to disappear below the band of his pants. Your eyes follow it down, and when you glance back up, Price is staring at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s what we have to sleep on?” you blurt to try and cover up the heat rising in your cheeks.

“There a problem?” asks Price with such casualness it’s maddening.

“Yes,” you reply instantly.

Price shrugs. “It’ll be a tight fit but we’ll both fit.”

We. Both.

“What?” you stammer.

“Don’t want to sleep with me, love?” Price takes a drink. “It’s just tonight.” The cocky swagger in the way Price says it causes your stomach to flip.

“It’s fine,” you reply sharply, making sure to go to the opposite side of the bed.

Once there, you ease down on it. Price doesn’t hesitate. He moves as you do, grabbing the other mug of tea and presenting it to you.

“Just in case,” he says softly.

You gently take it, making sure not to accidentally burn yourself or Price. Bringing the mug to your mouth, you inhale the rich scents descending upward with the steam.

“Thank you.” You take a sip and your body instantly warms everywhere, the heat of the tea quickly moving through your body.

Price sinks down onto the mattress. Leaning back, all the muscles in his stomach and chest flex and lengthen. You try not to look, to keep your gaze averted, but you completely fail. Price is doing this on purpose, and that is entirely clear when he absently rubs his hand over his stomach muscles. Physically, Price is the epitome of a Greek god who’s never said no to a donut. Muscles mixed with a bit of softness.

It's mouth-watering, and it takes everything in you not to scoot a bit closer.

“Do you always sleep with your captives?”

Price laughs. “You’re not my captive.”

“But I can’t leave,” you counter.

“You want to leave me?” Price’s voice drops. It’s low. Husky. Not a threat but a questioning of intention.

“I enjoy my solitude.”

Price nods. “I know you do.” Stretching, Price sets his mug on the little table and pushes up from the mattress. He switches off the light, returning to the makeshift bed moments later.

“Give it here.” Price goes onto his knees and leans over your body, taking the mug you placed next to the bed from off the floor.

He sets it aside and then holds back the covers. “Get in.”

You do so instantly, not caring that you’re submitting to his command. Maybe it’s how the bit of moonlight cuts through the blinds that do it. The way it shines across Price’s body, highlighting the best bits. He’s careful, keeping some space between, easing in beside you but not grabbing or pulling you close.

Knowing that you’re too weak to fight off your desire for him, you turn over onto your side, silently telling yourself off for even taking this line of thought. The heat under the covers is stifling. It’s warm under all these blankets and Price’s natural body temperature is only making it worse. You keep fidgeting, keep shifting, hating that you can’t really leave but wanting to do so anyway.

Price is silent beside you and you have no idea if he’s asleep or awake. If he’s watching you or if he’s annoyed by your constant twitching. And the heat is only growing worse. Maybe you can convince him to turn the thermostat down or even crack a fucking window.

But if you turn toward him, are you admitting that you want him? If you move toward him in the dark, will he take that as invitation?

Fuck it. You need to get this over with. Sweat is already collecting under your breasts.

Flipping over, you turn your resolve to steel. Pushing up onto your elbow, you reach out with one hand, resting it on his shoulder. Price is turned away from you, and when your hand makes contact, Price turns into the touch, rolling onto his back. The hand on your shoulder slides with him, gliding over his chest to rest near the other shoulder.

“John,” you breathe, suddenly losing your words.

Moonlight from the window slices down his face, highlighting his eyes and full lips. They’re slightly parted and his eyes are half lidded. The look on his face isn’t one you’d give to a good friend. He reaches across his body and wraps his hand around your wrist, resting his forearm against yours. His thumb hovers over your pulse point. You know its pounding because every thought in your head is consumed by the mere idea of Price rolling over to trap you under him.

“It’s—you’re—”

No. No no no no. You’re losing your nerve.

You lick your lips. “You’re…hot.”

Confusion, then surprise drifts across his features before shifting into something sultry. His thumb runs over your pulse point and his mouth curves into a smile.

“Not upset with sleeping with me?”

Price’s hand slides down your arm in a caress. It’s wonderful. Every nerve ending is firing. Singing. It’s the truest intimacy you’ve had in years. Alex is—was—thoughtful and caring in the way he handled you, but it also felt a little hollow, like he never fully wanted it.

And Price is right there. Warm and close and moving closer.

“Like a fire,” you blurt. “Or an oven. I’m overheated.”

Price pauses, immediately pulls back. “Apologies,” he coughs. “I—misunderstood.”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “Could you open the window? Just a bit?”

Price rolls out of bed and you instantly feel the cold. You want to call him back, to recall the words you spoke and shove them down your throat. With a little bit of pressure, Price opens the window slightly. The breeze is lovely. Soothing.

Price slides back under the covers but he keeps his back to you. You do the same, pretending that everything is fine. That everything is okay even as your heart thunders in your chest. You stay like that until you hear Price’s soft snoring. Counting the seconds and minutes is agonizing, but you do it for your safety.

This is your chance to leave.

With extreme slowness, you place one hand flat on the mattress, pushing yourself up to a seated position. Price doesn’t stir. You attune to the silence, waiting until you hear Price’s gentle snore. Shifting your weight away from him is the hardest part. Any sudden movement might startle him awake. You can’t have that.

You are on your knees on the floor and then your feet. Moving. You are moving silently toward the door. So close.

Everything is fine. Everything is good.

Until it’s not.

“What are you doing?” Price’s sleep-laced voice travels across the room.

“I—”

He sighs heavily. “Get away from the door.”

“I’m thirsty,” you say over your shoulder.

“Then I’ll grab you a water.”

In moments, Price is right there, standing behind you, his chest pressed to your back. One hand is on your waist and the other is on your hand that clings to the doorknob.

“Let go,” whispers Price.

“You can’t keep me here,” you murmur, wanting to leave but wanting to stay.

“I am keeping you here. Obolensky can’t have you. Not when you’re under my protection.”

You turn to the left, shoulder bumping into Price’s bare chest as you address him. “Is it only him I need protection from?”

“You think I’d hurt you?”

No. Never. Price has never hurt you.

You glance away, staring at the far wall, not wanting to admit the truth.

“Tell me,” he prompts. “You think I’d hurt you?”

“No.” Your gaze returns to his face. “But I’m not an animal. I don’t belong in a cage.”

Price’s hand on your waist tightens. The force of it is enough to draw your bodies together entirely. “This is not a cage.”

“It feels like one.” You lick your lips. His gaze follows the movement. “Last time you gave me a choice. Why not now?”

“Because no one knew about you then,” answers Price immediately. “Now they do.”

You twist in his grip, facing him fully. You’re pinned between his large, broad chest and the door. “Who is they, Price? Is it Alex? Dimitri?”

“Dimitri is dead,” he growls. “And Obolensky is a pawn.”

“For who?” Price’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t answer. “Who, John?”

He shakes his head. “Dimitri answered to Damien and Damien answered to someone else.”

You scoff. “Yet you won’t say who.”

“Do you understand how much was lost?” asks Price. “Damien’s behavior that afternoon wasn’t over a few guns or a couple hundred dollars. He lost a nuclear arsenal. One that he promised to deliver on.”

“What?”

Price keeps his hand on your waist but the other rests beside your head, trapping you further. “Dimitri is rotting in the dirt and Damien is fish food. Their boss saw to that. He is the target. Has been for years.”

All the pieces are falling into place like raindrops from crying clouds.

“But I never said anything,” you choke out. “You were there, John. You talked with Dimitri. Why didn’t they come after you?”

“We staged it to look like I was taken out. The only possible connection they had was that someone talked at the club.” Price sighs heavily. “How they even found out about the club is up in the air. Never figured that out.”

You sniffle, holding back the phlegm but not the tears. “I was collateral.”

“No—”

“Stop, John. Don’t lie.”

The hand on your waist squeezes before sliding to your back. Price yanks against him, dragging you away from the door. “Nothing was supposed to happen to you. Nothing.”

“Stop,” you murmur, suddenly reading how hard he is and how soft you are. There is nowhere for your hands to go but his bare chest. They rest there, palms flat, fingers sliding through his chest hair as they splay wide.

“I’m sorry,” murmurs Price, and the slight rasp in it melts your resolve. His head lowers, the tip of his nose brushing against the side of your face.

You start to turn into it, to meet him, but pause at the last second. There is a roaring in your ears. A bright light behind the eyes. You are a torn piece of paper. Two sides that cannot come together again unless glued.

You believe him. And it’s not because of his words but because of his actions.

Price rushed to you when Damien had everyone gathered in Thirst’s main room. He didn’t hesitate. He got you out, had you taken care of, only to slip right back in when you needed it the most. Without Price where would you be right now?

Dead, perhaps. Or worse off, lingering in a place where you wish for endless sleep.

“Let me protect you.”

You swallow, lips parting slightly. Price’s gaze is focused in on your lips, missing nothing.

“Alex won’t give up. He’ll look for me.”

“He’ll fucking regret it,” growls Price. “If he touches you, he’s dead. But he won’t even have the chance.”

“You don’t understand. He’s…”

You trail off, unsure of how to proceed. Alex is sweet on you, but there has always been a slight separation, a detachedness you couldn’t quite place. Now you know, but it doesn’t explain everything. There were times when Alex seemed a bit possessive around other men you interacted with. He didn’t like it when they talked to you for too long or showed more interest than he cared for.

But that might not explain that Alex cared for you. He did try to have you killed. He is working for someone who wanted to clean up their loose ends. But why all this work? Did he simply put it off? Why play the long game? Was Alex or anyone else involved sure you were who they thought you were?

“He’s what?” asks Price softly, his tone encouraging you to continue.

“I’m not sure, John. I—I just know he won’t stop looking for me.”

Price nods. “I agree. He has a job to do. But I also think he felt something toward you.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Think I wasn’t watching the two of you in that restaurant?” he laughs. “I saw all of it. Maybe Alex is a good actor but his behavior toward you seemed genuine.”

“And yet he tried to kill me,” you reply dryly.

“He ordered his men to kill you,” corrects Price. “From what I understand, Obolensky likes to do it himself. Thorough. Clean. Doesn’t make sense, unless he couldn’t look you in the face as he did it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, John.”

“No,” he says softly. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Price’s hand on your back rubs gentle circles. It’s a soothing touch and this intimacy is different from all the other times you and Price have been this close. His head is still tilted forward but he’s not as near as before. The two of you can look at each other without brushing noses.

“Still want that water?”

“I wasn’t getting water.”

Price chuckles. “I know.”

“I’d like to go back to bed,” you say.

“And sleep this time? Not wait for me to fall asleep so you can make your escape?”

You smack his chest. “Fuck you.”

Price smiles, and it drips with mischievousness. “Fuck me? Is that right?”

“Control yourself, Captain,” you tease.

His smile widens. “There it is. Knew you’d say it.”

Your head turns upward. This time, your lips align with his. Maybe it’s sleep drawing you to do this, or maybe it’s your heart which won’t slow its rapid beating. Could be the twisty coil in your stomach that is rapidly moving downward, heating the space between your legs, making you ache for him.

You are open for him, presenting yourself, giving Price your lips like an offering. He knows this, because Price’s gaze tracks the movement and his own lips part slightly like he’s just as desperate to form the connection.

“Back to bed,” he rasps, and you hate that he says it.

Price pushes off from the door, his hands falling to his sides. Before you is a rugged man. Bare chested. Running his fingers through his hair absently as he watches you. It’s unfair how close he is, how easy it would be to fall into him, but the distant is a canyon.

You need to accept this. Survival is at stake.

Do you want him? Yes. You’ve wanted him for a while, and this reunion is only drawing up all those old thoughts and feelings. They are being crushed and stretched like damp clothes. You’re hanging on the clothes line, swaying in the breeze.

Stepping away from the door, you follow Price back to the blanket covered mattress. He doesn’t slide beneath until you do. There is hesitation in the way he waits, like he wants to draw you close but is desperately needing your signal.

Sighing slightly, you melt into the worn mattress, turning on your side, facing him. Price fully inserts himself beneath the blankets, shifting across the makeshift bed until he’s nearly on top of you. You reach for him the moment he reaches for you.

Hand on chest, arm draped over your shoulders, a closeness of warmth that doesn’t seem to bother you now. Every breath is a number, and you count them until the room dims and you slip into dreamless sleep.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @tapioca-marzipan @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @daemondoll @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @darling006 @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi

[vanillanaps]

As I Lay Dying | Bucky Barnes

Request - if i gave you the prompt “death of a relationship” with mr bucket barnes, could you help give me the best angst ever?

A/n - This is the first fic ive been able to write in over a year. There was a lot of writing and deleting but I think I finally got it right 😭 Anon, I hope this was every thing you asked for.

Category - Bucky Barnes x Reader, angst

Warnings - Infidelity, broken hearts, authors first fic in a year, no hard feelings if it’s shitty, not proof read as always.

Word Count - 1.5k

♡♡♡♡

When you fall in love, the world you once knew changes in a heartbeat. You find this special someone whom you seem to never stop thinking about. This special someone who can make you smile, even in your saddest moments. This someone who you suddenly want to share every single small detail in your life with. This someone who you fall so madly in love with that you can’t even remember life before them, nor do you want to imagine the rest of your life without them. Love is supposed to be full of happiness, laughs, kisses, hugs, and passionate sex. Love is supposed to make you feel like you’ve been doped up on drugs for the last three years. Love is supposed to make you feel whole, not…empty.

And yet, there you were. You hadn’t moved a single muscle since those words came flowing out the love of your life’s mouth. It almost seemed silly. You questioned yourself, wondering how you didn't see it coming. Had you been so blindly in love that you hadn't noticed your boyfriend slowly slipping through the cracks of your fingers, into the hands of another woman.

Your eyes never left him. Even in a moment like this, those stunning blue eyes still had that soft and innocent charm behind them, even though that was everything he was not. They were low and soft, almost as if they were filled with true remorse, but if they were, he wouldn’t be here, leaving you for another woman. He’d be down on his knees, begging you for your forgiveness.

“Y/n,” Bucky called, a softness in his voice as if he was trying not to startle you, “Please, I just need you to say something–anything.”

“When did it start?” You asked, voice completely shot from the lump that had formed in your throat and refused to leave as your tears ran in a continuous stream down your face, “I just don’t understand Bucky, I mean, we were happy, right? We were in love, we were good!”

Bucky cleared his throat as he crossed his fingers together and lowered his head, “It started a few months ago, at Tony’s new years party.”

Your heart dropped, further than it did before, “But–but,” you took a beat, trying to piece the puzzle together. Confusion, sadness, anger, all mixed into one on your face, “......You proposed to me that night..”

He took a deep breath as his leg bounced anxiously up and down, “Y/n, i’ve never told you the truth about Nat and I.”

If it would have been possible, by now, your heart would’ve been sitting in your lap, “What?”

♡♡♡♡

Four months ago; One hour til New Year’s

The atmosphere was loud and heavy. It was Tony Stark’s annual New Year’s party and it had never failed to thrive, if anything each year the crowd grew. But Bucky didn’t mind. Not when he’s had you on his arm for the last three parties to make them more tolerable.

Currently, Bucky sat at the bar, nursing his glass of bourbon as he watched you mingle. A small smile on his face as he took in your beauty, wondering how he got so lucky to have someone like you as a lover. Truthfully, he’d never imagined finding happiness, not after all that happened with Hydra. He always thought he was too fucked up to love and to be loved and yet, you loved him for every part of him. The good and the bad.

The presence of someone standing besides Bucky pulled him from his thoughts of you, “You seem happy now.” The voice spoke softly.

Bucky kept his eyes on you and nodded, “I am..”

Nat pauses for a moment as she sips her drink before turning her attention towards you as well. She thought about her next words carefully, knowing that what she was about to say, what she was about to do was completely wrong, but she couldn’t help herself, “....Do you think you ever could’ve loved me the way you love her?”

This time it was Bucky that paused, wondering why now of all time would Natasha ask him this, When he was finally happy, in love and carefree, but nonetheless did he answer, “...I tried to, but you didn’t let me.” He answered honestly, turning his attention away from you and towards the redhead in front of him.

She fought the smile that threatened to appear on her face, finally meeting Bucky’s gaze, “Things were different back then Barnes. I was a Widow and you were my Winter Soldier trainer.”

“Times might’ve been different back then, but my feelings were real Nat, regardless.” Bucky admitted.

This wasn’t right, Nat shouldn’t be doing this. You were her best friend, hell she’s the one who introduced you to Bucky. But, if she was being honest with herself, in her whole life, the only good thing she had was Bucky and she couldn’t help but wonder if her time had expired, “And–what about now?”

Time seemed to slow as her heart beated out of her chest as the two started longingly into each other’s eyes. It was wrong, it was wrong beyond all levels, but they just couldn’t help themselves as they quickly slipped out the backdoor of the party.

♡♡♡♡

His words ricocheted through your brain as he came clean about history with Nat then told you the truth about the New Year's party. You were at a loss of words, confused on how he had thoughts of you being the one, yet slept with another woman minutes after those thoughts were formed. The man you had loved for the last three years had happened to be a complete stranger to you. He had cheated on you and proposed out of pity. Out of sometype of way to make him feel less of an asshole. To let you go through with started to plan your wedding whilst he was screwing your best friend.

As for Nat, you couldn’t believe she could betray you like this. You didn’t understand why she never told you about her and Bucky’s relationship and you sure as hell didn’t understand why she’d set you up with him if she knew deep down, her feelings were still there. That one day she’d want to try again with Bucky. But instead, she drew the sharpest knife on planet earth and drove it right through your heart. At a time like this, Nat was supposed to be the one you called. The person to pick up snacks, drive over to your house and let you cry on her shoulders for hours. Nat was supposed to pick you up when you were down, not the one kicking you to the ground.

You sobbed as everything sunk in. You weren’t sure on what to do, how to feel, but you knew one thing for sure. You never wanted to see their faces again, from this every moment, Bucky Barnes and Natasha Romanoff were dead to you.

“Get out.” You cried, shaking your head as you shot up from the couch, rage coursing through your veins, “You’re such a piece of shit! Three years! Three years of my fucking life down the drain because of you!”

“I’m sorry, Y/n, truly. I am.” Bucky tried, watching you pace the room.

