#but i could never get the logs to catch... so I choked down all that smoke for NOTHING

[actual-corpse]

I have no idea how I stumbled upon it... but....

I found a hashtag "HelloKittyCase" on YT...

And the shorts under that tag are 90% disrespectful as all gitout...

Like... THEY WERE FUCKING SOUND TRENDS!

A Woman is horribly murdered and dismembered and you make a stupid fucking trendy short about it?

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Bubble gum snow drop plzzzz ❤️❤️❤️🤡🔥🔥🔥

clown fuckers rise up !

Pairing: Buggy x Female Reader

WC: 2000

Prompt: “You’re obviously freezing. Just come here.” 

— — 

*cough* *cough* *sputter* *cough*  

Your eyes snap open and see a cloudless late afternoon sky. You immediately lurch forward to purge the seawater from your lungs. You flip over on your hands and knees while choking out the rest of the water, you gasp and cough trying to catch your breath. 

It had all happened so fast. You were aboard Buggy’s ship to do some negotiations when a massive storm hit. Your serious discussion had been interrupted by violent shaking of the ship and sounds of wood breaking all around you. You both headed out to the deck to assess the situation and that was the last thing you remembered. 

You had seemingly been washed ashore on some small island near where the storm had hit. You finally catch your breath enough to look around. You see what seems like the shape of another human being washed along the shore about fifty yards away. You rub at the salt water stinging your eyes, to make sure you were really seeing another person laying on the beach. After you regain your full vision you realize that yes, yes there was someone laying on the sand, someone with bright blue hair… and someone who certainly wasn’t moving. 

Instinctively you start to sprint towards the body on the beach as fast as you can. Upon arrival, you see Buggy’s body laying face down in the wet sand with no signs of life. 

“Shit…” You huff out. His stupid chop-chop fruit. He probably couldn’t push the salt water out of his lungs like you did. You flip him over onto his back and quickly move to straddle his waist. 

“Come on…” You press your hands onto his chest and push down with your whole body. You continue to pull back and push down in a frantic manner, trying to get him to cough up the sea water. 

“Don’t die, you fucking asshole!” You give one especially hard thrust to Buggy’s chest and his hands fly up to your waist as he begins coughing violently. You hop up to hover above him as he expels the water from his lungs and catches his breath. 

“Y/n?” Buggy looks up at you, confused. 

“Yes?” You question. 

“YOU’RE God?!?!” He shrieks out and his eyes widen. 

“Oh my GOD.” You roll your eyes. “I’m not god you fucking moron, you aren’t dead. Not yet at least.” You pick yourself up off the sand. “It’s getting dark, we can’t look for the rest of the crew until the sun’s back up. We need to find somewhere to shelter for the night.” 

Buggy groans and rolls around dramatically on the sand. 

“This is ridiculous! I’m stuck here with you? Here I thought you’d be in and out of my office with your Berries and I’d never have to deal with you again. Now we’re bunking up in the wilderness?” “Excuse me, circus act? I just saved your fucking life, dickhead. And if you’d like to continue living that life, I’d follow me.” You turn tail and start to walk towards the rock formation in the center of the island. Buggy looks around and sees that you are clearly his only hope at surviving this ordeal, so he scrambles to his feet and follows you. 

Eventually you come across a cave deep enough to shelter yourselves from any enemies or predators for the night. You order Buggy to gather some sticks and logs to put a fire together. You dig your cigarette lighter out of your pants pocket and pray to whatever gods that would listen for it to still be functional. Luck was on your side and the lighter flickered to life in your hand. You light the firewood carefully and watched over the growing flame for several minutes. 

Once the fire was lit, you and Buggy brought yourselves close to the flames so that you could finally feel some warmth in your damp clothes. The night had grown pitch black and you were feeling the aches and pains of being washed ashore catching up with you. 

“I’m going to try to sleep. You should get some rest too.” You crawl over to a corner of the cave and curl up on your side against the rock wall. 

“Right.” Buggy chooses a spot opposite the cave and lays down on his back. He throws his large coat over his body like a blanket. 

Several minutes go by and your body was wracked with a chill that wouldn’t go away. Being stuck in wet clothes all day and the ache in your bones was causing you to shake violently. You rub your sides trying to create more warmth with friction when you hear a sigh from across the cave. 

“You’re obviously freezing. Just come here.” Buggy gruffly announces. 

“What?” You question through chattering teeth.��

“You and I both know how body heat works. Do I have to spell this out for you, princess? Just get over here.” 

You weigh your options. You could go cuddle up to Buggy the Clown or you could freeze to death in a damp corner of a cave. You crawl over to Buggy. He lifts up his coat and beckons you to join him underneath it. You shuffle your body into his under the coat and you already begin to feel warmer. Buggy wraps his arm around you when he felt your shivering shoulders against his chest. 

Although it was significantly warmer in Buggy’s arms, you still couldn’t help but shake from the cold. 

“We should take our clothes off.” You hear from the man behind you. You snap your head in his direction. “Excuse me?!”

“Oh relax, don’t get too excited. Our clothes are still damp, we’re not going to warm up like this. We’ll freeze and catch a cold…. And I do not do well with nasal congestion.” Buggy sits up and starts stripping himself of his wet clothing before you could protest. 

“Jeez can you at least give me a second to look away before you pull your dick out?” You close your eyes instinctively. You unfortunately realize how right the clown was. There was no way you’d warm up if you stayed in your clothes. You sigh and slip your shirt over your head and shuffle your pants down your legs. You cross your legs and move your arms to cover your breasts and pull the makeshift blanket back over you. 

Finally out of your wet garments and with a warm body holding you close, you were able to relax. You release a deep exhale and close your eyes to try and get some sleep. Right as you were about to drift off, you feel something hard twitch against your backside. Your eyes shoot open. 

“Is your dick hard right now?!” You snap at him. “We almost died, you old pervert! How can you be hard?”

“I understand that, y/n!” Buggy hisses out at you, grinding his cock further into your body. You didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose or if he just couldn’t help it. “Regardless of what happened earlier, there is a hot naked girl laying next to me. I’m still a man, y/n.” The way he growled into your ear, your body began to betray you…

You sighed at the feeling of his needy body dry humping you. You pressed your ass further into him and Buggy groaned lowly. He moves his hand from its place on your stomach up to grip your breast. He gropes it harshly, using it almost as an anchor to pull your body back into his. 

Buggy gives your breast a particularly rough squeeze and you involuntarily moan out loudly. You slap your hand over your mouth. You hear the man behind you chuckle. 

“You’re wet right now, aren’t you, y/n?” Buggy whispers in your ear. “Does this turn you on, y/n? You like when I play with your tits like that?” 

Your cunt pulsed at his filthy words. You couldn’t come up with a response other than a whimper. The hand that was groping your breast suddenly released it to pull your right leg up and over his hip, effectively spreading your legs open for him. 

“I bet if I touched this sweet little pussy, she’d be soaking wet. Should I see if I’m right, y/n?” Without waiting for a response from you, Buggy detaches his other hand from wherever it was and slips it between your legs. He uses his middle and first fingers to slip effortlessly through your slick folds. You gasp as he lets his fingers linger on your clit and applies a bit of pressure. 

“Looks like I’m right! You’re all hot now too, what do you say we warm up a bit faster hmm?” Buggy purrs in your ear as he dips his two fingers shallowly in your hole, teasing you before coming back up to rub at your clit, spreading copious amounts of your slick around your throbbing sex. 

“We really shouldn’t, B-buggy… oh!" He pushes his digits into your entrance again and you yelp out. 

“Come on baby, let me stick it in you. It’ll feel good…” Buggy continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, working you up further. “Feel how wet you are?” Buggy dramatically squelches his fingers in your dripping cunt and you clench at the noise and the feeling. “It’d be a shame to let this go to waste… don’t you want to cum? I’ll make you cum on my cock, just let me put it in…” 

How could someone be so hot while simultaneously begging you to let him take you? You were desperate for release so you relented to the clown’s pleas. 

“Yes, fuck me.” You breath out. Buggy pulls his fingers out of you and his leaking cock was already prodding at your hole. You don’t know how did it so fast, it was almost like a magic trick. 

You were so wet that your walls welcomed Buggy’s cock easily. You both groan and gasp as he makes his first experimental thrusts into you. 

“Shit baby, you’re so tight! If I had known you had such a nice pussy I would have bent you over the desk in my office earlier!” Buggy hikes your leg higher in his hand in order to penetrate you even deeper. 

“Right there!” You huff out and throw your head back against Buggy’s shoulder. 

“Here, baby? Does that feel good?” Buggy continues to thrust his cock into you, tip brushing against that sensitive spot with each pass through your slick walls. He nips at your ear as you melt further into his body. He brings his hand that was holding your thigh down to push on your lower tummy. 

“B-buggy… fuck…” The sensation of his cock sliding through your sensitive insides was heightened by his hand on your stomach. “I-I… I think I’m gonna cum… fuck!” Before you finish your sentence the pressure in your abdomen releases and you orgasm violently on your clown lover. 

“There it is, good girl…” Buggy speeds up his thrusts into your still spasming pussy. “Squeezing me so tight, fuck I’m gonna cum too, shit…” 

You feel Buggy grip the soft skin of your tummy and pull your body impossibly closer to his as he spills his thick seed deep inside you. You felt rope after rope of hot liquid fill you to the brim and spill out around his member at your entrance… must have been awhile for him… 

Buggy’s breath was hot and ragged on your neck and you feel his nose nuzzle your spine. 

“So… you still cold?” Buggy asks. 

“I think I’ll be okay now, thanks.” You laugh and cuddle your body into his front even closer. “You’re still inside me, you know.” 

“I know… can we sleep like this? Please? You’re so warm…” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Fine,” You respond. “But if people come looking for us and find us like this in the morning, you’re a dead clown.” 

“Worth it.” Buggy yawns and quickly begins snoring behind you. Finally being comfortably warm, you too drift off to sleep. 

-- --

xx Mo 

[heartfullofleeches]

What if incel reader wants to turn a new leaf but V is making that extremely hard since he's fueling reader's gaming addiction and reader decides to leave him, albeit very reluctantly

(Angst time)

[Guys, I just got my first job! Didn't think anything would come in so soon since I just got my degree. Dont know when I'll have the time to log on, but I'll miss you. Take care.]

It happened again. This is exactly why you rarely played multiplayer anymore. Time and time again, people would detail their milestones in life, never to be seen again. New career. A baby. The list went on and on and on. It made you think about your life. Quitting your job and leeching off someone who gave you his all to play video games nearly twenty four hours a day. It's pathetic. You're pathetic- but you dont want things to stay this way.

You tried so hard to turn yourself around. Applying to jobs in the area, cutting back on your time online. The jobs never got back to you and V would remind you of a new dlc coming to a game you loved, pulling you right back in. V. You don't want to admit it. You wished for a reality where it wasn't true, but he was your biggest obstacle. His care, as well meaning as it was, was weighing you down and leaving you forever a shell of the person you were growing to be. If you wanted to get better, you'd have to let him go.

"H-hey, V. There's something I need to talk to you about. Before I start, I need to say that it isn't you. I love you, but I can't do this. Maybe, in a few years we can meet up and start over, but for now I-"

You choke. Tears flow in your reflection. You break down, crying over the bathroom sink for the millionth time. Even in practice, you can't stop yourself from falling apart. Your cries rebound against the walls, through the crack in the door where angry eyes watch as you wilt away on the bathroom floor. They're torn between comforting you, and breaking your computer to atoms. As much as it bound you to him, V always knew there was a possibility that it could tear you apart just as easily. He decides to take the third option, and quietly leaves the house.

-

"Fuck. Fuck. FUCK."

V slams his fist into the steering wheel. He claws at his skin, picking at his filth ridden body and attempting to relieve his air flow as he hyperventilates. You can't leave him. You can't. He can't go back to watching you from afar, wondering how you feel beneath his touch. Having that beautiful grin directed at him. He felt horrible to see you in so much pain, but he refused to accept fault. To let you go. He just had to ease up, give you some of the freedom you so desperately craved.

-

You're sitting on the couch when he finally returns home. He uncharacteristically quiet. You rise, chewing on your lips.

"V, I-"

He hugs you. "It's okay."

Your eyes water. "No, it's not."

"I was here earlier..." He squeezes you tighter. "I heard everything you said."

By the way he shakes, you can tell he's crying too.

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be... Let me help you."

"How can you possibly help?"

"My parents. They own a company. We can get you a job. Mail room, office work, it doesn't matter. We can switch off on the housework, go out more. Please...."

"I don't want to lose you, Y/n."

You crumble, sobbing like a baby as you cling onto him and use his shirt to catch your tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You've done so much for me and I was just going to leave."

V hushes you and rubs circles into your back. "It's okay, baby. You'll get better and everything will be okay. Okay?"

You sniffle as he wipes and kisses away your tears. "Okay..."

"Good. I'm gonna go take a quick smoke, but while I do, you go get dressed so we can actually go out tonight. Sound good?"

"Yeah.." You smile a bit. "It does."

"Good." V kisses your forehead and you part ways. Walking outside and leaning against the railing, he pulls put his phone and dials a number. What he didn't expect was an answer on the first ring."

"Hey, Mom?... Yeah, it's me. Listen, I need you to do me a favor. Can you give my partner a job? Nothing too crazy, just something to keep them on their toes. Give them a couple promotions maybe, then fire them in a few months. The cameras in the main building are up to date, right?"

[artficlly]

a dish served cold (mini series - part four)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x reader after the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. fate brings you to crimson junction for a reason, and that reason is bucky barnes. 

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, guns, violence, kidnapping, murder/death, attempted sa, head injuries, choking, vomiting, creepy men, period typical attitudes, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, alcohol, betrayal, bounty hunters, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: part four!! things are starting to get moving now. let me know your thoughts sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

If you had expected peace and quiet once the sun set, you were sorely wrong. After being cramped up in a saddle for hours on end, you’d hoped exhaustion would take you the moment you were returned to solid ground. But aside from Barnes, it seemed like you were the only one who was fatigued. 

Your captors hooted and hollered between themselves, gathered around their small fire as they greedily swallowed down whiskey. You had never thought bounty hunters to be so lax. They did not seem to fear the security of their catch, simply relying on the strength of their knots. There was no fear of an attack from a roaming gang or that you or Bucky might slip from your binds. 

You lean against a fallen log a few paces away from them and wonder if they knew how you schemed. In every moment of travel, you pictured increasingly violent ways to escape. You were just waiting for a moment of vulnerability—a moment where you could strike and end this ordeal once and for all. Your thoughts had always been conflicted previously, a silent, crawling worry of judgement. It was a sin to kill; yes, the Bible and preachers always said so. But what of self-defence? What of the rising dread you felt, the knowing in your bones? Deep down, you knew. You knew that if you did not act, you might become yet another corpse that littered the deserts. Or you might be subjected to a range of much worse fates—the ones women truly feared. 

It is the crunch of boots against the rocks and sand that alerts you to one of them drawing closer. Not the ringleader, but another. Rumlow. The man pauses in front of you, crouching down to your height. You swallow hard, your posture straightening. He has a drunken grin, one rather close to a sneer. He brushes a strand of tangled hair from your face. 

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t ya?” Rumlow muses, his eyes scanning across your dirty face. “I do wonder if we keep ya around after this bounty business is done. Could be nice to have some… female company around.”

You shift away as far as you can, but despite your efforts, you feel his hand reach under your skirts. You lift your leg, intending to kick the man, but his spare hand grips your shin, pinning it down. Filthy hands graze across your skin, up past your knee. Bile burns in your throat, your hips squirming as you try to put further distance between the two of you. Rumlow chuckles, fingers ghosting across your thighs. 

You grit your teeth, squeezing your thighs together to trap his hand in place, hoping and praying that he would not try to reach any further. “I would sooner put the barrel of a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger than be your whore.” You hiss.

The man goes to laugh but stops abruptly. The phlegmy wheeze caught short as you spit in his face. He froze, as if in disbelief. He releases your shins, his hand rising to his cheek, wiping the glob of saliva with one swipe. You watch in disgust as he brings the finger to his lips, sucking the fluid off with a twisted grin.

You are revolted to find that Rumlow appeared… delighted by your sudden will to fight.

He raises his free hand, swinging it down and cracking it firmly across your cheek. Your neck cranks as your head is struck to the side. The shock of it jolted you; your thoughts somewhat momentarily dazed as pain quickly radiates across your skin. You gasp, staring at the ground beneath you. Hesitantly, you run your tongue over your split lip, wincing as you taste blood. 

You feel heat flare across your cheeks, the steady hum of rage flooding your veins. He had released your shin. With a grunt, you raise your knee in a sharp, abrupt motion. Rumlow groans as it connects with his gut, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thigh. “You’re gonna regret that, you stupid bitch.” 

Before you could react, he rose to his feet. One hand seizes a fistful of your hair, and you let out a yelp as he tugs. Rocks dig sharply into your skin as he jerks you onto your stomach, grunting as he drags you across the clearing. You twist in his grip, letting out a gasp as he finally releases you. Your shoulders ache as you desperately tug at the binds keeping your arms tied behind your back, a blind panic setting in. 

You feel him tower over you, his hands digging into your sides. He flips you from your belly onto your back, and you let out a winded squeak, wriggling as you try to break free. 

“Get away from me.” You manage to gasp as the man huffs out a laugh, gripping you by your ankles as he tugs you towards him. You struggle in his grip, managing to free one of your feet, and kick him solidly in the nose. 

Rumlow pauses his movements, the crunching sound of bone reverberating across the campsite. 

He lets out a pained wheeze, his hands rushing upwards as blood streams from his nose. You watch mesmerised for a second as the crimson liquid spills over his hands, dripping down his forearms. 

With a grunt, you flip onto your stomach once more. You wriggle forward, hoping some distance might change your situation for the better. Your victory was short-lived, as you are left frozen as a pair of leather boots stand in your line of sight. 

“Ya know, I’m gettin’ a bit sick of you, little lady.” Pierce snarls, leaning over as he grips one of your arms. Without so much of another word, he hauls you across the ground. You wince and yelp as the rocks and twigs dig into your skin, tearing at your skirts. 

But, to your relief, the ring leader sits you upright once more. Gasping for breath, you are leaning up against a pole. Pierce pauses to stare at you, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. 

