#i laughed out loud at the pan shot literally from this angle

[lo-batteryy]

Can we talk about this divinely inspired shot in the trailer

[kattythingz]

YJ x FMA Pt. 6

Where the fuck did this semblance of plot come from

(Don't take that promise too seriously. I'm literally just winging this au for fun to keep Solaris from frying my brain. Feel free to prompt me or give me ideas tho!! I live for shenanigans and episode rewrites.)

🧡 Pt. 1 💛 Pt. 2 🤍 Pt. 3 🩵 Pt. 4 💙 Pt. 5 🧡

Generally, there were better ways to be woken up than choking on his own heart lodged in his throat. 

Ling had gone to bed a king the other night. Immediately, upon being led to Ling’s room—their room now, by the League’s blessing—Ed had struck him with a familiar barrage of a thousand and one questions about anything and everything he laid brilliant eyes on, poking fingers across every surface, judging every blank space on the wall lacking Ling’s presence; listening, deeply, when Ling had stopped him out of the blue with arms around his waist and words murmured into his neck. 

The following hour had been a blur as Ed was suddenly in borrowed clothes from him and lying across his chest. And Ling hadn’t slept so well in weeks. 

But he’d never known terror like the following morning either.

When his arms were empty—the mattress colder than his blood in a single instant.

He might’ve looked mad sprinting into the kitchen as he had. He might’ve looked the greatest fool to walk the Earth, standing there paralyzed by a single glimpse of sunlight. He might’ve—

Needed a minute.

“Well, shit. If it isn’t the actual emperor of Xing this time.”

Ling’s breathing hadn’t quite steadied yet when he padded his way back to the kitchen, catching in his chest all over again at the teasing grin Ed—Ed, Ed, Ed, real, not a dream—shot him from his helm at the stove.

“Took you long enough, your stupendous majesty,” Ed snickered.

Ling crawled on his heart toward Ed’s side. The grin stole its way onto his face as he said, “You realize that isn’t the diss you want it to be, right? Stupendous means—”

“Who cares what it means? Sounds like stupid, so it’s stupid.”

“That’s not how it works at all,” Ling laughed, and couldn’t help draping himself over Ed’s available side, that had been left suspiciously open for him anyway. True enough, Ed shifted at the clinginess but didn’t brush him off. “The word is even grander in Xingese, you know. You’d be giving me quite the compliment if you ever said that to me in that language.”

“Exactly why I said it in this one. Whatever it is.” Ed dumped an omelet from the pan and onto a plate, and Ling snagged it immediately. Ed rolled his eyes but didn’t stop him. “I don’t suppose you’ve wondered what language this is or how we’re speaking it, lazyass that you are?”

“Can’t say I have.” Ling beamed, lifting his arm from Ed’s middle to bend it on his shoulder instead and eat from the angle. “Well?”

The word came out muffled by food, and Ed pulled a face at him. “Well, you’re disgusting. Sit the fuck down or get your face away from me.”

“Why, Edward—!”

A loud clearing of a throat interrupted Ling, and he turned his head to catch Kaldur as the source, M’gann focusing politely on her food next to him as well.

Ah, right. The children.

“I believe I might be able to answer your question, Ed,” Kaldur said, the image of courtesy. “The language we’re all speaking is English. And Ling did, in fact, express a similar question upon his first arrival.”

“Don’t tell him so soon, Kaldur!” Ling whined, but he was pleased as ever to see the juvenility from Kaldur. “That’s not part of the game.”

“It’s a game now?” Ed snorted. “Sit down, dumbass, seriously.”

Ling had half a mind to put aside his food and say no to that. But now that his insides had found relative stability in Ed’s orbit, his stomach was yawning, so he pressed a quick kiss to Ed’s temple while he was distracted before joining his friends at the island.

Ed squawked at the motion, wiping the spot with an insulting disgust—“What the hell, Ling?!”—and Ling laughed.

“Perhaps you’ve gotten rusty, Ed. You should’ve seen that coming.”

Ed grumbled. “Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m thinking.”

Ling had noticed that, yes. That was why he’d softened Ed’s intense expression with a kiss first. Though, by the returning pinch of those features, it seemed the effort had been moot.

Ling sobered in his seat. “What are you thinking?”

Ed’s gaze flicked to him, and then Kaldur and M’gann, who followed Ling’s cue and sat up as well. He bit his lip, torn.

“I’m thinking…” he started, with meaningful weight, “the Truth might have something to do with this.”

Ling immediately tensed. “Why do you say?”

Kaldur and M’gann couldn’t possibly begin to understand the sheer danger of that implication, and Ling was sorry to exclude them like this. But Ed’s fingers had gone taut around his arms, anxious beyond his skin, and Ling couldn’t stand that sight either.

“Ed,” Ling repeated, and Ed thankfully looked up. “Why do you say that?”

Ed blew out a breath. Bracing himself before saying, “The runes of that circle. I told you it took me and Teacher a week to figure out together, and that’s because neither of us recognized half the runes on it. The closest match I found for their origin was old. Really old.” He looked at Ling. “Several centuries’ ago Xing, to be exact.”

Ling frowned. “That’s not possible. Xing doesn’t have—”

“I know,” Ed interrupted with a frustrated noise. “That’s why I took so long too. I thought the scroll was bullshitting me, but it wasn’t. The runes on it were a perfect match for the ones on the circle. And that sort of knowledge was just lying around your palace.”

“So you’re saying…”

“This was an inside job.” Ed grimaced. “Guess a few cockroaches slipped you, after all.”

Something coiled in the base of Ling’s ribcage, and he clenched his jaw hard. Ed’s expression thawed with remorse in the corner of his eye.

“Mei and I tried figuring it out ourselves,” Ed said wearily in lieu of an apology, which was good, because Ling wasn’t taking one. This wasn’t Ed’s fault. This, apparently, was his own. “We narrowed it down to the best list we could, but—”

“Ed.”

Ed’s mouth snapped shut, and he cast a wide-eyed look at Ling. Still so prone to carrying Ling’s weight, even when Ling bore his own weight of a crown. 

His smile rose bitterly, but rose nonetheless, for Ed.

“It’s alright,” he said. “That shouldn’t have been you and Mei’s job to begin with, and you couldn’t have tackled it in a short week alone, much less the entire month I was gone. You did your best.”

Ed pushed off the counter, staggering with a burden now. “That’s the thing, though. Our best might not be enough anymore here. Ling, one of those runes translated directly to ‘reality’. Truth in another name. If we’re here at all in any manner thanks to that thing, then who knows what the toll—?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Ed stopped at the firm assertion. “You don’t know that. I don’t know that yet.” He shook his head, jostling bangs out of place and forcing him to retuck them with an uneasy exhale. “I… I don’t regret chasing you here. Truth knows someone had to get you home, and I’ll be damned if that’s not me. I’m happy to see you again too. But… this is another world, Ling. I don’t know anything here; I don’t even know the symbols on the other circle I came out of. I never got a good look at it thanks to that fucking scientist, and I barely figured out the one back in the palace too—”

“You made it here, didn’t you?” Ling interrupted him, and Ed swallowed a pin. “That means you’ve already figured out half of it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“If I may.” Kaldur’s voice beat Ling to it, and he turned easily to him. Unlike Ed, who whirled like their audience had burned him. 

Kaldur bore the shock well, back straight and expression set. 

“I may not understand the true depth of your positions, but I do understand that, as of now—and however long is within our power—your position is with us. Among friends, and comrades.” He quirked his lips in that empathic lilt of his, sharing the kindness with not only Ed, but M’gann and Ling as well. “Perhaps that will not get you home easier, but worse odds have failed to stop this team. This will not be different.”

He held them all with such obvious confidence, and Ling had never seen a better leader in the making. He thought Ed saw it too, when his eyes flashed as he considered Kaldur and softened at the barest edges.

Ed let out a breath, shaking his head a little. 

“You really shouldn’t talk back to me like that.” He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Those are some ballsy words to promise.”

Kaldur smiled. “I will take that as a compliment.”

That got another laugh out of Ed, truer that time, and he restored enough hope to finally get to making his own omelet—because of course he’d kept himself for last, and, of course, that was when Ling remembered his own pressing question, finally.

“Speaking of ballsy,” Ling said, eager to lift the atmosphere again. “Ed, how’d the interrogation go yesterday?”

He’d spoken between a mouthful again, and Ed didn’t miss a beat in shooting him an unimpressed look. He understood the words suspiciously well for someone who judged Ling for his eating-and-speaking habits, though.

“The interrogation went fine, you damn glutton,” Ed huffed, certainly for Kaldur and M’gann’s confused sakes, folding the omelet in a blind motion. “Dragged on for way too long and nearly bored me to sleep, but fine. Although, I have some serious questions about whoever’s in charge of designing the clothes around here.”

It took the resident heroes a second to catch on. But when they did, it was M’gann who reacted first, snorting high in her nose. She blushed at the noise, slapping a hand over her mouth in mortification—but Ling had heard it before from Ed. And his heart had only been trained to melt for the sound.

“I am—so sorry,” M’gann said when Ed smiled at her too. “I—I was trying to say that, well, that’s kind of funny, since most heroes design their own costumes…” She looked red-faced down at her lap. “Sorry. Continue.”

“What did I say about apologizing?” Ed said, and shook his head. “Anyway, that explains why they’re letting a guy run around in a bat suit—”

Kaldur choked politely on his juice.

“—as if it’s intimidating. I couldn’t even take him seriously, I swear.”

“No, Batman’s—pretty scary, alright,” M’gann squeaked out, either thinking the same thing as Kaldur or trying not to. Either way, Ling barely masked his laughter at them. “But I guess I can see why you wouldn’t get it. You stood up to him pretty easily yesterday…”

“Oh, that was nothing,” Ed said. He served his own food at last, bringing over his plate to their corner before continuing, “You should meet my alchemy teacher, if you think a guy like that’s scary. Once you’ve pissed off the devil into tossing butcher knives at you blindfolded…” He shivered. “You never look back.”

“I’ll say,” Ling mumbled, failing to contain his own reaction. “How certain are you again that she won’t kill me after she walks you down the aisle, Ed?”

Ed actually had to pause to consider that. He opened his mouth, before closing it.

“Probably—seventy-thirty?” he guessed far too calmly for Ling’s liking. “Teacher has manners too. She’d probably wait until after the ceremony to do anything. I dunno your chances then.”

Ling hated that very, very much.

“Great.” He sank into his seat. So his future wasn’t very long, even if they escaped this world safely. 