A scoff left your mouth, shaking your head, “Is that supposed to make me feel better? An– I'm sorry Y/n?” You mocked him, “You know what, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the fact that I thought you could love someone. Clearly you are more fucked up than I thought you were!” It was a low-blow, you knew that, but you were running off anger. Every vein in your body was burning. Emotions running high as you were crying one minute and laughing like a crazed woman next, “I hate you! I hate you now, I’ll hate you later, I’ll hate you for eternity! You and Nat fucking deserve eachother! Two lowlife scumbags!” You pointed to the door, “Get out! Just get out, get out, get out!”

Finally, Bucky rose from his seat on the couch, slowly making his way to the door but not before stopping to grab his pre-packed bags. He fought the urge to look back at you once more. Dropping his key on the counter, he walked out the door and out of your life forever.

At that moment, your legs gave up on you. You dropped to the ground and continued to cry your life away. Your heart was in more than a million pieces and you had no idea on how you were even to begin on how to piece them back together. Within an hour, your life had changed drastically. The love of your life and your best friend, both gone in one sweep. Now, as you were alone, you felt nothing but sadness. Wondering why this had to happen to you when you had finally gotten to a good place with your life. It was true what they say, with true love comes a painful heartbreak.

You had experienced the amazing highs of a new love blossoming, but now you were facing the death of a relationship.

[sammysficfactory]

Missing Blanket

husband!dad!miguel x blackcoded!reader

tags: fluff🤭

summary: when miguel loses gabriella’s favorite blanket, all hell breaks loose.

wc: 1k words

notes: gabriella is a daddy’s girl, i could give miguel the family he wants, beta read

beta reader comments: aww thats so cute, not Miguel got the credit

Miguel was screwed. Utterly screwed. Your daughter Gabriella was having a fit because Miguel had lost her favorite blanket. Miguel was looking high and low, far and wide for this blanket. You still wouldn’t be home for another hour or so, so he was by himself. He holds Gabriella to his chest as he looks for her favorite yellow blanket.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m gonna find your blanket, okay? Daddy’s gonna find it.” He says calmly, trying to soothe her panicked state. Miguel feels terrible seeing his little girl so upset, so he’s on a mission. Miguel is all but turning the house upside down looking for the blanket when he hears the click of the front door lock.

“Miguel? Gabby? Where are y’all?” You ask, a bit frantic at the sound of your daughter’s cries. You spot Miguel holding your daughter and looking frazzled as he whips his head left to right.

“What’s wrong with my baby?” You coo at your daughter, concern painting your features. Gabby lifts her head to look at you before making grabby hands at you, motioning for you to pick her up. You take her into your arms, making a face to ask Miguel ‘what the fuck happened?’

“Daddy can’t find my blanket!” She sobs, answering your question. Your face drops in panic. ‘You did what?!’ you mouth at him. Miguel grimaces. ‘I don’t know! It’s like it just vanished into thin air! I don’t know what to do!’ he mouths back frantically, shrugging. You roll your eyes, sighing as you rub your daughter’s back.

“It’s okay, mommy’s gonna help find it.” You kiss her temple before going to the third floor of your home, checking every room for that damned blanket. You start in the bedroom you and Miguel slept in, sitting your daughter on the bed as you frantically look under the bed, in your dirty clothes hamper, and in your closet to no avail. You grab your daughter and go across the hall to her old nursery, checking the crib, the empty diaper bag, and the dresser full of clothes she couldn’t fit anymore. You leave and go to the bathroom, checking anywhere a blanket could fit, all without success.

You go down to the second floor, first checking Gabriella’s playroom. You look in and behind her dollhouse, check her toy chest, inside her lego bucket, and her small bookshelf only to find nothing. You rush into her room, checking under her pillows, blanket, and bed. Next you go into her drawers, closet and dirty clothes hamper, just to see absolutely nothing. You check the second floor bathroom, doing the same thing you did on the previous floor.

Finally, you get to the first floor. You sit your daughter on the couch as you frantically search with Miguel once more, checking under the couch, under the table of your dining room, in your kitchen, and hall closet. You come back to your living room, plopping on the couch and sighing in defeat before an idea pops up in your head. You snap your head in your husband’s direction.

“Miguel, did you check the basement?” You ask. Miguel looks at you as if you’re crazy.

“The basement, why would I check-” Then it dawned on him. Since he had the day off, Miguel offered to take Gabriella to school and start laundry before the weekend began. Your laundry room was in the basement. The two of you rush down to your basement and Miguel opens the dryer to see the very catalyst for your daughter's distress. The two of you sigh in relief.

“Look Gabby, daddy has your blanket!” You say, pointing to an exhausted Miguel who was holding the yellow blanket. Gabriella’s cries cease almost immediately when she sees her blanket in her father’s hands. Miguel hands her the blanket with a kiss on her forehead.

“Thank you, daddy.” She says, wiping her tears and quickly grabbing the blanket before nuzzling her face into it. Miguel pinches her cheek gently with a small smile.

“Thank you, honey.” Miguel winks at you, kissing your cheek as he takes Gabriella into his arms. You roll your eyes playfully, a little bitter that your husband got all the credit for your idea.

You all walk back up the stairs together. Gabby’s face was smiley and satisfied, very different from the tired but fairly relieved expression you and Miguel shared.

“Mommy, I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?” Gabby asks poking you every other syllable. You shrug before playfully nibbling her finger, resulting in a fit of laughter from her.

“I don’t know girl, ask your father.” Miguel glares at you, resulting in you glaring back. Miguel quickly averts his eyes, visibly intimidated. Since becoming a mom, your death stare has gotten better. Sometimes you’d need it in the store when Gabby was about to have a temper tantrum and she would get it together immediately. Your daughter turns to Miguel.

“Daddy can we get pizza for dinner?” She asks, showing off her trademark large and sparkly puppy eyes. You had to give your daughter her props, she knew how to get what she wanted. She’s also learned that her father was in the palm of her hand fairly quickly. Miguel makes a pained face, clearly torn between not wanting to say yes and not wanting to tell his precious daughter no.

“Okay, I’ll order pizza.” Your husband sighs in defeat, he was no match for the big sparkly brown eyes your daughter had. Gabriella rejoices in victory, doing a little dance and a song.

“We’re getting pizza. We’re getting pizza.” She repeated constantly in a sing-song voice. Miguel rubs his temples, you figured it was a stress induced headache and that Gabriella wasn’t helping.

“Gabby.” You warn. She grins sheepishly before apologizing and continuing her dance quietly, humming her to her tune. You and Miguel laugh quietly at her run of the mill antics.

“That’s your dramatic ass daughter, Miguel.” You snort. Miguel shrugs, shaking his head.

“Sure is.” He grins as he orders the pizza online. After ordering, he tosses his phone onto the coffee table and leans back in his seat.

[hubbvrd]

Hey can I request #18 with joe burrow 😊 Thankyou

summary — Joe takes you out on a date to the drive-in movie theater, where you get a little closer

pairing — joe burrow x reader

words — 1758 words

THE SUN WAS slowly setting on the horizon as Joe skillfully parked his car in one of the empty parking spaces.

About an hour and a half ago, Joe had spontaneously texted you that he would pick you up for a date.

You had tried to get a little dressed up because you didn't want to go on a date with Joe in your cozy outfit, which consisted of pajama pants and a loose shirt that was way too big for you.

In fact, you had just managed to swap your outfit for a pair of comfortable jeans and a T-shirt before Joe collected you.

And now you were in a large parking lot in the middle of nowhere, with the drive-in movie theater opening in less than an hour.

"Come on, I've got everything ready." Joe grabbed your hand after you got out and led you around the car to the trunk, which he opened, leaving you in awe.

The back seat was folded down so that you had more space inside, while countless cushions and cozy blankets were spread out.

There were even a few fairy lights to keep you cozy for the next few hours while the movie was playing.

"Wow, Joe. This is incredible," you exclaimed almost enthusiastically with a broad grin on your lips.

"I knew you would like it" Joe replied with a grin and looked over at you.

A soft giggle left your lips. "You're great!"

You gently pulled Joe over to you to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Joe's cheeks turned slightly red within a few seconds and he began to scratch his neck nervously.

"Uhm, I'll get some snacks and drinks then."

Without waiting for an answer from you, the older man had already made his way through the parked cars towards the snack bar.

With a contented sigh, you dropped onto the edge of the trunk and began to untie your Convers and slip them off your feet before sinking into the large, cosy cushions and covering yourself with one of the blankets.

From the seat in the trunk, you had an incredible view of the big screen that was a few meters from Joe's car.

Around you, other couples or friends were sitting next to each other on the roofs of their cars or in their trunks. A few soft voices wafted over to you, otherwise it was pretty quiet.

And in this silence, you began to feel the butterflies in your stomach slowly picking themselves up and starting to fly little laps.

Joe and you had already been on one date or another, but none of these dates had ever involved an intimate moment. But you were more than sure that this would come to an end today.

Because the two of you in a cramped room with countless pillows and blankets would probably end in physical contact. And that's what you desperately wanted.

You loved to cuddle, so you wanted closeness and affection quite often and let others feel it too.

Until now, you had only ever dreamed about what it would be like to cuddle up in Joe's arms and how it might feel. But today, today you would finally take the step and find out what it would be like to lie in Joe's arms.

"I see you've already made yourself comfortable," Joe's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. In his hand he held two Coca Cola bottles and a huge popcorn bucket.

"Yup," you grinned, "and I see you bought the biggest popcorn bucket on the stall?"

"Yes, so that we can still have some during the movie. I know how quickly the popcorn always runs out."

Joe handed you the two bottles of Coke and the huge bucket of popcorn, which you held securely, while Joe took off his shoes and then lay down next to you at a distance.

His aftershave immediately caught your nose and your heart began to beat a little faster within a few seconds.

Joe's proximity made you slightly nervous, so you began to wonder if the movie would distract you so much from Joe's proximity that your heart wouldn't race incessantly and you would almost go crazy.

"What...what are we actually watching?" you started some kind of topic, trying to keep your physical reactions to Joe's closeness under control as best you could.

While Joe told you a movie title you'd never heard before, you kept reaching into the bucket of popcorn to keep yourself occupied.

A short time later, the screen was switched on and three commercials appeared until the movie finally started and you began to hope you could distract yourself with the movie.

But this seemed to be more difficult than you thought, because in the middle of the movie Joe slid so close to you that your knees touched slightly and the butterflies in your stomach did somersaults.

"Are you okay?" Joe whispered softly to you as you began to play nervously with your fingers under the blanket.

A glance to your left in the dim light of the fairy lights and the screen showed you that Joe's eyes were looking at you curiously, not too far from your face.

"Um, yeah," you mumbled softly before pulling your hand out from under the blanket and reaching into the popcorn, then shoving the handful of popcorn into your mouth and chewing with relish.

As you kept shoveling a load of popcorn into your mouth and began to notice that the butterflies in your stomach were slowly calming down, you automatically became more relaxed.

But this only lasted until you suddenly felt Joe's arm around your waist, gently pulling you towards him.

"What... what are you doing?" Your voice sounded rather nervous, while the spot on your hip where Joe's hand was resting immediately began to tingle.

"You're sitting too far away," he realized and wrapped his right arm, which had been resting on your hip, around you.

Joe's warmth immediately enveloped you and your head automatically found its way towards Joe's chest, where your head rested.

Joe's fingers kept gently stroking your arm, on which goose bumps were slowly spreading. And while you tried to concentrate a little more on the movie, in which you didn't even know what had happened, you felt Joe put a blanket over you and he pulled you a little closer to him.

A smile formed on your lips as you savored the closeness to Joe and absorbed his touch, hoping that this moment wouldn't end too soon.

- - -

A soft yawn left your lips as you sauntered over to the trashcan to put the empty popcorn bucket in the trash.

The movie had ended a few minutes ago and by now it was getting pretty late. Every now and then you had already dozed off, as Joe's closeness and warmth had surrounded and enveloped you so much that your eyes had automatically closed.

The bucket landed in the garbage can with a thud and as you strolled between the parked cars back to Joe's car, you pulled Joe's warm hoodie over your head.

It had gotten pretty chilly, so you grabbed Joe's hoodie without thinking twice.

You immediately stopped shivering as the warm fabric and Joe's smell surrounded you.

You buried your nose in the fabric for a few seconds, taking in Joe's scent completely, before slowly walking back to the car to wait for Joe.

The older one had left about five minutes ago, saying that he had to go to the toilet.

Another loud yawn escaped you as you began to shake out the remaining popcorn crumbs from the blankets and another smile crept onto your lips as you began to think back to the last step and a half that Joe and you had spent cuddled up together.

It wasn't just you who had enjoyed that time to the full, but Joe too. At some point, Joe had wrapped his arms around you quite protectively and rested his head on yours, occasionally stroking your arm, lost in thought.

When you thought back to the last hour and a half, the butterflies in your stomach, which apparently didn't even finish work today, started to fly again.

A yawn next to you made you flinch, so you clutched one of the pillows tightly, possibly having to chase the person who had approached you away with the pillow, which was probably not the best defense.

"Hey. It's just me!" Joe almost shouted, throwing his hands up in the air as you swung the pillow ready to strike.

"God, Joe! Don't ever scare me like that again!" you grumbled quietly and lowered the pillow.

"I'm sorry, y/n. I didn't mean to scare you," he began to apologize to you guiltily and then took the pillow from your hand, which he carelessly threw into the trunk and then closed it.

"Let me take you home."

- - -

Fifteen minutes later, when Joe turned into the street where you lived, it took a lot of effort to even begin to keep your eyes open.

During the drive, you had both enjoyed the silence that had surrounded you except for the radio, which Joe had turned down quite a bit.

"So, here we are." Joe stopped in front of your house and looked over at you. "This really has been a lovely evening."

"It was," you agreed, hoping you wouldn't blush as the fond memories began to play out before your eyes.  "Thank you for the date."

Your lips gently touched Joe's soft cheek before you undid your seatbelt and just before you were about to get out, you remembered something else.

"Oh, I still have your hoodie on." 

Your hand reached for the waistband of the hoodie, but before you could even begin to pull it over your head, Joe's words stopped you.

"Keep it. It looks better on you anyway." He gave you a warm, honest smile, which the blood slowly start to rush to your cheeks.

"Thank you, Joe. For everything," you almost whispered before you kissed him on the cheek again and got out of the car.

Joe waited until you had disappeared inside your home before he drove home too.

With the door slamming shut, you leaned back against the door as your nose buried itself in the fabric of the hoodie again and you closed your eyes, heart pounding, and reviewed the day. And you could hardly wait for Joe to pick you up for your next date.

[strniohoeee]

Vanished

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Chris is struggling to come to terms with Y/N no longer being in his life. Stuck in the memories of the past, and having to fight with himself to see her again🫂

Warnings⚠️: None….I mean just heartbreak, so get those tissues ready😭

Songs for the imagine: Ooo Baby Baby- Smokey Robinson & The Miracles, All I want- Kodaline

Vanish

Noun

Disappear suddenly and completely

[Play Ooo Baby Baby]

“Chrissss you’re here” I shouted jumping off of my bed and running up to my boyfriend

“Of course my love, I wouldn’t miss your birthday for anything” he said kissing me

“Chris it’s just my 22nd birthday it’s nothing special” I said looking down

“Of course it is! To another year of health and happiness” he said hugging me tightly

“You’re amazing. What would I do without you?” I said pulling him tightly to hug him

“The real question is what would I do without you” he said kissing the top of my head

“Mmm probably crumble to the ground” I said giggling

“Something like that” he said laughing

“Oh babe! I got you something” he said pulling away

“Chrisss why? You know I hate gifts” I said tilting my head at him

“Well I know, but I’d never show up empty handed on your birthday. Now shut your eyes” he said tapping my nose with his pointer finger

“Fineee” I said shutting my eyes

I heard him walk to my living room and my brows furrowed as to what he got me. Truly hating gifts, but Chris expressed his love through gifts, so I went along with it.

“Okay now open” he said standing in front of me

I opened my eyes to see Chris smiling brightly and holding a vinyl record in his hands. I looked down and my mouth dropped as my eyes went wide

“You didn’t” I said grabbing the vinyl from his hands

“Oh but I did” he said smiling

“Chris I’ve been searching for this album forever, and couldn’t find it well, not an original at least ” I said looking at the album. It was Smokey Robinson’s and The Miracles 1965 Going to a go-go album.

“Trust me I’ve been searching for this album for months, and I’ve had to hide it from you” he said looking at me

“How did you find an authentic album….these are so hard to come by” I said tracing my fingers along the cover

“Lots of dead ends and lots of people helping me, and by people I mean Nick and Matt searching for hours and looking for a receipt authentizing them” he said giggling

“You’re perfect. Like this is the best gift I have ever gotten” I said hugging him again

“Put it on” he said kissing me on the cheek

I walked over to my record player and put the vinyl on. Hearing the little scratch it does before playing the song, sending shivers down my spine. I loved my record player

“Oh my god this is my favorite song” I said clapping my hands together

Ooo Baby Baby started playing and I shut my eyes letting the music take me far away.

“Dance with me?” I asked him sticking my hand out

“Babeeee you know I don’t dance” he said getting shy

“But please it’s on my bucket list to dance to this song with the love of my life” I said pouting

“Alright fine” he said dropping his head and standing up

He joined me as I wrapped my arms over his shoulders and his hands around my waist. We swayed to the music as I looked into his eyes.

“I love you, and I know I haven’t said it in a while” I said looking up at him

“You don’t have to say it, I know my love; and I love you too” he replied, smiling down at me.

“You’re the best thing that has happened to me” I said in a whisper

“I’m thankful I met you when I did” he said kissing my forehead

“I want to stay like this forever” I said looking up at him

“We can stay like this for as long as you want” he said laughing at bit

“If I could just freeze time I would” I replied

“I would too” he said in a whisper

I leaned the side of my face over his heart as we swayed to the music. Listening to the thumping of his heart as I smiled and let a tear slip from my eyes. God I loved him so much.

“Never leave me Christopher” I say in a whisper

“I would never” he said rubbing my head with his left hand

The song finished and we parted ways as I turned the music down. He walked over to my bed and sat down.

“Thank you again Chris” I said as I turned around

“Anything for you my love” he replied blowing me a kiss

I shuffled over to the bed.

“You okay baby?” He asked me as he began to scoot up on the bed

“Yeah my back just hurts today. I’ve been super busy” I said cracking my back

“Come lay down, and I’ll rub your back” he said winking at me

“I could never turn down one of your back rubs” I said winking back at him

I laid down on my stomach next to him, and he began to rub my back gently as I melted into his touch. Chris was the best boyfriend anyone could ask for, and I truly hoped he knew that.