“You best stay put now, or I’ll set my boys on ya.” He warns, his eyes moving to look at something behind you. “You’ll keep an eye on her, now won’t ya Barnes?” He sneers teasingly.

You turn your head to look behind you. In your struggle, you haven’t realised the outlaw was tied up directly behind you. Barnes doesn’t respond, and you watch the profile of his face as he stares broodingly into the night. Pierce walks away to return to the fire, and you notice how the outlaw's fist and jaw are clenched. 

Quietly, you catch your breath, your head leaning against the post as you close your eyes. Your heart is beating wildly, and your chest is rising and falling as you try not to focus on the sting of your wounds and the pounding in your skull.

“You alright?” The low, gravelly voice of Bucky spoke up into the silence. You crack your eyes open, sighing heavily through your nose. You were surprised—very surprised, actually—that the outlaw was even interested in speaking to you. 

You run your tongue over your teeth, then your bottom lip, as you contemplate. The behaviour of your captors was elevating at a dangerous rate. If you remained with these men any longer, you weren’t sure you’d be lucky to escape as you had tonight. There was no way for you to untie your binds yourself, not without help. Mere days ago, you would’ve sworn Barnes was your enemy. You’d have to bite the bullet and consider a temporary allyship. 

You could not say you knew the man; you only knew the small acts of kindness he had shown you. You could offer a truce and hope that, in the end, he didn’t turn on you out of revenge for this whole messy situation. 

“Can I ask you a favour?” You hesitantly breach the silence that has fallen, ignoring his previous question. You might’ve answered yes, just to ease his mind that you were, in fact, okay. But you were too shaken to lie. It was hard to forget Rumlow’s dirty fingers had ghosted up your thigh. It was easy to picture what he might’ve done if you had not fought back.

“A favour?” Barnes asks. You could feel him shift behind you, adjusting his seat and trying to lean closer. 

“I know you have no reason to trust me, but I have a feelin’ the only way we can get out of here is to work together.” Your words were met with a contemplative silence. You swivel your head back again, your neck straining as you try to get a peek at his face to see if any emotion crosses his chiselled face. 

“And what were you proposin’?”

“My knife, it’s still in my boot; they missed it. I can’t grab it with my hands tied, but maybe you’ll be able to grab it.” You huff, snapping your head forward once more. Sliding your legs carefully underneath yourself so your feet were closer to where his hands were tied. Then, you shuffled backwards until your back was pressed against his shoulder. 

The outlaw bends closer to you in return, his hands blindly feeling around your calf, shin, and ankle, searching for an angle to stick his fingers into your boot. You keep your jaw clamped shut, ignoring the goosebumps that rise across your skin. You were thankful for your stockings, which prevent Barnes from feeling how your body reacts to his touch. It perplexes you how his unintentional caress felt so different from the type of touch Rumlow had subjected you to. 

“I get the knife, and then what?” Barnes puffs as he strains against the rope. His fingers press into your boot, searching for the thin blade tucked snuggly between the leather and your stockings. With your back arched, you tilt closer, trying to give the outlaw a fighting chance to retrieve the knife. The whalebone edge of your corset cut into your skin, and your breathing grew strained as your ribs were squeezed at the awkward angle. 

“You hold it for me, and I can cut myself loose, then I’ll cut you free.”

His fingers pause, as if he were suddenly second-guessing your proposal. “And what’s to say you don’t bolt the second I cut you free.”

You sigh, squeezing your eyes together in frustration. Your back and hips ached from the position in which you were bent, and your legs were cramped and quivering as you tried to stay upright. 

“I promise, okay? I know it ain’t worth much. I just know I can’t get out of here without your help.” You say, near begging. Your breath comes out in short pants, the tight lacing of your corset showing no mercy. His fingers are still frozen in place, and you can imagine the frown that has fallen across his face. “I am scared. Is that what you want to hear? Those men… those men are only get worse each night, and I ain’t gonna be able to fight them off much longer.”

You wait for his response, expecting him to ask how it would benefit him—other than the obvious possibility of him escaping his fate of swinging once the party reached civilisation. To your surprise, he doesn’t appear to question you. The outlaw grunts, as if not even able to find the word to reply, and to your relief, he begins digging for the knife once more. You release a sharp breath, clenching your jaw as you strain to stay twisted in place. 

When he finally manages to grip the blade after a few more minutes of fumbling around, you nearly sob out of joy. The outlaw succeeds in plucking the knife from your boot, and you moan in relief, flopping against him as you flex your legs back into place. Barnes is tense at your touch; his body is stiff as if it had turned to stone. 

“Hold still.” He mutters. The coarse fibres of your binds rubbed at your wrists, the pull of the knife tugging them back and forth. The two of you are dead silent as he works, eyes locked on your captors, who were still huddled around the fire, drinking and oblivious. They don’t notice anything amiss. 

With one final tug, the strands of the rope come apart. You gratefully pull your wrists apart, rolling your shoulders subtly with a relieved sigh. Your moment of bliss is short-lived, as you do not want to draw attention to yourself before you are able to free Barnes. You make quick work of his rope, your fingers gripping the blade expertly as you quickly cut. Your head snaps rapidly between the rope that disintegrates between your fingers and the group of captors. 

Only when the outlaws binds are removed do you shift back into your original position, so as to not rouse suspicion if they glanced over. Your pulse sounds like a drum in your ears as you lean back onto the wooden post. Half of you had expected the outlaw to leap to his feet, materialise a gun from thin air, and take them out expertly like a gunslinger of legend. Another half expected he might turn on you, that vengeance for your actions might outweigh his common sense. 

Barnes did neither. Instead, to your surprise, he presses your small knife into your palm and mutters to you in a low voice, “We should wait until they fall asleep. Easier to shoot without ‘em shootin’ back.” 

“You want to kill them?” You say, horrified. 

Even if you had pictured your captors deaths repeatedly, you did not actually intend to kill them. There was rage, frustartion, and fear inside of you, yes, but you did not want to become a murderess. Maybe there would be some satisfaction in causing them to be arrested and watching them swing, but were you truly capable of killing? Having a violent thought was no sin, but only if you did not act upon it. 

“As far as I’m concerned, they deserve it, darlin’.” Barnes replies gruffly. 

You think back to how the outlaw has watched as these men beat and torment you. How he had grit his teeth and clenched his fist. Your captors had found enjoyment in his suffering as equally as yours, laughing when he stumbled and dragging him by his neck. Thinking back, you recognised there was a growing darkness in his gaze, a hateful, vicious thing growing within him. 

“I think it’s up to the law to decide who deserves what.” You say, but deep down, you are unsure of your own words. Even if you escaped without killing your captors, what was to say they would give up the chase? How far would they travel through this godforsaken desert just to get to Barnes? And you could not simply let Barnes slip away; you still needed him. 

“Those men hurt you, hell, they were gonna do a lot worse. You’re tellin’ me that you’re not the least bit upset about that?” He asks, irritated. 

You cannot find the heart to reply.

—

It didn’t take long for your captors to fall asleep—a mixture of the exhaustion of the day and the indulgent pours of whiskey they allowed themselves. You were surprised; you’d never expected bounty hunters to be so sloppy. Maybe they could afford it due to their numbers, more firepower, and strength. You wondered why your captors didn’t have the foresight to leave one of their own awake to stand watch or why they didn’t sleep in shifts. Maybe they had too much faith in their knots or even their ears to wake them at the slightest noise. 

You had decided you would not kill. No. You would have Barnes do the dirty work if necessary. Whatever watched over you would have to forgive you for that sin, but at least you would not have blood on your hands. 

The camp grew silent until only the crackle of the fire, the nickering of the horses, and Barnes slow, deep breathing joined you. It was only when you heard the soft snores that Barnes nudged you with his elbow. The outlaw glances over his shoulder at you, his face dusty and eyebrows knit together in a look of determination. 

The two of you slowly rise to your feet, careful and purposeful with each step as you navigate your way through the small camp. One of the captors had fallen asleep next to the fire, while the other two had miraculously made it to their beds. 

You clutch your small knife in your hand. You had decided it would be suspicious if you left yourself unarmed—you didn’t want Barnes to suspect your plan to use him. Based on what you had heard from stories and personal experience, you did not think the man was particularly remorseful about using violence and taking lives. However, you did not want to give him any more reason to distrust you than he already likely did.

Trust would be key, as much as it disgusts you. 

You watch on like a hawk as Barnes hesitantly leans down, retrieving a pistol from the belt of one of the men. You hold your breath, momentarily captivated, as the light from the fire illuminates his side profile, strands of messy hair sweeping over his forehead. There is a strange feeling in your gut that was unfamiliar to you, one that made you feel weak in the knees. Without disturbing its owner, he withdraws the gun from its holster with deft, cautious, and slow fingerwork. 

You release a long, slow breath, and Barnes rises to his full height once more. He does not even glance in your direction, instead assessing the gun and checking the number of bullets left. You creep towards him, a small, anxious voice within thinking he might turn the gun on you. Those thoughts are quickly dismissed, the knot in your chest loosening as Barnes gestures his head towards one of the men, and you nod in response. 

You go to creep backward a few paces to allow the outlaw the space he needs to commit whatever crime he envisions, but find yourself frozen in your tracks as warm flesh wraps around your ankle. You glance down, your mouth opening in horror, as you realise the man next to the fire has awoken. With one hand clutched around your ankle in a vice-like grip, the other reaches for his second pistol, raising it to point it directly at you. You yank your leg backward sharply as his finger comes to rest over the trigger. Your whole body jolts as a loud gunshot rings through the camp, the scent of smoke filling your nostrils. 

Your hand flies to your stomach as you gasp, fear prickling across your skin. You quickly realise that, despite the sudden shock, you are unharmed. Wide-eyed, your head snaps upwards, and you see Barnes standing with his gun aimed squarely at the now deceased man. Blood splatters, bone, and brain matter paint your boots, skirts, and the soil. You could’ve sworn you heard the sizzle as droplets of blood sprinkle the open fire. You gape at the scene, fixed in place from the shock. Your joints feel frozen—a chill that not even the campfire could melt. The shock hits you in a rush that leaves your chest pounding as you gasp for breath. Only when you jerk your head upward to look at Barnes do you find the will to move. You pull your ankle free, your legs wobbling as you try to step over the body. 

There is a look of worry that haunts the outlaws features. 

He thrusts out his hand to assist you, his fingers brushing your hands. You gratefully grasp at him, your knees nearly buckling as he supports your weight. There is a strange comfort in feeling his arms wrap around your waist, hoisting you away. You look up, hoping to thank him, but your gaze moves past his concerned expression as you notice a dark, looming figure standing behind him. 

“Bucky!” You shriek and dive to the ground as his grip on you slips. Your palms meet the earth first, with rocks digging into your flesh. A choked gasp leaves your throat as you realise your hands were slippery, thick, crimson liquid painting your skin. For a moment, you think it is Bucky, and a sob rises in your chest. You look upward, but by some miracle, the outlaw is unharmed. He has gained his bearings and jumped forward to tackle Pierce. Bucky’s sculpted arms wrap around his middle as they begin to tussle on the ground. 

Your eyes flick back down to your palms, realising the blood you knelt in was from the body next to you. Mistakenly, you look at the corpse, then make a small gagging noise as you gain your footing. Bucky and Pierce are still brawling like a set of wild dogs, all teeth and claws, as they both struggle to reach a misplaced gun. You contemplate reaching for the pistol to assist the outlaw, but before you can do anything heroic, a large mass slams into your side. You let out a yelp as your shoulder smacked hard into the ground below, biting pain radiating up your arm. The heat of the fire is scalding, and your head has nearly fallen into the pit.

The man above you is Rumlow, still as loathsome as you remembered him. There was a thin layer of sweat across his forehead, his nose was bruised, and his yellowing teeth revealed an angry grimace. With one of his hands raised and his palm flat against your face, he attempts to shove your head into the fire. You grit your teeth, struggling to find your knife, which fell from your hand during the tackle. The heat from the fire continues to sear your flesh, and the flames are inching closer as your captor pushes your cheek closer and closer to the flames. The light blinds you, and in a moment of desperation, you bite down hard on one of his fingers, spitting blood as he yowls in pain. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, slam your knee into his stomach and roll out from under him. 

Your knife is discarded nearby, the glint of metal calls to you. You scramble towards it on your hands and knees, crying out as Rumlow grips you by the back of your head. Your scalp wails in agony as he takes a fistful of your tangled hair, yanking and tossing you to the ground. Your head cracks against the hard earth, a ringing in your ears as you roll onto your back coughing. 

Rumlow chuckled, lowering himself onto you. He straddles your waist, pinning you in place. You kick out wildly, trying your best to squirm your way out, but are unsuccessful. Wrapping his hands around your neck, he squeezes hard. Panic begins to rise as you fight for air, clawing at his hands desperately. Your vision zones in on his face, his crooked teeth, wrinkles, and slicked back hair. You turn your head, searching desperately for Bucky. Deep down, you knew he had no reason to help you, not while he thought you were some kind of bounty hunter. The edges of your vision begin to fade, the world growing grey as your lungs burn, your chest heaving in agony. 

Just moments before you consider closing your eyes and accepting this cruel and violent end, you notice a small light. A glint, not apart of the fire. A piece of metal, sharp and well-cared for. You knew this, as you had sharpened it yourself. Made in your Pa’s forge. It called to you once more. 

You reach out desperately, your palms dragging across the rough soil, until you can finally grasp between your fingers. With one last push, you clench your fist, driving the blade into the throat of your captor.

His mouth opens, eyes wide in shock, as he grabs at his neck. You gasp in air. Your throat burns, and your body suddenly grows possessed as you cough and heave. Blood spurts across your chest, neck, and face as Rumlow slumps over you. Still choking for air, you grunt loudly as you push the man off. Taking in large gulps of air, you roll onto your belly, close your eyes, and allow yourself a moment to breathe. The earth below you was warm from the fire, and you pres your forehead against it, not caring as you breathe in sand and dust. Beside you, Rumlow splutters, chokes, and gags before finally falling silent. 

These people had corrupted you. You were only a few weeks away from home, and you had become one of the characters in a cautionary tale your church would preach. There was blood on your hands; there was blood all over you. You were dripping in it, as if you had submerged yourself in a bath filled with it. It coated everything—your very being, your very soul. What would your Ma say? Her daughter, her only child, a sinner? You would surely go to hell for this, self defense or not. You could’ve stabbed him anywhere—the arm, the shoulder—but you chose the throat? It was never supposed to go this far, this… this idotic fantasy. You were a killer, a murderer. Had you completely abandoned your morals? All for what? Vengeance? 

Your arms shook as you rose up on all fours, gagging and heaving as you vomited up bile. You could not remember the last time you had a proper meal. Your stomach aches, and your throat stings from the acid. Eyes watering, you sniffle as you wipe at your face, pushing yourself to a kneeling position. 

Bucky stood over you, his hand extended. The outlaw looked as though he had been thoroughly tussled, his hair messy, and the beginnings of a bruise across his cheek. You take his hand, feeling like a ragdoll as he pulls you to your feet. His hand raises, coming to gently and hesitantly touch your shoulder. 

“You alright?” He asks, his voice laced with concern and hesitation. He seemed to regard you like a spooked horse, making slow and purposeful movements so as not to scare you away. You held his gaze, knowing there was a likeness of death within them.

“Yes.” You lie through your teeth, your voice hoarse. As if he can sense your lie, he shrinks back and grunts in response.

Any expressive or lively emotions from the outlaw moments previous were lost. Now, you were met by a brick wall. His visage was darkened and stoic. A void of a man. He took a seat in front of the fire, slumping as his back turned to you. Rage bubbles within you, the boil large enough that you consider biting your own fist as not to scream. This man had already taken everything from you, and now you were caught up in this mess. Innocent, you were no more. You look around at the destruction around you—blood and bullets littering the ground. 

He had caused this. He had caused this destruction in your life and led you astray into the desert. You stare at the back of his head, your skin crawling as you imagine how you would crack it open. Allies, you were no more, now that your captors had been dealt with. 

Hands shaking, you let out a sharp breath and turn around. 

You needed a drink. Something, anything to stop the pounding in your skull. 

You worked your way through camp slowly, checking the dead bodies, the tents, and then the saddlebags. There was no more whiskey to be found, and more alarmingly, there were little to no supplies. You had wondered if the lack of food and water given to you and Barnes while in captivity was purposeful, but now it seemed rather like a lack of provisions. No wonder they had been living off whiskey the entire journey. That, and it appeared that your captors had been dead broke, other than a few measly coins tucked into a saddlebag. They didn’t even have any damn cigarettes left.

Unfortunately, it left you in a similar predicament. They had brought along your saddlebag, but it was as bare as their own savings. There was little to no money—just a couple cans and half a waterskin full of warm water. Thankfully, they had tucked your rifle into one of the saddles, which you gratefully retrieve. Crimson Junction had certainly bled you dry, having to pay for a room, food, and stabling your horse while you waited for the roads to open. 

It seemed ridiculous now, thinking back to when you thought this would be easy. Hindsight was a cruel maiden. 

Stroking a hand down the wooden grain of your rifle, you wondered where the valuables Bucky and his companions had collected had gone. All the fancy jewellery that was stolen during the robbery... had it vanished into thin air? Was that their victims’ legacies? Maybe he had spent it all while on the run, or maybe the group of them had hidden it somewhere in the wilds. Either way, it didn’t seem like your captors had had the foresight to bring his saddlebag, which was presumably with his horse still loose in the canyons. 

Your hands tremble, and you grip the rifle in your hands harder. Taking deep breaths, you stalk over to Barnes, who obliviously stares into the shrinking flames. You gaze upon him and still feel grief squeeze your heart. The outlaw had been kind to you and even saved your life. But what of justice? What of your foolish mission that led you to this desert?

What of the retribution you deserved?

You had tried to be the girl you were raised to be. You had tried to be innocent, true, and kind. You had tried so hard to be what was expected of you—to marry well and be a good wife or even a mother. But there was so much anger within you—a rage you did not know how to smother. The flames burned higher and higher until they spewed from your mouth and engulfed you whole.

You were no longer gentle. No longer that girl you left behind in Aramiah.

“What were you diggin’ around for?” The outlaw asks, but he doesn't bother to turn his head. Probably for the better. Had he really regained faith in you that quickly? So blind to the different sides of you? He did not even know you, or maybe he thought he did? 