He was already lamenting his stolen youth when a new chi entered the periphery of his senses. It wasn’t anyone worth pretending around like the Justice League, so he kept his posture and listened to the other three laugh at him instead.

“Why do you think I bullied that league or whatever into letting us share your room?” Ed said, still laughing, he was so cruel. “I know your future is short.”

“Did you really?” M’gann said, surprised. “Bully the Justice League, I mean?”

By her asking it that way, it didn’t seem like she thought it was too crazy for Ed to do such a thing. Which was an apt conclusion to draw. Even Kaldur only furrowed his brow in curiosity.

Ed snickered, then. “Oh, yeah. Totally. The red-and-blue guy at least—”

“Superman?” Kaldur offered.

“That’s the stupid name!” Ed snapped his fingers. “Yeah, him.”

Ling shifted at the chi abruptly freezing. Ed continued, none-the-wiser, “He seriously pissed me off in the first place, so I didn’t mind making him a little uncomfortable too. Bastard should’ve thought twice before trying me. Maybe he will now.”

“Bastard?” Ling repeated idly—and he already had a feeling where that conversation had gone. But, still, for audiences out of the loop… 

He sat up to lean on his elbow, catching Ed’s eye with the motion. “I don’t suppose there’s a story behind that?”

Ed narrowed his eyes. Suspecting immediately, for sure, but not knowing enough to dismiss him yet. When Ling only smiled back invitingly, he rolled his eyes with a put-upon sigh and tossed Ling the bone. He said, “Not much of a story, so much as an uncomfortable rehash. I thought the guy’s name was familiar, so I asked him if he had any relation to a Superboy too—”

“Oh!” M’gann gasped, sympathy striking her features. “We completely forgot to warn you about that. Superman is—”

“Superboy’s dad, yeah, I got that pretty quickly.” M’gann furrowed her brow when Ed scowled suddenly. “He seemed pretty eager to deny any connection to his own son. I hope Superboy’s had a chance to punch his asshole dad yet. If he hasn’t, he should get one.”

Leave it to Ed to put it so perfectly.

Ling hummed, casting a quick glance to the space past the kitchen and the chi that lingered in it.

Superboy had definitely heard that. 

Good.

Ling pulled his face back to a grin, and judging by the look Ed shot him as soon as his gaze returned, they were having words later.

“That sounds awful, dear!” Ling said cheerily, and Ed’s scowl deepened with further suspicion. “I can’t imagine how you responded to that.”

“You know exactly how I responded, asshole!”

“I’m almost certain I don’t, actually.”

Ed’s eyebrows twitched.

“I fucking hate you.”

Kaldur and M’gann shared extremely confused looks when Ling beamed in response.

“Now, that I know!”

<- prev ◆ next ->

[goonification]

2ho drabble :]

just some fluff about established cat hybrid!jongho and human!yunho

Jongho swung out of bed, cringing when the bottom’s of his feet made impact with the freezing, hardwood floor. He was grumpy, having just woken up from a lonely nap. He must’ve fallen asleep waiting for Yunho to return home from work.

The last thing he remembered was Yunho’s comfortable scent surrounding him as he sank into a pillow, curling his knees into his chest. Blindingly golden light was peaking through gaps in the semi-shut blinds, blanketing him in a natural warmth that was apparently irresistible to succumb to. 

In hindsight, lying down on their bed (his favourite spot) during sunset was a rookie mistake. 

It was night now, their bedroom having fallen into a timeless darkness that was impossible to decode. With the winter solstice still in the rearview, it could’ve been 6pm or long past midnight. 

If it weren’t for being a cat hybrid specifically, Jongho would be worried about his sleep schedule. However, many hybrids were often able to sleep away most of the day and night if it were socially acceptable to do so. Due to personal preference, Jongho rarely indulged in such behaviour but, that night, he might need to make a necessary exception to the standards he held himself.

Jongho’s feet dragged across the floor, a long tail following suit, drooping with a lack of attentiveness. Nothing about the dark, cold room was worth peaking his physical interest. 

That was until the homely smell of cooked chicken, drowning in far too much butter (Yunho wasn’t the most creative chef), wafted through the apartment air. Jongho crinkled his nose at the familiar cue. The smell was fresh. It couldn’t have been that late if Yunho had recently made dinner. 

Yunho. 

It was then that Jongho took note a few small changes to the bedroom. A fuzzy blue blanket was draped over his shoulders and a shallow cup of water was filled to the brim on the bedside table. There was even a cheap space heater whirring away in the corner on the room, not that it was doing much, but it’s the thought that counted.

A private smile spread to his face at the verification of his human being home. He suppressed a rumble in his chest that risked turning into a deep purr. Too embarrassing. At least too embarrassing for being all alone.

With new motives to inspire him, Jongho drudged out of the dark bedroom and down the glowing hall, the blanket still tightly wrapped over his arms. Jongho blinked hard. Then again. And again, his vision becoming clearer with each overly-aggressive squint. Finally, a warm living room presented itself to his clear sightlines.

Something painfully boring was playing on the TV, maybe adjacent to the news, which Jongho couldn’t care less about. He did still notice that the volume was uncharacteristically cranked nearly all the way down. Jongho’s heart did a small jump when he realized it was probably so he could sleep soundly.

There was a single bowl in the middle of their two-seater table. It was covered by a too-large glass lid that was disproportionately lopsided, the edges overtaking the bowl’s rim by a long shot.

Yunho stood tall over the kitchen sink, already having shed his work clothes in favour of sweatpants and a loose shirt that hung just a bit too short on his tall body. He was running the water and scrubbing away at a small stack of cooking utensils.

When Jongho first entered his life, Yunho was more likely to leave the dishes in the sink until the pile was too tall to manage, let alone clean them right after dinner. Jongho’s curiosity forced him to clean up his act, literally. After their first week together, Yunho consistently found himself waking up to broken plates and glasses on the kitchen floor that Jongho denied knowing anything about. Not seeing that lifestyle choice as very financially sound, it wasn’t long before he discovered the easiest solution was to stop leaving dirty dishes in the sink. 

Jongho liked him like this. Humming. Cleaning. Comfortable in the domestic setting, always keeping a pristine apartment and taking care of the hybrid. Jongho liked being one of Yunho’s priorities.

The running water was too loud for him to notice the cat creeping around and observing his behaviour. Jongho indulged in the final moments of privacy by following his nose to the bowl on the table, finding the source of the delicious smell.

When Jongho opened the lid he was blasted with a cloud of hot steam. His tongue stuck out instinctively to taste the visible air as he shook off the damp sensation from his face. It tasted as good as it looked. Sitting on a bed of warm rice sat a whole breast of chicken, dripping with visible flavour and cut into bite size pieces for him. A few chunks of steamed carrot were pushed into one corner of the bowl, not touching the rest of the food, just how Jongho likes it. He can’t help if he’s picky.

Too tired for his motor function to not betray him, Jongho shut the lid with a loud clang and Yunho jumped, dropping a soapy pan into the sink with a plop. He finally turned around to notice Jongho’s presence.

He beamed a goofy smile at the hybrid, who probably looked just as sleepy as he felt wrapped up in his cozy blanket. “Morning.”

“No, it’s not.” Jongho grumbled, his voice cracking from lack of use.

It didn’t go unnoticed. Yunho laughed softly at the mistake before seizing abruptly when the hybrid’s scowl swiped towards his direction. Though his usually pointed ears were pressed flat with annoyance, Jongho wasn’t mad, not really, but it was always fun to make his owner sweat by putting his deadpan stare to good use.

The fear didn’t last long, as Jongho quickly began shuffling towards Yunho in the most non-threatening way. His ears perked back up to normal and was still wrapped up in a blanket, shivering. Leeching Yunho’s body heat, he rubbed up beside the human before leaning to see what he was doing.

Yunho extended an arm to pet him despite the awkward angle. “Your dinner’s on the table, did you see? I put the vegetables to the side in case you didn’t want them.”

“I did.” Jongho spoke politely. He was well trained after all. “It looks good.”

“It was!” Yunho exclaimed happily, before noticing that Jongho’s tiny smile had become just a little bit smaller. He backtracked quickly, rambling an apology. “Sorry for eating without you. I was just really hungry and didn’t want to wait! You looked so tired an-”

Jongho cut him off by wrapping a fluffy tail around his waist, creeping under the hem of his shirt to tickle him silent. After shaking off the sudden feeling and relaxing into the touch, Yunho looked down at the hybrid with wide eyes that were glazed over with just a tinge of confusion. 

Endeared, Jongho popped his heels in the air to close the gap between the kind, thoughtless face and his own. He pressed a brief peck to Yunho’s lips, which were still a bit greasy with butter from his dinner. Jongho didn’t mind, even licking his lips to preview the taste of the food he would be soon to devour.

“What was that for?”

“For making dinner.” Jongho paused, the second half of his sentence hanging heavy in the air as he rested his head against Yunho’s side. “Also cause I missed you.”

Yunho rolled his eyes at the hybrid’s stubbornness to vulnerability. He covered Jongho’s scalp with a large hand and scratched at the base of his ears to add insult to injury, even playing with the tufts of extra long fur knowing that Jongho would be left purring. 

“Go eat. I’ll join you as soon as these are all clean.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of Jongho’s head. “Besides, we don’t want to get dirty water on your favourite blanket.”

Yunho begrudgingly returned to his cleaning while Jongho gladly took his food and blanket with him to the couch, wrapping himself up and happily shovelling the pre-cut bites into his mouth. Being the first one to settle for the night, he turned up the television loud enough so Yunho would still hear it from the kitchen. Just as suspected. It was the news. Jongho groaned and Yunho ignored him. Luckily, dinner was delicious enough to single handedly keep him occupied until Yunho joined him.

The bowl was barren except for a few grains of rice and some of the leftover steamed carrots by the time that he met Jongho on the couch, not that he took long at all. Jongho was just a lot hungrier than anticipated, practically inhaling his meal in just the few minutes that Yunho spent finishing up cleaning.

Seconds after Yunho got comfortable by laying on the couch, Jongho got comfortable by laying on Yunho, throwing the blanket over them as he rested his head on top of the human’s chest. He playfully pressed cold feet against Yunho’s legs, lucky for him, protected by the thick sweatpants. A fluffy tail joined his frozen feet, wrapping around one of Yunho’s thighs.

Jongho spoke into Yunho’s shirt, words muffled but straight forward. “I didn’t finish the carrots.” It seemed like an apology, even if he didn’t outright apologize.