[Play All I Want]

Chris POV

I sat down in front of her, my heart breaking and tears beginning to fill my eyes. I mean I just couldn’t believe what I was going through.

How I just sat here with her infront of me…so close yet so far away. I couldn’t come to terms that this was my reality. Oh how badly I wish I could turn back the hands of time and really hold on to what we had…. I really took a lot for granted.

Reminiscing on our past memories whether they were good or bad, and wishing so badly I could go back to that. If I knew our story had a bad ending I would’ve held on to her a bit tighter.

It’s been two months since I last saw her, and looking at her right now was making me sick. Wishing I could kiss her lips again or hold her tight against my body and whisper how much I loved her. God this was painful….

Silence consuming us as I sat here not sure what to say, or what to do. Struggling to find my voice as I racked my brain for words to express to her.

“It’s been a while” I stated looking down

“I wasn’t even sure I would be able to come here today, but I knew I had to. Had to see you one more time to finally realize that this is over, and not something I made up in my brain” I said finally looking up

“Your mom came by my house two months ago when she came to pick up the last of your belongings ,and she dropped off a letter you wanted me to read” I said, looking at her….waiting for her to say something

“I was so fucking hurt that I left that letter on my dresser for two months. I mean I couldn’t even come to terms with us being over, and you not in my life anymore. I couldn’t bring myself to read it, but I knew when I decided to come see you today I would finally have the courage to open up the letter with you” I said shaking my head

“Well…I’m going to open it, and read it out loud because I want you to hear it for yourself again” I said picking up the letter and showing her

I sniffled and wiped my eyes. Running my fingers over the cover of the envelope titled ‘Chris<3’….. I almost chickened out, but I came here for her and to be able to step away from us and move on with my life

“Well here goes nothing” I said looking at her as I opened the envelope and pulling the letter out

I began to read out loud

Dear Chris,

To my sweet sweet boy oh how I love you so much. I’m so grateful for everything you have taught me in life, and for all the love you have shown me. Before you I was so depressed and felt like I had no meaning in life. But when you came along you showed me that life is beautiful, and I began to see in colors again.

I remember the first day I saw you I thought wow he’s so immature and annoying….but look at us we ended up together. I mean that wasn’t on my agenda, but love has a funny way of finding those who aren’t looking for it. I sure wasn’t looking for love, but here we are you swept me off my feet what can I say.

I can’t even begin to describe how you changed my life for the better. I know we had our ups and downs, and we argued a lot (you are very hard headed, and I know you’re thinking ‘no I’m not’ right now, but yes you are!). I know you would beat yourself up over a lot of things, but Chris nobodies perfect. However you were the closest thing to perfect! So stop beating yourself up my love.

You’re very hard on yourself, and I don’t think you realize how great you truly are. You’re so focused on being perfect that you let life fly by your eyes. Take a step back and just enjoy what you have! Please don’t take life for granted.

I remember when I first told you I was sick, and that I wouldn’t be around for a long time. I expected you to run and leave me, but you sat with me. And we talked…we talked about life, and we cried, and we laughed and most importantly you helped me live life. I know a lot of days were hard because I wasn’t feeling well. You were there to help me complete my bucket list, and that I will forever cherish even in the after life! And when it was getting close to the end you never stopped losing faith and you never let me think about death. With you I was alive….more alive than I’ve ever been. I want you to know that I fought for you, and if you’re reading this it’s because I lost my battle. However I need you to keep fighting in life, and if it’s not for yourself then fight for me okay!

When you purchased me the Smokey Robinson and The Miracles album you made me the happiest girl ever. I know that you knew it was getting really bad, and I was at the end; but you never made me feel like I was dying. I’m thankful that you never treated me differently even though you were suffering on your own.

I know you said that after I passed you’d never date again because I was your soulmate, but I want you to move on in life. Keep me as a memory and a special part of your story locked away in your heart, but don’t close yourself off to love. When you find the perfect girl (which you will), and you get married my only request is that you dance to Ooo Baby Baby at your wedding! Make that promise for me.

Now I know you don’t believe in reincarnation, but I do and I promise you we will find each other again. If you ever hear Ooo Baby Baby just know that I am here with you. Don’t ignore it because it will be a sign of me.

I know you will be sad and in pain, but I want you to keep your head up and push forward in life for me. You will be okay one day. So once again thank you for always being there for my Christopher, and I hope to see you in another lifetime!

I love you with all my heart….till next time

Sincerely,

Y/N

I let out a shaky breath as I broke down sobbing. Closing the letter back up as I put it back in the envelope. Putting the envelope in my pocket.

Vigorously wiping my eyes and my nose as I broke down sobbing. I never cried in front of Y/N, and I’m sure she was looking down on me laughing as I tried to hide my sobs.

I inhaled shaky as I licked my lips and batted my tears away.

“Fuck man….you have such a way with words” I said looking back over at her

“Life is so unfair…I finally found the one thing I was so sure about in life, and just like that it’s swiped from my hands. If only we could’ve froze time” I said shaking my head

“I miss you…I miss you a lot. Most nights I wake up from this bad dream reaching over to grab you only to realize you’re not here anymore, and my bad dreams are a reality” I said swallowing thickly

“I know I always said I love you, but man if I could get one more chance to say I love you to your face. How your face would crinkle up and your eyes would squint at those words” I said laughing a bit

“God… I just I just miss you man. I’m not sure how I’m going to keep pushing in life, but for you I will” I stated as I fixed the flowers in front of her

“You were my best friend, and my soulmate. I’m going to miss our corny little hand shakes and our slow dances. You know I took your record player and the Smokey Robinson album. And I play it every night, often falling asleep to it. It brings me the same comfort your embrace would” I said as I looked at her

“Most mornings I wake up swearing I hear your voice, or smell your perfume. Hoping you’re going to walk through my bedroom door with bags of snacks screaming my name like you always did…..just hoping you’d wake me from this bad dream” I said licking my lips and wiping my nose

“But I think I’m going to go. It was nice seeing you, and I’ll be back more often” I said standing up

“You look beautiful” I said as I wiped the dirty and rocks off of her tombstone

“I miss you and I love you dearly, and I hope you’re doing okay” I said as I leaned down kissing her tombstone

“Until next time my love” I stated as I let my finger brush off her tombstone, slowly walking away.

I walked away wiping my eyes and taking a deep breath trying to gather myself. Unable to come to terms with having to walk away from the love of my life’s tombstone.

Never seeing her again was going to be the worst part of my life, but I always promised her that I would keep it pushing just for her.

My beautiful girl….oh how I missed her

5 months later

It had been a solid 7 months since the passing of my Y/N. It was still hard, but I was taking it day by day. Having my family and hers to keep me going in life. I still wake up from bad dreams searching for her, and that’s something I’m sure I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.

I visited her grave every 2 and a half weeks. Just sitting and reminiscing with her about anything I thought of that reminded me of her, or memories we always laughed about. It truly helped me feel better about losing her.

Every corner I turned or everywhere I went something always reminded me of her. It brought a smile to my face but a pain to my heart. I began to believe that she was showing me signs of always being with me, and it made my heart flutter.

Three months ago a blue and black butterfly would always land on or near her tombstone whenever I was there. I swore it was just a coincidence, but when it happened every time I began to believe in reincarnation like she did, and started to think it was her showing me a sign.

Today I was heading to a flea market with my brothers to do some shopping. It was something they loved to do, but I cared less about. I tagged along because I hadn’t really been leaving the house. I figured I could use some fresh air

We were walking around when I decided to branch off from my brothers and look at some other things.

I landed on a booth selling old record players, and immediately my mind went to Y/N. Oh how she would’ve loved to be here, and I’m sure she would’ve bought one.

The guy was helping someone else as I was looking at the record players.

Suddenly I heard a record scratch and Ooo Baby Baby started playing. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my eyes went wide. I turned around and saw the record player in the far corner.

I walked over to it and looked down. It was an authentic 1965 Going To a Go-Go album playing. Just like the one I purchased my Y/N. A smile crept up on my face and I began to think about that night we shared dancing.

When suddenly something from the corner of my eye caught my attention, so I looked down. Tears came to my eyes when I saw a blue and black butterfly had landed on the record player. Not moving, just standing there with the wings spread.

I smiled and laughed a bit…she was right about reincarnation, and that I’d find her again.

“I love you” I whispered

And with that the butterfly flew over my left shoulder and was gone with the wind, and just like that it had

Vanished.

The End

YALLLL I BOUT NEAR CRIED WRITING THIS🥹🥹 I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it🤭🤭. Thank you all for the support, and I’m sooo close to 1,300 followers like WHATTT?? I love yall🤞🏽🥹🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

[midsummer-semantics]

under the dancing lights

Small break while I do a million other things but here's *checks calendar* day 16 of @steddieangstyaugust.

Prompt: Halloween

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Underage Drinking, Cemeteries, Canon Complaint (question mark???), Ambiguous Ending

divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

He isn’t sure why he’s out here. It’s not like there’s anything left, anything calling him to action. The kids are old enough to trick-or-treat without supervision, Robin is with Vicky at a party he didn’t want to third-wheel to, and everyone else…

The point is, traipsing through Roane County cemetery on Halloween night seemed like a good idea when Steve is three Jack and Coke’s deep and unsure of where he fits into the regular world. He bought a dozen flowers on the way here just before the shop closed for the evening, like he couldn’t risk showing up to the cemetery empty-handed for some reason. 

Barb’s grave is overrun with flowers 365 days a year, three years running. Steve leaves several of the carnations in the bundle he carries at the tombstone, begging forgiveness as he does every few months. He hasn’t told Nancy what he does, even when he’s accompanied her a few times. He simply stays silent, lets Nancy grieve, and returns a few weeks later to replace the dead ones when no one is paying attention.

Next is Bob Newby, whom he didn’t know, but the kids did, so he drops a couple of flowers off out of perfunctory expectation.

Billy is the one of the hardest, his grave near Steve’s dad’s grandparents’ joint plot. He tends to spend a little more time here, aware of how the plot feels under his knees, remembering how Max looked as she lifted in the air under Vecna’s influence. Sometimes, Steve comes just to sit, to stare at Billy’s name and curse his existence, even if it brought him Max. Other times, Steve sits and talks, tells his rival how his step-sister is doing, how Steve learned to plant his feet, how regardless of what a piece of shit he was, no one deserved to deal with the bullshit the Upside Down had to offer. He leaves one flower out of obligation, but he doesn’t linger like he normally would.

He leaves a few at Chrissy’s grave, not just because she died, but because he knew her, even vaguely because she was a cheerleader while he was still on the basketball team. And because Eddie would want him to.

He flips off Jason’s grave as he passes it.

Three years — less than, technically— since the first death. Almost three years since Steve took Jonathan’s nail bat and made it his weapon of choice against the monsters that lurk beneath their feet. 

Over half a year since Max went into a coma that doctors — UD connected or otherwise — or Eleven haven't been able to wake her up from. 

Seven months since Eddie Munson was added to the list of people Steve couldn’t save.

The sun has dipped well past the treeline on the edges of the cemetery by the time he reaches Eddie’s grave. There’s no one else around, thankfully, but Steve knows it’s only a matter of time before some idiot high school kids make their way to the cemetery to get trashed and try to see a ghost or fuck near one of the graves. He should know, he was one of those idiot kids not too long ago.

There’s writing on Eddie’s headstone, scrawling letters spelling out MURDERER in red spray paint. One of the R’s is backward, Steve notes, rolling his eyes, a gesture that makes his vision swim a little. It’s not the worst thing that’s been blasted across the headstone since it was placed, but it’s by far the dumbest. He sets the remaining flowers down at his feet as he crouches to examine the writing closer. It’s dry, but it can’t have been there for more than a few days considering he was just here for Eddie’s birthday and had cleaned the last slur himself. He should have brought a bucket and brush instead of the stupid flowers, but he’s a little wobbly from the alcohol and the idea of going back to his car for any reason other than to go home and pass out alone sounds terrible. He’ll come back tomorrow and clean it, plus whatever gets done to it tonight probably. Maybe he should have brought his nail bat. Camped out next to Eddie’s grave and waited to see who exactly is doing it so he can make sure they know never to do it again.

Steve loses his precarious balance, falling back on his ass in the cold, damp grass with a soft “oof!” The flask in his back pocket digs into one cheek, and he shuffles around until he can extract it, then leans back on one hand while the other holds the cool metal.

“Probably stupid to drink more, but I doubt you’d give me shit about it,” Steve says to the grave, holding the flask up like he’s making a toast before closing his eyes and taking a swig. He actually hates whiskey, but it was all that was in the house since it’s his dad’s favorite, and beggars can’t be choosers.

Still, he coughs a bit as the straight liquor burns a path down his throat — he really should have brought some kind of chaser with him, but hindsight and all that — and then lays back on the grass as soon as it clears.

He keeps his eyes closed, breathing through the slight roil in his stomach, and imagines what it would be like if he simply sank into the ground beneath him. Not like if vines were to spring up and drag him under, but if he just slowly melted into the earth the way one feels like they’re melting on a really plush mattress.

It’s only a slight comfort that the grave he’s lying on is empty. Otherwise, his vision of being swallowed by the earth might come with the extra twist of Eddie’s hands dragging him down Evil Dead-style. 

He snorts to himself, his head lolling back and forth a bit. Eddie would have loved that reference, he knows it. He may not have known him for long before. . . before, but he’s sure of it regardless.

After a moment, he brings his hands up to rub the heels into his eyes, waiting until he sees stars before he opens them. The stars continue to blink for a few seconds as his eyes adjust to the inky black sky.

Wait.

No.

There are stars dancing. Little lights swaying to and fro in front of his face, with more popping up around him. He turns his head in awkward directions against the grass, knowing he’s getting foliage in his hair the whole time, watching as more blink to life.

He shuts his eyes again as he sits up, but when he reopens them, they’re still there. It’s too late in the year for fireflies, too cold this late at night at the end of October, and yet the lights dance regardless. 

“Whoa,” he breathes, feeling a distinct sense of deja vu to when he was blitzed out of his mind on Russian truth serum and staring at the ceiling of Starcourt.

One of the stars comes close to him, wisping against his cheek like a tickling feather before flying away. Another does it to his left arm where he’s holding himself up, another to his hip where his shirt has ridden up slightly under his windbreaker. Steve giggles uncontrollably as another brushes his forehead and he turns his head to follow them. There’s another, and another, and another, and as he reaches out to catch one—

“Having a good night, big boy?”

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 24)

TW: Kinda Gross.

It took awhile for the new “Doorman Family.” To adjust to their new living situation, Uzi had begun to pack up her old room, and a few boxes of stuff had already been packed in and sat on the kitchen counter. Tera was spending the day with Khan and Uzi.

While N was doing something… rather unpleasant.

Despite the container Uzi had made him lasting a long time, it did still need to be refilled once a week, and he'd already been out for two days. He just�� hadn't felt like going out and getting more, it had been so comfortable to not worry about it for over a week.

But with his internal temperature beginning to pass the double digits and into the triple, he couldn't put it off any longer, he needed to go out again.

And while he could head to the nursery and ask for some, with the amount he would need every week he felt as if he would be taking oil from the mom's and babies who needed it. It was the same reason he never touched Uzi's stash, she needed it, and she needed more when she was the one filtering it for Tera as well.

So instead, he was going to the only other place in the bunker where there was a surplus of oil nobody would miss.

Doll's room.

He didn't entirely love that idea, but Doll hadn't been seen for months, and her room had been completely untouched for that time too, unless V had snuck in for a snack.

Plus, he didn't want to leave the bunker if he didn't have to, his family was here, and trying to go out, find a corpse to siphon from (which wouldn't even fill half his bottle) and trying to be back by morning was going to be a tight squeeze, and he didn't feel like going back to risking his neck every night when he had someone waiting for him to get back.

Heh, someone waiting for him.

Even though he was one of the most dangerous things in the bunker, or even on Copper-9 he still felt nervous to go back there, his footfalls feeling heavy and hesitant as he drew closer to the hallway it was located. The air around him was full of tension, even if the rest of the drones were going about their normal day.

When the door swooped open, the lights were off, concealing what was truly in the room, and he made sure it was closed behind him before he took a deep breath to steady himself. Other drones didn't need to see this, he didn't want to see it, but he had a task at hand, and well, he was already here.

And he turned on the light.

The first thing his eyes landed on was the braided chains hanging from the ceiling, coated in coagulatied oil, various limbs stuffed between the chain links awkwardly, bent horribly as they were forced through without care if they fit or not.

He really didn't like being in here, somehow it was more eerie then the spire, not just because he was used to it, the corpses that made it up were cleaned out and empty, nothing but burned out servos and warped metal. Drained of every livegiving drop of oil long ago.

The ones here still seemed to move. Each coated in it's own oil that had semi-hardened with time, glistening, dripping rhythmicly like a long forgotten sink. Doll was essentially practicing bloodletting, letting oil drip from their wounds and settle into buckets placed below the chains, helped by gravity.

She'd been methodical in her work, she didn't have fangs, so every wound that was inflicted “post mortem” was small, calculated and near perfect, maximized for draining every drop of oil into the buckets below, a part of him was impressed, even J hadn't been this efficient when she was feeding.

He let out a shaky breath, trying not to linger here any longer than required to get this done. He went over to the closest full bucket, the smell (oh why did his creator give him a sense of smell?) was nearly overpowering, so sickly sweet it made his mouth water, and his eyes burn, a conflict between his morality and his knawing hunger.

He pulled out his container and began to gingerly pour out the buckets contents into it, trying to ignore the constant skittering of the robo-roaches above him, clinging to the bodies that were closest to the ceiling.

“Come on, come on, come on.” He whispered to himself, feeling the jitters crawl up his back with every moment he lingered. He felt as though someone or something was watching him

Maybe it was the pungent smell, or the lighting that was somehow bathed the room in red, but he could almost hear… whispers, spoken by the bodies around him, begging him to help them, to save them.

Or to join them.

Finally, his container was full, but by then his hands were trembling and he didn't put the bucket back down gracefully, it clattered to the ground, breaking the relative silence in the room, suddenly all the skittering stopped, as did the whispers.

He froze for a moment, halfway expecting something to jump him for daring to make so much noise. He gulped, glancing to both of his sides before she sighed, he was just being paranoid. Doll wasn't here, no one was-

There was a clatter from the bedroom.