In that moment, you were unsure if you even knew yourself.

You raise the rifle and swing it over your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” You croak out. 

Bucky turns, but it is too late. You bring your arms down and strike him hard across the head. His head snaps back, a gash splitting across his temple. 

He is out cold before he can hit the ground.

PART FIVE

[rorimoon9597]

Lance has always been obsessed with Keith's hair for some reason. He didn't know why at first, but as time went on, it became so clear that he wanted to run his hands though it and feel it on his fingers.

He made comments about it being an ugly mullet to hide that fact. It didn't work, especially not when he confessed to Keith before he left for the Blade.

What? He was going to lose the chance to say anything anyway! And he was so happy when Keith kissed him to shut him up and told Lance that his feelings were reciprocated, he felt as if he were on cloud nine.

Since coming back from his fight with Shiro's clone (who they're forever going to refer to as Kuro as in 'Operation Kurone'), Keith has experienced some changes.

For starters, his eyes were more purple. Before they'd been a grey colour with purple undertones, but now they were properly purple. Then his canines were sharper, practically fangs, and his eyes would sometimes change. When he was angry, his irises would become slits and the sclera of his eyes would become yellow. It was hot, in Lance's humble opinion (Pidge called him an alien fucker when he said that at first. Lance said that Keith's dad was the true alien fucker. Shiro sprayed the water he was drinking everywhere and choked when he said that).

The most noticeable change happened to Keith's hair though. The ends of it lightened, until they were purple. It looked so cool, and it connected Keith to Krolia more. His hair stayed black, but now when it gets out it was purple.

Keith... Didn't think the same way as everyone else.

"I feel like I'm losing my dad. I've only ever looked like my mom, and the one thing that has ever connected me to my dad was my hair." The team had stopped on a planet for a rest, and Keith and Lance had gone off together to hunt down some meat and gather fruit and vegetables.

Lance stopped and grabbed Keith's wrist, forcing him to stop and turn to face him.

"You're still connected to your dad, Keith. It's just not entirely in your appearance," he said. Keith frowned.

"What do you mean?" He asked. Lance hummed.

"You said that he'd go head first into danger, right?"

"Yeah..?"

"And that he was a hero?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"According to your mom, your dad was kind, and reckless, and a hero and someone she loved enough to leave to keep safe."

"Mom said that?" Keith asked, sounding surprised. Lance nodded. "Where are you going with this anyway?"

"Because those are some things that you have in common with your dad," Lance answered. Keith opened his mouth, then closed it.

"... You're right," he eventually said. Keith reached up to his hair and fiddled with a purple end. "That stuff... Does connect me to my dad..."

"I'm never wrong about people things," Lance said, confidently. Keith smiled down at him (that had happened during the two year time dilation that Keith and Krolia went through, and Lance found that he liked having to look up over looking down).

"You know more about people than I do," he agreed. He pressed a kiss to Lance's forehead. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," Lance said. He pressed a kiss to Keith's lips. "Now, let's go catch something that Hunk can make into a good meal."

"Alright."

They worked quickly, and made their way back to the campsite with food that all of them could eat. Hunk was quick to take care of the food, Krolia helping him while Romelle stayed by Allura's side.

Lance sat on a log, and Keith settled himself between his legs. Kosmo flopped down with them.

Lance ran his hands through Keith's hair, smiling as Keith joked with the others and treated Shiro and Romelle like Lance treated his siblings - by annoying the hell out of them out of love.

Lance leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Keith's head.

"I love you," he whispered. Keith hummed, tilting his head to look up at him. There was a smile on his face reserved just for Lance.

"I love you too," he replied.

_______________________________________

Based off of this post I made

[ivanttakethis]

End of Round 16 - Tov’s Log

Nyx (61) vs. Castor (38) - Nyx Win

————————————————————

Tov managed to catch Nyx just before his round started.

She’d pulled him into a clumsy hug, impeded by the collars they still had to wear, and told him in a deathly serious tone, ���Don’t make me mourn you if I don’t have to.”

Which was Tov speak for: “I love you. Don’t lose. Or else.”

She managed to startle a laugh out of him, and for a brief moment the light on his collar flashed green.

A pair of guards shoved her into a pod shortly after that.

Now, Tov wished she hadn’t said anything at all.

As the life drained out of Castor, limp in Nyx’s arms, it was clear to her that Nyx was always going to lose this round.

61 - 38

“Son of a bitch.”

Tov barely had the wherewithal to cover her mouth with her hand so the cameras aimed at the pods couldn’t read her lips.

Castor had thrown the round.

Tov knew it.

And by the look on Nyx’s face, he knew it too.

Her pod hadn’t even fully opened before Tov jumped out and headed for backstage.

A few guards called out for her to stop or come back or something. She couldn’t hear them.

She couldn’t hear anything over the shrill voice screaming in her head.

Find Nyx. Find Nyx. Find Nyx.

It chanted.

Find Nyx. Find him. Now.

There was nothing the guards could say.

Tov wasn’t wearing a collar. They had taken it off of her so the crowd wouldn’t see that it never turned green.

If they wanted to stop her now, they would have to shoot her.

The crowd was thick and flowed in the opposite direction of the stage, but Tov remained undeterred as she shouldered her way through the throng of aliens and their pet-humans.

What she lacked in strength and size, she made up for in her agility, ducking under arms and squeezing through small gaps between audience members.

Soon, but not soon enough, she reached the staff door leading backstage and pushed her way inside.

The adjustment from the bright lights of the stage setup to the minimal lighting of the tunnels was welcome. Tov’s eyes made it easier to navigate in dimly lit spaces.

Nyx entered the stage from the left, the same way she did. She just needed to get back there.

Relying heavily on instinct, Tov made her way through the halls — ignoring any strange looks cast her way — until she ended up near the left wing.

She stopped in her tracks, held her breath, and listened.

Someone nearby was hyperventilating.

It sounded painfully familiar.

“Nyx?” She called out.

The hyperventilating stopped with a choked off noise, “Tov?”

He was somewhere to her right.

She frantically looked around for any sign of Nyx, nearly turning in a full circle before she caught sight of his two-toned hair in the corner of her eye.

Relief and worry flooded Tov in equal measure.

He was sitting down on a bench, tears streaming down his face, covered in Castor’s blood. A mess inside and out, no doubt.

Castor you absolute bastard.

Tov rushed over to Nyx and pulled him into a crushing hug, damn the blood, snot, and tears. He immediately crumpled in her arms.

She cradled his head has gently as she could, careful to keep her nails from catching on his injured ear as she carded a hand through his hair.

Nyx only cried harder.

His whole body shook with the force of his sobs.

“H-He threw it. Cas threw the round!”

All Tov could say was, “I know.”

“Why? W-Why would he do that?” He hiccuped, “Why would he do this to me?”

“I don’t know why.” She hugged him tighter, fighting back tears threatening to well up in her own eyes, “I’m so sorry, Nyx.”

Tov was lying.

She knew why Castor did what he did.

He did it because he wanted to protect Nyx. Because he loved him more than life itself.

It was a hard and bitter pill to swallow, even if it wasn’t intended for her to take.

Nyx couldn’t handle something like that right now.

His cries were still piercing raw, even when muffled against the fabric of her dress.

He clung to her like a lifeboat in a raging sea storm. Like she was the only thread in his life that hadn’t completely unraveled.

Somehow, he felt small in her arms.

Tov had to remind herself that he was only 19. A baby, in comparison to her.

He had been through so much in his short life and had the scars to prove it.

Losing Castor probably hurt the worst.

“Tov?” Nyx asked during a lull in his tears, still sniffling.

Tov hummed to indicate she was listening, gently rocking the two of them from side to side as she shifted her weight to either foot.

Her heels were beginning to hurt. She couldn’t tell if they were bleeding yet or not. I’ll worry about it later.

“Promise me… promise me you won’t throw our round.”

Tov sighed. She should’ve known that was coming.

Dread pooled like lead in her stomach.

But she relented. She relented because she had to.

“Okay,” She kissed the top of his head, one of the only places on him without blood, “I promise.”

Tov was lying.

————————————————————

Nyx win, but at what cost??

My poor son (I’ve adopted him btw) is really going through it 😔

The parallels with post Round 10 are paralleling nicely (read: intentionally).

Tov and Nyx rushing to comfort one another right after a traumatic event is part of my sibling agenda for them.

And Tov was dead serious about the guards having to shoot to stop her. Nothing was going to get in the way of her finding Nyx as soon as possible.

I keep saying that Tov isn’t good at comforting people, and yet here she is… comforting people…

Also, Tov is lowkey a Castor hater right now because of what he did to Nyx (I fully acknowledge that this is hypocritical of her).

Nyx belongs to @rockwgooglyeyes.

Castor belongs to @lookatmysillies.

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love pt 4 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part one Part two Part three Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part Nine Part Ten Part 11 Part 12

Chapter Four

Steve POV

1978

Steve carves his way across Lover’s Lake with an energetic front crawl. Okay, he’s got to admit—it’s a bit bigger than he judged.

He’s getting tired, though he can still make it. After all, he’s eleven years old, and the best swimmer in his grade. He reckons he could beat half the kids in the High School swim squad. What’s a puny lake to Steve Harrington?

The waters grow thick and deadly heavy. Soon, his arms flounder and his legs splash uselessly. He glances up to figure how far the bank is, mistimes his stroke, gulps a mouthful of water.

He chokes, swallows, discovers he’s no clue in which direction he should go. He swipes wet hair from his eyes and realizes he can’t see his parents. Can’t see anybody. Yeah, he’d deliberately swum off to prove his father wrong, because he’d said Steve couldn’t cross the lake, but… Oh crap!

He sinks, pulls upward with all he’s got left, and bursts through the surface, screaming: “Dad! Mom! Dad? I’m… lost… Heeeelp!” His legs have gone weak, and he doesn’t know what to do with his arms, whether to wave them or try to swim or… “Mommy? Da-ad? Daddy!”

His final efforts fail, and the dark waters suck him deep, closing seamlessly above his head.

1986

The scary dreams fade to nothingness, and Steve begins to wake. His head aches, and his bat bites manage to throb, itch and burn all at once. He opens his eyes, with a weary sense of having been through all this before, far too many times.

However, he isn’t in his parents’ living room, which is the last thing he remembers. He’s not a clue where he is. It looks like some dingy log cabin, and a stale tobacco stench catches in his throat. Robin’s nowhere to be seen, which alarms him further. Eddie paces the creaking floor, flexing and cracking his fingers.

“Eddie?”

Eddie’s hand flies to his chest. Then that electric smile that Steve’s getting way too fond of returns: “Hey, big boy. How ya doing?”

“Oh, never better.” Steve coughs. He doesn’t even try to rise from the lumpy old camp bed he’s lying on. “My body feels like goddamn heavy metal… and, uh, not the sort you dig.”

“Seen bodies I like less, Harrington.” Eddie smirks then cringes; Steve’s not gotten a clue how to read that. “Look, you've been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours.” He grabs a bottle of water. “You have to drink. Or we’re gonna have to get you to a doctor, and Buckley’s gonna ride my ass.”

“I’ll give it a shot.” Trouble is, Steve knows that Eddie will have to help, and it’s dead awkward. He does his best to sit, while Eddie plumps the pillows and helps support him. Eddie’s hair gets everywhere, way worse than Steve’s. Then Steve’s hand trembles so bad, Eddie has to guide the bottle to his lips. Even then, half the water dribbles down Steve’s chin, and it barely wets his parched lips. After a couple of slurps, his stomach performs an unpleasant flip. “Had enough, man.”

“Ooookay. We’ll try again later, huh?”

“Yeah, if you want me to vomit all over your… Hey, is that my Hugo Boss t-shirt?”

“Don’t worry, Harrington. It’ll look waaay better when I daub it with the sacred Hellfire Club logo.”

Steve’s beyond caring about that kinda stuff. What he really wants to say, but won’t, is that it looks great on Eddie. The short sleeves afford sizzling glimpses of Eddie’s tats.

Christ, get over it, Harrington.

He concentrates on what Eddie is telling him. Turns out, the three of them have escaped Hawkins, though not travelled far: “We’re in a deserted cabin, about twenty miles out. Robin can cycle back and get into radio contact with Dustin and the others, which is where she is now. They can sort out supplies, give us updates. It’s still total chaos in town, which has bought us time.”

“You need to keep moving, man,” murmurs Steve. “I know I said don’t go without me, but… Jesus, I’m slowing you down.”

Eddie gives a casual shrug. “Nah. We can wait for ya, Stevie.”

Stevie?!?

Steve snorts with laughter, then he sinks again fast. He’s so stupidly tired. God knows how long passes before Robin’s voice revives him. “Steve? Steve! Try to wake up. Please?”

He does. For her. His eyes are watery, and it takes a moment to focus. Then he sees her eyes are watery, pink-ish too. “Rob? W-What’s wrong?”

“Thank God, you’re back.” She leans close, attempts a clumsy approximation of a hug. When she pulls away, she unleashes way too many words for him to cope with. Dustin has updated her on tons. Max is hurt, and it’s really bad, and then she talks about Hopper. 

Hopper’s alive?

Steve raises a shaky hand to veil his eyes. “Hey, slow down. Max is gonna be okay, right?”

He peeps between his fingers. The look that passes between Robin and Eddie all but chokes him. He disguises a sniffle beneath another cough.

“Hop’s coming back, and that’s good news, right?” says Robin. “Maybe he can get you two off the hook. Although, right now, I believe we’re among the missing, presumed dead. Yay?” She underlines her false cheer with a tremulous smile. That’s when Steve notices the baggy yellow top she’s wearing:

“Hey, that top is mine! You’re both wearing my clothes?”

Eddie leans coolly against the wall. “Badge of ownership, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Steve. “Who owns whose ass?”

Eddie grins and… was that a twitch of his eyelid or a wink?!? Either way, it dizzies Steve. “Whichever way round you want, baby,” says Eddie.

“Ooookay.” Robin giggles, sounding as jittery as Steve feels. “Uh, Steve. We should probably check your bandages.”

He’s genuinely relieved when Eddie wanders off. He lifts his t-shirt and hisses as she pries the dressing from his scabbed blood. “Is it bad?”

“You’re not all stinky and septic, nor leaking Upside Down black goop, so… No, I’d say good. Does it hurt much?”

“Not as bad as it did.”

“You still seem a bit fever-y.” She gingerly drifts the back of her hand across his brow. “Not so gross and sticky as you were, though.”

“Lucky for you,” he snarks. He actually finds feeling so sick and weak far more intolerable than the pain. It reminds him of when he travelled with his parents, when he was much younger. And when he always got sick. A splash of ice bites deep. “Ow!”

Robin assaults him with an antiseptic spray.  “Sorry!”

“Don’t go into medicine, Rob.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. Uh, Steve. One question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you ask us to leave town via Lover’s Lake?”

“Wha—” Steve blinks. His brain strains to retrieve whatever the hell she’s talking about and draws a blank. “I have zero memory of saying that. I mean, why the heck would I?”

“Oookay. You were probably raving.” That nervous laugh returns. “You sure you’re sure you’ve no idea?”

He blinks at her again. He really hasn’t.

He’s always loved swimming in Lover’s Lake. Then again, he likes swimming pretty much everywhere, particularly in open water. It gives him a rush, a sense of control that’s proven so difficult to grasp in pretty much every other area of his life. Okay, there was that one time he nearly drowned in Lover's Lake as a kid. Even that didn’t put him off for long. In fact, it fired him to get stronger, better, to learn lifesaving and CPR.

Robin’s brows are raised, as if she expects some bombshell revelation. “What do you want me to say?” he answers. “I haven’t a goddamn clue.”

She lets it drop. He fears he hasn’t heard the last of whatever’s bugging her. Perhaps, despite her protestations otherwise, she’s still fretting about rabies. “Hey, Eddie,” she yells, “stop skulking and come and help, will you?”

Robin and Eddie finish patching him up, and Steve struggles not to whimper like a candy-ass wuss. Then, as he feels too crappy to sleep, his mood plummets even lower. He can’t stop thinking about Max, and how he’d failed to save her. Maybe if he’d been there, he could’ve found a way, like he did when he saved Eddie?

That he was otherwise occupied feels like an excuse. He should’ve protected the kids better, and… Ugh, he detests being THIS DAMN PATHETIC, a total wimpezoid. He despises being seen like this, even by Robin, and she’s seen him brought low before, when they were captured by the Soviets. Plus, she’s his best friend. Steve Harrington is the big guy, the protector. Without that…

…I’m nothing. Eddie Munson’s gonna see that pretty quick. Uh… Why the Hell should I care so much about that?

His miserable thoughts drain him. He tries curling onto his good side, just as Robin comes at him with a bowl of cereal. “Get lost,” he mutters, and finally drifts back to a sick-feeling sleep.

Later, when he awakes, the fuss remains excruciating. Eddie props him up on more pillows and tucks up the blankets. Robin menaces him with the cereal again, and this time, he chokes down a few mouthfuls. Eddie checks Steve’s wounds, and wipes him down with a cloth, dabbing his scarred torso, hands and face.

Steve refuses to look Eddie in the eye, and chews his lip ragged. He waits till Robin goes outside then asks the question that is literally gonna kill him: “Eddie, I need the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Eddie palpably tenses. “Uh, pretty sure I saw a bucket somewhere.”

Steve groans. “Isn’t there plumbing inside this dump?”

“Noooot as such. There’s literally a brick shithouse outside. Reckon you can make it?”

“Sure,” says Steve, trying to sound casual rather than terrified he’s absolutely not gonna make it.

He manages to sit, and then Eddie helps him to his feet. They start off, with Steve leaning heavily against Eddie. To be fair, it goes better than expected. Steve’s dizzy and slightly nauseous, but the cereal stays down. While his legs are basically jello, they don’t give out completely.

Not until the way back, at any rate.

One of his knees buckles beneath his weight, and he flops into Eddie. He winds up clinging around Eddie’s neck, one foot sliding as if on ice, and staring up into Eddie’s dark, soulful eyes. Losing himself in them, like they’d drugged him or something; even giggling, and wondering fleetingly if that fizzle of attraction might still be real, despite his wretched state.

“I gotcha, Stevie.” 

Stevie… again?