“Didn’t like them?” Yunho glanced down, waiting to read Jongho’s expression to make sure he wasn’t lying. He wanted honesty to make sure he didn’t give Jongho something he didn’t enjoy again.

“No!” Jongho got defensive, face popping into view. The last thing he wanted was for Yunho to feel bad about his cooking, especially after all the work he does for Jongho. He answered honestly. “Just got full.”

Long, slightly pruned fingers that wrapped around Jongho’s side begged to tickle at his stomach, lightly scratching. “Okay baby, as long as you had enough to eat.” 

His ears perked up at the pet name, catching him off guard every time no matter how frequently Yunho peppered it into their conversations. Jongho nuzzled closer, listening to the human’s steady heartbeat. “Thank you for dinner.”

Yunho didn’t say anything in reply, just scratched the nape of Jongho’s neck to let him know his appreciation didn’t fall on deaf ears. Equally responsive to non-verbal praise, Jongho started purring instantly.

“You’re affectionate tonight aren’t you?” Yunho teased.

Jongho pouted at the obvious being pointed out, face buried against his human. It felt like it was on fire, though, to Yunho, it would probably just appear as a normal amount of blush. He didn’t want to give the human the chance to make that judgement.

The heat lingering in his cheeks was only amplified to his hybrid brain, the same reason why Yunho’s light scratching along the length of his spine felt so good to him. Why must Yunho know all of his favourite spots to be pet?

“Are you being shy?” Yunho playfully ruffled the hair between his ears again, messing it up. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be needy, you know?” Jongho wanted to shake everything back into place but he couldn’t help his body from keening against Yunho’s strong frame. Being pet felt far too good, even if he was being teased.

He was full, well-rested and in the arms of his human. Jongho would be quick to get over himself, a little embarrassment hard pressed to ruin his near-perfect night.

[writerwrites]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Protégé to Bruce Banner, Rosemarie finds herself working closely with and befriending the Avengers. Friendship, lust, heartbreak, and so much more find her along this heartbreaking journey into new adulthood. Rosemarie discovers her self-worth and that home is where the heart is… she’ll just have to figure out what her heart is saying first.

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, angst, fluff, language, ye ole slow burn, and eventually death, pregnancy, love triangle… or love adjacent to a triangle? It’s complicated.

playlist . masterlist

A/N: This WIP is intentionally made to ruin all of our lives with feels. You were warned. It’s just my writing style, but I use a name for the reader, in this case Rosemarie, so adjust your imaginations as you read, fam. Also, I do what I want, so don’t come at me for MCU canon timelines. The most notable YOLO in this series is that Bucky/Winter Soldier is an Avenger pre-Blip, Banner isn’t in space, and though there’s tension between the Tony and Cap ‘sides’ of the Sokovia Accords they’re all trying to work together. Avenging is not a main point to this story, but that’s the clarification I will give you. I hope you enjoy my first posted fic, leave a comment, review, message, etc.

Chapter 1: Let’s fall in love for the night...

--- STARK INDUSTRIES: THE TOWER; MIDTOWN MANHATTAN ---

“To the wolves,” Natasha whispered to Bruce as she pressed her fingers to his chest, stopping him from coming to his employee’s rescue. It wasn’t a malicious act, Nat had sized her up as ‘new to this’ and she wasn’t wrong. Rosemarie’s rapid ladder climbing in academia and internships had kept her barred from most parties. At first it was because she was underage, but even in her last year, most people found her intimidating or shy. Natasha glowed like a friend full of faith in a new puppy- or maybe it was the expensive brand name highlight on her cheekbones. “She’ll be fine. If you go to your little lab rat now then she’ll stick to you all night because you’re familiar. Let her have her moment. I’m sure she’s the last one of the three you invited that you’ll need to worry about.”

Bruce pursed his lips and looked down at Natasha’s mouth and her angled features that were made more accentuated through meticulous contouring. “Well, how can I say no to you when you show up in this dress, Jessica Rabbit?”

She leaned into his shoulder, her silky gloved hand sliding up his arm, and whispered in her sultry deep voice that sent shivers up down his spine, “Exactly, now dance with me, big guy.”

Though Rosemarie couldn’t hear what they were saying she watched her boss in his bright red pants and suspenders over a white button up being led to the dance floor. It took enough of her focus to keep her mouth off the floor. She never expected to see Dr. Banner smiling and maybe no one else did either because she’d made it deeper into the room seemingly unnoticed as everyone’s attention diverted to Nat and Bruce or back to their own conversations. The laughter and atmosphere was enough to make Rosemarie find her own small smile. Everyone donned costumes of varying extravagance, the music was at a low enough volume to welcome conversation, and as the songs changed she noticed it slipped between Halloween and pop music. Before she knew it, she’d breezed through the crowd toward the bar, invisible.

There wasn’t a single seat free at the bar and Rosemarie used her equivalent of a super power to keep slipping through the line along the bartop to it’s far corner where a couple was too busy flirting to notice her standing next to them, waiting to order a drink. The minutes ticked on and burning holes into the bartenders’ backs didn’t make them notice her. When her eyes moved up the bar, guessing who everyone was dressed as, Rosemarie felt the shock of the scene as people she had seen on television or read about during her research stood chatting just a few feet away. Swallowing at the dryness that settled in the back of her throat as she tried to pick apart their costumes and tell herself this wasn’t a big deal, that she’d even ‘met’ them during her Stark internship- albeit through a lab window. All of the chatting Avengers donned black suits with white shirts and black ties, some had sunglasses on and she smirked at her hands when she caught sight of Captain America and the notorious Winter Soldier’s suits added the accessory of fedoras.

Maybe she hadn’t realized she laughed out loud a little, but Rosemarie was caught in the act. Their blue eyes moved down the bar to the young doctor leaning against the wall still waiting to be noticed by the bartenders. The innocent chuckle caught in her mouth as her face warmed and her eyes fell to the surprisingly comfortable heels. Rosemarie’s brain raced, the sensation of eyes on her, of being seen, had her mind flitting from panic, to embarrassment, and even fleetingly to Natasha’s hands brushing along her leg. Despite no physical scarring, the heat in her cheeks felt like there were tallies adding up on her forehead marking this as three times more than she had been seen in years. Casually trying to look up under her lashes brought a new surprise, the group of suited men had dispersed just as quickly as she had noticed them. But then she heard it, a Brooklyn drawl that sounded like home. Then she felt it, the gentle brush of cold metal just above her elbow. Timidly, she looked up from those heels, polished boots standing toe-to-toe, and her eyes kept moving north up the stocky, six foot frame of the Winter Soldier. The white shirt was tight to his chest and just as she surveyed his neck, a shot was offered to her.

He broke the silence, pulling Rosemarie from her reverie “You looked like you were waiting a while.”

Looking graciously at the drink, now more than ever, she took it and looked into his bright blue gaze with a nod, “You’d be right in guessing that, Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn?” He watched Rosemarie with curiosity as she took the shot, wondering why she’d called him that, but she offered no explanation. “What am I supposed to call you?”

With the burn in her throat from the smooth tequila, she found a new fleeting liquid-confidence. “Natasha won’t be happy if her Snow White ensemble isn’t instantly pin-pointable, sir.”

“Well, Snow, what can we do to get you out of this corner and have a little fun with us tonight?” His blue gaze looks innocent enough, Rosemarie decides, but his thoughts are anything but- a game already in play amongst the suited men.

“You’ve already done it.” Before she can banter any more, his vibranium fingers took hers and he brushed her past strangers toward the Avengers, maneuvering her curvy frame through the room with ease.

“Snow, the boys,” Smiling and quite literally looking up at everyone, the doctor realized the soldier hadn’t yet dropped her hand, but just as quickly as she had that thought, he’d left her hand cold and empty. Rosemarie reached out to shake everyone's hands in a whirlwind of greetings as she tried to remember the few first names she wasn’t familiar with. “You’ll have a hard time remembering some of our names if you’re going to stick with your current system. Steve Rogers, also Brooklyn.”

Steve’s grip was surprisingly gentle, giving you one firm shake before his fingertips brushed your palm and let you go. A stark contrast to Thors’ which had been strong, and Rhodey and Clint’s which were fleeting and polite. Rosemarie choked on the air leaving her lungs as she tried to keep her cool, feeling the Brooklyn boys’ blue eyes still watching her as a charming man you knew as ‘Falcon’ leaned in front of them, “Sam or, if we’re being technical- the one and only Agent J.”

Rosemarie listened to the cadence in Sam’s voice and guessed Harlem, but bit her tongue, smiled and nodded. “Men in Black, classic choice, but these two…” she pointed between the two super soldiers, “Are the Brooklynites the Blues Brothers this evening?” The smirks that lit up the two men’s faces gave her an indication that she’d gotten it right and, as much as she wanted to keep looking, there was something fun in this game of being in a circle of lethal and exceptionally attractive people, though she was positive she wouldn’t hold their attention long. “Now you three,” her gaze panned over the remaining suits and then between them at the minglers nearby. With a sigh she shook her head, “You’ll have to tell me.”

“Reservoir Dogs.” It was Clint who shrugged it off with a confident smirk. “Tony’s idea, but I think he just wanted to see who looked best in a suit.” His hazel eyes moved over Rosemarie’s shoulder, “It was nice to meet you, kiddo, I’ve got to get back to-” With a clap on her shoulder Hawkeye walked past you and through the barrier of soldiers at your back.

Rhodey was quick to follow, mentioning his night was all about business and politely excuses himself as Rosemarie looked at her heels and tried not to take offense to having so quickly cleared out the room. She put her smile back on, trying to brush it off and to brush off the ‘kiddo’ comment, too. “So, Brooklyn mentioned something about you all being where the fun is tonight?” Pivoting, she closed the gap that Clint and Rhodey’s absence had made in their little group. 

“I mean, we are, I don’t know about the two fossils.” Sam laughed as he drank his beer, a clear buzz already going.

“Just because we can’t get wasted doesn’t mean we are any less fun than you idiots. Besides, someone has to babysit the Asgardian and the college rambler.” The Winter Soldier’s words were honest with a twinge of annoyance but Steve clutched his shoulder and smiled. “We’re wondering who you think we all should be dancing with.”

Her thoughts were on who could be the ‘college rambler’ and the request. An actual laugh passing her lips that bordered a scoff, but she looked around and gave it her best shot. “Thor maybe with the brunette over there talking to the lady agent with Mr. Fury.” Tilting her chin up she saw the corner of his mouth turn up into a smirk as he took his hand out of his pockets and smacked a handshake into Sam’s hand.