His head and his stinger both whipped in that direction, all his sensors snapping into fight mode, he grabbed his container and held it close to him, an instinctual growl escaping him.

His desire to make sure it was nothing, to make sure it wasn't a threat to his family, drove him forward. His legs pushed him even through his apprehension, and the silence was genuinely deafening, every sensor, every ounce of processing power was being used to take in every single detail. His eyes disappeared, replaced by the iconic “X” that disassembly drones were known for.

As he creeped into the bedroom and flicked on the light, he found, for starters, that it was a completely normal bedroom, it was clean, tidy, and thankfully distant from the oppressive carnage present in the rest of the apartment.

He roamed all seven of his eyes all over the room, finding that nothing was out of place as far as he could tell, but… he knew he heard something, he didn't imagine it.

He took a step farther into the room, before he tripped, his body lurching forward and slamming into the carpet, he yelped, the fall taking the “X” off his face, and a hiss of pain as his visor smacked the floor, producing a very shallow crack.

“Agh…” He groaned, lifting himself up slowly, his nanites already fixing the hairline fracture before he'd even noticed he'd hurt himself.

He stood up and looked back at the doorway, where he felt his core jump up into his throat.

On the floor was something slick, black, and pulsing as if it was alive, he felt his breath hitch as he immediately brought out a sword, ready to fight whatever being it was connected to.

But it only continued to lie there, still aside from the rhythmic pulses as if it had a heart that was beating. His eyes trailed along the… tentacle… vein? to see where it lead, only for it to seem to dissappear underneath the bed.

He'd seen this before, attached to centipede J. But this one seemed… inert. He slowly moved towards it, his sword still drawn from his hand as he brought the tip of it closer.

He poked it, and watched as it flinched away from the sharp tip but didn't move, the pulsing growing more frantic at the contact.

He didn't know wether he wanted to scream like a bitch and run away, or vomit. What the heck was this? This growth in Doll's room that should be attached to something organic, that was just… on the floor.

He poked it again, it flinched again, but still made no moves to well… move.

He wasn't sure what to do, this wasn't normal, what if this thing got out? Was it just deciding not to move or was it stuck there? What was it attached to?

He took another deep breath, this was freaky… but he didn't seem to be actively in danger, so he put his sword away, replacing it with his hand, and leaned down next to the king sized bed, lifting up the covers to peer underneath it.

He found that the vein wasn't attached to anything accept to the underside of the bed, where it was held there by a strange red… mass that resembled moss, if moss smelled of iron, and seemed to squirm, carrying the same pulses the vein was making, a heartbeat, or breathing.

Small black veins ran through the moss, much like the circulatory system in something that was organic and much larger. N gulped before deciding that he wanted to see if this too, was stationary, and unsheathed his sword to prod at the mass.

It too flinched, but it had the added lovely bonus of beginning to seep and thick red liquid, almost oil but… not as thick. He smelled iron, and as he pulled the sword away the tip glimered crimson. Somehow it was familiar to him, and he touched the tip of the blade, smearing the tips of his fingers together.

Blood.

How he knew that, he didn't quite know.

He pulled back, creepiness reaching a fever pitch. He decided it was time to leave, and lock this… thing. Inside this apartment, and he wouldn't ever come back in here, nope, weird creepy flesh moss could have this room, thank you.

He hurriedly made his way back to his apartment with a full canister of oil, and a core full of fear…

Next ->

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - "Comeback"

Read Olympics AU "Beginnings" if you're new here.

AU summary: Paris 2024 Olympics. Gale is on the U.S. equestrian eventing team, Bucky is a U.S. gymnast, they meet on the plane to Paris, and a love story ensues.

Author's Note: This is probably not what @avonne-writes had in mind when asking for a massage scene (at least not the beginning), but I think it worked out anyways. We take a deeper dive into Bucky's story and what it took to make it to Paris, and Gale is a good boyfriend (Wait are they dating? Neither of them know)

---

The world loves a comeback story. 

They love to watch a star rise from the depths of a sport. And they also love to watch them fall. Like pulling out a bucket of popcorn to witness a train wreck – it gives them something to talk about. Something to lament. Something to circulate in newspapers and on morning shows and around social media for weeks. Something to sell headlines.

“A shame,” they say. “So much potential. Lost just like that.”

“He’ll make it through,” some say. “He’s strong. If anyone can do it, it’s him.”

“Impossible,” others say. “There’s no way. He’s done.”

They shake their heads. They send their thoughts and prayers, empty words. They say they’re wishing you a speedy recovery. And all the while they’re talking about what the future of the sport will look like without you in it. They write you off. Done. Over. Forgotten to time. 

Nothing but a name that once was met with such veneration.

But then, you set out to prove them wrong. Even when there’s only a small handful of people still holding out hope, even when those people are just glad you’re alive and couldn’t care less about your name, you put one foot in front of the other. You grit your teeth and pull every ounce of strength from the depths of your soul and pretend the world doesn’t matter. Pretend you can’t hear what they’re saying about you, about how disappointing it all is, about how there’s no coming back from a catastrophe like that — pretend you can’t hear those cynical, whispered words, even when they’re needling at your skin, trying to break through. 

And slowly, slowly, slowly, pretending the pain isn’t there, pretending your heart is stronger than you believe it is, pretending you never had a single doubt — slowly, you rise again. 

Like a phoenix from the ashes, except the ashes keep trying to pull you back down. 

Bucky kind of wishes the reporters would just shut the fuck up about his amazing comeback story. 

“U.S. gymnast John Egan seeking another Olympic medal less than two years after terrifying high bar accident,” the headlines say. 

“Incredible.” “Inspirational.” “Insane.” “Invincible.”

Those are the words people use when they talk about him. After the accident, he was “done for.” He was “hopeless.” They whispered his name and grieved his legacy. But now he’s “strong” and “unstoppable” and “relentless.” He’s back. And that’s the stuff a good story is made of.

“It’s hard to believe he’s made it this far,” they say. “It’s incredible that he’s able to do any of this right now. I can’t imagine how he does it.”

And it’s flattering, really. But he’s well aware of the unbeatable odds that he overcame to make it to Paris this year. He’s well aware of the courage and the strength and the determination that it took. He was there. He went through it. He’s the one that screamed in pain when the world shattered around him and cried his way through grueling physical therapy day after terrible day. He’s the one that nearly tore his sports psychologist’s head off when he couldn’t get past the mental blocks, couldn’t push through the fear. He was there. He remembers all of it in more detail than he wishes were possible. He remembers every gasp, every drop of sweat, every skill that he had to relearn, every landing that he prayed he’d stick. 

It’s all in his head, and he’s fought hard to keep his head on straight in spite of it. He doesn’t need it thrown in his face, too. 

But he’s learned to deal with it. He’s learned to smile to the reporters and answer their questions and move on. Because it’s part of him now, and he has to accept that. That’s the price he has to pay for living and breathing this sport that he loves.

–

It’s only the day after opening ceremonies, but Bucky feels like he’s been here for weeks even though he has several days of competition left. A big meet is always a strange limbo for him — feeling like he’s going at full speed, unable to catch his breath, even as he feels like it’s dragging on, no end in sight. That feeling has been worse this season. 

His whole body is exhausted; he’s used to that. His left leg is sore, though, like it has been at every meet this year. He’s gotten used to that, too; he’s not sure it’ll ever be 100% again. But he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. He feels too lucky, being here, regardless of how much of himself he poured into his comeback. It feels too fast, too easy, like he shouldn’t have gotten this far but instead should’ve been stopped at the gate, told ‘sorry, you don’t belong here anymore.’ He might as well have sold his soul to get himself here, and he keeps waiting for someone to tell him his time is up. 

He keeps waiting for his leg to give out. 

He checks his brace again, under his pants. It’s still secure, just like it was when he checked it two minutes ago, and two minutes before that. He shakes his head and curses the universe for assigning the high bar as his last event today. 

Bucky has had a phenomenal qualifying round, as have his teammates. John Egan, Curtis Biddick, Harry Crosby, John Brady, and Alex Jefferson: that’s the men’s gymnastics team that stands a chance of putting the U.S. back on the podium for the first time since 2008, and their qualifying round looks promising. Particularly between Bucky’s floor and rings, Curt’s vault and high bar, Croz’s pommel horse and parallel bars, and Brady and Alex’s ability to seamlessly fill in the gaps in any event, they look pretty unstoppable right about now. They just have to keep this going for the finals, and hope some of them qualify for individual events and all around.

Bucky and Curt cheer loudly as Croz completes his dismount on parallel bars. The team swarms him as he leaves the apparatus, patting him on the back and telling him he did an amazing job.

“Can’t believe you stole my dismount,” Bucky jokes. Croz had perfectly executed a parallel bars dismount that, in the code of points, was dubbed “the Egan” the year before Bucky’s accident.

Croz laughs and bumps his shoulder against Bucky’s. “You just wish you did it as good as I do.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and ruffles Croz’s hair, saluting his team as he follows their coach to the high bar. He’s the last athlete on their team to finish their final rotation. As he chalks up his hands, bounces from foot to foot and hypes himself up, his eyes skim over the crowd of spectators. It’s nothing compared to the crowd for women’s gymnastics, especially just for qualifications, but it’s something. It’s big enough that he shouldn’t be able to pick out a face unless he knows where to look. 

And yet his eyes are drawn like a magnet to Gale Cleven – and wait, what the hell is he doing here? Blonde hair and a cheerful smile, undoubtedly fresh from Versailles where Bucky knows he was riding dressage for the eventing team earlier today. He’s looking off somewhere in the distance, beyond where Bucky is prepping for his final event. But Marge and Benny are on either side of him, and when Marge sees Bucky looking up at the stands, she excitedly smacks Gale’s arm and shouts, pointing to the apparatus below. Gale’s eyes lock right onto Bucky’s, and he takes a deep breath before he waves and yells, “GO JOHN!” Benny and Marge even join in.

Bucky blows Gale a kiss, and he finds himself honest to god grinning before the high bar for the first time since before his accident. 

The world notices it, too. 

“John looks almost excited about this event for the first time since his comeback,” the commentators are saying on TV. The camera focuses on him as he steps onto the mat next to his coach. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like that’s… Gale Cleven? In the stands. Is that who he’s smiling at? The equestrian athlete.”

The other commentator says “I think you’re right. You know, they’ve been spotted together quite a lot in the last few days. Including at the opening ceremonies.”

The Paris opening ceremonies had been historical, as the first summer games opening ceremony to take place outside of a stadium. The night was straight out of a fairy tale, with colorful lights all along the Seine as athletes stood on boats that traveled down the river at sunset, spectators watching from the sides and from above. They sailed in a 6 kilometer parade that ended right in front of the Eiffel Tower. Some of the equestrian team had been spotted with the men’s gymnastics team on the U.S. boat, all of them orbiting around John and Gale, who were seen laughing and talking, always an arm slung around a shoulder or a hand on a waist. Social media, of course, has been going crazy over those photographs.

So if the media wasn’t interested in John Egan and Gale Cleven as a potential item before, well, they are certainly interested now. 

“John Egan has been very open about his sexuality in recent years,” the first commentator says. “So one definitely has to wonder if there’s something between those two.”

But Bucky doesn’t care about that at the moment.

He raises his arm in salute to the judges, and his coach helps lift him up to the bar. “You got this John,” he says, and then it’s just Bucky and the bar he’s determined not to fear.

He breathes deeply as he swings himself up and around, forcing his focus to narrow to nothing but this moment. No past. No future. Just now. He takes that with him into his first release, a simple straddle. Then he works himself up to a Kolman, a backflip with a full twist. Then a Cassina, the same thing in a laid-out position. The Cassina is the exact release that almost ruined his life. But today he completes it, and he’s on to the next skill, and the next and the next. He can feel his heart beating through his entire being every time his hands seek out the bar, every time he completes a skill and surges into the next.

Somewhere off to the side, he can hear Curt and Croz shouting encouragement at the top of their lungs, as they always do. He can feel the bar gripped beneath his fingertips, and the air rushing by with every swing, every release, every flip. He can feel the exertion in his face and in his arms with every handstand. He can feel the tension in his legs.

But then his body is flipping through the air, his feet are hitting the ground. He’s staring down at them, pressed into the mat with his arms out to the side. He’s done it. 

It’s only qualifying, so he’s far from done here. But he stuck his dismount perfectly, not even a step off balance, and his teammates are going wild because they know how much every little success means this year. Bucky salutes the judges before yelling “LET’S GO!” as he pumps a fist in the air and walks off the mat, where he’s greeted with slaps on the back and tight hugs from team USA. 

Curt and Croz practically lift him into the air in their excitement, and Bucky’s eyes catch Gale’s again. He’s right in the front of the grandstand with Marge and Benny, and they’re on their feet, waving their arms in the air as they celebrate this small victory right along with him. 

–

“Are you okay?” Gale asks later that night. Bucky has been quiet for several minutes now, rubbing absently at his left lower leg and knee as he stares off into space. It’s a couple of hours after qualifications ended, and they’re in Gale’s room, Benny having gone out with some of the other equestrian team members for the evening. Gale is sitting on the floor next to his bed, his back against the wall, so Bucky can sit comfortably on the bed. Damn cardboard.

Bucky nods at Gale and tries to give a reassuring smile that falters at the edges. “Yeah, my leg is just a little sore I guess.”

He doesn’t miss the way Gale freezes, just for half a second. The way his eyes flick to Bucky’s left leg, the way he nervously licks his lower lip in concern. Fuck.

“You watched the video didn’t you,” Bucky asks. He groans when Gale stays quiet, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “I should’ve told you not to look it up.”

He shouldn’t have let Gale search for that terrible video that has no business being anywhere online. That Bucky tries with every fiber of his being to forget exists because, if he doesn’t, he might be masochistically drawn to watching it himself. And that is the last thing he needs.

But they showed it on the news when it happened. The whole gymnastics world has seen it. Everyone who cares to watch it has seen it. The whole world witnessed his downfall in disgusting clarity. And with the Olympics now, it’s circulating yet again. 

It gives curious and sadistic spectators a front row seat to the moment that almost destroyed John Egan’s career. He was at the World Gymnastics Championships in the UK in November 2022. High bar was his last event; he was so close to a world medal. But then the unthinkable happened. His hands sought out the bar at the end of a Cassina, a skill he’s been doing for years now, and all of a sudden, the bar just snapped in half. Bucky vividly remembers the sensation of his heart plummeting in his chest, the air whipping past his face too fast too fast too fast, the stunned silence around him as if everything was happening in slow motion. And then an explosion of pain that made his vision go white before there was just nothing.

The video shows him hurtling through the air off of the broken bar, landing in an ugly heap with a crunch and a blood curdling scream that supposedly came out of his own mouth. His leg can be seen twisted at awful angles as he lay unconscious on the mat, crumpled like a rag doll, as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes that had been tossed to the ground. Everything was too still, everyone too shocked to move. 

Then suddenly the world remembered that it was supposed to keep turning. His coach, who would torment himself for months over whether there was any way he could’ve stopped this from happening, rushed to him, followed by Curt and Croz, who would rarely leave his side through his whole recovery. Medics pushed through them all, saying they needed space. They tried to wake him up, tried to find signs of life. They lifted his limp body onto the stretcher. The crowd murmured nervously as they watched, wondering if they’d just witnessed the end of a record-breaking career.

Bucky doesn’t remember any of that, though. He doesn’t remember anything between the excruciating pain immediately following his premature dismount and waking up, still in excruciating pain, in a white hospital room. He’d hit his head somehow during the fall, knocking him out for two straight days. It was a miracle, they said, that he didn’t have any brain damage. But the same could not be said about his leg. He’d fractured his tibia and destroyed just about everything in his knee that there was to destroy. 

The surgeon told him he may never do gymnastics again. 

He practically spat in the surgeon’s face.

Because Bucky doesn’t know who he’d be without gymnastics. He doesn’t want to know. 

“I would’ve looked it up either way,” Gale says quietly.

“Why? I knew it would only scare you.”

“I don’t know,” Gale admits. He looks back up at Bucky, his eyes worried. “Everyone keeps talking about your comeback. Back at the top again after a career-ending injury. They talk about how awful it was. I needed to know what they meant… I couldn’t stand not knowing.”

“You won’t be able to stand knowing, either,” Bucky insists, picking at the fabric of his tee shirt to keep his fingers from shaking.

Gale frowns. “I’m not the one that lived it.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and looks Gale in the eye. “I don’t talk about it much.”

“I understand.”

“It was… it was a long process. Getting here again.” 

And then Bucky does something he never does. He tells Gale about what it took, what it cost him. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s a need for Gale to know him, that same aching need that he’s felt the last several days. Or maybe it’s just a need for someone to hear this story that he only ever shoves down, down, down where it can’t hurt him anymore. 

He tells Gale about the pain – physical and emotional – of destroying your body and your career at the same time. He tells him about the physical therapy, the occupational therapy, the weeks and weeks he spent just trying to walk again. About the way Curt and Croz refused to let him push them away, how they stuck by his side and went through all of the physio with him no matter how insufferable he could be, no matter how angry at the world he got. He talks about the months spent with a sports psychologist trying to stop being afraid, and how he still talks to the guy sometimes to keep his head level when the anxiety picks up again. 

He tells Gale about how excruciating it was trying to train again, trying to get his body to listen to his brain again. Trying to push through the pain just enough to keep going, but not enough to break. And how utterly humiliating it was at times, being in his old gym with his Olympian teammates but being unable to perform and land skills that once were simple. He talks about how he felt so much gut-wrenching guilt at the thought of letting his late sister down, as absurd as he knows that was. And he tells Gale about how he bailed out in a panic his first several times back on a high bar, flipping into the foam pit that was mercifully below him. He explains the slow, aggravating process of trusting himself again, and accepting the fact that he can’t trust anything but himself and the people close to him in this crazy, unfair world. 

He doesn’t even remember how he got there, but by the time Bucky has run out of words, he’s on the floor with Gale. He’s letting himself hide away in Gale’s strong arms, which are wrapped tightly around him, one hand on his back and the other cupping the back of his head. He’s curled into Gale’s side with his head tucked against his shoulder, and he’s fighting to make sure he doesn’t start crying all over this man’s shirt.