The pulsing veins on Eddie’s face betray his strain in keeping Steve from falling. He’s also wearing a faintly amused smile, which touches Steve somewhere tender and deep.

But Eddie’s laughing at him, not with him, right? “Bet I’m hilarious,” mumbles Steve. “I guess with no TV you get your kicks where you can.”

“I don’t watch much TV,” says Eddie, placid enough. “Sure miss my Ghetto Blaster.”

“There was one in my room. If you were dumb enough not to bag it, that’s your loss.”

While bitching, Steve finds his footing again. Eddie helps him back toward the camp bed.  When, finally, Steve’s butt lands heavily on it, he’s still hugging around Eddie’s neck, so he tugs Eddie down with him. He slithers his arms free and shivers. He actually wishes he could keep clinging rather than go back to lying alone, feeling horrible. Christ, he’s hopeless.

He rolls to face the wall. Eddie pokes him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” snaps Steve, the heat of his temper warming him. “I made it to the outhouse and back, didn’t I? If you two morons quit stalling, we can get moving again right away.”

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part Ten Part Twelve

...

tags: estrellami1 (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

[em-prentiss]

I like shiny things but I'd marry you with paper rings

-----

Chapter 3: Surprise (not a good one)

She laughs and it hits him then, as the breath catches in his throat. I want to marry her. His heart beats so fast he’s surprised she doesn’t hear it. He suddenly sees another child next to Jack on the swings; a girl, her hair dark and her eyes darker still, carbon copies of Emily’s. It settles in his lungs, a choking need to have this with her.

Or, 5 times Aaron tries to propose to Emily, and the one time he finally does it.

Word count: 3.3k

-----

She hovers. He’s almost halfway through his ten week leave and she’s constantly there, pushing him down when he tries to get up, not letting him lift anything heavier than his pillow. He hasn’t even left their apartment in weeks, not to accompany her as she drops off Jack or heads to the grocery store. He’s grateful for her, he really is, but one more day like this and he’ll snap.

“Emily.” His voice comes out sharp when she takes his laptop from his hands.

She doesn’t blink. “You’re not working, Aaron. You’re on leave because you had surgery. Sit down.”

Five weeks ago. Aaron runs a frustrated hand through his hair, biting back the response that if he sits back down he’ll fuse with the damn couch. “I’m not going to work,” he lies through his teeth. “I can’t just use my computer to...relax?” The word feels unnatural as it leaves his lips and he grimaces.

“If you’re going to lie, at least do it convincingly.” Emily slams the laptop down on the coffee table, making her case files rattle and slip to the floor. Aaron sighs. She’d caught him a few days ago logging back into his email and work accounts. He’d been halfway through devising a preliminary profile for a detective in Boston when she came up behind him, her arms crossed and a disappointed—but unsurprised—look on her face.

She’s been tense with him ever since, her jaw tightening whenever he tries to read through the case files she’d bring home or ask her about whatever case she’s working on remotely with the team. His frustration rises too, being shut out from work and trapped in the apartment all at once making him irritable, even with her.

“You know I think I need some form of mental stimulation other than sitcoms,” he says dryly. “I’m not exactly exerting myself by building profiles.”

His sarcastic tone makes her skin itch. “You do that when you’re back at work.” Emily snaps. “The only reason you’re not there right now is because you weren’t taking care of yourself,” she hisses, her eyes glassy as she points at him accusingly. It’s unfair, she knows it is, but the words spill out of her anyway. “The least you could do is take care of yourself now.” Her voice breaks.

His irritation is immediately snuffed out, guilt roiling in his stomach as she bites her trembling lip. Aaron tries to reach for her but she steps away. “Emily..”

“I’ll get started on lunch,” she clears her throat, ducking her head as she walks past him.

He hears pots and pans clanging as she moves around the kitchen, taking her frustration out on inanimate objects rather than him. Aaron fights the urge to go after her and apologize, knowing she needs her space to deal with this. She never told him about it—how she found him lying on the floor, probably looking close to dead—but he’d woken a few times at night to see her propped up on her elbow, staring at him, her eyes fixed on the rise and fall of his chest. “Go to sleep,” she’d murmur and he would, high on drugs and desperate for the ache in his body to ease.

It started getting better about a week ago—at least he’s finally able to walk around the house without getting winded. Now he’s restless, the most he feels a sore ache that throbs dully at his incision when he bends over or yes, lifts something heavy, but she won’t even let him do that. 

He’s still lost in his thoughts when she comes back, two plates in her hands that she sets down on the coffee table. Her eyes are dry and her face is blank as she sits down on the far edge of the couch, away from him. The deliberate distance makes his stomach roil uncomfortably. He turns to face her.

“Can we talk?” Aaron asks quietly. Emily swallows and nods, turning to face him and tucking her legs under her.

Her eyes flit over his face, scanning for signs of discomfort she knows he won’t show. The words fail him as she waits, chewing apprehensively on her lip. Aaron suddenly realizes he doesn’t know where to start. 

“Hi,” he says lamely. It makes her huff out a laugh, the sound weak but there, and it makes his heart ache. “Hi,” she whispers.

Aaron holds out his hand for her and waits until she takes it, her palm warm against his. “I love you, you know that?”

She rolls her eyes this time. “Yes, Aaron, I know that. And I know you’re only frustrated because I’m hovering, but,” she blows out a shaky breath and looks down at their joint hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.” She shrugs helplessly, the glassy sheen returning to her eyes.

His heart pinches painfully at the sight of her dark, wet eyes, even though he knows she won’t let herself shed those tears. They’ve been there, just under the surface ever since he was in the hospital, and he hates that he’s the cause of them.

Aaron laughs shakily. “You know, only you would apologize for taking care of me,” he smiles softly and places a gentle kiss on her knuckles as she sniffles. He tugs her closer and she goes willingly, fitting herself against his shoulder and letting him bring her legs into his lap. 

“It’s because I know I’d do the same if I were you,” she shakes her head, “worse, probably. God, I’d be insufferable.” Her lip trembles and she bites down on it.

“Em,” he whispers, wiping away a tear that escapes past her lash line. He knows taking care of him like this is her own way of overcompensating for not seeing the signs herself, beating herself up because she didn’t notice anything amiss, even though it’s through no fault of her own. It cracks his heart open, because not even he put the pieces together.

He gently cups her face and forces her to look at him. “I love that you’re taking care of me.” 

Emily rolls her eyes.

“Hey. Really, I do,” he insists, feeling her tangle her fist in his shirt. The action makes him exhale, just slightly. “And I’m so grateful to you, sweetheart.”

“But?” She prompts. 

Aaron sighs. “But I think we need some space. I’m fine now—mostly fine,” he hurries to amend when she glares at him. “At least I can walk around the house and not lose my breath.” He chuckles lightly. 

Emily doesn’t reciprocate. “Not funny,” she mumbles. “What do you mean by space?” She whispers, an apprehensive look in her eye as she worries at her bottom lip. 

Aaron gently eases it from her teeth. “We both need to get out of the house, clearly. I think one more day here and we’ll murder each other,” he murmurs and she laughs properly this time, her eyes lighting up.

Aaron smiles. “We’ve been trapped here for the better part of a month. We could go on a walk, maybe?” He suggests. “It’s still early, we could go and be back before Jack comes home.” 

Emily’s brows furrow, “Are you sure? You’re still not fully healed,” she carefully runs her hand over his torso, the bandages long gone. She still knows exactly where they used to lay, lumpy beneath his soft shirts.

“I’m sure, Em,” Aaron says patiently, determined not to lose his cool again. There’s still so much worry swimming in her dark eyes, the furrow between her brows still there ever since they left the hospital. “Sitting here all day with nothing to do,” he blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I’m going crazy, honey, and I’ve still got five weeks to go. Which are unnecessary, by the way,” he grumbles. 

Emily huffs. “They’re not.” She takes a second to consider it before she finds herself nodding. He needs it, to get out of the house and not feel trapped by the same four walls—hell if it were her, she’d have snapped a long time ago. And a walk is hardly strenuous exercise. “Okay,” Emily exhales, “but you have to stop working,” she scolds, her eyes boring into his. “Pen told me you were trying to access some files.” 

He smiles sheepishly at her and she shakes her head. “Promise me, Aaron. No more working until your leave is up.” Her hand reaches up to push his hair away from his face.

“I promise.” He kisses her forehead, feeling something in him loosen, wilt in relief. “I’m sorry for acting out. And snapping at you.”

Emily hums as she runs her hand through his hair. “You’re forgiven. I told you if it were me I’d have been worse.” She gives him a small smile. “I’m surprised you haven’t snapped earlier, Mr I-don’t-like-anyone-to-take-care-of-me.”

Aaron laughs lightly, his heart lifting again as she scrunches her nose at him. “You’re not much better,” he murmurs as he pulls her into a hug, his muscles relaxing when she melts into him.

Emily huffs out a laugh. “I already admitted that twice, I’m not saying it a third time.”

———

So they develop a routine. Emily drops Jack off in the morning and they have breakfast when she returns. She consults with the team from home and agonizes over the tiny details with Penelope while the rest of them go out in the field, chasing suspects and conducting interviews. In the afternoon Aaron and Emily take long walks in the park, a blanket tucked under Emily’s arm that she unfolds when he starts getting tired—though he never admits it, so she has to feign fatigue herself. He knows what she’s doing and loves her all the more for it, affection for her blooming in his chest. After they pick up Jack together Emily prepares dinner with Aaron instructing her from the island, and most nights he can barely stay awake for long after his son, the exertion on his still healing body taking a toll on him.

Days blur past until it’s week nine and he’s restless, his body finally strong enough for him to go about his daily activities like he used to; he and Emily run on the weekends and he finally takes over cooking their meals. But she’s forcing him to continue his full ten weeks, so he spends that time in planning how exactly he’s going to propose again. She had already started going back to work last week, encouraged by the fact that he no longer winces when Jack gives him careless hugs.

She’s only gone four days for a case in New York but he feels her absence acutely. He realizes, belatedly, that it’s the first time they haven’t gone to work together ever since they started dating. He thought it’d feel familiar, doing dinner and bedtime with just him and Jack, but instead it feels stilted, unnatural with only one of them there rather than both of them tucking his little boy in and giving him a kiss goodnight.

His shoulders slump in relief when he hears her key in the door. Aaron gets up just as she walks in, go bag in hand and her purse slung over his shoulder. She looks up and gives him a smile as he approaches, his feet effortlessly taking him to her.

“Hi,” he kisses her at the door and takes the bag from her hand to drop it on the floor. His hands roam over her body, desperate, wanting. 

“Hi,” she smiles at him and lets him pull her closer, suppressing a laugh at his desperation. She loops her arms around his neck, presses her soft lips to his cheek. “I missed you too.”

They settle back into their familiar routine, tucking Jack in and snuggling together on the couch, both of them seeking each others comfort. She’s absentmindedly playing with her hair when she speaks suddenly. “Hey, it’s our last weekend together before we get busy again, how about we go to the beach tomorrow? Who knows when we’ll get a weekend off.”

It’s like a bulb goes off in his head. It’s perfect; she loves the beach, loves to walk along the shore and hunt for shells to take back home. He could do it while the sun set and the sky turned bright hues of orange and pink and purple, the dusk reflected in her dark eyes as he asked her to spend the rest of her life with him.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” he says mildly, trying not to show the way his heart flutters suddenly. Emily nods along as she grabs her phone, “We can tell the team too-”

Oh hell no.

“No, no,” Aaron shakes his head. He eases the phone from her hand and throws it behind the cushions. “Just you and me.” 

Emily laughs. “Haven’t we been spending too much time together lately?” She teases, scrunching her nose at him.

“I don’t think so,” Aaron frowns playfully as he wraps his hands around her waist. She arches her brows as he kisses the tip of her nose. “Just you and me and Jackers,” he whispers, his eyes pleading. Emily smiles when he uses the nickname she adopted for Jack, one that never failed to make the little boy giggle delightedly.

She can’t pretend not to love the little bubble they made for themselves, tiny and warm and safe. “Okay,” she agrees as she runs her fingers through his hair. “You and me and Jackers.”

He wakes up the next day with a mix of nerves and anxiety swirling through his stomach—not nearly as concerning as before, obviously, but still there. He gently nudges Emily to wear something a little fancier than her usual sweatpants, sure if he proposed to her while she’s wearing comfortable beach wear she’d tear his head for it later. He’d learned that from his first marriage, at least.

He’s admittedly a little distant while teaching Jack how to fly a kite, his eyes flitting more than once to Emily as she tries—and fails—to build them a tiny bonfire. He feels his lungs stuff full of love for her as she rearranges the wood, tries in vain to get them to catch fire, her tongue peeking out in concentration. 

“Daddy, it’s going down!” Jack protests, gaining Aaron’s attention again. 

“Sorry, buddy,” he chuckles as he pulls on the string, making the kite catch against the wind again. Jack giggles when it goes up higher and Aaron smiles, pressing a kiss to his sandy hair. 

Emily looks up and smiles at the sound of their laughter, her heart warming at the sight of Aaron with his arm around Jack’s tiny shoulder, both of their hands holding spool. She gives up on the bonfire and digs out her book instead, content to read to the sound of the waves and Aaron’s low, encouraging voice.

He eventually joins her and builds the bonfire himself, smiling when she curls around his arm in a feeble excuse to get closer to the fire and keep herself warm. Aaron presses his nose to her hair and breathes her in as his heart races, gently reminding himself that she won’t say no, that they talked about this.

The sun starts to sink into the water and he takes that as his cue. “Let’s go for a walk,” Aaron pulls her up as the blue sky slowly turns golden.

Aaron links their fingers together, watching Jack hunt for seashells ahead of them as they walk. He takes a deep breath to calm his racing heart as his hand digs into his pocket. He tries to focus on the sound of Emily’s breathing, the lapping of the waves on the shore as runs his thumb over the smooth velvet. He licks his lips before pulling her to a stop.

“What?” She turns to him. She’s golden, the setting sun behind her bathing her in warm light. It catches her dark hair, tips her lashes in gold. Her eyes shine, her skin glows, and this time he knows he’s got it right.

Aaron squeezes her hand lightly. He blows out a shivering breath and smiles at her. “I meant to-”

“Oh my god!” Someone screams.

Aaron and Emily both whip their heads around to search for the source. When they look to their left Aaron shuts his eyes tightly, blocking out the image of the couple in front of them, the man kneeling in front of his partner.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding. He opens his eyes again when he hears the woman squeal yes. 

“Really?” He mutters under his breath, the box in his pocket burning his skin.

Emily grins as she turns to him. “What, you don’t think it’s cute?” She bumps his shoulder with hers. He can’t even get himself to smile back at her, the bitter lump of disappointment making his lips tighten, his brows knot together frustratedly. Her eyes are drawn to the couple as the man picks the woman up and twirls her around, her new ring glinting in the sunset. 

“It’s pretty romantic,” Emily muses softly. She turns to the sunset and takes in the pinks and golds across the sky, the colorful clouds reflected in the ocean. Her fingers absentmindedly squeeze around his.

Aaron’s heart sinks. From the wistful look on her face he knows she would’ve liked this plan, something a little bit more memorable than dinner at her favorite restaurant.

“I guess,” he sighs as he draws her into his arms and presses his lips to her hair. A part of him debates saying fuck it and doing it, the ring heavy in his pocket, but he tightens his grip on her to forcibly stop himself. She deserves to have her own moment.

“Emmy look at this shell I found!” Jack bounds over to them excitedly, cupping a small clam shell in his hand, open and perfectly intact.

Emily smiles as she pulls away from Aaron to look at it, cupping her hands over Jack’s tiny ones and feeling the grit of the sand press into her skin. “Wow,” she exclaims and Jack beams. “That’s really pretty, sweetheart. We should take it home, don’t you think?”

Jack nods happily. “Can you keep it with you? I don’t wanna lose it.”

Emily’s grin brightens. “Of course, honey,” she says as she takes it from him and closes her fingers over it. “I’ll keep it safe.” She whispers.

Aaron’s bitterness fades as he watches them, their faces awash with the now deep pink of the sunset. He turns to look at the sky, at the sun fully dipped beneath the water and the darkening blue blending into purple. 

“Daddy did you see it?” Jack tugs on his shirt, pulling him from his thoughts. Aaron smiles and looks down at his son, inexplicably filled with the urge to pick him up and hug him close, craving the soothing comfort Jack always gave him, ever since his birth. So that’s what he does. He leans down and heaves Jack into his arms, ignoring the fact that he’s heavier now, his small grunt drowned out by his son’s delighted giggles.

“I saw it, buddy, it’s beautiful,” he murmurs as he kisses Jack’s temple, his eyes flitting to Emily’s. She smiles at him and leans into his arms to join in the hug, one arm going around him and one arm going around Jack.

“He’s got a good eye,” Emily says as she kisses Jack’s cheek repeatedly, smiling when he bursts into laughter. She laughs lightly too as she looks up at Aaron, the shell safe in her closed palm. This time he can’t help but smile back. He presses a kiss to Emily’s hair and to Jack’s, holding them tighter as the sky darkens to black.

He stores away his disappointment, telling himself that when he finally does it the next time, it’ll all be worth it.

[critter-in-skyrim]

Sven's Sickness

Faendal lifted his ax above his head, swinging it down with just the right amount of force to split the log before him in half. He was working, as he had been since around 4am. As usual, by this point in the day, Faendal was feeling rather sore and irritable. Today, though, he was feeling doubly so, as Sven had never arrived for his shift. When Faendal had complained about it to Gerdur, she had not-so-subtly reminded him that it was not his job to worry about what Sven did.

“But his not being here interferes with my ability to properly do my job,” Faendal had said. Gerdur had merely given him a look.

“I’m not sure what you want me to do,”

“You could fire him,” Faendal pointed out.

Gerdur choked out a laugh. “And you will be doing all his work, once he’s fired? Good one.”

“I practically already do all his work,” Faendal grumbled.

Gerdur rolled her eyes. “Poor you. Now if you don’t mind, I have a mill to run.”

Faendal grumbled under his breath, as he brought down his ax again, finishing up the stack of wood he had been chopping. Thankfully, that meant he was done for the day.

Normally, Faendal would spend the afternoon hunting, to burn off some steam. Today, he certainly needed it. However, he instead made his way to the Sleeping Giant Inn, planning to catch Sven in the act of getting day-drunk.