“I bet he’d be more upset if it wasn’t Sif. I swear those two have been harboring feelings for each other since…” Sam laughed and shrugged. “All right, matchmaker, not a bad start. Who’s next?”

Swallowing, she looked around the room. There were plenty of women standing around chatting to other women, but one beautiful woman looked around the room with an expression all too relatable to Rosemarie’s. “Sam, what about the petite cutie with the marg by Nat?”

Taking his hands out of his pockets, Sam clapped Steve on the shoulder and shook his hand. An odd gesture, Rosemarie fleetingly thought, but before her eyebrows could even draw together in confusion the soldiers looked at each other and Cap, shaking his head, told him, “That’s Thor’s ex, Jane.” His head tilted at the young doctor in front of him. “Isn’t she working with you and Banner?”

With a shrug, you looked over again, Sam leaning on the table and Nat rolling her eyes, Jane clearly trying not to make direct eye contact. “Well, I’m clearly no matchmaker, so I hope that if she’s working with me that Sam doesn’t actually tell her what I did.”

“Don’t take it too hard, most of the regulars have at least gone on a date with Tony and everyone else has done God knows what with at least one other person in the room.” Steve shrugged, offering a gentle smile before bringing his beer to his lips and pulling his eyes from her.

“Okay, we won’t force you into playing our little game anymore, so it’s our turn then.” Rosemarie looked up at the two remaining Avengers, but their eyes were on each other and then out through the crowd.

“What about Pete?” Steve suggested, nodding toward a somewhat familiar face.

It took a moment before she could place him. “He’s a college student interning for Stark, isn’t he?” Her eyebrows drew together with uncertainty. If she remembered his story from the one conversation they’d had, he was a savant like herself. “He’s a bit young, isn’t he?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m old enough to drink.” She nipped back at the boys, her own Brooklyn accent thick.

“All right, what do we have here? The beginnings of a joke, surely. Two cavemen and the apprentice of Yoda walk into a bar…” The clap of hands and quippy attitude were quick to place.

Steve greeted him tight lipped with a single nod. “Tony.”

“Cap. Barnes. I see you’ve met my former intern and young doctor of neuroscience that is leading one of Banner’s teams at BST. Doctor...,” He trailed off, either to let her introduce herself or to remind him of her name.

Regardless of whatever game Stark was trying to play, her non-confrontational nature made her quick to smile, nod, and shrug off the introductions, “I’m just Snow tonight.”

Tony’s head tilted to the side and both super soldiers failed to hide their amusement. “Y’know, I see why Pepper likes you.” As if hearing her name made her ears tingle, Pepper slipped in at his side, offered up a wave to the group, whispering into his ear and pulled him along as her black dress ghosted the pristine floor, a perfect replica of Hepburn’s Givenchy gown from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. But as he passed her he whispered in her ear, “Don’t get too caught up with these troublemakers, kiddo.”

Needless to say, Rosemarie knew they’d heard it when she caught their jaws clenching and she groaned. “I make decisions for myself, thanks.” Brazenly, she grabbed both their hands, “Back to the bar, Brooklynites. I think we all could use a drink.” It amazed her how, with a look, three people gave up seats for them. “So, back to this horrible job you gentlemen were doing at a setup, care to try again while I enjoy this?” She lifted the shot, throwing it back after they did the same, and then made an order for an actual drink. Her attention wasn’t on them, unaware of the looks they gave each other, their gaze panning the room. “Giving up on the impossible mission, boys?”

“Impossible?” Steve laughed.

“Giving up?” Bucky scoffed.

“It’s all right. I did what Nat and Bruce needed, a quick show of my face and day one of the new job is done.” She shrugged, sipping on her drink.

“Day one?” They’d asked in unison.

“Yup.” She nodded, polishing off the drink, a sudden urge to make the most of the night now settling into her bones and she slipped off the chair, the Winter Soldier’s vibranium hand reaching over to quickly help Rosemarie steady.

“... and you’re at a Halloween party instead of celebrating with friends?” Steve pressed his lips together, trying to hide a look of pity.

“Don’t.” She grimaced in a whisper, a slight sadness in her eyes as they met Steve’s. “It’s a party. Dancing, that’s what we’re supposed to be doing right?”

The pulse of the song felt familiar, even if she didn’t know the words. Rosemarie’s hips swayed side to side, arms up like the music was pumping and she was home alone dancing Bachata. Forgetting about the peak of skin that the crop top exposed in doing so, she felt the heat rise in her body when both of them swallowed. Her eyes fluttered closed and she kept dancing. Eyes closed, ignoring the initial eyes on her or that Nat had pulled Bruce to the floor and Pepper, Tony before the majority of chattering conversations ceased and the floor filled with laughter as a new tune thumped on.

The gentle sensation of a hand on her hips made her eyes open and Rosemarie gasped to see Natasha swaying with one hand behind her on Bruce’s neck and the other on her hip. “How much have you had to drink? I definitely didn’t think you’d be the one to start the fun tonight.”

“Surprise?” She tried to laugh, “Not much, promise.” The comment was directed at Bruce who didn’t seem bothered either way. “We’ve got work in the morning. I wanted to have a little fun and appreciate the invitation before heading back home.”

“Already?” Nat pouted.

“Brooklyn, baby! It’s about forty minutes home.”

Rosemarie watched Nat’s hand pull away from her as she slowly stopped dancing. “Then I guess we’ll just have to drag you out sometime. You seem like you’re getting along with everyone, right?” Her green eyes looked over the doctor’s shoulder back to the bar. “Get this one home safe. She’s headed that way.” Just as Rosemarie was about to protest, Nat wiggled a finger.

It seemed like a fruitless thing to argue, but in her mildly buzzed state she lacked the energy to fight or to realize that in a tidy little pile in a limestone on the Upper East Side bathroom were her keys, clothes, and badge. With a nod and a quick goodnight, she headed toward the elevator, weaving effortlessly through the crowd with a smile on her face. As the doors dinged open she could feel the presence of the two men on either side of her. “You don’t have to, guys. It’s Brooklyn, been there my whole life. I can handle myself. Hell, you see how easily I walk through this room. I’m Harry Potter in the restricted section twenty-four, seven.”

Neither of them seemed to catch the reference, following her into the elevator. Steve broke the uncomfortable silence, “I’m not much for partying and he’s not much for groups without me.”

“Now, you’ll have to pick your poison because we both rode motorcycles here.” Rosemarie crossed her arms stubbornly at his comment. Crossing her arms after hitting the main floor’s button, he realized she wasn’t going to cave. “All right, looks like we’ll have to do this the old school way. Three out of five?”

“That should get us to the main floor.” Laughing like schoolboys, they played rock-paper-scissors, the doors opening, and Rosemarie ducking under their hands to get out.

“So who won the honor of a very long chaperoning adventure?” She asked as they reached two motorcycles in the parking garage.

“Go on, Buck. I’ll see you back home later.” Steve’s face was warmer, a genuine look of happiness on his face as he clapped a hand to his friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “C’mere Snow, let’s get a helmet on you.”

“It’s Rosemarie, actually.”

“She speaks!” Bucky got on his bike, his own helmet secure and the engine purring. “Pretty name, doll. Bit of a mouthful, but maybe it suits you.”

“I used to be called Rorie when I was little.” She rubbed her hands nervously in front of her as she also listened to Steve telling her how to get on the bike. He even took her hand to help her as she swung her leg over. “Good night, Steve. I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

Tilting his head to meet her eye, he smiled, the kind of warm smile where it met his eyes and made creases in the corner. “I hope so.”

And with that farewell, the engine was revved and Rosemarie lurched forward in fear. Her arms wrapping to the best of her ability around the suited soldier, taking in fist fulls of his shirt when she couldn’t fully hold on to him. His vibranium hand covered her, his hand patting hers as she hid her face into his back. It took her a minute, but he let her get used to the chill of the wind on her arms and legs, the stop and go of the city’s red lights, and the proximity to a man she hardly knew. When she finally plucked up the courage to look up they were halfway to Brooklyn. Her right arm stretched out and she flipped up the visor to the helmet, letting out a laugh and cheer as they zipped through Queens Midtown Tunnel. His vibranium hand patted hers and though she couldn’t see it, she thought he was smiling too.

It wasn’t until they reached Brooklyn’s limits and her racing heart settled into a calmer cadence that he pulled over at a red light and flipped up his own visor. Exasperated, she pouted and gently tapped her helmet to his, “Don’t stop driving!”

Then he laughed, just like he had with Steve, and explained himself, “You’ve got to tell me where you live eventually.” It took a moment, a fleeting thought that it would be easier to show him the address on her ID than to try and shout over the sound of the bike through a helmet, that she realized she’d been to caught up tonight to remember her clothes, lab coat and badge, keys, and even her phone were in Bruce and Natasha’s house. He could tell something wasn’t right, pivoting on the bike to get a better look at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“My keys are on the damn Upper East Side.”

Laughing again, the man simply shook her head. “That’s fine, we can get it later. What’s the address?”

--- ROSEMARIE’S UNIT ON E 22ND ST; BROOKLYN ---

She didn’t get it at first, but with their feet in front of the triple locked tiny fourth floor apartment, he squatted, took something out of his coat pocket, and within twenty seconds the door was opened, no sign of invasion. “Wow. You’re good with your hands.” Her cheeks were bright red as she slipped past him into the pitch black apartment. “Thank you so much, Mr. Barnes.”

He cringed and shook his head, “Bucky, please- or even Brooklyn or Barnes. Never James, never Mister Barnes or Mister anything-else, and preferably no Winter Soldier, either. Just Bucky.”

“Have it your way, Bucky.” She gave him a nod to come in while she leaned against the door, a warm smile on her face as the liquor was quickly leaving her system and the little flirtations had no gray area. “Let me make up this coerced escort nonsense for you.”

“Are you sure, Rosemarie? I thought you had work in the morning.” His blue eyes looked down at her, trying to read her expression as he tried to decide if he was being propositioned and if going in was a good idea.

“I’m sure.” With a laugh she tugged on his hands, his entire frame completely immobile in the hall. “Come keep me company and we'll have snackies!”

Bucky nodded, stepping into her home with clear eyes and a sense of expectation that she’d drawn a line about where the night would lead. She flicked on light after light, the room filling with a warm honey-white glow that illuminated the books, art, pictures, scattered around the room and hanging on the walls. “This is nice.”

Her head popped up from behind the refrigerator door, her eyes falling on the man that looked obscenely too broad for the space. “Do you mean the apartment or the picture?” Rosemarie saw his blue gaze studying a painting on the wall, “It’s a painting of Roraima in...”