After learning about how hard Bucky has pushed himself, how unrelenting he’s been in his recovery, a part of Gale wants to say please don’t hurt yourself. But he knows he has no right. He knows firsthand that those words are empty. When anyone says it to him, a quiet plea to be careful, slow down, he laughs and tells them that’s not how horseback riding works. He does what he can to be smart, be safe. But in the end, his control stops at a blurry horizon where Lady Luck begins. He loves his sport, and he knows John loves gymnastics in the same exact way. It’s who they are, simple as that. 

So instead he rubs Bucky’s back, whispers to him that it’s alright, holds him tight as if Gale alone can protect him from the world. He gently kisses Bucky’s temple, and when Bucky pulls away at last, Gale pats his knee. “Come here, let me try to do something about that leg.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, motioning questioningly to his bad leg. Gale nods and makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Yep. Scoot back, let me see.”

Bucky does as he’s told, leaning against the bed frame so that his leg is in Gale’s lap. Gale shoves up the leg of Bucky’s sweatpants, and then there’s surprisingly strong, warm hands on his skin, working at the sore muscles in his lower leg and around his knee. 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky groans, letting his weight collapse against the side of the bed.

Gale smirks at him. “What? Is it that surprising that I can give a massage?” he asks. Bucky shrugs, and Gale shakes his head at him. “I’m a horseback rider. My body’s been acting like it’s 45 since I was 20.”

“I didn’t know it was that hard on the body,” Bucky admits. 

Gale laughs mirthlessly as his palm presses up the side of Bucky’s leg, damn near making him moan again. “It is,” Gale explains. “People who don’t ride never really notice how hard the rider has to work. How much stress and strain it puts the body through. Not to mention the way horses can throw you around like you’re nothing.”

“Have you ever been hurt?” Bucky asks. “Badly?”

“I have,” Gale says easily. He looks at Bucky with a wan smile. “Not as bad as you. But I’ve broken my wrist, had my fair share of concussions. I took a hard fall when I was about 18, right after I started college. Fucked up my back real bad. It was one of those injuries where not even the doctors were sure what went wrong, you know? MRIs showed what looked like a stress fracture, but it was strange for that to happen from blunt force trauma like that. I’ve had chronic back pain ever since. Couldn’t even breathe without pain for weeks. I lived on borderline dangerous doses of Advil for months.”

Gale sighs, flexing his shoulders like he’s trying to stretch out his upper back. “It still bugs me sometimes. There’s a lot of simple things I can’t tolerate so well anymore, or that I have to be careful about.”

Bucky blinks at him, tensing like he’s about to move away. “Then why the fuck am I making you sit on the floor?”

Gale shushes him and pats his leg gently before he keeps working at it. “It’s fine. You deserve all of this after today. I can sit on the floor for a little while, I won’t break.” Bucky gives him a skeptical look and Gale rolls his eyes. “Stop that. I’m okay, Bucky. Really.”

So Bucky relents, if nothing else because he needs the magic in Gale’s hands not to give up on him now. He’s curling his fingers, seething through his teeth when those hands hit a particularly sore spot, gasping when Gale sets to work on a knot in the muscle. “That’s- that’s really good,” Bucky grits out. “Keep doing that.”

Gale is watching him carefully, no doubt amused by the actually obscene sounds coming out of his mouth right now, but Bucky doesn’t even care. He just focuses on those perfect hands, those long fingers, so sure and so deliberate and so soothing, as they work up and down his lower leg. He feels like those hands might be able to single-handedly take away every bit of pain he’s ever felt. And the way Gale’s attention is so wholly on him is intoxicating and endearing at the same time. Gale Cleven could slap him in the face and Bucky would say thank you, but here he is, taking care of Bucky without a second thought, like he actually means something to him. Bucky really doesn’t have the wherewithal right now to sort out why that’s such a turn on. 

“I’m sorry I missed your ride today,” he says instead.

Gale shrugs as his hands move up around Bucky’s knee, his touch turning gentle around the fragile joint. “It’s not a big deal.”

Except it is. “I’ll be there for cross country,” Bucky promises. “Maybe even part of jumping before I have to get back to the stadium for finals.”

“It’s fine, John,” Gale reiterates. “I don’t expect you to be there. And cross country is boring in person anyways. Spectators basically stay near a single jump for most of it, since the course is so long. You’d see a lot more of me if you just watched online.”

“Oh I’ll be there,” Bucky says resolutely, even though he’s admittedly terrified at the prospect of Gale hurtling down a cross country course, flying over jumps on the back of a strong-willed animal. “I would’ve been there today if it didn’t clash with my schedule.”

“Maybe I’ll give you an exhibition ride sometime.” Gale’s fingers stop working at Bucky’s knee, and he smooths one hand down Bucky’s muscular leg.

Bucky tracks the movement with hungry eyes, busy thinking about what else he knows those hands can do. “I know you’re joking,” he says. “But I’d like that.” 

When Gale glances up at him again, Bucky is biting at his lower lip, looking right at him with such earnestness that Gale can’t help but blush. “Okay, we can do that.”

“You know.” Bucky glances over his shoulder at the bed. “I’ve been hearing reports that these things are sturdier than we thought this time around. They supposedly hold up well to… extracurriculars.”

Gale tilts his head thoughtfully, his eyes flicking from Bucky to the bed and back. “Is that so?”

Bucky nods, biting his lower lip, teasing. So Gale lets Bucky’s pant leg fall back down to his ankle again, and Bucky crawls forward until he’s right in front of Gale. In one smooth motion, he practically scoops Gale into his arms and settles him on the bed, hovering over top of him. The bed frame holds. Gale grins up at him, his hand reaching up to stroke Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky’s hand settles underneath Gale’s shirt, finding its home on the side of his waist where it’s decided it belongs. 

“Maybe I can do this for you sometime,” Bucky offers. “You know, the massage.”

Gale nods, his cheeks flushed. “Yeah. The massage. Of course.” Then he pulls Bucky down into a desperate kiss.

---

---

Next part

Bucky's injury is in part based on Brody Malone, who is making his comeback this year after suffering a similar leg injury off high bar just over a year ago. I am heavily rooting for him going into gymnastics trials this weekend! If you're interested in what a high bar routine is like, watch his amazing US Championships routine here.

(Gale's back injury is loosely based off personal equestrian experience ✌)

[noisynaia]

I have recently found your blog and I am obsessed! I saw your requests are open and I wanted to ask you for some Frankie smut 😋 (could also be Marcus P if you prefer)

Frankie and reader have been friends for years and are both secretly in love with the other but they are dumb and oblivious and don't think the other is feeling the same. But one morning they wake up after a one-night stand together and think they have ruined their friendship but they finally figure their shit out and get together. Thank you in advance!! 💗🤗

𝐵𝐴𝐶𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐸𝐺𝐺𝑆

I was so happy to get this request, I have missed writing for Frankie 💕

word count: 5.3k

pairing: Francisco Morales x afab!reader 

note: Explicit (18+). Smut. A little angst with a happy ending. Drinking. Mutual pining. Friends to lovers. Love confessions. Vaginal fingering. Cunnilingus. Unprotected P in V (with the use of contraception). Creampie. No use of (y/n). This has not been beta nor proofread and English is not my native language.

You slowly stir as you’re pulled out of your sleep, a beam of sunlight is sneaking through the blinds, landing right on your face. The first thing you register is that your mouth feels dry and that you have a headache. You let out an unsatisfied grunt, turning around to lay on your stomach, burying your head in the soft pillow without opening your eyes, trying to flee the pestering light as you slowly ease into consciousness. It is kind of weird that the sun would hit your face from that angle, it doesn’t really make sense with the placement of your bedroom window. Something else is off you realize.

Your pillow, which usually smells of your lavender laundry detergent, smells different, good, but different, is it pine? Kind of smells like Frankie actually… And that is when you realize that you are not laying in your own bed. Your eyes shoot open. The realization of where you are feels like a bucket of ice water being poured over you. You’re in your friend’s bed, your best friend’s bed, and you’re naked… So very naked.

You let out a choked gasp as memories of last night slowly come back to you in fragments. 

You and Frankie making out on his couch, which had led to the two of you dry-humping each other like a couple of desperate teenagers. Frankie taking your hand, leading you back to his bedroom. The sweet praise falling from his mouth as your lips were wrapped around his cock. Your fingers entangled in his hair while his face was buried between your thighs. Your screams of pleasure as he had split you in half with his cock, your legs thrown over his broad shoulders while he pounded his cock deep into you. How he had kissed you so tenderly through your climax...

Shit.

You slowly turn your head, looking over at the empty space next to you, feeling your stomach drop at the sight of a neatly folded set of Frankie’s clothes laid out for you. A peace offering? You sit up slowly, groaning displeased in your hungover state. You’re clutching the sheets that are covering your naked body to not let it slip, even though you’re alone in the bedroom, but you can’t help but feel too exposed. 

It had been a mistake, maybe the biggest mistake of your life. How could you let this happen? What are you going to do now? You can not lose Frankie      

You almost feel like crying when the distant smell of coffee and bacon hits your nostrils. The fact that you have to face Frankie, who is on the other side of the door cooking breakfast for you is terrifying, he has done that countless times, but this time is under such different circumstances and you can’t help but fear that this time will be the last and you can’t stand the thought of that. You will not be able to bear to hear him tell you that last night was a fluke and that it didn’t mean anything, but it is a much better alternative than letting this ruin your friendship. You have been in love with him since high school, if you had been meant to be, if he had ever felt about you like you feel about him, you would have been together by now. You can deal with him not feeling the same, you have already done that for years, but losing his presence in your life you won’t be able to handle. How could you even let this happen?! 

The night had started like any other Friday night. You Frankie, Ben, Will and Santi occupying a booth at your favorite bar. Laughs and banter over beers which had turned into tequila shots. You and Frankie had ended up being the only two left, you complained about having to go home and Frankie had offered you to come and crash on his couch like you have done so many times before. As much as you want to stay hidden under the covers, hiding away from the world forever, you know that you will have to get up and face the music. As tempting as it is you ignore the soft clothing option Frankie had laid out for you. This will be hard enough to do, wearing his clothes would definitely not make it easier.     

You get out of the bed, wincing at the ache between your legs as you pick up your crumpled clothes from the floor and quickly pull them on, but you freeze in horror as you feel a drop of cum leaking out of your worn cunt. You swallow thickly at the sensation. Thank goodness for your IUD you think. 

—

The first thing Frankie notices when he wakes is his arm feeling numb, the second thing he notices is the course of the feeling.

You.

He swallows thickly, as he turns his head to the right. There you are, softly snoring beside him, using his arm as a pillow. The sheets are covering most of your body, but it is still clear that you are just as naked as he is.

He feels his face heat and his cock twitching, as the events of last night come crashing over him. How the two of you had ended up back at his apartment after the other guys had headed home from the bar. It had been such a normal night, one like the many, many other ones just like it. You, him and the guys had been out, but when the night was coming to an end you had left with him instead of going home to your own place, not that that is so uncommon, Frankie lives closer to the bar than you do and you have often come back home with him to crash on his couch after a night out instead of going back to your own apartment. The one huge difference that set last night apart from all the other times are the events that have led up to him now waking up next to you in his bed.

The two of you had been pretty drunk when you came back to his apartment, but you had decided to get a couple more beers from his fridge instead of going to bed. The two of you had been sitting on his couch, talking and laughing as you reminisced over old memories. He doesn’t remember exactly how the conversation had ended up taking the direction that it had, but the two of you had ended up kissing which had led to so much more.

He can’t believe that it had actually happened. Frankie can’t even remember a time that he hasn’t been in love with you. You are everything he has ever wanted. It has always been you. In every meaningless one-night stand, in every relationship, not that he has had many, it has always been you that he has secretly yearned for. You have always been the standard that he, conscious or not, has been searching for in others, never being able to find it in any other than you. Not that he has ever told you this… He has never had the bravery to tell you about his feelings for you. As much as he has always wanted you in a romantic way, your friendship has always been way too important for him. He loves you as a friend just as much as he is in love with you. Telling you how he truly feels for you has always been too risky, the chance of it ruining your friendship too mortifying. He has been able to live without having you in the way he secretly wants to for all these years, but not having you as a friend, not having you in his life? He doesn’t think he could survive that.

Now as he looks at your sleeping figure next to him he feels like all the air has been knocked out of his lungs. There you are, his best friend, so lovely, so beautiful, fast asleep in his bed curled up beside him and he feels absolutely terrified. But it is not the only thing he is feeling. There is a flutter of hope growing inside his chest. Could it be that you actually feel some of the same feelings as him? Why else would you have kissed him? Why else would you have asked him to take you to his bed?

No. He can’t think like that. He has had enough casual sex in his life to know that it doesn’t have to mean anything, but it has never been a part of your relationship and it has never been something he has wanted with you. His feelings for you are way, way too deep for him to ever be able to do that.

He will have to wait till you wake to figure out if this is going to lead to the start of his wildest dream come true or if this is going to be the biggest mistake of his life.

He takes in a shaky breath as he starts to slowly slide his arm away from your head, you stir a little but he knows how heavy of a sleeper you are, especially after you have been drinking so he isn’t really afraid of waking you. He gets out of the bed, quickly dressing himself in soft clothing before laying out some clean sweatpants and a clean shirt for you, for when you wake, you will probably want something soft after last night.

He tiptoes out of the bedroom, he is not going to be able to sleep more anyway and he wants to have breakfast ready for you when you wake, sure that you will have a hangover just like himself. He set the coffee over to brew before getting eggs and bacon out of the fridge and putting bread in the toaster.

Frankie starts on the fluffy scrambled eggs, making them just how he knows you like them best, getting lost in his own thoughts as he cooks.  

“Good morning.” The sound of your voice is pulling him out of his head, it is weak and slightly raspy from sleep. He turns his head to look at you, but you avoid his gaze as you hesitantly step into the kitchen. He had left a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt for you before going to the kitchen to cook breakfast, but you are wearing your own clothes which are slightly wrinkled and smelling slightly of spilt drinks.

“Morning.” He says, placing two plates of eggs and bacon on the kitchen table, gesturing for you to sit down, before pouring you some coffee.

You accept the mug, cradling it between your hands as you stare down into it, while he sits down at the chair opposite of yours. Delicate ribbons of steam dance in the air in front of you. You have eaten many breakfasts together over the years, but none of them has been this tense. None of them had been the morning after you had slept together so of course it makes sense that this time it’s different, but he hates how you don’t even look at him. The two of you are eating in silence, a silence that seems to just stretch on and on before he finally gathers the courage to speak. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“A little hungover, but I’ll be grand.” You respond, blowing into your mug to cool off your coffee before taking a sip. 

“So, uhm…” He fidgets with his own mug, nervous about starting the conversation. He had hoped it would be easier. A part of him had hoped you would have emerged from his bedroom wearing his clothes, wrapping your arms around him and that would be it. Of course, he knows that it isn’t that simple, but last night wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t feel a little of what he is feeling, right? “About last night–”

You cut him off before he gets to finish his sentence. “Listen, can we just pretend this never happened?” 

Frankie studies your face for a moment, trying to find some sort of sign that you don’t regret last night, but he can’t find one. His stomach drops, you can’t even meet his eyes. Fuck… Has he ruined everything between you?

“Of course.” He croaks out. 

He suddenly feels like he has to throw up. It hadn’t meant for you what it meant for him. You regret it and maybe your friendship is ruined forever.  

“Okay.” You say simply, quickly finishing your coffee before standing up. “I should also head home, don’t want to take up all of your Saturday.” You mutter.  

Frankie doesn’t say that that is the worst excuse he has ever heard. The two of you have spent more Saturdays together than apart, but you clearly don’t want to stay so he is not going to hold you. “Want me to drive you?” He asks instead.  

“No.” You shake your head. “I’ll walk, I think the fresh air will be good for my headache.” 

He just nods, not trusting his own voice at this moment, he feels so fucking broken, and before he even gets to say goodbye you’re out of the door.    

“Shit.” He chokes out, planting his face in his hands. He has really fucked up… 

—

You are slumping into the soft cushions of your couch with a tub of ice cream, your favorite comfort movie playing on the tv as you curse yourself for being such a coward. You had told Frankie that you should just forget about the incident and act like it never happened but you are clearly not good at following your own words.  

It’s Saturday night, a week has gone by since you had woken up in Frankie’s bed. You haven’t seen him since you walked out of his door after eating breakfast in his kitchen. You have not been able to face Frankie. You had still texted with him a little throughout the week, but not nearly as much as you normally would. Benny had a fight last night but you had, as much as it had pained you to not show up for your friend, not come. You were not ready to face Frankie yet, so you had come up with a lame excuse, but had made sure to call Benny afterwards, he had won the fight and the boys were out to celebrate tonight, and as much as you wanted to be there with them, you had come up with another excuse, telling them that you weren’t feeling well. 

You’re halfway through your movie when you hear a knock on your door. Pausing your movie and setting down your half eaten ice cream on the coffee table before shuffling to the door. You feel like the air is knocked out of your lungs when you open the door to see Frankie standing on your doorstep, his signature black baseball cap in his hands as he anxiously fidgets the canvas of it between his fingers.   

“Hey.” You say        

“Hey.” He echoes, before adding. “Uhm, you weren’t at Bennys last night and you didn’t come tonight either and then Will said you had told him you weren’t feeling well, so I just wanted to check on you.” He stutters over his words slightly. 

“Oh, well I’m okay. I was just kind of tired.” You know that you don’t sound very convincing, you had been the one to say that you should act like nothing happened, but you sure are not good at acting on it.  

“Are you avoiding me?” Frankie blurts out. 

“No, I-I’m not avoiding you.” You say, but you know you don’t sound convincing, you have never been a good liar.  

Frankie sighs, running a hand through his mussed hair. “I think we should talk…” 

“About what?” You mutter, knowing that playing dumb is a bad strategy, but you had not expected for him to turn up at your doorstep.  

“About last week.” He sighs, running a hand over his face. 

You’re close enough to count every single eyelash and every single freckle on his handsome face, it’s distracting. What does he have to be so damn beautiful for? 

“Frankie, I thought we agreed to not talk about that.” You say, your voice is much weaker than you want it to be. He winces slightly at your use of Frankie. It’s not often that you call him that. He has always been Cisco to you. It is what you, and only you, call him. Something sacred between just the two of you, but you couldn’t bring it over your lips while having this conversation, not when it feels like you have lost him over your dumb drunken mistake. 