Orgnar was the only one present when he entered the inn, though.

“Have you seen Sven?” he asked, going up to the counter.

“Not today,” Orgnar said. “Have you tried checking the Riverwood Trader?”

Faendal ignored that pointed little jab. “Well, if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him, alright?”

“Fine.”

Faendal left the inn, and was once again tempted to just forget Sven and go hunting - it was a lovely afternoon. Orgnar’s words echoed in his mind, though, causing Faendal to let out an irritated sigh. He headed for the Riverwood Trader.

“Faendal!” Lucan greeted, “I didn’t know you’d be coming by. Did you need some more arrows or something?”

Faendal shook his head. “No. Actually, I was looking for Camilla, is she around?”

“Upstairs,” Lucan pointed. Faendal nodded, going upstairs. Sure enough, Camilla was there, reading, alone. She looked up when Faendal entered the room, smiling at her friend.

“Oh, hey Faendal. I wasn’t expecting you,” Camilla said, setting her book aside.

“I won’t be long,” he said, regrettably. “I was actually looking for Sven. Have you seen him today?”

“No, I figured he was working at the mill,” she said.

Faendal shook his head. “He never showed up to work today.”

“Oh…that’s concerning,” she mumbled. Faendal nearly rolled his eyes, but restrained himself.

“Not really, he hardly ever shows up for work these days,” Faendal said bitterly.

“Oh, now I know that’s not true,” Camilla said. “He may not be the most punctual of people, but he usually makes it to work. For him to not show up at all, without saying anything…it’s not like him.”

Faendal had to admit, she was right. Sven never made it to his shift on time, that was very true. It was also true that he rarely missed an entire shift, like he had today.

“I’ll check his home,” Faendal said eventually.

“Let me know what you find out,” Camilla said, going back to her book.

As Faendal headed for Sven’s house, he noticed Sven’s mother sitting out on the porch. Her normal bitter expression was twisted to one of tiredness. Rather than knocking on the door, Faendal approached her.

“By Shor, what do you want?” she suddenly snapped at Faendal, startling him.

“Is Sven here?” Faendal asked, jutting his thumb at the house.

Hilde’s expression twisted, like she had eaten something sour. “Oh yes. But I wouldn’t go in there if I was you.”

“Oh?” Faendal asked, resisting the urge to sigh. “And why would that be?”

“He’s sick,” she said simply. “And acting like a real baby about it too. I had to come out here to get a break from his constant complaining.”

That certainly sounded like Sven to Faendal.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he told Hilde. He stepped inside their house.

It was rather dim inside, most of the usual candles were extinguished. In contrast, the fire was practically roaring. Faendal spotted Sven huddled as close to the fire as he could manage, a fur draped around his shoulders. Moving closer to him, Faendal could make out the flush of Sven’s cheeks, the glassiness of his eyes.

“You look pathetic,” Faendal said bluntly.

Sven turned to glare weakly at him. “You’re one to talk. Come here to gloat?”

“Gloat? Over you being sick? Me? Never,” Faendal said sarcastically, quirking a little smile.

Sven groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why are you here?” he asked tiredly.

“You weren’t at work,” Faendal said simply. “I was…annoyed. I wanted to let you know.”

“Well, you’ve let me know. Now go, leave me alone,” Sven suddenly broke off into a coughing fit. The coughs sounded heavy, painful. Faendal couldn’t help but to wince.

“That sounded awful,” Faendal pointed out. Sven glared at him with watery eyes. Faendal hesitated, before continuing, “I might have something that could help with that…”

“I…I’ll try anything,” Sven said after a brief hesitation himself.

Faendal awkwardly went over to kneel beside Sven, pulling a flask from his satchel. “Wine, imported from Valenwood. It’s strong - will knock that cough right out of you.”

Sven grasped the flask, sniffing it with a suspicious look on his face. Faendel rolled his eyes. “It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Sven gave him a look. “Well, you hate my guts, so what am I supposed to expect?”

Faendal paused at that. “I…don’t…hate you, per say…” Faendal mumbled. “I hate it when you don’t show up to work on time. I hate how you never leave Camilla alone. I hate the comments you make about my heritage. But I don’t hate you.”

Sven hummed, but that seemed to be convincing enough to get him to try Faendal’s wine. After taking a sip, his eyes widened. “You sure you’re now trying to kill me?”

“The taste can take some getting used to,” Faendal shrugged. “But it will help, I promise.”

Sven glowered at the flask, before downing the rest of it in one go. That resulted in a productive coughing fit that left Sven panting.

Faendal raised an eyebrow. “You alright?”

“I ought to kill you, elf,” Sven said weakly, though his voice sounded far less congested than before. “And just for the record, I hang around Camilla all the time because she’s my girlfriend. You don’t have any right to be jealous over our relationship.”

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Faendal said. “I know Camilla. If she were single, she would never settle for me. Just like she will never settle for you.”

Sven glared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that our lovely Camilla deserves more than Riverwood, or its men, have to offer. You or myself included,” Faendal said simply. “Don’t you agree?”

Sven simply groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m too sick for this.”

“Didn’t the wine help?” Faendal asked, a bit smugly.

Sven glared at him. “Yes…”

“Good. Then I should be going. I expect to see you at work tomorrow,” Faendal said, starting to head for the door.

“Wait,” Sven said, his expression one of confusion. “If you don’t think you’ll end up with Camilla, and you don’t think I’ll end up with Camilla, who do you think she will end up with?”

Faendal shrugged. “Who knows. Probably some rich, intelligent person that lives far from Riverwood.”

Sven frowned. “Great. And what about me? Who do you think I’ll end up with?”

Faendal hummed contemplatively. “Me, probably.”

“What?!” Sven snapped.

“Or Embry. But he doesn’t seem like your type.”

“And you think you are my type?” Sven asked, baffled.

Faendal shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I suppose someday we’ll see, won’t we.”

“That feels like a threat,” Sven pointed out.

“Consider it a promise,” Faendal said. And with that, he walked out the door, leaving Sven very confused.

[moreloke]

god knows i can't log onto ao3 soooooooo here's a full review lol

Ansuz. A reminder to wait and listen. She had pulled that one before as well.

dana: caually rune reading fox: gib attention walter: looking. respectfully. ok maybe a tiny bit not so respectfully

“And what’s your opinion, Skinner?”

gib that boy attention!!!!!!!!!!!

Their lips against his. Their bodies in his arms. Returning his feelings tenfold.

yes! visualise! send the signal to the Universe!

“You guys are boring. Why do I even attend these trips if all you two do is ignore me?” Mulder grumbled.

GIB THAT BOY ATTENTION!!! RN!!!!!

Scully choked on another laugh.

Mulder flipped him off—and immediately took it back when Skinner sent him a stern glare.

lovinggggggggg this dynamic

He hoped Mulder never noticed how he watched her, either. He didn’t want them to view him as some creep. Or worse, piece together that he had started crushing on them these last few months, like some damn teenager.

ooooooo poor baby catching feels hehehe

Scully had been the one to do more of the hard work whether it involved setting up camp or practicing magic to protect them.

my queen!!!

the descriptions of mulder and scully sooooooo much gender. all the gender!!!

Skinner didn’t trust the tall, lanky bodies he saw standing still amongst the trees. They were a figment of his imagination. They had to be. He willed them to be. Even when he swore he saw one move. It was just a shadow from the fire. Nothing more. Nothing less.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

How could he want them both? How could he love and hate seeing them hold each other so close? Why did he torture himself with these trips?

Why did it feel like they were being watched?

all the important questions!!!!!

the part where he noticed the danger and they didn't bc were too busy Gazing at each other and he went all MUST PROTECC -YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

his tent being too small + too much prospective touching

there's always next time!!! :3

He wanted to leave before their quaint little camping trip turned into a horror movie blockbuster.

🥺

the sequesce of wanting to open up and being terrified of opening up in fron of his friends because he couldn't bear their dissapointemt !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111111

Mulder and Skinner believed in aliens but Scully did not. Scully and Mulder believed in mothman, Skinner didn’t. Mulder was the only one who believed in bigfoot.

honestly picturing them showing power point presentation abt it to each other

They could be pissy all they wanted. As long as they were safe, that’s all that mattered to him.

🥰🥰🥰🥰✨✨🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Maybe he should’ve told them what he saw. Maybe he had overreacted. Maybe they would be better off without him.

baby calm down!! /worried

There was something sinister haunting their campfire last night. It was his duty to protect them. He did what he was supposed to do. Although, they might not see it that way.

sweet idiot! !!!!!

He would grovel at her feet to stay by her side.

baby calm down! /affectionate. also Dana doing a peace negotiation nd healer duty :3 :3

His thumb stilled and his pretty eyes stared at the display screen in growing horror.

horrified and shaken boys with pretty eyes! the nature is healing!

Mulder, what is going on?” Scully demanded, swatting his slick hand off her. Mulder grasped the dashboard instead. He looked panicked. “We can’t stop. We need to get out of here now!”

Please he's so scared he forgot to get! attentiom!! also maybe not feeling all that compassionate and heartfelt towards the spirits they're hunting 🤔

Finally, they trusted each other.

I loved the bits of Walter imagining what the other two were like in Real Life, and his pov going from sooo pretty want kisss mustn't loook to MUST PROTECC PROTECC PROTECC PROTECC my goddes my sunshine what if they're better off without me who cares must PROTECC

Here’s the first installment of my Cryptid Seekers AU where civilians Skinner, Scully, and Mulder investigate the paranormal and cryptids together, forming a budding relationship (and developing feelingsssssss).

[lalunanymph]

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 — 𝐡. 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐮

let my demons finally drown / let my body turn to stone / let my heart fill all the holes / that spread across all your skin / i'm so lovely / at making destructive decisions

tw. drug abuse, injuries to the reader, nightmares, injuries, swearing, past mistakes

a/n. had to get this out of my system bc damn sanzu didn't do anything wrong and the fact that he had such a bad childhood makes me want to wrap him up in a big hug that would probably end up with my guts spilling all over the floor + also this is officially the song for sanzu when he falls in love with us idk i don't make the rules

Haruchiyo Sanzu was a timebomb waiting to explode.

Ticking seconds, fast clicking minutes—one could never be certain of the potency of his next blowup and how far the radius of his destruction would carry.

It was probably two in the morning when you heard the sniffles, the low whimpers. Sanzu always slept like a log beside you, but something was different tonight.

Different because the man you had been seeing for the past three months was tossing and turning, low gurgles slipping past his scarred mouth and tears slipping down his cheeks like a free flow of diamonds.

You sat up when you fully realized what was happening; shaking him awake. Ice blue eyes rolled open and like the sun unfurling from its last bindings of night, they widened, the impressive graininess of his face sharpening to lucidity. Sanzu has always been a force to reckon and in this instance, he had all the grace of a tornado swirling through the room. The sheer magnificence gripped you by the throat as you watch him throw himself from the bed to chase a bottle of pills down to an abyss of discordance that would be louder than the memories burning behind his closed and wet lids.

Three—four pills clatter like constellations on his outstretched palm; a supernova waiting to devour him whole. He doesn’t count. He doesn’t need to.

You, on the other hand, measure every white circle with the same abhorrence an architect would have at the possibility of their prized creation falling apart in guaranteed destruction. For it will be guaranteed after he swallows them; after he is lost to the world.

“Haru, no—“

“Go back to sleep, doll.” His voice is rough, scratchy with unused emotions. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

He tipped his head back, ready to receive the first stirrings of ecstasy on his tongue when a hand wrapped around his wrist. In his surprise, the pills scatter to the floor; an angled abstraction from the denied hallucinations he yearned for like how a child would chase after a mother’s touch.

“Haru—“

You don’t speak. You can’t speak.

A perforating pain unlike any other sears through your side and you find yourself face down on the floor, palms catching on the hardwood. A merciless cry ripped past your lips and you instinctively lifted your arms to cover your head, the fear a second nature that seeped in like unwanted poison through your veins.

Tension spun around like finely fractured mirror shards, throwing light upon the horror in his eyes and the tremble on his lower lip.

“Y/N—“

Alone without another breath to expel, you stand, holding onto the bruising skin and the edge of the table that had partly caused it, as if it would fasten the lock that would keep you from falling apart. “Get out.”

“Doll—“

Your ears were bleeding with the agony of his excuses waiting to be embedded like thorns into your tender side. Your tongue was nothing more than an open wound and you dropped your face, unable to speak beyond get out, get out of my apartment, leave me alone, leave me alone, Haruchiyo.

The sound of his name—always a healing incantation coming from your lips—was now twisted and corrupted into a heinous monster, one that he finds no similarities with.

Like a little boy, he ran from you, hiding his shaky hands in his pockets, covering the tingling chokes that touch the throbbing scars around his mouth with the fabric of the black mask a ghost of his past once gave him. The imprints of the nightmares hold no candle to the horror that had just unfurled before him.

A ticking time bomb. That was what the shattered reflection in the mirror told him. But to you, he was the easing current of passing gentleness; a roof over a flashing storm; man and monster in one.

And like the worst draft of cold, he had stopped your carefree cadence into freezing debilitation.

No matter how much he willed time to consume him, to let him slip past its wicked undertow and back into the hereafter of your arms, it was never a jest companion. And time never gave you back.

Weeks passed without your name on his phone or between his teeth. He barely saw through faded blue lenses, always hoping, yearning, aching—

“Just talk to her.” A voice of reason in his deceitful fugue. Kakucho looked at him with tedious pity and Haruchiyo almost wanted to gouge his good eye out for even bestowing such sympathy onto a wrecked shadow of a man such as himself.

Instead, he held in his anger, clipped steps taking him to the nearest cemetery where he scooped up a burgeoning burst of pink that was left in the memorandum to a lost soul; now meant for his debasing exoneration from your harsh silence.

He had no excuse to return to your apartment; a no man's land that had a wider choice of directions to which his stumbling lost could never find a foot in. The knocks echoed—boom, boom, boom. But, no other breathing could be uncovered beyond his own.

Haruchiyo slammed his fist onto the hard barrier, hoping that by some miracle, you would be appeased and recall his presence and he would be graced by your smile. Your touch, your sweet scent.

(Has it all been a nightmare?)

Nothing brought you back to him. A blank end where every flitting burst of light from the overhead fluorescent lamp showed him the scars to his future. A coming of time where the seed of eloquence and warmth he planted in your hearth, mind, and body would wither and he would be faced with the deadened fields of his own misdoing.

His one chance to reach out to you was bleeding, as was his heart and eyes when he came to terms that you had meant what you said. That you wanted him gone.

It would’ve been better had you not been born. The voices flashed in his mind with a desolate timber, one that reeked of cigarette smoke and sanguine liquid dripping from the gunshot lodged almost tenderly into his sister’s chest.

The monsters loomed, not from the corridors of this low-cost hole but in the recesses of his mind; taunting and teasing him with all the sharpness of a broken toy’s wing.

“Y/N! Please, open the door,” he begged and pleaded, the flowers withering in his hands kindling a flame to his roaring, flayed soul. “Y/N! I’m sorry, okay? Please let me in. I don’t want to fight anymore. I need you. I… I miss you.”

The door cracked open and he was ready to fall onto his knees, every neuron in his addled brain rejoicing when the figure he so desperately craved to set his eyes on was smaller and stared up at him with wide open curiosity.

“Can I help you, mister?”

A boy—not much older than ten—gazed up at him with perturbed green eyes. Eyes he had never seen in his life. Anger coursed through him, hot and fresh and he almost lunged at the door, the betrayal coating his chest like a second skin yearning to be set aflame. Did you have a son and did not tell him? Did you lie to him?

But, all that came out from his ruptured throat was, “Y/N?”

“Miss Y/N?” the boy confirmed and gestured to the other door next to his. “She lives there.”

A ring of light reignited back in his soul and he thought he would have known where to find you just from thinking it over, but the drugs were a powerful persuasive force that was hellbent on barring him from you.

“Did you make her mad?”

Haruchiyo stopped in his tracks and bestowed his icy blue eyes onto a pair of curious, world-less ones. “Hey, kid. Let me tell you something.” A deep inhale. “Don’t ever do drugs in your life, okay? And don’t ever hurt a woman. S’not fucking worth it.” He doesn’t know why, but the words he yearned to hang upon your wall became a performer for this child instead, flowing outward with the ease of an unblocked current. “When you find someone worthy to keep in your life, make sure you hold onto them tightly and never let go, ‘kay? Don’t make the same fucking mistakes I did, kid.”

“You know, you’re not supposed to swear in front of children.”

His heart that had been dyed a monotone neutral lept into a universe of multi-colors at the cadence of your tone and he chanced upon your silhouette, a ghost of a smile tugging the corners of your lips.

He had longed to look at you, a lone key waiting for the lock to turn. Sanzu always sensed that tenderness and rot shared a border, the former a decaying force whose iridescence marked every chapter of his life. Despite how intimately he was acquainted with both of them, one was the corruption of everything he held holy and the other was his salvation in the form of your sparkling eyes.

Sanzu picked himself from the cold ground, a lump in his throat. You said no more and allowed him to enter your home, departing a friendly wave to the boy next door and closing the world off from the firm tension in this apartment.

You don’t get a chance to speak when his knees hit the ground and he shuffles over to you, arms wrapping around your waist and face pressed to the softness of your belly. All the mistakes he had made turned over in his muddled mind till he could no longer poke his eyes open to unearth the bitter taste of injustices that have been a constant companion to his weary soul since he was a young boy.

“I’m so sorry.” In this instance, he can’t even recall how those looming, gigantic judges appear, only cognizant of the film of tears in your eyes. Nothing seemed to bring back to him the throbbing memories of the past beyond the present and his future standing before him, silent and unmoving.

Like nails to a chalkboard, he expected you to devour him apart with your fury, but your hands burned away the flood that was threatening to swallow him; it would’ve been easy—like the same film over and over again—to evoke the rushing resentment.

But, you did neither of that.

“Don’t hurt me again.”

“Promise,” a scratchy ache redolent of a time when he was younger and had sworn to keep his severed lips shut to avoid a place between regret and warning. “I promise I will never hurt you again.”

Trembling fingers lifted the hem of your shirt where cold lips pressed to the disgustingly yellow bruise, kissing it down to the last of his digit’s imprints on the marred skin and he wept; wishing that the reel of his memories would cease and nothing could make them come to light ever again.