“The borders of Venezuela, Brazil, and Guyana.”

“Yeah… I want to go someday. It was my brother’s last painting.” She swallowed and looked down at the peanut butter and nutella sandwiches she was making, reminding herself to catch her breath. It’s not like he hasn’t travelled all over the world. It’s not like he really cares about where you want to travel to. He definitely doesn’t care about your crazy family.

“You should go, it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.” He smiled at the painting and came to the kitchen counter, noticing the crease in her forehead as she made their late night snack. “Do you want to talk about him?”

She shrugged, both surprised by the question and uncertain of her needs colliding with her personal baggage. Instead, Rosemarie slid the plate of four half-sandwich triangles toward him and then added two spoons to the plate before tucking a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cinnamon Buns ice cream and two bottles of hard cider under her arms. “He’s the one that used to call me Rorie. He couldn’t really get Rosemarie out and my parents hated it when people mispronounced it as rosemary.” It felt like a simple enough gateway to let her try to gauge his interest. After flopping onto the couch and nodding to the spot next to her he joined her, setting the food on the coffee table and taking one of the ciders. “I think they’re twist off caps?” She struggled, cheeks red with embarrassment, but Bucky used his vibranium hand to flick the cap off before doing the same with his. “Oh, so that’s what the hand is for.”

“Among other things.” They shared a soft laugh and he watched her kick off the heels and pick up the gaming controller, talking to the television as it popped up with the Netflix logo at her commands. “What are we watching?”

Tossing him the remote she grabbed a slice of the sandwiches and pulled her knees to her chest. Taking a big bite, the hazelnut and peanut butter coated her mouth and she let out a satisfied hum. “Brooklyn's choice.” A second big bite and another hum and Bucky’s curiosity got the better of him, clicking the first film on her recommended list to snag a slice for himself. A deeper, similar hum passing his lips made Rosemarie squirm in her seat. She washed it down with the cider. “Right? Comfort snackies are the best late night food.” Rosemarie turned to look at the super soldier taking up two thirds of the love seat to find the hazelnut spread in the scruff of his overgrown stubble. With liquid courage pulsing in her veins she leaned in slightly and brushed it away with her thumb, but not courageous enough to meet his piercing blue eyes. Heart thumping in her ears, she whispered, “I forgot to grab a napkin.”

Bucky’s full lips wrapped around her thumb, his eyes unblinking as hers went wide. The soldier didn’t give her a chance to act on flight, his arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her onto his lap as she whimpered at the sensation of his tongue sliding up her finger. “Aren’t you just starved for attention.”

He wasn’t wrong. It had been six months since she’d been with anyone and that was a one night stand with a stranger from a bar and longer still since someone had been inside her. She’d taken herself out to celebrate finishing school and someone told her she had the perfect body. Rosemarie squirmed in his lap thinking about the way their hands had worshiped her curves and their mouth had set her off. It was one of just a couple of encounters. All of them paled in comparison to having the broad shouldered and bright eyed man holding her close. “I..It’s…”

The man smirked at how flustered she was, His fingers moving from a firm grip holding her waist to brushing up her back as he finished the snack in one final big bite. He almost looked childish if it hadn’t been for the look in his eyes, pupils blown and the corner of his mouth turned up. “Complicated? Doesn’t have to be, Sugar.”

Sugar, the word was sweeter in the subtle hints of his accent, a dated term of endearment that wasn’t typical in any non-condescending modern usage, she thought. This wasn’t how intentional. He wasn’t even on her radar and as he drank his cider and watched her, she climbed off his lap and slowly unbuttoned the yellow shorts, stopping before she pushed them down because her little panicked mental monologue found her again. He doesn’t really want you. He just wants to get laid. Maybe I just want that, too? This is never going to happen again, so calm down, focus, enjoy the moment. But the ice cream on the table is going to melt and leave a water ring from condensation... Then his hands were on her hips, pulling her legs closer by tugging on the loose fabric of the shorts before he wiggled them down her legs.

His now empty bottle set to the side, Bucky looked up at her as he leaned forward and pressed his full lips to her hips. The warmth of his mouth and the sting of cool from the wet mark he’d left after it met the air felt as starkly contrasted as the warmth and the cold of his two hands. Nibbling on her bottom lip, he kissed the other side and questioned her demeanor. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Letting his fingers rake up her back and under the crop top, Bucky used his superior senses to interpret what she wasn’t saying. Rosemarie now realized just how small she was next to him, her pulse thumping with a far more vibrant cadence than when he’d taken her finger into his mouth. Now his own fingers rubbed her back and moved south, pushing her panties to the floor before coming back up to take off the crop top too. But he didn’t gawk or let his eyes wander, he just drank in the smell of hazelnut and peanut butter on her breath, the faint smell of honey and apricots from her morning shower, and the heat rising in her cheeks. “Where have you been the last ninety-nine years, Rorie?”

Swallowing down the nickname, she brought her hands to his tie, “Should I be flattered or creeped out about this age gap?” Nervously giggling she loosened the silky bit of black fabric, watching it ruffle into the mess of her own clothes half on the floor and half on the couch. She felt his muscles through the pressed fabric of his shirt until they ghosted along the top of his slacks and as she looked at his neck, still too anxious to meet his gaze, Rosemarie chewed on the inside of her cheek. Nerves, she was nothing but nerves on fire. When she undid his belt with shaking hands, his hands left hers to quickly undo the buttons of the dress shirt. It was a frantic and rapid dance to get him just as naked as she was and her nervous laughter abated into a whimper. The zipper went down exposing black boxer briefs and with her thumbs in the elastic and she pushed it down, just as he’d done to her, just enough to make his clothes fall to the floor. “This seems entirely unfair.”

He let her eyes move down his body, his chest rising and falling at steady pace, though obvious that he was taking deeper breaths. Rosemarie rested her forehead on his sternum, drinking in the toned muscles that met the cut of his hips, the hulking lines of his thighs, and then at last the bulk of his cock. She didn’t hide her fear from him well at all, completely certain she’d never be able to handle the size of the solid man. His hands went to her neck, hot and human, cold and robotic, and that tender tilt up of her chin, forcing her eyes to look into his, she knew that he knew. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you feel like I…”

“Bucky.” She interrupted, breathing sharply. Before her mind in all its anxious sadness could torment her back into silence she managed to whisper, “Of course I want you. I’m scared, not an idiot.” Leaning up, her lips brushed his, so close to kissing him, she made her request. “Please, gently.”

Of all the stories she had heard, she didn’t know if he was capable of it until he kissed her. Her soft lips were met with his, hungry and forceful and then, just before she could flinch, his tongue parted her lips and the kiss became subdued. Bucky knew what he was doing, teasing her with the passion she was missing out on while enticing her with the promise of giving her what she’d asked for. Her demure little touches of her fingers avoiding all his most sensitive areas made him moan against her lips. The man couldn’t help but wonder if she was intentionally teasing him in return. His lips left hers, trailing wet kisses down her neck and across her breasts. Bucky flicked his tongue across her nipples, hiding his smirk in her ribs at the squirm of her hips under his hands when he gave them no more attention and sat back on the couch. She was so close to pouting, protesting, and pleading, but his hands moved down her curves and tugged at the soft flesh at the back of her thighs, pulling her onto the couch to straddle him. 

Rosemarie rocked her hips forward, pressing his length against his stomach and her clit. The groan that came from the back of Bucky’s throat had her dripping and as she continued grinding against him while they kissed, she could feel herself dripping down her thighs and onto him. His kisses were patient but the longer she kept teasing him, feeling her skin heat beneath his touch, Bucky began to rut his hips compulsively. Her finger tips dug into his shoulder and neck as the tight coil of her climax built in her belly before any part of him had even been inside her. Slowly she lifted herself and he looked into her eyes knowing what she was finally ready and asking for, confirmed by her lip biting and head nodding as she lowered herself onto him.

Bucky let her take him in, slow but keening. He could tell how badly she needed to do this on her own, quiet gasps between tongue tangled kisses as every inch of him stretched her. He savored those little sounds, they only made it harder for him not to thrust completely inside her. His mind was in a fog, intoxicated by the smell of her, the shake in her legs, even the way her body reacted to the cool metal of his weapon brushing her hair from her face. She’d turned into it, briefly pulling her lips from Bucky’s to put her burning cheeks to his palm and she knew he could kill her just as much as she felt it in her gut, he wouldn’t. She’d been in love just once before and never been looked at like this and just as she’d thought that his kisses stopped and his hands held her still and he asked her, “What’s that look?”

Rosemarie pressed her lips to Bucky’s metal wrist and his expression was just as unreadable as hers had been seconds earlier, “What’s that look?” Her playful feedback of the same question was far less focused, each word a breathy whimper as the sudden lack of affection made her all the more eager to be full of him. The doctor swayed her hips in small circles, calling out in her native tongue as their thighs met and he hit every spot, stretching her out.

“Fuck. Fuck you’re so tight.” The timbre in Bucky’s voice made her squeeze around him and he clutched her hips to stop her from moving for fear that the evening would be short lived. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder and she caressed his back and did the same, the salt on his skin coating her lips. They listened to each other breathing and Rosemarie began a slow ride, relishing the sounds of his pleasure. “Good girl,” the words were whispered in her ear - a stark contrast from his grunting just seconds earlier, his teeth brushed her earlobe, and then his hands squeezed her ass as he met her pace with repeat eye watering thrusts.

The English language failed her, pleading for more and pleasantly surprised when he understood. Bucky’s pace stayed the same, but each thrust was deep and then deeper. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair and pulled until his mouth was back on hers. The small apartment echoed with the bawdy sounds of moaning pleasure and skin on skin, all of her muscles began to tighten as he brought her to the edge. Leaning back slightly with a hand on his knee and the other on the couch Bucky accepted the invitation to access more of her body. His tongue drew circles around her hard nipples and his thumb massaged her clit. The slow build to the first orgasm had been worthwhile and obscenely wet, they could feel her pouring down their legs and soaking the couch. Immediately, her entire body shook and her face was bright right, her eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry, that… that’s never happened before and…”

A soft hush passed his lips and he pushed back inside of her, finding a new rhythm as her muscles reacted, milking every thick inch of him. “You’re sexy, beautiful, smart, and…” he swallowed, his thrusts became erratic, and maybe it was the compliments or an instinct he was close but Rosemarie couldn’t help herself, bouncing up and down on him, and every time he bottomed out she practically danced for him, grinding on him for friction to her clit. “Don’t stop.” He was the one panting and begging now. “Good girl, beautiful. Just like that.”