“I know we did, but I think we need to talk about it…” He states in a flat tone, before adding. “I need to talk about it.”

“I don’t know what there is to talk about. We were drunk, it happened and… and you don’t have to feel bad or anything. I'm not mad at you, I know that it didn’t mean anything to you, so-”  You don’t get to finish your sentence, Frankie cuts you off, his voice shaky as he pours his heart out. 

“But it did! It meant fucking everything to me.”

You freeze, an ocean of emotions washing over you. Confusion, disbelief, hope, fear. It’s all too much. You shake your head at him, not knowing what to think or what to say. “Frankie it’s okay, you don’t have to lie to me.”      

“Is that really what you think?” Frankie says so softly like he can’t believe what you just said. There is a sadness in his eyes that confuses you. You stare at him as he shakes his head slightly, a hurt look on his face as he continues. “You really think it didn’t mean anything to me? You really think that I would have done it if it didn’t?” Hurt laces his voice. He searches your eyes, desperate for an answer, and you can practically see the way his heart starts to fracture. “I’d never do that to you, I could never be that careless with your feelings.” Frankie exhales through his nose. 

“What are you saying?” Your voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper.

“I love you, okay… I-I’m in love with you. I don’t expect you to feel the same and I am sorry if this ruins everything, but I just had to tell you, okay” 

You feel like the entire world has come to a halt. You can’t believe your own ears. He whispers your name softly, as you stand in front of him frozen. Your head is spinning, trying to process his words. He loves you? Francisco Morales is in love with you? You feel your eyes welling with tears and suddenly, without even realizing what you're doing, as if you are on autopilot you launch yourself at him, crashing your lips to his.     

“Cisco, I have loved you since I was seventeen…” You whisper against his lips when you finally have to break the kiss as your lungs start to burn from lack of air.

He lets out a choked laugh. “Not to steal your thunder, sweetheart, but I think I can beat that.” He plants a sweet kiss on your forehead. “I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you.”

“Shut up.” You whisper, not believing what you’re hearing. 

“Make me?” He says with a sly smile.   

You are happy to oblige, connecting your lips once again. It is not like any kiss you have ever had before. Kissing him last week had been good, but this? This kiss is absolutely magical because now you know that Frankie loves you. Loves you in the same way you love him.

“Love you, Cisco. Love you so much.” You spill into the kiss, making him hum against your mouth, you love the way it makes your lips vibrate.

“I’m yours If you will have me, sweetheart. I have always been yours.”

“Of course I want you, Cisco. I have always wanted you.”

“I can’t believe we have spent so much time being this fucking dumb.” He chuckles.  

“Yeah, we have a lot of time to make up for.” You reply with a smile on your lips, leaning in to place another kiss on his mouth, already feeling addicted to his lips. “Why don’t we start making up for the lost time?” You ask him with your mouth still touching his lips while you gently grind your hips against him suddenly feeling a desperate need for now that you know how wonderful he feels. 

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” He says, squeezing your hips lightly with his big hands.

“Hell, yes.” You say before kissing him again deeply, feeling an urgent hunger for his taste. He groans satisfied into your mouth as your tongue slips between his lips and you lose yourself in the warmth of him. Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling your fingers in his locks, and you feel him smile against your lips before he lets out a low moan when your grip on his hair tightens, the sound makes a shiver run through your body and a enlight a fiery desire in your stomach. Your cunt clenches as his denim-clad thigh presses slightly against your pelvis and you can’t help but slightly grind against him. 

Your movement makes him hum into the kiss, before pulling away, looking deeply into your eyes   

Your hand reaches out for his, lacing your fingers in his and you start to pull him through your apartment to get him to your bedroom while he clumsily kicks off his shoes. 

“Fuck, hermosa.” He pants out as the two of you fall back on your bed, you on your back, him hovering over you. “Can I taste you? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how good you tasted.” 

“Yes.” You croak, feeling how your pussy is dripping for him. 

He grunts wide with need as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pajama pants, looking up at you for permission before slowly sliding them down your legs along with your panties, revealing more and more of your bare skin.

You see how his eyes widen with desire by the sight of your exposed pussy, wet and needy for his tongue. You spread your legs wider, offering him an even better view of your dripping cunt. 

“God, you’re so gorgeous.” He sighs before lowering his head, kissing up your inner thigh until he reaches your pussy. He slides his tongue through your wet folds, lapping into you hungrily.      

“Fuck, Cisco…” You whine out, his tongue has you seeing stars. Planting your hands in his hair, grabbing fistfuls of the messy locks that you love so much. He moans into your cunt, enjoying the feeling of your hands grabbing his hair, the vibrations making a hot shiver run through. He keeps lapping into you, making sure to nuzzle his nose against your clit and it is so fucking perfect. He moves his tongue to suck down on your clit and you whine out in pleasure, his name falling from your lips over and over again. You feel your climax approaching, whining as your pussy soaks his face, but Frankie doesn’t stop working his magic tongue on you. You can’t hold your orgasm back any longer.

“Fuck, Cisco!” You wail as your cunt clenches and your orgasm overwhelms you. Frankie keeps licking into you as you ride out your high until you get too sensitive and 

Frankie gasps as his mouth finally detaches from your pussy, humming happily as he licks his lips that are glistening with your juices. 

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” He sighs, climbing up over your body to kiss your lips softly, making you taste yourself on his sweet lips. You wiggle under him, finding the hem of your t-shirt. Frankie leaning back a little, giving you space to pull the shirt over your head, flinging it across the room as you lay bare under him. He gasps at the view of your naked breast, sliding a broad warm hand from your hip up your side and finding the soft plump flesh of your breast, letting his fingers softly run over your nipple before gently kneading your soft tit, it has you whimpering with need for him. 

“Cisco, please, I need you.” 

“Okay, baby.” He coos at you before sliding his fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his salvia. He teases your entrance, before sliding his thick finger into you, soon adding another and you moan from the sensation. He pumps his fingers into you slowly, giving you time to adjust, but he is quick to pick up the pace, slightly scissoring his finger to prepare you for his cock, his thumb slowly circling your clit. The wet, squelching sound of his fingers working your pussy is hitting your ears and it is so hot. 

“Such a gorgeous pussy...” He mutters in awe. “Taking my fingers so well.”

His fingers feel amazing, but you feel impatient and needy and what you want most of all is his cock inside of you.  

“Cisco, I-I need you inside of me. Need your cock” You pant out. 

“Fuck, baby. Need to be inside of you too.” He grunts. You whine slightly as he pulls his fingers out of you to fling off his shirt. He leans back, sitting back on calves as his fingers clumsily work on unbuckling his belt. He is quick to get rid of his jeans, leaving him in only his dark gray boxer briefs. You gasp at the impressive size of the bulge and feel how your mouth waters at the sight of the wet spot of precum staining the cotton. You reach out for him, palming his hard-on and giving it a light squeeze that has him lean forward, leaning his forehead against your shoulder, he lets out a desperate groan from deep within his chest. 

You gasp as he finally slides off his underwear, making his cock spring free. He is rock hard, thick and throbbing, his tip red and dripping with precum. It’s the prettiest cock you have ever seen, you decide. You squeeze your thighs tightly together, the throbbing of your cunt reaches an almost unbearable level. 

“Makes sense I was so sore after last week.” You mutter.   

“You were sore?” He coos at you. 

“Mhmm.” You nod at him, whining a little at the memory of how he had made you feel.  

“Gonna be here to take care of you this time.” He says, leaning down to give you a reassuring kiss. 

He strokes himself a few times, his eyes dark and hooded as they look down at you with awe, his lips slightly parted, before he leans down over you again. His lips find yours as he positions himself between your legs, guiding his cock to your entrance. He breaks the kiss and opens his eyes, his mouth still close enough for you to feel his breath against your lips as he asks you. “You sure you want this, baby?” 

You take his face between your hands, gently caressing his cheeks while looking deep into those beautiful umber eyes that you love so much. 

“Yes, Cisco. I want this.” You say before pulling his face closer, placing a sweet kiss on his lips. “Want you.” You add which makes him hum against your lips. 

You let go of his face as you spread your legs a little wider to make it completely clear to him that you definitely want this. 

He takes his time, letting your walls stretch out slowly, giving you time to adjust to the size of him. His eyes are flickering back and forth between your face and the place between you where more and more of his shaft slowly disappears into your soaked cunt until he is finally all the way in. You feel so stretched, so completely full. The size of him is both painful and absolutely euphoric. 

“Fuck, baby… You feel so good, so warm and so fucking tight.” He moans, planting a sweet kiss on your shoulder.

The pain is quickly disappearing until the only thing left is a feeling of complete bliss and you can’t help but push your hips upwards, slightly grinding against him as the need for him to move inside you grows.  

He grunts at your movement. “Ready?” He pants, which makes you nod eagerly. 

“Mhm.” You hum. “Want you to move, Cisco.”

“Okay, baby.” He says, slowly sliding out of you until only his tip remains, grabbing your thighs to push your legs up, folding you in half so your knees are pressed up to your shoulders. His eyes lock with yours as he pushes himself into you again, you let out a surprised gasp as he slides all the way back into you in one slick thrust. The position he has you in is making him able to hit you deep, his cock pushing you into the mattress as he penetrates you. You let out a pleased moan, encouraging him to keep going and he eagerly repeats the movement.

He starts with a slow steady rhythm. He is whispering sweet praise at you and planting kisses on your mouth and the sides of your bent knees. He tells you how beautiful he finds you, how good you are making him feel and how much he loves you, how he always has loved you and how lucky he is to have you in his life. His thrusts are getting faster and faster, more desperate, more needy until he has picked up a borderline savage pace that has you whining and screaming with pleasure.    

The angle of which he’s pounding into you is perfect, every strong thrust is hitting that sweet magical spot inside of you that is making your eyes teary and has you clinging to him for dear life. You feel the warm knot in your stomach tightening and tightening, warning you that your climax is getting closer and closer. Frankie’s heavy balls are hitting your ass with each strong thrust, making a loud slapping sound echo through the room along with the sound of the bed frame creaking and the headboard banging against the wall. It sounds so fucking sexy.  

“Fuck, Cisco. I’m so close.”     

“M-me too, baby.” He pants out

“Please, Cisco… Need to feel you fill me up.” 

Your words have him groaning through clenched teeth. “I will, but I need you to come first, baby, please” 

The desperation in his voice is all you need to hear. You clench down around him, soaking his cock as your orgasm washes over you in warm hot waves. His name is falling from your lips

You moan out as you feel him finishing inside you, filling you up with his warm release coating your walls with his cum. 

You watch his handsome face twist with pleasure as he keeps pumping his cum deep into your pussy, you lean forward to plant a kiss on the bridge of his nose as he finally begins to slow his movements, his eyes slowly opening to look at you.

He kisses you, still not pulling out as you feel his cock slowly starting to soften inside you.

“How do you feel?” He asks when he finally breaks the kiss. 

“So good, Cisco.” You smile at him, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. “So fucking good. You’re incredible.”

“Not as incredible as you.” He hums which makes you giggle slightly, sensing it will become a thing from now on, the two of you lovingly arguing over who is the most incredible.

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[mrpuzzlessimp420]

Mario Simulator (Joke Fic)

Chapter 2

Warnings: Mention of Lobotomy, Blackmailing, Kidnapping, Plotting Murder (none of these are taken seriously)

Ships: Marware, SMG34, BatteryAcid (Mr Puzzles x Orange Juice)-Mentioned

An idea popped into Mario's head, quite surprising as he probably didn't have any braincells left.

A very... unique idea.

You see, there was something actually... unnormal about Mario.

He was what you would call...

A yandere.

Now Mario wasn't your Ayano Aishi "I've never felt ANY emotions before Senpai!" yandere, he was your "though emotionally stunted still had emotions" yandere.

His entire life he had never felt strong emotions before which wasn't questioned by literally anyone as they just thought it was just because he was you know Mario or because he had been implied to be lobotomized in that one episode.

It also wasn't questioned when he started acting coo-coo crazy over Mr Puzzles as they just cracked it up to just be Mario being Mario.

So hiding this fact about himself from others was as easy as forcing your friends to kiss for a tiktok trend.

But like any yandere (insert-literally-any-character) fanfic, Mario had some roadblocks that stopped him from being with his one and only true loves...

Rivals.

Now Mario was used to having rivals, love related or not but Orange Juice was a special case.

Unlike the others, Orange Juice was actually dating Mr Puzzles which meant that if he just straight up murdered him, Mr Puzzles would be depressed, wear grey/black hoodies all the time and be emo and Mario couldn't have that! Being emo was the greatest sin of humanity!

He'd had to think of a plan to get Orange Juice and Mr Puzzles to break up or for Orange Juice to be extremely toxic so when he goes to kill him, Puzzles wouldn't be a sad depressed babygirl!

Unluckily for him, Mario was a number 1 lazy boy and didn't want to go through all the effort of figuring something out so he thought of the next best option: get someone to figure it out for him!

Now how would be his unwilling victim?

Saiko?

No she has had to much character development that she would drop kick him into the sun if he asked her to revert back to the days she was crazily obsessing over Boopkins (really though, Boopkins??)

Luigi?

No he was weird in his own way that Mario didn't want to deal with.

SMG3?

Maybe.

He'd probably need some sort of blackmail though.

Luckily for Mario, he always kept a copy of SMG3's gay little diary on hand, just in case.

A loud rigging bell went that snapped Mario out of his thoughts, it was the end of break!

And he didn't get to eat his spaghetti-flavoured apple :(.

Moving on from that, Mario knew what his next move was. At lunch he would kidnap SMG3, blackmail him to make a plan that would get Orange Juice and Mr Puzzles to break up, force him to help in the actual plan himself and make him promise to never tell anyone about the situation ever.

Yeah that seemed like a solid plan, what could possibly go wrong?

The next two lessons went by like SMG4 and SMG3's will-they-won't-they relationship that will probably never be canonized because of half of the fandom's homophobicness and their insistence that their brothers.

Right as Mario was considering drowning a random girl in a bucket of full of acid because of how clingy she was being, the bell went signalling it was lunch.

He ran out of the classroom with no time to lose, not even caring that the teacher yelled at him that "the bell doesn't dismiss him, she does" or whatever that crap was.

After searching for what felt like weeks, he finally found SMG3 packing up his stuff in a classroom that was now empty. His face slightly smiling at a image on his emo skull phone.

It was now his chance!

Mario grabbed a black bag out of thin air and, without SMG3 noticing, put it on SMG3's head and tightened it.

Now all he needed to do was find a dark, empty room that no-one would dare walk near to.

The broom closet! (DID YOU GET THE BROOM CLOSET ENDING? THE BROOM CLOSET- The author is then choked to death because they referenced another piece of media)

Dragging SMG3's lifeless body that definitely was losing oxygen by the second and not at all trying to hide himself, waving to others whenever they passed who just chalked it up to be Mario being Mario. When he finally reached the broom closet, he dumped the poor man in it, locking himself and SMG3 inside.

After finding a chair that definitely looked out of place in a broom closet that only held brooms, he placed SMG3 on it and tied his hands behind the chair with some spare rope.

Realising he needed SMG3 to talk during this blackmailing, Mario finally took the black bag off of SMG3's head.

"What the hell Mario?" SMG3 shouted after panting for oxygen for 4 minutes straight, his voice not being heard from the outside as the closet was noise cancelling.

"Mario wants you do to something for him." Mario said sinisterly, which was hard to tell due to his voice only being voice clips.

"Hell no I'll do something for you! Last time I did so I was humiliated on the internet!" SMG3 argued, not wanting anything to do with Mario.

"Well.. Mario has your gay diary sooo.. :D" Mario said, grabbing the copy of SMG3's notebook out of his skirt that has pockets.

SMG3 immediately freezed up, a pink blush spreading around his checks.

"Y-you wouldn't leak that would you?" SMG3 asked, sounding extremely nervous. No one could see his deepest and darkest thoughts and know about his massive crush on SMG4.

"I won't if you do this for me.." Mario stated as menacingly as he could, leaning down to SMG3.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife...

"Fine... I'll do it..." He said, giving in to Mario's demands.

"Yippeee!!" Mario squeaked, though he was sad he didn't get to use his brand new cringe memes machine to torture SMG3 with but he could use it at another time.

"What do you want me to do then? Make spaghetti for you? Force me to a dumb challenge? Humiliate myself on camera?" SMG3 asked.

"Help me commit murder." Mario said blankly.

"Yeah sure why not." SMG3 stated, he selled bombs on the black market for a living, murder wasn't that extreme that he wouldn't do it. "Who is it and what's the plan?"

"Actually I wanted you to make a plan for me" Mario rubbed the back of his head, pulling a silly face while doing so.

"Of course you did.." He said, not surprised at all.

"Well to be honest, I need your help to get Orange Juice and Mr Puzzles to break up so I can go kill Orange Juice." Mario stated, extremely casually.

"Honestly wouldn't take you for a yandere type of guy"

"The author's friend thought it be funny."

"Well, I've already thought of some ideas so let's plan this!"

30 minutes later and they had already made a Plan A, a Plan B for if it goes wrong, a Plan C etc. Now all they needed to do was set it into motion...

(part 3 coming whenever I feel like it babieee-)

[hxneyfarm]

follow me between the jaws of fate

written for @steves-strapcollection's birthday | rating: e | wc: 7,893 | cws: sex pollen, semi-dubcon, first time, virgin eddie, other tags can be found on ao3

happy birthday, ger bear. i love you so much. so. much. you mean the fucking world to me and i'm so glad i got to write this for you. never dilute yourself. your intensity is one of the best and most endearing things about you. <333

beta'd by @patchworkgargoyle and @stobinesque. cheerled, enabled, and encouraged by @sidekick-hero

READ ON AO3

It’s new, this thing between Eddie and Steve. So new, in fact, that between their work schedules and band practice and Hellfire and Steve and Robin’s Soulmate Bonding Sundays, the two of them haven’t exactly had… like… the time to, like… y’know. Not that they haven’t talked about it! (and talked about it and talked about it and talked a little more about it - at length, in the car on the way home from the diner and on the phone late into the night after Steve’s dropped Eddie off at the trailer and gone home to that stupid big empty house of his.) 

It’s making Eddie crazy. He’s never been this hungry for someone in his life, and every time they’re together without being together Eddie feels like he’s going to snap. They’ve kissed - they kiss so much, in fact, that Eddie’s pretty sure he knows the shape of Steve’s mouth better than he knows his own - and just the other night Steve let him cop a feel during their make out session before he sent Eddie home to take care of his hard on by himself.