Your touch was gentle and almost careful, carding through his hair, glittering with forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

You picked up the shambled remnants of a lost little boy that merged together with the outline of a man who thought himself to be unsalvageable and glued his jagged ends together again.

All with a sweet smile and a honeyed voice. “Let’s put this behind us, Haruchiyo.”

The thick smog clinging around his throat from the 120 hours you had spent away from him gave way and he choked out, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Haru.”

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy and repost

[hyunsuks-beanie]

Anything

Gamer! Heeseung x gamer! fem. bodied! reader; (sorta) frenemies to (sorta) lovers

Genre: Smut; sex at a public place

Word Count ~2.2k

Mellow speaks: It took ages (on my watch anyway), but it's finally here. Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this, and I'm sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoy reading this, it was really fun to write! PS. My ask box and requests are open again, so if you liked this one, do send in an idea/ask!

"Ready to lose, Y/N?"

There he was in all his glory, a stupid smirk plastered on his face. Your friend and arch-rival, Lee Heeseung. The both of you were the best gamers in your area, and so, weekly face-offs were a ritual. In the arcade, the both of you were down for doing anything that would secure your own victory, but out on the streets, you were great friends, sharing inside jokes and bonding over your love for games. But being young brought with itself a number of problems, sexual tension being one of them.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't find yourself attracted to Heeseung. It was hard to count the number or times you had imagined his face between your legs, or the way his fingers, which work so well on the keyboard, would work when he pumps into you. And by the knowing glances he often sent your way, you knew he had pictured the same in his head too. But the two of you had never acted upon those urges, instead choosing to let them pump you up for the next time you locked horns behind your computer screens. Were feelings involved? It was hard to say, but you had to admit that the boy in front of you was pretty cute. Actually, he was everything you could have asked for in a boyfriend, but you just had never seen Heeseung in that light.

"You wish, Lee," is all you say, looking him straight in the eyes. His smirk turns into a grin, as you notice a mischievous glint come to life in his eyes. "He's piecing together some stupid plan," you think to yourself, failing to catch the way his gaze travels up and down your body, checking you out. All of a sudden, he comes closer to you, your heartbeat speeding up as his voice drops to a whisper. "Let's play a little game of our own," he says, "Whoever wins today gets to make the loser do anything." When you give him a quizzical look, he adds, "And by anything, I mean anything."

It doesn't take you long to realize what he means, since his thoughts are given away by his now dark eyes as he pulls away. Suddenly, the scarf around your neck feels way too tight, as your breathing becomes heavier. Feeling your face flush with excitement, you somehow manage to find your voice, choking out a "You're on, loser," as Heeseung turns and makes his way towards his computer.

The process of readying yourself for the game goes by in a blur, as the only thing you can focus on is beating your rival. Strapping your headphones on, you log into the game, the voices of your teammates rushing into your ears. But you don't hear anything, your eyes landing straight on Heeseung's persona, Ethan. To you, it feels as if the two of you are the only players, competing directly against each other. You give it your all, blissfully unaware of the fact that Heeseung for once isn't keen on winning. He's tired of suppressing the fact that he wants you, and he's itching to see just what you would do to him if you win.

And so, he is doing everything he can to let you win, without coming across as too desperate. Sure, he's still putting up a fight, not letting you get an easy victory. But he's also throwing in the occasional random mess-up, nothing too obvious, but enough to give you an edge. Attacking his own teammate instead of yours, committing a foul that lowers his score, pressing the wrong key combination, you name it, he's done it. Had it been any other day, you would have noticed his antics in a heartbeat, but not today. You're riding high on your winning streak, mouth already watering at the thought of having the boy at your mercy, writhing under you.

The final scores come in, with you emerging as the clear winner. Your teammates come to congratulate you, but your eyes are set on Heeseung, who is smirking in the corner, his leg propped against the wall. Once you're alone, he pushes himself forward, waltzing over to you, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Congrats, Y/N," he says, eyes flicking towards your lips before coming back to your eyes. He looks at you expectantly, and the next thing he knows, you are dragging him towards the restroom, unable to keep your hands to yourself any longer.

Checking to see if the coast is clear, you step into the nearest cubicle, pulling him in with you. No sooner is he inside than you smash your lips on his, pushing him against the wall. His hand instinctively wraps around your butt, pulling you closer as he shuts the door with his free hand, before bringing it up to your face and cupping it. Your hands entangle themselves in his hair as you feel him deepen the kiss, biting down on your lower lip. You refuse to give him access, making him squeeze your butt, which causes you to let out a gasp. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, exploring it as you let out a moan.

After a couple minutes of heatedly making out, you feel Heeseung's hands making their way under your shirt, coming to rest against your skin. All of a sudden, you pull away from the kiss, smirking when you hear him whine as he chases after your lips. "I'm the winner," you say, a devilish grin gracing your lips as you pull him closer to you by the collar. He closes his eyes, expecting you to reconnect your lips with his, but shoots them open once again when he feels your breath near his jaw. You trail kisses down his jawline, moving onto his neck as he throws his head back in pleasure, a deep groan escaping his lips as you find his sweet spot, sucking on it. Once you're satisfied with your work, you lick along the length of his neck, making him hiss at the cool sensation.

Pulling away, you waste no time in pulling Heeseung's T-shirt off him, trying hard not to ogle at his body. He catches you though, saying, "Like what you see?," that signature smirk back on his face. You reply with a grin of your own as you pull at your scarf, making it come loose. He eyes you curiously, his mouth falling open when he realizes just what you're doing. Pushing him onto the seat, you push his arms above his head, tying them to the holder using your scarf. Once you're done, you pull away to admire just how good he looks, all tied up for you. Deciding to tease him, you begin taking your top off, agonizingly slow. Giving him a sneak peek of your chest, you finally take the top off, discarding it to the floor as he lets out a moan.

Pulling down his shorts, you palm him through his boxers, before throwing your legs on either side of his own, and straddling his lap. Heeseung attaches his lips back to yours as you start grinding against his crotch, feeling his hard member rub against your clothed core. Feeling mischievous, you pull the cups of your bra down, making your boobs pop out. Heeseung feels his mouth water as he tries to move forward and wrap his lips around your nipples, only to be pulled back rudely by the tie on his wrists. You let out a giggle, continue to rock your hips against his, as he narrows his eyes at you. "You're such a tease," he growls, "Just you wait." His voice makes wetness pool between your legs, but you hold your ground, smirking, before getting up from his lap and pulling his boxers down. His dick is a sight to behold, and you can't help but almost drool at how beautiful he is.

Wrapping your mouth around his length, you swirl your tongue around his member, eliciting a moan from him. Taking him in, you place your hands around his balls, massaging them as you bob your head up and down, your tongue working its magic on him, making him arch his back in pleasure. You attempt to deep throat him, letting out a gag when you feel his tip hitting the back of your mouth. The sound is nothing less than music to Heeseung's ears, and he feels his dick twitch as he continue to tug on your scarf, desperate to entangle his hands in your hair. The tie was loose to begin with, and soon enough, he feels the scarf loosen as his wrists come free. Smirking, he takes your hair into his hands, tugging on them roughly in an effort to get you to bob your head faster. The sudden contact makes you let out a moan against his member, the vibration causing him to nearly lose it as he squirts into your mouth, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

You lap your tongue around his girth, sucking up his juice before pulling away, a satisfied sigh escaping your lips. "Such a nice boy for me," you giggle, using your arm to wipe your lips. Your peaceful moment doesn't last long though, as without warning, Heeseung wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you back onto your feet as he slams you against the wall. Smriking at your surprised expression, he removes his hand from your neck, making quick work of the button on yours jeans. "You're the winner, but I'll get the prize," he whispers, yanking your jeans down your legs and rubbing your core through your panties. You throw your head back at the pleasure, already aching to feel him tear you apart.

As he continues to rub you, a soft moan escapes your lips, making his eyes go darker as he pushes the fabric to the side, his finger entering your dripping core. You grip his shoulders tightly as he moves his finger in and out of you, before slowly adding another. Pleasure sweeps through your body as his fingers continue your ministrations, making you close your eyes. But all of a sudden, he's gone, pulling his fingers completely out of you and leaving your walls clenching around nothing. Letting out a whine, you attempt to pull his hand back to where you need it the most, making him let out a chuckle. "So desperate for me, hmm," he says, catching you by surprise once again as he yanks your panties down, pulling away only only let you take them off completely. He uses the chance to fiddle around in the pocket of his jeans, taking out a condom and tearing its wrapper away with his teeth. Your eyes glint at the sight of the plastic, and without realizing, you stick your hand out, causing him to chuckle again as he places the condom in your palm. Pulling him closer to yourself, you pull the sheath down his length, hands shaking from excitement.

Once you're done, Heeseung picks you up, and you waste no time in wrapping your legs around his, your back against the wall and his dick lined up against your entrance. "Ready?," he asks you, and you can only whimper in response, practically dripping from anticipation by this point. And with that, he rams into you, finally introducing you to the pleasure your body has been craving. You buck your hips as he continues to thrust into you, catching his lips in a sloppy kiss as his hand moves down to rub your clit. As soon as his fingers make contact with your bud, the cubicle fills with the sound of your moans, your nails digging into his back causing his own lips to elicit sounds that are equal parts lewd and melodious. He rams into you to the hilt, hitting your G-spot as you inch closer to your climax.

You figure he is close too, judging from how his breathing becomes more ragged. "I-I'm gonna c-cum," you moan, making him grunt in reply. "Wait for me, babe," he says, and a couple thrusts later, you feel him twitch inside you, causing the ball in the pit of your stomach to come undone, as you cum all over his dick. This pushes him over the edge too, making him cum into the condom. You ride your highs out together, lips finding each other in a messy kiss as you moan into each other's mouth. Once you come down, he gently pulls out of you, placing your feet on the ground before grabbing some tissues.

You clean yourselves up in silence, exiting the restroom after what feels like hours. Heeseung takes your hand in his, making you smile softly. "I'll win the next time," he whispers, causing you to roll your eyes. "Yeah, in your dreams," you say, adding, "But you know what? Losing might not be so bad if you're the one I'm losing to." Now it's his turn to smile.

"Wanna grab some pizza?," he asks as you walk out the PC room.

"It's a date, Lee," you say.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake. 

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful. 

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much. 

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps. 

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok. 

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce. 

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way. 

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[wherethewordsare]

I am once again hitting up your ask box to ask for fic

Can i pwease get selkie jask🥺👉👈

Cheese... As always, sorry this took a fucking age? I hope you like it? And just in time for Monster March!!! <3 <3 <3 

There had always been something about Jaskier that set Geralt on edge. But not in the way that he was used to. The way he would smile so easily even when Geralt was gruff and unrelenting left him disarmed and at ease. But it was also the way that there were nights when the moon was high and Jaskier couldn’t seem to find sleep that Geralt’s medallion seemed to buzz with a low but urgent hum. Those nights the smell of brine and sun and sawgrass was nearly chokingly strong, rolling off of Jaskier in waves stronger than a riptide. 

Magic. What kind, Geralt could never figure out. There had been something about the way Jaskier wore his heart on his sleeve that made it feel like there was so little the bard would actually hide from him, but this one thing. Maybe there was siren blood in him after all, maybe it was fae? But no matter what it was, Geralt wasn’t about to send Jaskier away for something he couldn’t definitively prove. And even if he could, would he?

They were near Oxenfurt, summer coming to an end and Geralt watched with interest as every so often, Jaskier’s head would pop up from where he sat around their campfire, looking westward. The way he tilted his chin as though someone had called his name. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked. He kept his tone light, his own eyes following Jaskier’s gaze west. 

“Hmm,” was all he got, Jaskier not turning to look at him, his eyes focused on the line of trees across from him. It took him by surprise, their sudden unexpected role reversal. He chuckled. 

“Jask!” Geralt set down the armor he was cleaning, waving a cloth in front of Jaskier’s face. 

“Ah! Right, sorry. Got lost in thought for a moment,” he turned to look at Geralt, his eyes still glazed over with that lost look. “You know, my home isn’t too far from here.” 

“Oxenfurt is just a day’s ride. Have someone waiting for you?” Geralt teased but the idea of Jaskier having someone that could pull him away from the path they traveled together made his tone more accusatory than he had intended. 

“No, not…” Jaskier’s eyes wandered back west again as he fidgeted. “Geralt, I need-” he licked his lips as if he was ready to say something. 

Geralt’s medallion gave a soft hum where it rested against his skin, warmer than it had been. There was nothing here to fight, only Jaskier, face flushed from sitting too close to the fire, his white linen shirt clinging to him slightly in the late summer heat. The nights wouldn’t be cool for another few weeks and they wouldn’t part for a few weeks after that if the snows held off. Or maybe. 

Whatever it was that Jaskier wasn’t saying hung between them in the slight vibration of low magic and crickets. 

“Come with me to the coast? There’s something I need to take care of,” Jaskier was suddenly on his feet, striding with unsure steps to his bedroll, his hands wringing in front of him. The magic stopped and Geralt watched as Jaskier turned his back on where he had been watching. He could see it for what it was, an offer to an answer of a question neither of them had been brave enough to ask. Not yet. 

“Could be some contracts that way,” Geralt mused, reaching for his sword to clean next. 

If he hadn’t been a witcher, if his sight hadn’t been so keen and had he not been already so attuned to Jaskier, he might have missed it. They had been traveling together for what must have been well over a decade now, and never once had Geralt seen Jaskier pull away from him not even remotely. In the fading daylight, it was hard to miss now. The moment Geralt wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, Jaskier had flinched away. 

He made no comment, only letting the sword rest back against the log as he changed tactics, reaching instead for another piece of his armor to clean. He couldn’t seem to catch Jaskier’s eyes as the bard finally settled down into his bedroll, turning over so his back was to Geralt. 

There had always been something about Jaskier that had put Geralt on edge, the smell of sea salt and warm sand and kelp that always surfaced, even with all the oils and perfumes he would soak himself in. A kind of worry gripped him, a beginning of an end to the unsaid things between them. Geralt waited patiently for him to drift off, keeping an ear open for the steady even breaths that came when Jaskier slept. Only then did he reach for his swords to clean them.

Silently he prayed to whatever deity would hear him that he would not find reasons to draw them when they reached the coast. 

--

It had been an easy kind of journey, a day to Oxenfurt then another few days to the coast proper. Once they had left the last village behind, Jaskier led the way, keeping always a few strides out front, his fingers nervously tweaking out half conscience tunes on his lute, barely paying attention to anything other than moving onward. Geralt found that there were moments of unending chatter and then complete silence. 

The last night that they camped, the trees had become pine and the grass was rough under Geralt’s hands as he gathered wood for the fire. Jaskier sat quietly by his bedroll, his eyes brighter than they had been in what felt like weeks. He moved his jaw every now and again as though he was trying to find the words to say but the most Geralt could get out of him was broken off sentences and hesitant glances. 

“Do you always kill the monsters?” He asked finally, setting aside his quill and lacing his fingers together in front of him, thumbs twirling anxiously.

“Only the dangerous ones,” Geralt said quietly. He had made sure not to reach for his swords in front of Jaskier since that night he had asked to go to the coast, afraid that the answers would slide away like the tide. 

“Oh, and how do you know when they’re not dangerous?” It had been a conversation they had had before, but then Jaskier had been less pensive, more chatty, taking notes for his ballads. Now his eyes barely looked up from the fire. 

Above them, the moon hung heavy and full, silver catching in Jaskier’s dark hair and casting his features into ethereal shadows where the firelight did not quite reach. Geralt risked moving a little closer, using the poking the fire as pretense before sitting beside Jaskier. 

“What are we doing here, Jaskier?” He wasn’t accusatory or flippant. There had been answers that he needed and he wasn’t sure what the right ones would be. 

Jaskier sat very still, his tongue darting out for a moment. “You know I trust you?” 

It wasn’t what Geralt had been expecting. Hell, it wasn’t something he had even really knew needed saying, not out loud. But they sat there, the words hanging between them like a door that would either be thrown wide open or slammed shut and locked forever. 

Jaskier chuckled, looking away. “I… Can you trust me, Geralt?” He looked over then, his eyes seeming endlessly blue just then, and so full of something that tugged at Geralt’s chest. He only nodded and let the night slip into an easy quiet between them. 

“Fall isn’t too far off at this point. It will be winter before you know it.” It felt so off-balance, Geralt being the one to keep breaking the silence between them. “Unless you have an engagement in Oxenfurt already lined up, I was wondering if you might-” 

Jaskier made a choking sound, his head whipping around to look at Geralt. “Wait!” There was panic in his voice as his hands came up as if to protect himself. 

It wasn’t hard to scent in the air, the sharp sting of fear and anxiety, Jaskier’s heart hammering behind his ribs. His eyes looked wild and it took Geralt a moment not to pull back himself. 

“Wait,” Jaskier took a shaky breath, swallowing. “There’s… Before you ask anything of me, let’s get down to the beach tomorrow. And then-” He looked down, pulling his hands towards his chest. The fear was gone but the anxiety only seemed to grow. It spelled of kelp in the sun and cold oceans in a storm. “Then you can decide if you still want to ask.” 

“Jaskier-” 

“Not here, witcher. Let me get to the shore first?” It wasn’t uncommon for Jaskier to ask things of Geralt but it was rare that they felt this important, this urgent. 

The sound of the fire and the crickets and the ocean far down the hill were the only sounds between them after that. Jaskier after a time made a murmured good night and slipped into his bedroll without another word. Geralt tried to ignore the sharp scent of salt that came from him, different than the ocean, deeper, tinged in everything that made up Jaskier. He doubted either of them slept much that night. 

--

Geralt must have drifted off at some point, however. When he woke up early, the sun was barely up, the fire had banked itself overnight and he was alone save for Roach who grazed in the hazy morning light. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt called, bolting upright and turning. 

“Let me get to the shore first,” he had asked. 

He debated with himself for a moment before deciding that he would leave his swords behind him, though Geralt couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the dagger in his boot behind as well. He moved down towards the beach, following the path through the thinning trees. 