All the positive praise as his eyes stayed on her wide hips and full breasts made the woman question if this was how sex was supposed to be. The curves she only liked in certain outfits, now being drunk in like a missing Van Gogh. She got off on it, her body still reeling from her first orgasm and Bucky rutted into her as she gave him his. Lost in the moment, they held each other tightly, his cock filling her until he dripped his own mess onto the furniture. But despite the new exhaustion and how her tired body draped over him, he was still hard and she was still hungry. “More.”

The whimpered plea was met with his strong arms holding her as he walked down the short hall opening the first door to find it was the bathroom and then the second, her bedroom. Her legs were too tired to wrap around him and the tips of her toes tickled their way across the floor until he pulled her on top of him on her bed that was obscenely small for a man of his size, let alone two people. “Rorie, you should get some sleep.”

She bit the muscle of his flesh arm. “You’re still inside me, Barnes.” Her lips moved across his skin, nipping at his ribs before trailing her tongue along the toned muscles to his other arm, where she placed a kiss and settled her head. Her dark hair was unruly as it draped across him, his own no better on her bedsheets. Though breathless, she managed a feeble argument. “You can’t just bring me to bed, be inside me, look like this, and not keep going until I’m unconscious.”

He laughed, not maliciously but rather out of shock at how sleep impacted her candor more than alcohol had and all Rosemarie could think was there’s nothing more beautiful than you. It was written all over her face, but he missed it, his eyes closed as he laughed, and maybe he’d never believe it if he had. She couldn’t help herself, kissing every inch of his skin that she could without moving a muscle, savoring her legs tangled in his. “If you want me to put you to bed, there’s more than one way to do that.”

“But only one way I really want you tonight.”

“Tonight? There are other ways you want me on other nights…”

“Mmmhm, Friday night? You free?”

“It’s a date, sweetheart.” The banter was sleepy, but Bucky’s hips were already lifting off the mattress and his arm around her waist pinned her there to take each eager thrust.

What had started slow and sweet, evolved into deep and needy, now found an impassioned second wind. He worshiped her mouth, the tip of his tongue brushing across the roof and before he could have the audacity to take it from her, she nipped, and caressed his tongue with hers. Then Rosemarie worshiped his chest, arms, and stomach; pushing against him as she rocked her hips with every movement across his skin. He gave it to her again, deep thrusts, fervent even, and he pulled her mouth to his. “Good girl! So eager for another orgasm. Been a while since someone gave this pretty pussy the attention it deserves?” Her tired frame dropped slowly over him and he held her close on top of him, one hand brushing her hair as he still pinned her down at the waist as he claimed her. “I hear those tired moans, Sugar. I’m gonna put you to bed real soon. I want to hear it one more time. Say my name, roll those soft hips against me and say it.”

Her bedsheets were held in her fists, anything for further friction. They both got it and as she tightened around him she begged, sticky with sweat, sore and breathless, and still wanting. “Come with me, Bucky. I want to feel you throbbing inside me again. Bucky. Buck,” she was so close, panting, “Buck, don’t stop.”

Bucky tangled himself in her and gave her what she begged for, finishing deep inside of Rosemarie as her legs shook around him and her arms gave out, every muscle in her body vibrating. “Good girl. Now close those pretty eyes and get some sleep, okay?”

Though she nodded sleepily, her head almost incapable of being picked up from his chest, she mustered final exhausted chatter, “One last kiss and a promise you’ll stay?”

Again, he granted her request and she hummed at the sensation of his scruff on his chin. He smiled, satisfied, and finding her quiet verbalization of pleasure a sweet surprise he changed his mind about slipping out as soon as she fell asleep. “I’ll stay a bit, sweetheart. I gotta get your stuff from Nat’s before you have to head to work, but I’ll be here when you get up.”

She yawned, the word stay a soft echoing plea in her head that never passed her lips. Bucky reached over and pulled the blankets across them as Rosemarie already started to shiver. Typically he found the serum’s endurance enhancement’s side effect of insomnia infuriating, but tonight he was grateful for it. Watching her sleep in his arms like she needed him, clinging to his body every time he sighed or moved an inch. Then, despite usually only needing a few hours of shut eye a week, he drifted off into an unheard of peaceful, dreamless sleep. The last thing on his lips was a kiss to her temple and on his mind, no idea how he’d make it to Friday.

INTRO . CHAPTER 2 (Coming Soon!)

Taglist: @caplanbuckybarnes​

[grovestep]

Ghostwatch: Chapter 1 [R76]

Title: Ghostwatch Chapter: 1 - Episode 1 Rating: M Ao3: Click here, remember to leave kudos! Summary:  Jack, Ana, and Gabe have their own webshow called Ghostwatch. They're just three regular people pulling stunts, creating monsters, and fabricating ghost encounters. Until one day, shit gets very real.

The camera jittered into focus, pulling into view a dilapidated house with a yard that hadn’t seen a lawnmower in a decade. Jack Morrison stepped into the frame, his attention trained somewhere in the middle distance behind the camera. The cameraman said something that the mic didn’t pick up, but Jack nodded, beckoning with one hand. The camera jittered again before coming to a rest, the cameraman’s fingers brushing against the mic and creating deafening feedback. Gabriel stepped out from behind the setup, crowding into the frame with Jack. His hands were jammed into his hoodie pocket and his beanie was pulled down over his ears. He glowered at Jack. Jack either didn’t notice, or pretended he didn’t see.

“Are we rolling?” Jack asked.

“Of course we’re rolling. That’s what the green light means.”

Jack snorted, elbowing Gabriel in the ribs. “Don’t be an asshole,” he said, then turned back to the camera with a stellar smile. Gabe braced for impact, knowing full well what was coming.

“HELLO AND WELCOME BACK TO GHOSTWATCH!”

No matter how much Gabriel braced himself, the enthusiasm and volume that Jack managed to achieve in their intro still rattled his teeth and rang in his eardrums.

“I’m Jack,” he said, pausing a beat.

“And I’m Gabe,” Gabriel said, taking his cue.

“Ana can’t be here tonight because she’s down with the flu,” Jack said. “So we’re going to have to explore this haunted house without her.” He stepped aside, revealing the derelict house behind him. “Do you want to give the viewers a rundown on the history of the house, Gabe?”

Gabe shifted from foot to foot, looking at his palm where he had hastily scrawled some made-up history about the “haunted” house. He wavered a moment, realizing all he had written was smudged by his sweat. He cursed under his breath. This was usually Ana’s job. Gabe was fine with staying behind the camera and making occasional cameos when they were exploring. He looked up at Jack with a panicked expression.

“Make something up,” Jack said in a rushed whisper.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious!” he whispered back, before putting on his best smile for the camera. He cleared his throat. “So, this is the uh...Poltergeist House. Many years ago, some old guy went nuts and killed his only daughter. So now she takes the form of a vindictive spirit, looking to...steal the eyes of anyone who dare to enter.”

Smooth, Jack mouthed. Gabe flipped him off just out of frame.

“We gotta be real careful here, folks. We don’t want to get our eyes snatched,” Jack quipped. “Let’s go in.”

Gabe was thankful for that. He knew Jack was giving him an out. The blond man barely knew how to operate his own phone, let alone their camera. Gabriel was the only one of the trio who really knew the ins and outs of the tech. He took his place behind the device once more, comfortable to be the gruff, disembodied voice giving Jack hell. He detached the cam from the tripod and followed Jack up the stoop.

Jack pushed open the giant oak door. Gabriel got a fantastic shot of the door creaking open, slowly revealing the inside. The door opened into a hallway. To the immediate left was a staircase that lead upstairs. Jack ignored it and went straight forward. Gabe was sure to get shots of the walls, which were covered in graffiti. He turned the camera quickly away when he realized a giant, purple dick was plastered on one of the surfaces. That was a quick way to get demonetized.

“It was in the room just ahead that it happened,” Jack said, playing off of Gabriel’s story. “The old man killed her right in the kitchen.”

They had scouted the house out before filming, making sure everything was in place. The last thing they wanted was to get jumped by a squatter or killed by a roof falling in. Jack was sure to close the kitchen door before they left on their preliminary expedition. He claimed it created more suspense.

He hovered at the door now, one hand on the doorknob, his other hand pressed flat against the wood. Gabe stifled a laugh. He looked like a parent eavesdropping on their kid in the bedroom, ready to burst in at the first sign of trouble.

“You gonna go in or what, Jackie?” Gabe asked.

Jack shot him a glare and slowly opened the door. Inch by inch the kitchen became visible. A dirty, scratched up sink filled with some unknown liquid. The once-white refrigerator, doors open to expose the rotten food inside. The roof sagged over the stove, and both Jack and Gabe made a point to avoid that area.

Jack pulled out a small device, presenting it to the camera. “You guys remember this right?” He clicked on the device, and it began rapidly shuffling through radio stations. The static noise filled the small kitchen, with the occasional bit of a word coming through the chatter. Jack flipped it back off. He pulled up a chair at the small kitchen table, which they had pre-cleared for their “conversation” with the spirits.

Gabe sat the camera down on the table, angling it so they were both in the shot. He pulled up a chair across from Jack, leaning back and stretching his legs out as Jack explained the uses for the device for new viewers.

“This is a ghost scanner. It flips through hundreds of radio channels in seconds, giving the ghosts a medium to speak to us,” he said, flipping the device between his hands. “We’re going to ask the ghost in this house a few questions and see if we can get some answers.”

He turned the scanner back on. The noise made Gabe grit his teeth, but he smiled through it for Jack. “Ask it why it wants eyeballs,” Gabe said, leaning forward as though to take the scanner. Jack pulled it closer to his chest.

“Wait your turn, Mr. Reyes,” he said, his laugh drowned out by the static. He then spoke loudly, addressing the whole room. “If the girl who died here is still lingering in this house, can you tell us your name?”

The scanner jibbered static and broken words for a few moments. Jack grunted, beginning to repeat his question before a voice came over the device, barely discernible between the white noise.

“Jas…” Scrrrrt. “Mine."

“Jasmine? Your name is Jasmine?”

Jack’s second question was met with more static. This time, the ghost didn’t reply. Jack motioned to Gabe.

“Uh, what happened to you, Jasmine?” Gabe asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

“....loud bang,” the voice wavered over the static. “Then dark.”

Jack quirked his eyebrow. Gabe shrugged his shoulders. He waved his hand at Jack.

“Why are you still here?”

“Want…” the voice said. It repeated the word over and over and over, the voice getting louder above the static. Gabe fought the urge to plug his ears.