He’s pretty sure Steve’s been waiting for the right moment, waiting to make it special, because Eddie’s never done this before and Steve’s been talking about taking it slow, or whatever. But Eddie doesn’t fucking want to take it slow - the craving for Steve sits deep in the pit of his stomach and eats him alive and Eddie’s got nowhere to put that hunger. He’s jerking off more now than he ever did as a teenager, thinking of the way Steve’s hands feel on his face when they’re making out, the way his tongue tastes when he licks into Eddie’s mouth, the little sounds Steve makes at the back of his throat when Eddie opens for him.

One of these days Eddie’s just gonna have to get on his knees and beg for it - undignified, sure, but Eddie’s not above making a horny fool of himself if it means finally getting split open on Steve’s cock.

The day everything comes to a head is… normal. It’s a normal fucking day. Eddie gets up and he showers and he goes to work at the diner that Hopper went and spent the summer fixing up, where Eddie and the retired cop now trade lighthearted insults across the kitchen. Steve’s up front, running plates and charming the panties off of every old woman who walks through the door. It’s not a bad gig, this thing at Hopper’s diner, but Eddie hates the hairnet almost as much as he loves Steve’s goofy little grin every time they make the briefest eye contact through the expo window.

Eddie drinks so much coffee during his shifts that by midday he’s so jittery and anxious that he needs to get something fried and greasy in his system whenever there’s a lull in customers. He’s sitting on an overturned mayo bucket outside the propped open back door, fistful of fries in one hand and a cigarette in the other when Steve finds him. He plucks the cigarette from between Eddie’s fingers and takes a long drag.

“Thought you quit,” Eddie teases, the way he does every time Steve commandeers a cigarette from him.

“I did. Don’t tell Robin,” he smiles in return, happily continuing their little in-joke with a wink. “Skull Rock later?”

“Finally gonna have your wicked way with me, King Steve?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

It hangs between them like a living thing, this tension. Eddie would like that, and Steve would too, and eventually one of them will make it happen. Maybe today, maybe not. But eventually. Some days, when work’s been busy, they’ll sneak off to Skull Rock after their shift, just the two of them, to smoke a joint and work through a twelve pack of cheap beer together. 

It’s late enough into September now that the leaves are beginning to change. It’s been doing wonders for Eddie’s mood; he’s never coped well with the heat and humidity of summer. 

“Better get back in there,” Steve sighs, handing the cigarette back. “It’s about time for Mrs. Johnson to show up to try to set me up with her granddaughter again.”

“Have fun, slugger.”

“You too, and try to cut back on the coffee this afternoon, yeah? Little water never killed anybody.”

Eddie waves him off and goes back to his basket of French fries, dunking them into the pile of ketchup before shoving them into his mouth. Eddie loves their little Skull Rock dates. If you can call them dates at all. They are, but they’re not. Sure, it’s just the two of them atop the rock together. And sure, they talk about anything and everything under the sun while they drink and pass the joint back and forth. But they keep a respectable distance from one another most days. Until, of course, they get back to the privacy of Steve’s car where they can put their hands all over each other under the cover of night and not have to worry.

After work, they clamber into the Beamer and head to the convenience store. Steve buys a case of cheap beer and Eddie’s got his lunchbox in tow when they make it to their little spot, and then they help one another to climb up the face of the rock to sit together at the top. Steve tears back the cardboard and tosses a can to Eddie as he breaks up the weed to pick out the seeds and stems.

“Rob with Vickie tonight?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, they’re going into the city to see some foreign film Vickie’s been wanting to see.”

“God, she and Robin are kinda perfect for each other, huh?”

Steve hums, gazing down into his beer like his thoughts are far away. Steve hasn’t said anything about it, and he probably never will but… he’s jealous. Eddie can see it in the droop of his shoulders and the line between his eyebrows whenever they start talking about Robin and Vickie. It’s hard, when your best friend is in those beginning stages of a new relationship. You feel left out, a little lonely now that they’re cultivating something so fresh and new. Eddie can imagine that, for Steve, that feeling is even bigger. 

For like a year, all they really had was each other, and Eddie’s gotten to know the two of them - their dependence on one another - pretty well over the last few months. Steve would never want to come across as needy or inconvenient, but he is needy and now that he’s gotten used to Robin being around all the time, it must be so weird for her to be around less than she used to be. She’d decided to take what her parents called a gap year between high school and college, the way they’d done when they were younger, fighting the good fight against the Vietnam War at whatever protests they could find their way to.

And so Steve had been gearing up to have Robin by his side all summer and into the autumn, just like they’d been since Starcourt, but now she’s got a girlfriend.

“Y’know Jeff got a girlfriend, too,” Eddie says. “It’s been weird, he’s missed, like, the last two Hellfire campaigns and he’s always late to band practice. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for him or whatever, but man… it kinda sucks not seeing him as much.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I get it… I’m not, like, bitter or mad at Robin or anything. Y’know? I’m happy for her. Really. She’s liked Vickie a long time.”

Eddie shrugs. “Just sucks not seeing her as much,” he finishes for Steve.

“Yeah.”

Eddie lights the joint, takes a big hit into his lungs, passes it across to Steve. “Maybe you should invite me over then.”

Steve scoffs, takes a long pull from the joint and a deep swallow of his beer, his cheeks pink. 

“Maybe I will this time,” he says on the exhale. He passes the joint back, and they let their fingers linger against each other for just a moment too long.

Eddie’s heart is racing. This might be it. He tries to not sound too hopeful, tries to make it a little teasing when he says, “Yeah? You gonna take me home with you?”

Steve’s eyes are locked with his own, and the anticipation is building, the words are right there, but Steve’s eyes flick to a point over Eddie’s shoulder and he squints. His posture changes, hackles up, and it makes something like fear creep up Eddie’s spine.

“What the fuck is that?” 

The spell Eddie’d found himself in is broken as quickly as it started as he watches Steve scramble down off the rock and head over to where he saw… whatever it is that he saw. Eddie’s racing after him before he can stop himself. He lands bad on his ankle and has to hobble a little bit to keep up with Steve’s purposeful trek across the woods.

“Steve!” he’s calling after him. “Steve, what? What did you see?”

“Nothin’ fucking good,” Steve mumbles when Eddie finally catches up to him. “Do you have a walkie? I left mine in the car. Dustin’s gonna kill me if this is what I think it is.”

Steve stops short, beneath a big, old oak tree that’s rotting from the roots. And there, right at the base of the tree, growing out of the trunk, is the ugliest fucking flower Eddie has ever seen. It’s not even properly a flower, doesn’t look like it’s bloomed yet, but the bud is enormous, easily as long as Steve’s forearm and twice as thick at its widest point in the middle.

Eddie’s seen Will’s drawings of what the kids have called demogorgons and demodogs. The bud of this flower… it looks like that. It looks like it could open up at any moment with petals full of teeth and slimy spit to take a bite out of one of them.

Eddie loses the internal battle with his impulse control and reaches toward it, not sure if he's going to just touch it or rip it out by the roots altogether, but certain he doesn’t have control over himself either way, and Steve smacks his hand away as the petals begin to open. He gets in between Eddie and the flower. It unfurls into a deep, bloody red, two yellow stamen in the center poking out, and it seems to creak, the sound of an old abandoned house settling in the night. 

The dread makes Eddie’s skin crawl with goosebumps. They’re too close to it. They need Dustin’s walkie. They’ve gotten too careless. The kids warned them that something could happen at any time, and they’ve gotten too comfortable thinking they’d be done with the Upside Down and the demo-everythings and the horror. 

But now here’s this flower, very obviously from the hell dimension Eddie almost didn’t make it out of the first time, blooming deep red to remind them that they’ll never really be free. And its stamen is pointed right at Eddie’s face.

Eddie’s frozen on the spot, just staring at the fucking thing and shaking in his fucking sneakers. Steve’s got an arm out between the flower and Eddie, his stance defensive, and the flower --

Coughs on him. There’s no other way to describe it. It coughs and it spits spores in Eddie’s face and Eddie gasps when it happens and the moment is over in less than a second but it sinks into them both, the reality of it, and Steve takes Eddie firmly by the hand to drag him away from the flower.

The effect is crazy fucking fast. Whatever’s in those spores goes straight to Eddie’s head and makes him dizzy. That’s how it fucking starts. He shakes his head and tries to focus but his throat is getting a little tight and suddenly he’s sweating like a whore in church. His vision is a little bit fuzzy and distantly, he thinks Steve might be saying something to him.

“Huh?” he asks, taking just a second to lean against the nearest tall, hard surface to catch his breath.

“I asked if you’re okay,” Steve says, and he sounds a little muted, almost like they’re underwater. It makes Eddie laugh, for some reason.

When Eddie looks at him, Steve comes into sharp focus, and the woods around them melt away. Eddie wants to kiss him.

“‘M great, big guy. How are you?”

“Eddie. You’re soaked with sweat, dude, are you gonna be alright?”

“Pssh!” Eddie says, waving a hand at him. How many beers had he had before they ran off? Not nearly enough to be drunk. 

Oh, man, maybe the pot was a bad batch.

“No, Eddie, it’s not the pot. It was the fucking flower that spit spores all over you.”

Did he say all that out loud?

“Yes. Fuck, we gotta get you outta here. Come on.”

Steve touches him again, and Eddie’s skin sings. It’s like an electric shock, everywhere they touch lighting up like tiny little firecrackers, and it makes Eddie laugh again. Steve is pulling him forward, to the edge of the wood where they’d parked their cars, and Eddie feels himself stumbling, his steps off kilter.

He can’t focus on anything that isn’t Steve, can’t see past him or around him or through him and his lips are itching with the need to press against him.

“Stevie, wait,” Eddie says, and Steve turns toward him. “We both feel this, right?”

“No, Eds, the spores only got you.”

“Not that, I…” He hesitates, his head swimming, that hunger for Steve clawing its way to the front of his consciousness until it’s all he can think about. He’s hard in his jeans thinking about before, when they were teasing each other on top of skull rock, flirting with the idea of going home together later. He adjusts himself in his jeans, hissing at the friction of his hand against himself. “This. We both feel that, don’t we?”

For a second, Steve looks like he’s in pain. “Yeah, but… I don’t think… maybe drugged up by an Upside Down flower isn’t the best time to talk about it.”

Fuck talking about it. Eddie doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to show Steve. He palms himself again, distantly hears himself moan as he presses his hips against his hand.

“Oh, fuck, what did that thing do to you?”

“It’s not that, it’s you. I’m so fuckin’ hot for you I can’t stand myself. Been wantin’ to go all the way for weeks now but we never do. I need you, Stevie.”

“That’s… I think that’s the spores talking, Eds.”

Something bubbles up in Eddie, something like anger, something like frustration. “It’s not. Didn’t you hear me, I’ve wanted this for weeks.”

The feeling ebbs and flows. He’s light headed. He’s dizzy. All the blood in his body is rushing to his cock. He’s throbbing in his fucking jeans, leaking, the front of his boxers wet with precome. He palms himself again, little whines escaping him very much without his permission.

Steve tries to tug him along, but yanks his hand back as soon as it makes contact with Eddie’s skin. Like he’s been burned. 

Eddie’s feeling faint again, wobbly. He’s stumbling along and tripping over branches and vines and it’s like he’s back there, back in the Hawkins beneath Hawkins that Supergirl and Hop and Will swore was closed to them for good and the fear grips him again.

“Eddie!” Steve is saying, clapping his hands in front of Eddie’s face and whoa - Eddie’s on his back. He doesn’t know how he got there. He isn’t even sure he can get up at this point because everything is spinning.

Above him Steve looks like a Greek god or an angel, the sun behind him peeking through the canopy to give him a golden halo.

“I’m flattered. Can you get up?”

Eddie doesn’t know. Everything around him is bathed in color. It’s all swimming and shifting, and Steve’s face is glowing. Almost sparkling. Vaguely, Eddie thinks of the time he tried mushrooms with Grant and they laid out in Grant’s backyard to watch the shifting clouds. They’d been out there for so long the clouds gave way to stars and he and Grant had laughed and laughed and laughed at the shapes they’d made above them.

This is kinda like that.

Except mushrooms with Grant hadn’t had Eddie’s cock hard as stone and straining the zipper of his jeans.

He lets Steve help him to his feet and his skin buzzes everywhere they touch. He tumbles into Steve, off balance, and Steve catches him in those big, strong arms of his. They’re pressed against each other like this and, humiliatingly, Eddie can’t stop himself from dragging his cock up the hard line of Steve’s thigh.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears himself moan, and Steve’s hands tighten in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt where he’s holding him up.

“We have to get you out of here,” Steve says, and Eddie thinks he’s mostly saying it to himself at this point because Eddie’s ears are full of cotton. He can hear Steve and he can understand him, but just barely. His head’s never been this foggy before, not even with the smelliest, stickiest pot Rick’s got to offer.

Everything goes fuzzy as Steve drags him through the underbrush toward the car.

He runs into the passenger side door of the car at top speed, the door panel bringing him to an abrupt stop as… something crashes over him.

“Oh, ohhhh fuck,” he hears himself whine. His eyes roll back, the orgasm ripping through him with the force of a fucking freight train, and his knees begin to tremble.

Eddie slides into the car and for a brief, miraculous moment, his head is clear enough to form actual coherent thoughts. He just came, un-fucking-touched, when he slammed full force into the car.

“Shit. Shit shit shit,” he’s muttering, the front of his jeans damp and uncomfortable. Steve’s getting in the driver’s seat, looking at him a little funny, and Eddie’s face is hot with his shame at what just happened.

His cock is still hard though, still tenting his fly, obvious and unignorable. “You alright?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m okay for now.. Get me… somewhere, before I cum again.”

“Again?” Steve asks, his eyes wide as he stares at Eddie’s erection.

“Yes, Steve, again. Please just… not the trailer. Can we please go to your place? I need a shower. I need…”

I need to get fucked, is what he doesn’t say, but it hangs there anyway, like a living thing between them, because it’s beginning to dawn on them both now, the reality of the situation. That flower spat some really powerful aphrodisiac on Eddie, in his face, right up his nasal cavity where it’s taken root firmly in his brain matter.

“We need to get Hopper on the line,” Steve mutters. “Maybe Owens, too.”

“We are not calling Hopper. Or Owens, or anybody until this is over. Or until it looks like I might actually cum myself to death.”

“So how do we handle it?”

Things are getting hazy again, all of Eddie’s blood rushing back down to his groin to pool there and make him even harder than he already was. He presses his hand there, unable to stop himself, his head thrown back against the headrest as he thrusts and rocks his hips up into the friction, and just as he begins to realize what he’s doing - fucking jerking off right here in Steve’s car - it hits him again, the warm splash of his release in the confines of his boxers to mix with his previous orgasm. He shakes with it, his voice coming out in these strange little whimpers with each spurt.

“Oh, Jesus.” Steve’s voice sounds choked, strangled, distracted, and Eddie lets his head loll to the side to look at him. Steve is very clearly trying not to look, trying to keep his eyes on the road where they’re supposed to be, but he takes the turn into Loch Nora a little too hard and it knocks Eddie into the door again, the window knob digging into his knee, but fuck, at least he doesn’t cum all over himself again.

There’s sweat pooling in the divots of Eddie’s collarbones, the back of his neck. His hairline is damp with it and he feels like he can’t draw a complete breath with the heat and humidity in the car. 

“Can you turn on the air, man, I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here.”

“Air’s up, Eds. Windows are down, it’s like in the fifties out there.”

“Fuck, man, I’m a mess,” Eddie hears himself chuckle. There’s no humor in it. This might well be it for him. He might actually be doomed to nut himself to death, right here in Steve Harrington’s car. 

But then they’re pulling into Steve’s drive and Eddie is tumbling out of the car onto the concrete beneath, hauling himself to stand, a little wobbly on his shaking knees, as he makes the trek to the front door. He’s still gotta wait for Steve, though, and he stands there at the locked door, leaning against it as Steve fumbles the keys in his hand to get it unlocked to usher Eddie inside.

^^

When the door closes behind them it’s like a dam breaks. Eddie presses Steve to the doorframe and kisses him, hungry and desperate, like he can’t stop himself from getting Steve's skin on his own.

“Fuck,” he murmurs into Steve’s mouth, uncertain he’s even forming words. “Fuck, Stevie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to be like this but I need you. I need this now. I think I might actually die if I don’t have you… that flower, Stevie, it did something to me.”

“Okay.” Steve’s voice is firm, certain, decisive, and it makes Eddie tremble. “Okay, what do you need?”

“You,” he says again. He’s not sure how else to convey the severity of just how badly he needs this, of the urgency curling in his gut at the idea that he might not be able to have everything the way he needs it. “Touch me.”

Steve touches him. Steve’s hand presses against his straining fly and Eddie erupts, his head damn near exploding with the force of it. He ruts against Steve’s hand as he paints the inside of his pants with a third orgasm. There’s no way he should even have anymore in there. There’s no way it’s safe for one person to produce this much spunk in such a short amount of time but as he’s coming down Eddie comes to a realization:

In the scant few moments of clarity between an orgasm and the next wave of arousal, he is able to think. He’s drained, getting more and more exhausted with each release, but he thinks he knows what the solution here is.

“We need to fuck,” he says, impressed with the evenness of his own voice around the druggy haze of whatever the flower’s done to him. “I can’t put my finger on how I know that but it’s like… I get really horny, I can’t think, I cum, and then for like two minutes I’m fine. You need to fuck me until it’s over.”

“This is going to actually kill you, Eddie. We really should call Owens.”

“Absolutely not. Let’s just try it.”

“That’s the spores talking.”

“Maybe! But, like… what else could it be? That thing spit some sort of… sex spore on me!”

“And what if it… I dunno, transfers to me or something?”

“Then we fuck until we die, baby!” Eddie’s voice comes out sounding a little hysterical, even to his own ears but he’s frantic. His fingers are tingling.

“You don’t want it like this, you already said!”

“No, but I may never get it at all if I die like this! And then how bad would you feel, huh? Sorry Wayne, Eddie died because I wouldn’t fuck him stupid when a demon flower got him all hot and bothered. Tough loss, after everything.”