Something was off the moment he stepped out past the first dune. There in the sand, clothes trailed down to the water, Jaskier’s boots kicked off just at the bottom of the first outcropping of rock. Down the beach, a wall of stone rose above the breakers. It would no doubt have a system of caves throughout it. The last of Jaskier’s things seemed to lead that way.

Geralt followed, wishing that he had in fact brought his swords. His medallion hummed then vibrated, shaking against his chest violently as something broke above the waves just to his right. 

A smooth head and wide eyes tilted towards him in the early morning light. The sky above the ocean still dark, the last stars slipping over the far horizon with the last sliver of the moon. The thing in the water moved up to the beach, a large slick body, flippers pushing into the wet sand. 

It gave a kind of greeting, nodding at Geralt as it rested in the sand. 

He hadn’t seen one in so long, Geralt almost didn’t recognize it as a Harbor seal, it’s pelt dark around its face, fading into a spotted silver coat. He didn’t move, let alone breathe as they watched each other for a long moment. 

��When the seal began to push up its body contorting unnaturally, Geralt took a step back, automatically reaching for the knife in his boot. Dark eyes watched him and seemed… disappointed suddenly as the body of the seal continued to convulse and shift. 

The sun broke above the trees and caught the creature in the face and those eyes suddenly shimmered a bright blue. He couldn’t throw his knife down fast enough as the hood of a cloak fell back from Jaskier’s face, sullen and terrified. 

“Well, was worth a shot,” Jaskier gave a wet laugh, pulling his cloak tighter around him. 

“You’re a selkie.” Geralt said flatly, his hands coming up to show he had no weapons. “I thought you were a viscount.” 

To his surprise, Jaskier snorted, the tension in his shoulders relaxing some as shuffled his feet in the sand. 

“I am in fact a viscount and a selkie, on my mother’s side,” he winced. “My father keeps her cloak from her. I just barely managed to-” he swallowed looking down. “Listen, Geralt, I know you plan on going back to Kaer Morhen this winter, and even if you-” he huffed, his hand shooting out from his cloak to rub at the back of his head. 

“You need somewhere to hide your cloak.” a decade of unasked questions started to click into place.

“Yes,” Jaskier sighed. “But you don’t have to-”

“And you trust me? A witcher? Jaskier, if something happened to your cloak you-” would be stuck, would die, would never be free again. He left everything to blow away out to sea in the wind. 

“I do, I trust you as a man, Geralt. I know what I’m asking,” his eyes were sad and suddenly infinitely vast. 

The wind tugged the hem of Jaskier’s cloak, the silvery ends snapping in tune with the crash of the waves. Geralt could see the top of his one thigh peeking between the slick material and suddenly he was far too aware that Jaskier was standing naked in more ways than one on a beach telling Geralt he trusted him with his life. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a steadying breath. “Get dressed bard.” This level of vulnerability left him feeling dizzy with a feeling he wasn’t ready to look at just then. 

Before going to collect his clothes, Jaskier closed the distance between them, sliding his cloak from his shoulders, the fabric shimmering in the sunlight as he folded it carefully and rested it over Geralt’s arm. 

“Hold this for me?” he asked softly, not meeting Geralt’s eyes. “Keep it safe?” 

There was no hesitation in him as Geralt nodded, laying a careful hand over Jaskier’s, still on the cloak. “Always.”

[grapesodatozier]

so close to the real thing (closer than you think)

rating: explicit

word count: 6.8k

summary: Eddie's been pining over Richie for as long as he can remember. He loves everything about Richie; especially how much Richie loves touching him. It's a little inconvenient, though. Eddie copes with his pent up sexual tension by constantly checking a porn blog he's obsessed with on tumblr. This guy has the same type of body as Richie, he talks like Richie, his name is even Richie! It makes it all too easy for Eddie to pretend it really is Richie while getting himself off to all of the blog's content.

You'll never guess what he finds out when he starts sexting this stranger named Richie from his anonymous porn blog.

tags: friends to lovers, porn with feelings, love confessions, dom/sub dynamics, bi dom top richie, gay sub bottom eddie, the most oblivious pining idiots in the world lol we love them

notes: this is one of my more ridiculous ideas but I had so much fun with it lol. also as a note you probably should not approach people on the internet the way they do in this fic, but they're just v enthusiastic and everything here is v consensual!! still tho definitely don't take this indulgent fic as a guide on how to approach real people online lmao. okay have fun!!

read on ao3 or below!!

notsfw under the cut

Eddie Kaspbrak’s friends were his entire world; time spent with them meant everything to him. But he also really valued his alone time. He’d always been the sort who needed time to just sit on a grassy hill and watch the trains go by, to catch up on comics in his room, to get lost in Netflix shows or even just his thoughts as he moseyed around his apartment—one he live in by himself, for when these moods hit. He needed time to himself to unwind. And sometimes he unwound by scrolling through some porn blogs on tumblr with his hand in his pants.

There was one blog that he was particularly fond of. There were other blogs more catered to his personal interests, namely blogs that didn’t feature women like this one did. But there was a good balance of genders represented, so Eddie figured he could just scroll past those posts. This guy was worth it. His pictures were ridiculously hot, and his dirty talk was even hotter.

Also, his name was Richie. Which Eddie refused to acknowledge as part of the draw.

It was harder to ignore tonight. He’d been out with the losers, and Richie had just been so touchy. And there was something about the way he'd been talking; his voice was lower than normal, slower in a way that made Eddie’s stomach flip. And his touches had lingered, his hand squeezing Eddie’s hip slow, then lazily brushing against his ass as he dropped it. Eddie could hardly take it. He brushed it off as Richie just being tired from work, but god, Eddie wanted it to mean more. The hardest part was hiding how much he wanted Richie to keep doing it.

There were so many things Eddie wanted Richie to do to him. He wanted Richie to touch him harder, to grab him by his hips with both hands. Richie’s hands were so big; Eddie just knew Richie could manhandle him so easily, so roughly. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have Richie’s hands all over him, grabbing at his ass and his thighs, holding his wrists down, making him feel so small. While Eddie would never admit it, huffing at every short joke Richie made, but he loved being shorter than Richie. He loved how safe he felt when Richie held him. And he was dying to know how small he would feel with Richie looming above him, or sitting in Richie’s lap, bouncing on his cock. He wanted to hear Richie talking to him in that low, slow voice, with that condescension Eddie did his best to pretend not to be affected by. He wanted Richie to whisper in his ear and call him all those pretty names he always dropped so casually, all those sweet ones and also ones that were a lot meaner. He wanted Richie to want him.

But it was easier to think about it than to ask for it. He knew Richie had way more experience than him. Well, okay, maybe not way more necessarily, but they were starting their third year of college, and he hadn’t wasted any time. Eddie, on the other hand, hadn’t done anything more than hand stuff with someone else. The guys he’d hooked up with were nice enough, and hot enough, but they just… weren’t Richie.

He supposed this guy on tumblr wasn’t Richie either, but at least he was everything else Eddie wanted. None of his hookups had been so, well, dominant, and that was this guy’s whole thing. He was dominant and a top and into guys that looked like Eddie. He even kind of talked like Richie, and he was apparently pining over his best friend, just like Eddie was. It had him completely smitten. Plus, internet-Richie’s crush had brown eyes like Eddie, and he ran track, just like Eddie did. Internet-Richie had posted once about his dick getting hard watching his friend at his track meet, and Eddie had come so hard that night, his track shorts around his ankles, imagining his Richie thinking those things about him.

Eddie was in bed now, in nothing but his boxers and one of Richie’s old shirts that had been Eddie’s for a while now. Still reeling from the way Richie had been acting that night, he logged into his porn account on his phone and scrolled through his dash for a grand total of thirty seconds before going immediately to internet-Richie’s blog. A thrill went through Eddie’s body when he saw that he had just posted. He’d written, “god my friends gonna fuckn kill me with that ass, i wanna plow him so bad” then reblogged it and added, “reminder that my asks and dms are always open if any pretty needy little subs need help getting off. please come be sluts in my messages.” Eddie’s breath caught in his throat when he saw that there was a picture, too, one of him gripping his hard cock, his boxers pulled down just enough for Eddie to see the dark hair around the base of his cock. Eddie moaned at the sight. His cock was so nice, so long and thick and pink. And fuck, his fingers. They were so long and slim, almost as nice as his-Richie’s.

Eddie scrolled a little farther down, his heart racing. There were a lot of reblogs, but some original posts here and there, things like, “what i wouldn’t do to have a pretty guy drooling all over my cock rn,” and, “in the mood to get someone dick drunk. wanna fuck a someone so hard they forget their own name.” One that made Eddie nearly choke said, “want someone i can pump my come into whenever i want, over and over again. want a sub i can keep full of my come all the fuckn time.” That post had Eddie getting out his lube.

It also had him thinking about internet-Richie’s most recent post, his post about his DMs being open.

Eddie bit his lip and thought about it. He’d sent internet-Richie some asks before from his porn blog (his blog didn’t have his name on it, just the teddy bear emoji, since he privately thought the teddy/Eddie rhyme was fun and clever, and also it was cute), and he’d seemed plenty happy enough to respond then. Still, it felt like a much bigger step to DM him, to talk to him just one on one. But the more he read his posts, the more he thought about his-Richie and how he’d touched Eddie that night, the easier it was to convince himself to shoot his shot with this stranger.

Eddie just messaged him a simple, “hi,” with a heart emoji. It was innocent enough, but his heart was still racing.

Internet-Richie responded a lot faster than Eddie was expecting. Honestly he hadn’t been expecting a response at all. But he said:

hiya cutie (; ive been hoping youd message me

Eddie flushed. He couldn’t help but hear cutie in his-Richie’s voice—especially given how often Richie used the nickname. really? he typed back.

fuck yes, ur cute little messages make me so hard. i can tell ur a pretty little thing just from the way you type

Eddie was blushing deep. Pretty little thing. That was hotter than it should’ve been. He wanted his Richie to talk to him like that, in that deep, sleepy voice.

there’s no way you can tell that from some messages :P, Eddie sent.

His heart stopped at the next messages internet-Richie sent.

oh, u dont think so?

why dont u send me some pics to prove me wrong (;

Oh my god, Eddie thought, his breath coming short. His head swam at the thought of sending this guy nudes, of showing himself off to someone who clearly wanted to see him, who would know how to take care of him and fuck him the way he liked, a guy with his crush’s fucking name and body type and hands. It had Eddie’s cock hard and leaking, and he slowly slid a finger inside of himself.

But just because the thought turned him on didn’t mean he was gonna send this stranger what he wanted so easily, even if he desperately wanted to.

you’d like that, wouldn’t you?

He fingered himself open as he waited for a response, working his way up to two fingers. It was nearly impossible to ignore his cock, but he didn’t want to come before the conversation even had a chance to start.

fuck ya i would, internet-Richie responded. Then, in a second message, whats wrong baby? you shy? ill show u mine ;)

Eddie's breath caught. God, this guy even made stupid shit sound hot, just like Eddie’s Richie. This was unreal.

i’ve seen yours, Eddie pointed out.

ya and you musta liked it if ur messaging me rn

Eddie bit his lip. ...maybe

aw thats cute sweetheart. u know i can see all the needy little tags you add when u reblog my stuff right?

Eddie blushed. He’d kind of always hoped he’d read them, but he never thought he actually did. i didn’t know you read those

oh ya, read them, jerk off to them. bit of a size queen, aren’t you? ;) it’s cute. makes me so fuckn hard when u talk abt how u want me to fill you up

Eddie whimpered out loud, sliding a third finger into himself. Fuck, he wanted that cock inside of him so bad. But right now one of his toys would have to do, once he was stretched out enough. He sped up his fingers, getting impatient. Gathering up all of his horny courage, he sent, show me.

what, no please? only good boys who use their manners get dick pics babydoll

Eddie pouted and whined to himself, making quick work of sliding his hot pink vibrator inside of himself—well, as quickly as he could without hurting himself. He moaned as it filled him up, making pleasure spread deep through his body. Slowly pumping it in and out, he reached for his phone. please, he typed, please let me see? wanna know what to picture while i fuck myself with my vibrator. He even added the wide eyed pouting emoji to really milk the whole begging thing. He knew he’d been playing a little coy, but now with the way internet-Richie was talking to him he was getting desperate.

well fuck baby since ur begging ;)

Eddie held his breath as he waited for the picture, slowly rocking his toy in and out, savoring the feeling. He wished it was Richie doing it, wished it was his cock. The lines between which Richie blurred; he wanted to get fucked by either of them, both of them.

What Eddie received when his phone lit up was not a picture, but a video. It was short, just a few seconds of Richie’s hand dragging wetly, smoothly over his cock, but it had Eddie drooling. The room was dark, so he’d used a flash, and it made the mix of what Eddie assumed was precome and spit glisten as the swollen head of Richie’s cock disappeared and reappeared from behind his fingers. Eddie must’ve played it at least five times, fucking himself a little faster, before remembering to say something back. And to take a video of his own. fuck, I want you so bad, want you to fucking ruin me, he wrote back. A part of him couldn’t believe how openly desperate he was being, but he found that he liked it; he liked the way it made him blush, he liked the way it felt to beg, to ask for what he wanted.

Richie’s response came fast: show me kitten. show me how you want me to fuck your pretty little ass.

Eddie moaned at the pet name; casual little nicknames were such a weakness for him. He was already so far gone, just picturing Richie’s cock inside of him, picturing him stroking his cock to thoughts of Eddie. The attention had his cock hard and leaking as he thrust his vibrator even deeper inside of himself, pumping it in and out a few more times before rolling over and getting on his hands and knees. It was hard to take a video from this angle, but he wanted to show off his ass and hide his face. Plus, there was something so hot about having his ass in the air and his face shoved in his pillow, looking like the perfect image of someone desperate to be fucked. He loved the way it made him feel, loved the thought of being so open for someone. For Richie.

He ended up shooting a short video as well, about ten seconds of him sliding his vibrator slowly in and out of himself, letting out soft little moans. He was pretty pleased with the way it turned out, his hole pink and smooth and wet as it stretched around his toy. The angle was a little weird, showing a lot of his room once or twice when his hand slipped a little, but overall he thought his ass looked amazing, if he did say so himself. He sent it and said, feels so good. do you want me to go faster?

As he sent it, he got settled on his back, forcing himself to go slow as he fucked himself while he waited for internet-Richie’s response. It was taking longer than before, and Eddie was getting antsy; it was so hard to drag it out, to not get ahead of himself. But whatever Richie was doing, Eddie knew it would be worth the wait. Still, he pouted as his cock ached, begging for attention.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock at the door.

He groaned to himself and stayed put, fucking himself even slower as he waited for whoever it was to leave. But then the knocking continued, loud and incessant and obnoxious, and Eddie knew exactly who it was. He also knew he wasn’t going to go away any time soon, which honestly made him smile and blush. Richie had terrible timing, but Eddie would never be upset to see him.

Reluctantly, he slowly slid the toy out and pulled on his shorts, leaving his shirt off. He still had a pretty obvious boner, but his horny brain did not mind the idea of Richie seeing it. So he strode lazily down the hall, shouting a performatively annoyed, “I’m coming!” Finally, he opened the door, cocking his hip to the side and giving Richie an expectant look. “Can I help you?” he asked, a small smile dancing around the corner of his lips. He had to fight off a smirk at the wide eyed look Richie gave him as he ran his eyes over Eddie’s body.

“Fuck,” he muttered lowly, his eyes trained on Eddie’s cock, which was getting even harder the more Richie stared. Eddie bit his lip and grinned a little, making doe eyes at Richie. But Richie didn’t meet his gaze—instead he brushed past Eddie, his mouth still hanging open as he made his way urgently toward Eddie’s bedroom.

“Richie?” Eddie asked, a little let down that Richie’s hands weren’t all over him right now. But hey, if he was heading to Eddie’s bedroom he figured that was at least the right direction. He closed his front door and followed Richie into his room, where he found him staring at the bright pink vibrator on the bed. As confident and horny as Eddie was feeling, that still made him blush. He was only human. Crossing his arms, he said, bashful now, “I was kind of in the middle of something.”

Richie looked over at him, his cheeks bright red under his freckles. Then he got a glimmer of that trademark shit-eating grin on his face. “Eds, you fucking slut,” he said, sounding both delighted and breathless. “You are so fucking hot.”

Eddie flushed and tried not to squirm, but he couldn’t help but press his legs together, his eyes brightening. Fuck, was this actually happening? Shit, he needed to think of something witty to say. “You gonna do anything about it?” Okay, that kinda sounded like a corny porn, but he had to give himself credit for even being able to form words just after his lifelong crush and personal wet dream had just admitted his attraction to him.

“I think I already have been,” Richie said, still grinning.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow at him. He couldn’t help but smile back. “Oh yeah? How do you figure that?”

Eddie was expecting a confession. He was expecting something along the lines of you think I don’t notice how you look at me? or did you really think those were casual touches earlier? What he was not expecting was for Richie to unlock his phone and hold it up, showing Eddie the video he had just taken, the video he’d sent to internet-Richie.

Oh. Oh. Oh fuck.

“Oh my god, that’s you?” Eddie cried in disbelief.

“You’re telling me you didn’t recognize this dick?” Richie asked, swaggering over to Eddie, clearly enjoying himself.

“How did you recognize it was me?”

Richie nodded toward the Thundercats poster on Eddie’s wall, then to the model train that sat on his dresser. “What other guy has decor like that and the ass to match?”

Eddie grinned and shook his head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Well pardon me for not being especially eloquent when I’ve just learned that the guy I’ve been masturbating to since I learned how to and been in love with for even longer has been masturbating to me too.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide, all thoughts of getting fucked leaving for a moment. “You’re in love with me?” he asked, his voice as soft as his smile.

Richie was not a bashful person, but the little laugh he let out just then was close to it. “Have been my whole life, but thanks for finally noticing.”

Eddie shook his head and stepped closer, until he had to crane his head up to meet Richie’s gaze. “I love you too.”

Richie’s eyes widened behind his thick frames. Eddie had only seen that look in Richie’s eyes a few times before, but he never wanted to lose sight of it again. He always wanted Richie to look at him like that. But then Richie was closing his eyes and leaning down. It only took Eddie a second to get with the program, drinking in the moment just a little longer before letting his own eyes fall shut as he pressed his lips against Richie’s.