“What do you want?” Gabe shouted over the cacophony.

“Your...eyes!”

Gabe took his cue and flipped off the video feed. The audio was still live, picking up their scuffling in the small kitchen. There was a loud thud as a chair fell over. Jack had turned off the scanner, shutting out the terrible static and garbled words.

“What the hell was that?” Jack shouted.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Gabe shouted back, picking the camera up from the table.

The light seemed to have been sapped from the room, casting them in darkness. Jack smiled, looking at Gabe out of the corner of his eye. Gabriel always had a talent for their theatrics. He gave him a thumbs up.

Gabe nodded, flipping the video feed back on. Jack’s expression changed from satisfied to wild-eyes terror in microseconds. Gabe forced his hands to shake, which caused the camera to jitter, giving the impression that he was literally trembling in fear. He panned the camera back to where they had been sitting. One of the chairs was overturned in the corner, and in the other chair was a woman.

Her skin seemed to glow in the dim light. Her hair was streaked gray and pulled into a braid over one shoulder. She wore a simple dress that was stained down one side with...something. Something dark and red.

Her attention was focused on something on the table; a cup and saucer. She brought the cup to her mouth. Jack let out a slight hiss through his teeth.

“Ana,” he whispered, breaking scene. “Ghosts don’t drink tea.”

Ana paused, looking at Jack out of the corner of her eye. She let out a sigh, putting the cup back down. “Well this one does,” she said. “Besides, Jack, you’ve never seen a real ghost. How do you know?”

Jack started to say something, but stopped himself. He let out a frustrated grunt. “Fine, have it your way. But you deal with the comment section.”

Ana shrugged, looking to Gabe. He gave her a thumbs up to signal that they were, indeed, still rolling. She took a deep breath and resumed character.

Ana slowly turned her head toward the camera, revealing the red mess that was the other side of her face. At that precise moment, she let out a blood curdling scream. Gabe prayed that none of the neighbors called the cops. This would be a hard one to explain.

“J-Jasmine?” Jack stammered.

“Get out,” Ana said, casting her voice as low as she could.

“We want to help you, Jasmine, it’s okay. We won’t hurt you,” Jack said, stepping forward, his hands out like he was approaching an injured animal.

“Jack, you can’t reason with a ghost!” Gabe said, reaching out and grabbing one of the blond man’s sleeves. He yanked him back.

“My...you have pretty eyes,” Ana said, getting up from the chair. She let the legs skid against the hardwood, punctuating her statement. “Mind if I…take them?”

Now it was Jack’s turn to grab Gabriel by the shirt and yank him out of the room. Gabe followed suit, making sure to handle the camera as sloppily as possible. He turned the camera over his shoulder, getting a shot of the “ghost” chasing after them.

They clattered down the front steps, landing flat on their asses. Gabe got one last shot of Ana standing in the doorway, leering at them in her blood stained dress and ruined face. He thought he caught a glimpse of a looming shadow in the foyer, but he shrugged it off.

Camera always fucks with my eyes, he thought, shutting the camera off.

[amuletrebel]

Till Death Do Them Part

I decided to write a little something about the speculated ending that most likely occurred at the end of Angels of Death. Explanation for that reasoning is at the end.

Rachel shut her eyes tightly as she curled up in bed, praying this whole day was just a long nightmare. But she knew that wasn’t the case. Her nights since she and Zack were separated had been nothing short of restless. All she could do was close her eyes and listen to the seconds tick by on the wall clock. Hearing her only friend would be executed only it worse.

She wasn’t stupid. Showing even the slightest concern for Zack was interpreted by the doctors as Stockholm Syndrome. So, it was best not to show any semblance of emotions. But that didn’t mean her desire to refute their claims lessened by any means. They didn’t understand the full story. They didn’t understand how Rachel pleaded Zack, of her volition, to be her executioner. They didn’t understand how the two forged a bond over understand their pasts. They didn’t understand how Zack was the only person to see this twisted side of her and fight against it, accepting all of her when it was over. He was the only one that truly understood. But the doctors preferred to consider their escape as kidnapping, pin her parents’ murder on him, and call it a day. That, in her eyes, was unacceptable. But what could she do in her current state?

Just as she felt her rampant thoughts start to settle, a loud thud shook the room. Surprised, Rachel shot out of bed and looked around for the source. Another thud came, and she felt the floor under her bare feet vibrate. Such force felt unnatural for a single human being. Maybe something was going on just below her room?

“Rachel, what’s going on?” a doctor called from the other side of her door.

From that, the blonde realized the sound didn’t come from anyone who worked at the building, otherwise there’d be no need to be concerned. Without thinking, Rachel pushed the boxes full of her things in front of the door. She quickly pulled Zack’s knife from the hidden drawer and held it close in case her assumptions were false. She slowly approached the window as it shook violently from the banging.

“Get back!” a familiar voice called out, leading Rachel to almost immediately obey. She moved out of the way just in time to see the window frame give in and come crashing into her room, shards of glass scattering everywhere.

Zack stood atop the windowsill, staring down at Ray with his bi-colored eyes. She looked even more like a doll in that pure white long dress the docs at the ward were making her wear. That dead look in her eyes significantly lightened when she stared at him intensely.

“Zack,” she whispered, the slight breeze from the window blowing her hair back. “But you…”

“But what?” Zack weakly countered, strain entering his tone.

“You…you’re supposed to be in prison…”

Despite his condition, he placed a bandaged hand on his bloody forehead and laughed loudly. “That’s it?! Well…prisons were made to be broken out of!” He carefully jumped off the windowsill, careful not to strain the injury to his chest.

The blonde’s big blue eyes widened, a hopeful expression taking over her features. “So…you still…want to…kill me…?” The hope in her voice was prominent and the bandaged man couldn’t help grinning in return.

“Geez! Haven’t you been paying attention? This is me we’re talking about! I always go after something I want!”

Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. He didn’t expect her to launch her body at him, but he caught her all the same. Her pale arms wrapped securely around his neck as she cried with joy. He let her. Better to get it out now so she could die with a smile. He gently rubbed her back as she sniffled, letting out all the emotions she had left bottled up for years.

The sudden pounding on the door ruined their moment. That and Zack could feel the haziness finally kicking in. The dark-haired killer jumped back on the bloody windowsill and threw his hood back up. He then reached out his hand to the only person in his life that cared about him and who he cared for in return. “Come with me, Ray,” he compelled.

Rachel quickly nodded and tread her bare feet around the broken glass on the carpet, taking his strong hand with her small, delicate one. She jumped into his arms once again, this time so he could hold her during their descent. “Hey Zack,” she whispered, her voice filled with more life than it’s ever been, “please kill me.”

Zack’s face twisted into the kind of grin he wore when they first met, but beneath it lied a tenderness that was only for Rachel. “Then stop your blubbering and smile!” With that final word, Zack held Ray closer and tipped his body backwards.

His vision was quickly going blurry, so he had to be quick and precise. Zack swung his scythe enough to angle it, and then he swung it to pierce Rachel from the back, right to her heart. Her eyes widened as she coughed up blood, crimson drenching her dress and his hoodie. But the smile, innocent and grateful, never left her face.

“Thank you, Zack,” Rachel whispered before closing her eyes, finally free from her demons in the sweet embrace of death.

She never felt Zack hold her securely in his arms or feel his breathing become extremely labored. Nor did she hear his final words to her. “If we meet in the next life, Ray, I hope I’ll be someone that deserves you.” His bi-colored eyes clouded over seconds before their bodies hit the ground, a loud crunch echoing throughout the still night. Not even a few minutes later, the officers at the ground floor found their blood-soaked bodies.

Zack and Rachel came into the world and grew up depending on only themselves. But when they met under strange circumstances, their worlds shifted so greatly that they grew to depend on one another. Life wasn’t the same without someone by their side. Now they would never feel alone again. For when Rachel died, Zack followed soon after to ensure she wouldn’t have to endure anything alone again.

There you go everyone; the most probable ending aka the “most likely happened but this game made us cry way more than we anticipated so we refuse to accept that the end will make us cry the most” ending.

So, here’s the deal with this ending. And I’ll be using stuff from the wiki comment to justify it.

In Episode 4, Danny says Zack couldn’t survive a shot to the head. But what if he did, at least for a short time? In this ending, Zack is shot in the head and chest, and the blood on his sprite and on the windowsill may prove this. In the original Japanese version, Zack spoke less and less during the conversation, only giving single-worded answers or short noises like “hmm” or “ah”. This could be from the blood loss and haziness of being close to death.

So, Zack survives his execution and goes to see Rachel. You know Zack pulls Rachel out the window at this point, since neither of them are in the room at the end scene. When this happens, and the camera pans up to the moon, you can hear a faint stabbing sound. This could be Zack stabbing Rachel and killing her as she asked of him.

Then when the police arrive, you hear a loud thud. A lot of us think that is them breaking into the room after it was barricaded. But what if it that was the sound of Zack and Rachel’s bodies hitting the ground?

In short, this ending is the theory that Zack was close to death after surviving execution and going to see Rachel in his final moments alive. And when they fall out the window and Zack tells her to smile, he stabs her and ends her life with his final breath. He dies shortly after and they are dead in each other’s arms—you can see that Rachel hugs Zack if you pause at the right moment—just as they hit the ground.

In a way, it’s…kinda poetic. Using your last moments to fulfill the wishes of someone you care about, knowing you’ll die shortly after. And in their case, they’ll be dying together instead of alone, in each other’s arms.

Edit: I JUST REALIZED THIS IS THE “I LITERALLY CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU, SO I’LL DIE WITH YOU” TROPE! THOSE HURT MY HEART SO BAD!!!

[urfavepisces]

RIDE (Bucky Barnes x Reader One Shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,023

Warnings: SMUT & unprotected sex 

A/N: Hey Everyone! I wrote this a couple of nights ago and just now got around to editing it. The title really has nothing to do with the actual one shot, it’s just the title of a song by Ciara which I was listening to while writing this lol 

MASTERLIST

It had been a late night for you, meetings going past the scheduled time making you even later for others and paperwork that kept piling up. All of which resulted in you not being able to get home until it was already two on a Sunday morning. You pealed off your black pencil skirt, the red bottoms you’d bought with your first big check from the firm and your favorite pinstripped collared shirt, haphazardly throwing them into the corner of your bedroom. You were exhausted, having three major cases in one week that you needed to prepare for had your nerves out of wack. You had to win all of them because of the fact that you could be making partner only if all of them panned out in your favor.