Steve switches their positions, shoves Eddie back against the door and it knocks something loose in him again, any thoughts or words he’d hoped to convey just - whoosh - out the window with everything aside from his libido. He spreads his thighs and takes Steve by the belt loops to pull him into him. He’s dragging his cock over the front of Steve’s jeans, feels an answering hardness there despite Steve’s protests. 

Steve, finally, is using those quick hands of his to get Eddie’s belt unbuckled, his jeans unzipped and down to pool on the floor at his feet. 

“You’re a fucking mess,” he says, and Eddie whines. He doesn’t touch Eddie’s dick just yet, his fingers dipping into the sticky, cooling spend caked in his pubic hair and bringing it up into both their lines of sight. He presses his forefinger and thumb together and spreads them, a string of cum spreading between the two, and then he wipes it on Eddie’s cheek.

“Filthy,” he says, but his voice is so gentle, so affectionate that it very nearly hurts.

Eddie cums again, his cock twitching as he spills onto the floor at their feet. The sheer volume of it should be concerning - it is a little bit - but it takes a backseat to the way Steve is looking at him, hunger in his eyes now as he begins to realize, maybe, that this could be fun.

“You’re really okay with this?” Steve asks. “Us? Like this?”

“More than okay, Stevie. Been tryin’ to get you in bed for weeks.”

The white noise takes over his senses again and he pitches forward, curling in on himself because this time it hurts, his stomach twisting into knots and his cock straining and so hard he thinks it might actually fucking explode if he doesn’t get some fucking relief. His skin goes clammy and he’s having trouble staying planted on his feet, something in his head is splitting open and it’s all he can do to not pass out.

He’s clutching Steve’s forearm, the muscles there shifting and flexing beneath his grip, and it’s like the fog was so close to clearing he could almost taste it but now he’s having trouble stringing one thought into two let alone forming coherent words. He wails, can barely hear himself over the kssshhhhhh of television static in his brain, and Steve helps him out of his jeans and up the stairs.

He’s not sure how they even make it but before Eddie knows it he’s on his back atop Steve’s mattress, the sheets beneath him cool and smooth, a balm to his too-tight skin.

“Can you be good for me?” Steve asks him.

“I can be anything you need me to be,” Eddie tries to tell him, but what comes out is something closer to a long, drawn out whine of Steve’s name.

“Spread.” 

Eddie does. He plants his feet on the mattress and spreads his legs as far as he can for Steve to see him, take him in, fucking pound him into the mattress already, Christ. The mattress dips as Steve crawls toward him on his knees, shedding his shirt along the way. His fucking jeans are still on but they’ll deal with those later. Right now Eddie is zeroed in on those fuckin’ paws of his, desperate to get those hands on his skin, on his cock, whole fucking fist in his ass if Steve would be so fucking kind.

Steve is up off the bed now, scrambling in the drawer beside it, rustling around in there like he’s searching for something and Eddie’s head is pounding, a headache that creeps around his eyes and into his spine and leaves him even more breathless than before. But then the bed dips again and Steve is there with a bottle of lube and a condom and he’s saying something, his words lost in the white noise between Eddie’s ears.

Steve gets a finger inside him, and everything goes utterly silent. The heat remains, the clawing arousal remains, the painful stiffness of Eddie’s neglected cock remains, but the white noise is gone. He can hear Steve now, his stream of consciousness telling Eddie exactly what he’s doing, asking him if he’s okay and Eddie feels himself nod. He's keening, whining, moaning as he fucks himself on that single finger inside him and he’s already craving more of it. He needs two fingers, needs to get his cock inside Steve’s perfect fucking mouth.

And that’s exactly what he gets. Maybe he said it out loud again, begging for more of Steve in his delirium, maybe Steve just knew, is able to read Eddie like the open book he tries so, so hard not to be. Either way, Steve’s mouth is hot and wet as it engulfs him, the stretch of two fingers shoving into his hole stinging in the most perfect way. Eddie arches, shoves himself down the back of Steve’s throat and the noise it elicits is filthy and beautiful, the feeling of his throat fluttering around the head of his cock with a gag bringing Eddie oh, so briefly back to himself to relish it, just a little, before the delirium pulls him back under.

He’s being so loud, never heard himself make these sounds before but Steve seems to be enjoying it. For just a second, as Eddie lifts his head from the pillow that smells of sleep and Steve and vanilla shampoo, Eddie can see Steve’s hand down the front of his jeans, the bulge of that cock he’s been dreaming of for weeks obvious and prominently erect.

“Fuck me,” Eddie hears himself say. “Please, pleaseplease Stevie.”

Instead, Steve bullies a third finger into his hole and takes his cock deep in his throat again. Something snaps, and Eddie cums, spilling down Steve’s throat and squeezing his fingers so hard he’s a little worried he might break them. The clarity that follows his orgasm is bright and heavy - the knowledge that Steve’s mouth and fingers have finally brought him off and he wasn’t even present enough to enjoy it… it stings a little, makes him just a little bit sad, but then Steve is shedding his jeans and his boxers and taking that big beautiful cock in his hand to stroke it. 

“No condom,” Eddie says. “I think… I don’t think it would work. I think…”

I think I need you to cum inside me. He can’t say it, can’t force the words out, because his clarity is leaving him again and he shakes with a sob. It hurts - every time he gets off something in him fucking hurts so bad. There’s an understanding in him, something supernatural or magical or fucking something, that knows he needs to cum with Steve, at the same time, with one of them buried to the hilt inside the other, for this to end. And he needs it to happen now because there are knives in his body, cutting him up from the inside every time he cums without any real relief.

“I wanted this to be special,” Steve is saying, and Eddie can only just hear him past that old ringing in his ears. 

He wants to respond, wants to reassure Steve that it’s okay, that this doesn’t count, really, that they can make it special next time, tomorrow morning maybe, after the spores have worn off and he can think coherent thoughts again. He can’t. He doesn’t know words anymore, thinks he might have forgotten the English language an hour ago, a day ago. How long has this been going on?

He sobs again, this time with the urgency to get Steve inside him. Please. Please. Please. He’s hot all over, burning up inside, his stomach tearing itself apart and his heart pounding so fucking hard it might actually burst through his ribs.

Eddie hauls himself over, flipping to his front to get his knees up under him, presents himself to Steve like that. Like this, like this, hard. He’s not sure the words make it out of him but god, Steve understands anyway. He shuffles closer, his hands palming the cheeks of Eddie’s ass and spreading them. He’s just looking at him, not saying anything, and Eddie’s skin is singing beneath his touch.

“Hard,” Eddie says into the pillow, his words muffled. He turns, says over his shoulder, “Fuck me hard.”

Distantly, Eddie hears the lube pop open again, feels the slippery wetness coat his hole, Steve’s fingers dipping into him just so before swiftly leaving him again, and then Steve is there - the blunt head of him pressing and stretching him and entering him. It should hurt. There should be a burn to go with the stretch but instead it’s nothing but sweet, sweet relief. 

Steve bottoms out with a deep groan in the back of his throat. Something within Eddie clicks into place, and Steve sets up a punishing rhythm, his hips making these little smack smack smack noises each time he sinks home again. Eddie feels so full, the drag of Steve inside him forcing his voice out in broken little whines as he claws at the sheets under his hands. He presses back to meet each brutal thrust. He’s babbling again, unsure of what he’s saying, hears himself chanting and crying out as the heat in him builds and builds.

Steve’s hands are everywhere - they ghost over the jagged scars on his hip and ribs, grip his shoulders tightly to drag him back onto his cock with force. The long line of Steve’s chest drapes over Eddie’s back suddenly, Steve’s mouth so close to his ear that Eddie can hear now just how ragged and fucked out he is, and Steve’s hand finds its way to Eddie’s throbbing, pulsing cock.

Steve strokes him once, twice, before that hand leaves to travel even lower. He squeezes Eddie’s balls, tugging harshly at them, and Eddie lifts his head to rub his cheek against Steve’s. He turns as much as he can, seeking his mouth, seeking a kiss from him. Steve bites him, his teeth sinking into Eddie’s bottom lip before sucking it wholly into his mouth. 

Eddie spills onto the sheets with a sharp cry, panic rising in him as he oh, so briefly comes to his senses enough to know this isn’t over, that he’s still hard, still needs more of this. He’s not even finished coming, each spurt landing heavily on the bed beneath him, and he takes Steve’s mouth in a kiss again.

The harsh rhythm of Steve’s hips hasn’t slowed.

That hand glides even further back now, frames the place where their bodies meet between two of his fingers to feel the way Steve is fucking him. Eddie’s senses have left him again, all narrowed down to the sensation of touch, and all he can feel is the wet of Steve’s mouth, open against his own, the thick cock impaling him and taking, taking, taking.

Steve’s voice is growing sharper, little “Ah, ah, ah”s falling from his lips the closer he gets to his own release, and he hisses out a ragged, “Fuck,” before pulling out to squeeze himself at the base of his cock. He breathes through it. Eddie doesn’t even have enough time to find his bearings before he’s being flipped to his back.

Above him is Steve. Holy fuck. He’s damp with sweat, his skin glistening a little in the golden sunset light streaming in through the slotted blinds of the window. He’s gazing down at Eddie like he’s the magical one.

“You’re beautiful like this.” 

Eddie hears it, when Steve says it. He feels it in his pores. Believes it, when Steve says it.

And then there’s Steve, lowering himself to lie across Eddie’s body. He guides himself forward and sinks perfectly inside. 

Everything is quiet. There’s no buzzing in Eddie’s head anymore, no ringing in his ears. There’s just this: Steve’s ragged breaths as he bottoms out again, Eddie’s audible gulp at the burn of being so full in this position, a bird outside - mourning dove, maybe, something that coos low and deep.

Steve wanted something special. This feels special. 

Still the heat doesn’t subside. Steve whispers that Eddie is burning up inside, that it’s almost too much, and then he rocks slowly back before pressing forward again and Eddie feels his eyes roll back in his head. Steve guides Eddie’s legs around his waist and he hovers over him, their faces so, so close to each other that Eddie can smell the beer and the pot on Steve’s breath. Eddie kisses him, and Steve laces their fingers together, holds his hand through the first round of slow, torturous thrusts of his hips.

“More,” Eddie whispers. “Deeper. It’s working.”

“How do you know?” Steve whispers in return.

“I don’t know. I just do.”

It’s slow like that, soft and gentle in a way that Eddie never once thought sex could be, each slide home dragging little sobs from Eddie’s lips and into Steve’s waiting mouth. Eddie is overcome with it, with the simplicity of this, but after a while it’s not enough anymore and the knives in his gut are back.

“More, I need more.”

“You’re doing so well,” Steve breathes, the pace of his hips picking up speed as Eddie arches beneath him. “You feel so good. You’re so…” he moans, “oh, god, you’re so good for me.”

Eddie is coming back to himself, gradually, for real this time. He’s got the presence of mind to actively move with Steve, to rock with him, match his rhythm, bring him deeper with every thrust of his hips. Steve takes his lips in another kiss, and Eddie opens for him. It’s a real kiss, a proper one, like so many that they’ve shared before, and that’s what seems to break Steve. He holds Eddie’s face in his hands, pulling back to look at him.

“There you are,” he whispers, almost reverent. “There you are.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, Stevie.”

“Thank god.”

“C’mon, sweetheart, give it to me. I can take it.”

“Well I can’t,” Steve groans, laughing at himself a little. “You’re so fuckin’ hot inside, Eds. Gonna burn me up.”

But Steve sits up. He gets his knees under himself and under Eddie’s ass. Hooking his elbows under each of Eddie’s knees, he folds him in half. Eddie didn’t even know he could fuckin’ bend like that but the change in position does something, shifts something inside Eddie and he arches with it. His eyes roll back as his vision goes fuzzy, Steve driving into him with a kind of force he hadn’t expected.

The delirium washes over him again in waves. Colors swim in his vision. Steve begins to glow again, a little bit. There’s a wub wub wub in Eddie’s ears that drown out even the wet slap of their skin coming together as Steve fucks into him. Eddie’s not sure if the sounds coming out of him are euphoric giggles or fucked out whimpers but at this point either seems possible.

Vaguely, as if under water, he thinks he hears himself murmur, “I love you,” and Steve’s hips stutter a little with the declaration. Fuck. If that’s how Eddie goddamn tells Steve he loves him… Fuck. He reaches for Steve, drags him down and lets his body bend even further to kiss Steve again, will him to forget. 

“More,” he pleads. “More. I love you. Fuck. Sorry.”

Against his mouth, Steve laughs. Eddie feels the shape of that laugh more than he hears it. What he does hear, though, is Steve’s response.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for months.”

“Stevie,” Eddie hears himself whine. “Close. Close, I’m close. This is gonna be it, oh god.”

The drive of Steve’s hips is wild. He’s frantic, urgent, chasing his own release. The delirium crashes into Eddie again, makes him cry out. It’s building and building to an absolute fever pitch now, very nearly fucked right out of him and when he blows this last time that’ll be it. 

His cheeks are wet. Oh god, he’s fucking crying. Actually fucking sobbing as Steve fucks him hard and fast and relentless. Steve’s eyes are squeezed shut, focused on not coming too quick maybe, and thank fuck for that because there’s no way Steve wouldn’t stop if he knew Eddie was fucking crying with pleasure. 

That final orgasm crashes into Eddie with the force of a meteorite. It’s a cataclysmic event. The kind of shit that could eradicate life. Maybe this is what killed the dinosaurs, Eddie thinks vaguely.

He shouts and tears at the sheets, hears them rip a little beneath his clawing fingers. There’s so much fucking cum. It’s boiling hot on his skin. He paints Steve’s chest with it somehow, and has just enough control over himself to drag his hand through it, scrape his fingernails through the mess of his chest hair and that’s what does it for Steve.

He drives deep, deeper than he has yet, his balls trapped, squeezed between their bodies. There’s a hot blooming sensation inside him as Steve fills him up with his release, and Eddie can feel Steve’s cock twitching inside him with each spurt. 

“Fuck, oh fuck Eddie, holy shit.”

Slowly, Steve draws out of him, and Eddie winces. He feels empty. Empty, but satiated and relaxed. Beside him, Steve collapses onto his back.

Everything is so quiet in the aftermath. Eddie’s cock is finally going soft. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness, just a little nervous he might not wake up if he gives himself over to sleep. The poison is out. He knows it is. He’s coming down from it, the euphoria and delirium finally leaving him altogether.

He’s exhausted. His body fucking hurts. 

But Steve is here. Steve is kissing him. Steve is murmuring love against his mouth, giving him praise, telling him he’s beautiful, telling him he’s good. 

“Thought I was gonna lose you again. ‘M sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” Eddie says, breathless. “No apologies. You did…” he swallows, “you did exactly what I needed.”

“You were crying!”

“Good tears, I swear!”

Steve narrows his eyes at Eddie at that but doesn’t fight him, and Eddie feels a smile creeping across his face. 

“God, it feels so good to be able to think straight again.”

“Nothin’ straight about the way you think.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “True enough. C’mere. Wanna cuddle you for a minute before I try and get up.”

“Eds, you need a shower.”

“Need you more. We can shower after.”

He pulls Steve into him. He tangles their legs together and pushes Steve’s sweaty hair back from his face and just looks at him. He wants to apologize for getting too close to that fucked up flower, for forcing a situation that Steve might not have been ready for just yet.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You didn’t want to… I just… like, I know you wanted to eventually, but… I’m sorry you had to, like… do this. Today. Because of this. Because I was stupid and tried to touch a fucking demon flower I had no reason to fuck with.”

Steve sighs. “It would have gotten one of us either way, I think. And it’s not that I didn’t want to, Eds. I’ve been… I’ve wanted to, for weeks now. Months, maybe. I just wanted to make sure we were both… that we were on the same page before we did.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve’s fingers trail lightly over Eddie’s brow, as if mapping his face, committing it to memory. “I needed to know you loved me.”

“Of course I do.”

“I just fall really hard and really fast. You know? I didn’t wanna be there before you, do this, and then find out afterwards that we… that whatever this is is just… physical to you. I can’t have another relationship that revolves around sex.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that,” Eddie sighs. “Well for what it’s worth, I’ve been struggling to not tell you how I feel for… Jesus, for months. Think I might’a fell for you that first time I saw you in the hospital, after everything was over.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiles. “Tell me about that.”

“Nah. Maybe another time. Let’s shower. This shit is starting to flake and I’m startin’ to get itchy.”

The shower is lukewarm. The shampoo is expensive, and smells of vanilla when Steve works it through Eddie’s hair. He groans at Steve’s fingers on his scalp, more relaxed than he’s been all day, maybe even in weeks. After washing his hair, Steve works out the tightness in Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie might fucking cry again.

“I didn’t expect to see you, in the hospital,” Eddie says quietly as Steve drags a washcloth over his skin. “Max had just woken up, too, and… I get it, I wasn’t upset about it at all. If I’d made it out the way everyone else did, I’d have been right there with you.”

Steve is quiet, the washcloth slowing its scrub across Eddie’s back as he listens.

“But there you were. You came in while they were changing my bandages and you… fuck, Steve, you looked like you hadn’t slept all week. You smiled. I think I was a goner right there.”

“You smiled first,” Steve tells him. “When you looked up and saw me. You smiled, even though the old bandages were sticking to you when they pulled them off. I never thought I’d see you smile again.”

“Were you a goner too Stevie?” 

It’s meant to be teasing, but Steve says, “Yeah. Yeah, I was a fucking goner.”

“What took us so long, huh?”

“I don’t know. Glad we figured it out.”

When Eddie’s clean they switch positions, and Steve lets Eddie return the favor. He washes Steve’s hair and his body and he kisses him all over his face and neck, counting those perfect moles with his lips as he goes. The shower is nearly cold when they finally shut it off and step out onto the plush mat on the bathroom floor. Steve’s towels are soft.

It’s not until they get back to Steve’s bedroom that they realize what a mess they’ve made of the bed. Steve tosses a clean pair of underwear to Eddie from his own dresser and then they strip the sheets. It’s nice, doing this together. It’s soft and domestic and Eddie is entertaining the idea of someday. Someday they can maybe have this for real, the two of them and Robin and Vickie in a little place somewhere in the city.

Maybe he and Steve can have forever.

After the sheets are changed and the moon hangs heavy outside Steve’s bedroom window, they climb back into his bed and get back to kissing. There’s no rush here, no urgency, no need to take things any further than this.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says later, startling Eddie just as he’s finally drifting off to sleep. “We forgot to call Owens.”