It started gentle enough, if deep and passionate and intentional. But then Richie’s hands were on Eddie’s bare waist, skin against skin, and Eddie was gasping into Richie’s mouth, his hands coming up and resting against Richie’s chest. He curled his fingers into Richie’s shirt as Richie ran his tongue over Eddie’s lips, just before pulling away. He laughed at Eddie’s indignant little whine.

“Oh, you mean you don’t want me to take off my shirt right now?” he smirked as Eddie tried to pull him closer by the offending fabric. Huffing, Eddie conceded and let go long enough to let Richie pull the shirt off over his head.

“Oh,” he said softly, his voice a little, awed moan as he drank in Richie’s chest. It wasn’t like Richie had never been shirtless in front of Eddie before, but Eddie had never felt like he was allowed to really look at Richie all those times. But now he could; now he could touch. And he did, running his fingers over Richie’s smooth, warm skin, over his acne scars and blackheads and freckles. “Fuck, Richie,” he sighed before pressing his lips to Richie’s collarbones, trailing them all over Richie’s beautiful chest.

Richie gave a breathless, almost shy laugh as he stroked Eddie’s hair. “Damn, Eds, never pegged you as a tits guy.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie giggled, bringing his lips back to Richie’s. They both smiled into it, getting lost for a moment as Richie’s hands slid slowly down Eddie’s sides. His hands lingered on Eddie’s hips for a moment before he slid them further down and grabbed at Eddie’s ass, making him gasp.

“Is that any way to talk to the guy who’s about to rail you ‘til you can’t walk?”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Eddie asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Spank me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Richie smirked. He gave Eddie’s ass a playful smack, making Eddie gasp again and fall into him, needing more. Richie’s voice was dripping with adoration as he purred, “Little brat,” and pulled Eddie against him, kissing him again. Eddie went with it easily and happily parted his lips to let Richie lick into his mouth. Richie had one hand gripping Eddie’s jaw and the other on his ass, touching him in a way that exuded a command Eddie was desperate to follow. God, Eddie knew Richie had big hands, but they felt huge on him like this. It was dizzyingly hot. And the way Richie’s tongue was teasing his had Eddie’s knees going weak. His dick was throbbing in his shorts, aching to finish what he’d started, what had been interrupted. When he thought about it all—about playing with himself for Richie, about the video Richie had sent him, about all those things Richie had said about filling Eddie up—he felt himself clench down on nothing, desperate to get fucked. Desperate to feel Richie’s cock so deep inside of him.

“Richie,” he whined into the kiss, pulling on Richie’s belt loops, “please.” He pressed himself urgently against Richie and rutted shamelessly against his thigh.

“Fuck, you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” His voice was cocky and teasing, but there was an apparent undercurrent of wonder there as well.

Eddie shoved his face into Richie’s neck and whined, grabbing onto Richie’s wrists without even knowing what his goal was. “Richie,” he whimpered, sounding pitiful and ruined already.

“What do you want, baby?” Richie’s voice made it clear that he was enjoying seeing Eddie this wrecked, and that just made Eddie even harder. “Come on, tell me, use your words.”

Eddie squirmed as Richie held him close, but still not touching him in any relieving way. “I need you inside,” Eddie said, his voice high and soft as he squirmed in Richie’s grip. “God, please, Richie, need you to fuck me. Fuck me so hard I can’t even think. Fuck me like I’m your little toy.”

Eddie could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth, and judging by the gasp he heard Richie let out, he’d caught Richie off guard too. But if the hard bulge in his jeans that brushed up against Eddie was any indication, he was apparently just as turned on as Eddie was. Besides, Eddie knew from his blog that Richie was really into that sort of thing too—and, apparently, really into the idea of doing those things with Eddie. The realization that Richie had been saying all those filthy things about him had him grinding against him with even more fervor, kissing his neck with a heated confidence. Richie moaned, and Eddie could feel the warmth of it spreading through him. “Yeah, sweetheart? You want to feel me inside you? You think you’re ready for me?”

“Yes,” Eddie sighed, looking up at Richie with wide, desperate eyes. He shivered at the new look in Richie’s eyes, the blue nearly entirely eclipsed by how wide his pupils were. He looked hungry for Eddie; Eddie wanted to feel it. “‘M ready, Richie, please, so open for you.” He looked to the toy on his bed pointedly, but Richie only gave a deep laugh.

“Oh honey, that’s cute that you think that little thing is gonna have you ready for my cock.” Eddie’s breath caught; that toy wasn’t small. Before he could gather his scattered brain enough to react, Richie was scooping him up and tossing him on the bed, the toy falling forgotten to the floor. Richie moved Eddie onto his back, and Eddie went happily, pliantly. Richie’s fingers were cool against Eddie’s burning skin as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Eddie’s shorts, slowly dragging them over his hips and down his legs, tossing them to the floor. Eddie’s cock was dripping with precome, his chest flushed a bright red as he squirmed under Richie’s gaze. Eddie been dreaming of Richie manhandling him like this for he didn’t even know how long; he couldn’t help the way he reacted. And he especially couldn’t help the pleased little sound he made when Richie murmured, “God, you’re gorgeous, Eds.” Then Richie was grabbing him by the ankles, gently but firmly spreading Eddie’s legs, and Eddie let out the most pathetic, genuine moan he’d ever heard. “Fuck, baby, you sound pretty. You like when I spread you open?” Richie asked. He was smirking down at Eddie, but Eddie could see how flushed he was, could see the thrilled awe in his dark, hungry eyes as Eddie nodded.

“Richie, please,” Eddie whimpered. “I need you so bad.” He sat up, reaching for Richie’s belt, but Richie easily pressed him back against the mattress with a large hand on the center of his chest. The confidence in Richie’s dominance took Eddie’s breath away, and he stayed right where he was, nice and obedient, as he watched Richie get off the bed and slowly undo his belt, then his button and zipper. He took his time dragging his jeans and boxers off, enough time to let Eddie’s eyes linger on the reveal of the dark hair under Richie’s waistband. Then Richie’s cock was bouncing up against his stomach, hard and flushed and fucking long. Eddie moaned at the sight and fisted the sheets underneath him. He wanted so badly to get his mouth on Richie, to breathe him in and be nice and good for Richie on his knees. But he was also desperate to get fucked; his hole clenched down on nothing at the thought, and then it was all he could think about again. “Richie,” he repeated, whining now as he reached for him. “Stop being such a tease.”

Richie laughed as he moved easily out of Eddie’s grip and climbed on top of him. Eddie gasped softly at the sight of Richie above him, his dark curls surrounding his face, his full, pink lips pulled into the most beautiful smile Eddie had ever seen in his life. He ran his hands over Richie’s chest and sides, marveling at the fact that this was really happening. Then, his eyes flickering down, he tentatively brought his hand to Richie’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” they said, both at the same time, making them giggle together.

“Fuck, Eds, your pretty little hand looks so cute wrapped around my cock,” Richie teased in a low, rough voice. Eddie shivered; he couldn’t tell if Richie was praising him or degrading him, but either way it made his head fuzzy.

“‘M not that little,” Eddie grumbled out of habit. But he was clearly breathless. He’d never been good at pretending not to like Richie’s compliments, however teasing.

“Aw, but you are, baby,” Richie cooed, nuzzling his nose against Eddie’s and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “You’re so cute and tiny for me. I don’t even know if we’ll be able to fit my cock inside you.”

“I can,” Eddie whined, both indignant and impatient. He bucked his hips up, but Richie held him down. He gasped when he felt the warm, soft skin of Richie’s cock press against his stomach. Looking down, he saw that Richie had his cock lying on Eddie’s stomach, showing just how deep he would be once he was inside Eddie.

“You sure about that, babydoll?” While the teasing note was still there, Richie’s voice got noticeably softer as he said, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Eddie’s chest swelled at that. Cupping Richie’s face in his hands, he insisted, “I can take it.” Then he reached down and took Richie in his hand, glowing with pride when Richie let out a low moan. “Richie, please, I want you so bad.”

“Okay, baby,” Richie agreed, turning his head to kiss Eddie’s palm. “Fuck, I want you, too.” But he stalled. “Have you ever… like, been fucked before?”

Eddie flushed. “Well, not by someone else, but I have some toys. I’m not gonna break, Richie.” He huffed, but the way Richie was looking at him soothed any ruffled feathers.

“I’m your first?” His smile was soft, and while his eyes glittered, there was nothing teasing about his tone.

“I didn’t wanna do it with anyone else,” Eddie mumbled. He tried to look away, but Richie pulled him into a kiss.

“Fuck, I never thought you’d want me,” he chuckled. “Sorry, that was depressing, I just mean I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner, you know?”

Eddie beamed, a small, giddy giggle dancing on his lips. “Well it’ll happen sooner if you stop talking so much.” But his smile, and all of the little kisses he planted on Richie’s freckled shoulders told Richie that Eddie never wanted him to stop talking.

“Alright, alright, sheesh, I know I’m hot but you don’t gotta rush me.” Eddie was still giggling when Richie kissed him, and he could feel that Richie was smiling too. “Where’s your lube?”

Eddie stretched his hand out and patted the bed for a moment, searching. After what was probably only four seconds but felt like an eternity, he finally found the bottle and handed it eagerly to Richie. “Oh, right,” Richie smirked, “you’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” Eddie moaned as Richie swiped his fingers over Eddie’s slick hole, pressing in just a bit. His fingers went in easily, and he pumped them slowly, drawing little, breathy moans out of Eddie. Richie’s fingers were a lot longer and thicker than his own, and they felt amazing, but they weren’t what he wanted in that moment.

“Richie, fuck me,” he whined.

“Aw, no please? Again?” Richie tsked and shook his head, curling his fingers against Eddie’s prostate, making him cry out. “I told you, sweetheart, only good boys who use their manners get fucked.”

“Please,” Eddie cried. He rocked his hips and grabbed at Richie’s shoulders, at his arms, not even sure what his goal was there other than to get Richie closer, to get his attention, to show him how desperate he was. “Please fuck me, please.” He sounded pathetic begging like this, but that just made him harder. And it made Richie’s pupils even wider as he slid his fingers out of Eddie and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Good boy,” he purred. Eddie moaned and arched into Richie’s touch, but he only gave Eddie one more kiss on his cheek before pulling back and covering his cock in lube. Eddie watched, entranced, as Richie’s hand moved smoothly over his cock, glistening and slick. Then Richie was gently spreading Eddie’s legs even further and pressing the head of his cock against Eddie’s hole.

“Yes,” Eddie whimpered brokenly, grasping at the sheets beneath him. “Richie, please.” Meeting his gaze, he said softly, “I need you.”

“I’ve got you,” Richie assured him in a voice that made Eddie feel like he was glowing. Richie took Eddie’s hand in his and entwined their fingers, using his other hand to guide his cock inside of Eddie, who gasped at the feeling. God, he couldn’t believe this was happening. He couldn’t believe his first time was going to be with his favorite person. He couldn’t believe he was finally getting exactly what he wanted. Love flooded through him, warm and perfect, somehow both soothing and electrifying as he watched Richie’s face. Eddie’s mouth dropped as Richie pressed into him, deeper and deeper and still fucking deeper, until finally Richie let out a low moan and Eddie felt absolutely breathless. The stretch was intense, and he held onto Richie tightly as he caught his breath. “Are you alright?” Richie asked. His voice was strained, but the care and concern in it was clear. “You don’t have to take all of it if it’s too much.”

Eddie wanted to laugh at the remark or roll his eyes, but with how breathless and dizzied by pleasure he already was, he had to admit Richie had a point. “Just need a minute,” he gasped. Richie ran a soothing hand over Eddie’s skin, helping him even out his breathing and relax. The feeling of Richie’s cock twitching in anticipation inside of him had him letting out little moans as he adjusted, getting more and more used to the feeling until he felt comfortable enough to tell Richie he could move. Richie kissed him before he did, his lips soft against Eddie’s, a reassuring weight. Eddie breathed in sharply as Richie pulled back, grabbing at Richie’s shoulders.

Richie immediately stopped. “You okay, baby?” he asked, caressing Eddie’s face.

Eddie wanted to melt. Richie was always touching him, always jokingly flirting with him, but this unabashed concern and, well, love had previously been reserved for dire situations, like panic attacks or injuries. Eddie couldn’t help the dopey smile that bloomed on his face as he tilted his chin up and kissed Richie. “I’m okay,” he said breathlessly. “It’s just a little different from my vibrator.” They both gave a shaky laugh as Richie nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s.

“Better, I hope?” he grinned.

“Can’t tell yet,” Eddie retorted. Another snarky comment was on the tip of his tongue when Richie pulled his hips further back, effectively sucking all the air—and attitude—from Eddie’s chest. And then Richie was pushing back in, and Eddie let out a moan he couldn’t have faked if he tried, relaxing back into the mattress as his eyes fell shut. It was the best thing he’d ever felt, pleasure and relief flooding through his body. They’d been building up this tension for years; Eddie had figured it would feel good to break it, but it really felt magical, like something had just clicked into place. Feeling Richie inside of him, rocking his hips carefully, feeling Richie twitch as he tried not to lose control had Eddie’s head reeling. Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on Richie above him, on how flushed his face was. When Richie met his eye, pressing in deep, Eddie let out a small, “Fuck.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

Richie was smirking as he said it, but there was something else sparkling in his eyes. Something giddy and awed. Something that made Eddie sigh dreamily, “I love you.”

Richie’s eyes widened for a moment before he pressed his lips firmly against Eddie’s, his hands roaming over Eddie’s body like he couldn’t choose where to put them, where to touch him. “I love you so much,” he beamed, pressing a few more kisses to Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie giggled at the feeling, but then Richie’s hips moved just a little faster, pressing him in just a little deeper, and he was back to melting under Richie’s touch, clinging to him as he rocked his hips with Richie’s. “Fuck, you’re so amazing, baby, so fucking beautiful. You look so good like this, holy shit.”

Eddie smiled almost drunkenly at Richie’s ability to ramble even when blowing Eddie’s mind. “Feels so good,” he moaned, his voice breathy and just a little bit higher than normal. He wrapped his legs around Richie’s waist. “Please, Richie, please.”

“Fuck, baby, wanna make you feel like this all the fucking time,” Richie groaned as he picked up the pace. Eddie whined in pleasure at the change, and that just spurred Richie to go faster, harder, until he was well and truly fucking Eddie, both of them moaning with every thrust.

“Oh my god,” Eddie cried, “ohmygodohmygodhmygod, oh fuck, Richie, please.” It felt so amazing, Richie fucking into him like this, but he needed that little bit more. His cock was throbbing desperately, achingly hard; he needed to feel Richie’s hand on him. “Richie, please,” he whimpered, “please, please touch me. I need you, I need you so bad, please, Richie.” Eddie was pouting now, grabbing aimlessly at Richie, his legs still wrapped tight around him.

“Fuck, you’re so hard for me,” Richie marveled, his voice sweet and condescending as he wrapped his hand around Eddie’s cock. Eddie nearly screamed at the contact, his back arching off the bed. Richie laughed a little, which just made Eddie even harder. The way Richie spread his precome over his cock, twisting his wrist just so as he stroked him had that familiar tension coiling in his lower stomach. “Aw, does that feel good? You gonna come on my cock, kitten?”

“Fuck, yes!” Eddie screamed. He gripped at the sheets as Richie stroked him, his voice washing over Eddie, mixing with the pleasure of Richie’s touch, of his thrusts. “Yes, yes, yes, please let me come, please, please, please.”

“That’s a good boy,” Richie purred, and Eddie could feel himself tipping over the edge at the words, at how low and affected Richie’s voice was. He groaned out, “Come on my cock like a good boy, princess,” and pure pleasure crashed over Eddie like a wave. He arched his back and cried out as he came, his moans filling the room as he squirmed under Richie, grabbed at him, at the sheets. It was fucking ethereal. He felt somehow so in tune with his body and yet so detached, like he was floating. He was barely cognizant of what Richie was saying, but when he put the sounds together and realized Richie had just said, panting, “Fuck, baby, gonna come,” Eddie felt like a live wire again.

“In me,” he said urgently. His mind was still a little too scattered for full sentences, but he knew what he wanted. God, he felt like he needed it. Like he needed to feel that connected to Richie. “Richie, come inside me, please.”

Richie apparently didn’t need to be told twice; he let out a moaned, “Oh, fuck,” before burying his face in Eddie’s neck, his breathy moans like music in Eddie’s ear. And then, as Eddie was coming down from his own high, he felt the holiest thing in the world: Richie’s cock, twitching inside of him, then his warm come filling Eddie up. It was unreal, being this close to him. Richie clutching at him as he came. It was even better than the little fantasies Eddie occasionally allowed himself. Richie was here, in his arms, pressing kisses to his neck as he caught his breath. Eddie was stroking his hair and rubbing his back as Richie nuzzled into him. Richie’s skin pressed against his skin, his legs wrapped around Richie’s waist, then falling to his sides, but still pressed to him. Still keeping him close. There wasn’t a single thought in his head that wasn’t about Richie.

Richie pulled him from his dreamy haze with light kisses pressed up his jaw, then over his cheeks. Eddie giggled at the onslaught of affection, still reeling from how fucking hot and euphoric what they had just done together had been. But he happily accepted Richie’s kisses, his heart bursting, then racing as Richie pulled back to look in his eyes. “Holy, fuck,” Richie beamed, his face flushed and blue eyes hooded from the weight of his orgasm, even as they sparkled.

“I know,” Eddie said, returning Richie’s grin as he basked in the surreality of having Richie on top of him, his dorky yet charming smile framed by lips that were red and swollen because of Eddie. His glasses were knocked askew, and Eddie instinctively reached up to fix them. With a sense of wonder, he realized that his touch was allowed to linger this time. He ran his fingers down Richie’s cheekbones, over his jaw, cupped his cheeks. “I love you,” he said. The words spilled out over his lips like he couldn’t stand not to say them. And while it made his heart race a little to say it out loud now that the adrenaline and tension was all worked through, it felt even better this time when Richie’s face softened and he nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s.

“I love you so fucking much.” Richie’s voice rarely got that soft, that sincere; it felt like a blanket wrapping around Eddie. It felt safe, secure. It felt like a promise. And if there was anyone in the world Eddie knew he could trust, it was Richie. That feeling of everything coming together came back to Eddie as he lay there under Richie, their lips moving together, feeling light as a feather now that everything was finally out in the open.