Light snores coming from the bed remind you that Bucky had in fact returned from his mission overseas. Not wanting to disturb the super soldier, you quickly stripped yourself of your bra and panties and head into your bathroom. You take a quick shower wanting nothing more than to fall into your bed and go to sleep.

Slipping on one of Bucky’s shirts he’s left on the chair in front of your vanity, you crawl into bed and fall fast asleep.

When you find yourself waking up already, you huff out in frustration. You’d thought that you’d be asleep until at least noon but of course your body clock was still on work time. You raise your head to see the time on the clock that sat on the nightstand on Bucky’s side, you roll your eyes at the obscene hour. It was eight in the morning and you knew you wouldn't be able to go back to your deep slumber you were enjoying. Once you were up, there was no going back to sleep.

When you look to the face of your handsome boyfriend, you realize being awake at this time doesn’t seem so bad. The sunlight is peeking through the dark maroon curtains in the room. casting an angelic glow over Bucky. You’re entranced by this man and you could never get used to his beauty, he’s everything you ever wanted and needed at the same time. Your eyes dart to each parts of his face, studying them and committing them to memory. It’s when you glance at his cheeks and jawbone that you notice the stubble that’s formed. It’d been awhile since he’s let it grow out, he’d complained about the scratchiness of it and would never go long without shaving it.

Your hand reaches out on its own accord, the fingertips barely running over it and you love how it looks on him. It doesn’t take long before he starts to stir, his arms encircling your waist pulling you to his chest and squeezing you tight. With his eyes still closed, the corners of his mouth turn up into a sleepy smile.

Then his mouth is opening, “Good morning beautiful.”

The deep volume goes straight to your core, making you shudder in his hold and you can’t believe the effect it has on you already.

You push your lips to the skin of his neck, barely touching it and wrap your arm around his middle while the other stayed to your side.

“Mmm…good morning.” Your own voice is hoarse, the low volume of it making Bucky chuckling in amusement.

“I don’t know how you’re up already, you just got home a few hours ago.” He kisses your forehead, grasping on tighter to your frame.

“Me neither. All I want to do is sleep right now but I can’t.” You whine, the fatigue effecting your attitude.

He nods, understanding your predicament, “What I can I do to help?”

The huskiness of his voice made you wetter with each word he said prompting   an idea to pop into your mind.

You bring one of your legs over his body, hooking it onto his hip and then you’re lifting yourself to a straddling position on his lower half, “Maybe there is one thing you can do.” Your left eyelid slowly drops  into a wink that has him smirking devilishly at you. Yea he knew exactly what you meant by that.

“And what is that?” He still questions you.

When you circle your hips and press down hard on him, he gets his answer. The hand that had been laying behind his head moves to cup an ass cheek and the other travels to your thigh, grasping onto it firmly.

You don’t stop moving down onto him, you can feel he’s already half hard, the sheer fabric of your panties and the thin material of his boxer briefs are not much of a barrier between you two.

You’ve soaked through them, making a mess of his underwear as well and both of your breathing is labored.

When the swollen tip of his dick just narrowly pushes at your clit, your mouth opens, a particular loud moan spilling out of your mouth and Bucky has your waist in his hands.

He flips your positions suddenly, pushing himself in between your legs, his knee shoving your thighs apart and leaving you open to his mercy.

When his lips connect with yours, the kiss is passionate and needy. His tongue pushes it’s way into your mouth, when you feel your underwear being ripped from your body and his T-shirt that you’re wearing is bunched up just above the tops of your breasts.

His hand comes up to cup one, kneading the soft skin and pinching your nipple causing more groans to fall out of your swollen lips but he’s shushing you with another harsh kiss that is all teeth and tongue.

Bucky pulls back from you, his lips going straight to your nipple and the sensation his mouth creates as he sucks, has your vision blurring. The pleasure you’re feeling in this moment is too much and not enough at the same time. 

He’s driving you fucking insane and you need him inside of you already. With his mouth still on you, he looks up at your face and his eyes are fully lust blown. Nothing but a silver ring is surrounding the pupil at the moment.

He gives one last kiss  to each nipple before placing feather light kisses down your stomach, his teeth nipping at your hip bones, “God I really did miss you baby.”

Your eyes light up at the admission but you wouldn't be you, if you didn’t give him a little shit for it. “You missed fucking me Bucky.” You smugly look up at him.

He looks down at you and laughs at your crude words, “That mouth on ya darlin’ but yea you’re only half wrong, I did miss that too.”

You’re about to respond but your back instantly arches as his head dives down, licking a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit effectively shutting you up. Goosebumps ripple your skin at the contact and you’re already in heaven at this point.

He drags his thumb down your lips, collecting the wetness and harshly rubs your clit. When his tongue enters you, the pleasure is almost too much to handle and soon your legs are closing around his head but he forces your thighs open, and securing them to the bed. At this point he’s practically making out with your pussy and you can’t do anything but take it.

“Buck, oh God.” Your arm flies to your forehead and your left hand goes to his head, fingers threading through the dark brown hair and pulling it at the roots when he closes his mouth over the swollen nub and sucking hard on it. You’re spiraling into your orgasm as faint black dots dart across your eyes and you cry out from the intensity of it. Your chest is moving up and down rapidly, you can’t seem to catch your breath and it doesn’t help that Bucky keeps licking up and down your slit. When it becomes too much for you to handle, you push yourself further up the bed and away from Bucky’s lips.

When your vision finally clears, you can see him pushing his underwear off and grabbing onto his harden length. Since it’s been a few months since you two have been together, you can see just how eager he is to be inside of you just by the way he’s looking at you.

He runs his hand along the large shaft, his thumb collecting the pre-cum that spilled from the tip and spreading it over the engorged head.

“You’re not tired are you?” He’s teasing you now and you want nothing more to wipe that righteous smile off of his beautiful face.

You quickly pull off his shirt from your body, tossing it over his shoulder and hook your leg behind his, “Was that it Buck? Was that the best you could do?” You taunt him.

He runs the tip up and down your entrance and pushing it against you hard without entering you.

“Little girl, sometimes you talk too much shit.” He snaps his hips, filling you in one thrust.

You feel incredibly full at the moment, it had been too long without being with Bucky and your walls are already pulsing around his length.

“So tight for me.” He kisses the corner of your mouth.

He doesn’t move just yet , allowing you time to adjust and when you do, he’s pounding you into the mattress.

He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up even more to him and he’s hitting you deep.

“Fuck, fuck. Go faster Bucky.” You don’t recognize your voice, it sounds incredibly desperate.

He happily obliges, his thrusts coming at a faster speed and you’re practically there at the edge of the cliff but then he’s pulling out and turning you on your side. He comes behind you, lifting your leg up and entering you from behind.

The new position and angle has Bucky hitting your g-spot directly.

He’s kissing you up and down your shoulder, “Do you know how many times I had to jack off on this mission? Literally every night baby. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You’re lost in euphoria, you don’t respond. The muscles in your stomach start to contract and tighten with each slam of his thrusts.

Your walls clench on their own accord, making Bucky let out guttural groan and soon your second release is at the precipice.

Bucky can feel you’re close so he slips his hand down to your core, fingers rubbing furiously against the clit, “Fuck, get there baby. I’m right behind you.”

Seconds later, your second orgasm is washing over you and your thighs tremble in Bucky’s hold. He cums filling you up, his teeth brutally biting down into the top of your shoulder blade and his hips are stuttering against you.

He remains inside of you as he slowly lays your thigh back down, kissing the angry bite marks he’s left.

You’re compeletly spent. There’s absolutely no energy left in you, Bucky’s has used all of it up and as you’re about to fall asleep you feel him softly pull out and get out of bed.

He comes right back and you feel a warm wash cloth between your legs. You make a hissing noise, the fabric too rough for the sensitive skin, thanks to Bucky’s incessant need to never hold back. You weren’t complaining though, not by a long shot.

His words are soft and gently when he apologizes, “Sorry, did I hurt you?” You shake your head, “No, no I’m good but I think I might sleep for the next ten hours after that.” You smile with your eyes closed.

He laughs in return and gets back into bed with you, covering your bodies with the blankets and hugging you from behind.

“Sleep sweetheart.” He kisses the crown of your head and no sooner then when he finished his sentence, you were already entering a deep sleep.

[spookypastatoo]

Squidward’s Suicide

I just want to start off by saying if you want an answer at the end, prepare to be disappointed. There just isn’t one.

I was an intern at Nickelodeon Studios for a year in 2005 for my degree in animation. It wasn’t paid of course, most internships aren’t, but it did have some perks beyond education. To adults it might not seem like a big one, but most kids at the time would go crazy over it.

Now, since I worked directly with the editors and animators, I got to view the new episodes days before they aired. I’ll get right to it without giving too many unnecessary details. They had very recently made the SpongeBob movie and the entire staff was somewhat sapped of creativity so it took them longer to start up the season. But the delay lasted longer for more upsetting reasons. There was a problem with the series four premiere that set everyone and everything back for several months.

Me and two interns were in the editing room along with the lead animators and sound editors for the final cut. We received the copy that was supposed to be “Fear of a Krabby Patty” and gathered around the screen to watch. Now, given that it isn’t final yet, animators often put up a mock title card, sort of an inside joke for us, with phony, often times lewd titles, such as “How Sex Doesn’t Work” instead of “Rock-a-Bye Bivalve” when SpongeBob and Patrick adopt a sea scallop. Nothing particularly funny but work related chuckles. So when we saw the title card “Squidward’s Suicide” we didn’t think it more than a morbid joke.

One of the interns did a small throat laugh at it. The happy-go-lucky music played as is normal. The story began with Squidward practicing his clarinet, hitting a few sour notes like normal. We hear SpongeBob laughing outside and Squidward stops, yelling at him to keep it down as he has a concert that night and needs to practice. SpongeBob says okay and goes to see Sandy with Patrick. The bubbles splash screen comes up and we see the ending of Squidward’s concert. This is when things began to seem off.

While playing, a few frames repeated themselves, but the sound didn’t (at this point sound is synced up with animation, so yes, that’s not common) but when he stops playing, the sound finishes as if the skip never happened. There is a slight murmuring in the crowd before they begin to boo him. Not normal cartoon booing that is common in the show, but you could very clearly hear malice in it. Squidward was in full frame and looked visibly afraid. The shot goes to the crowd, with SpongeBob in center frame, and he too is booing, very much unlike him. That isn’t the oddest thing, though. What is odd is everyone had hyper realistic eyes. Very detailed. Clearly not shots of real people’s eyes, but something a bit more real than CGI. The pupils were red. Some of us looked at each other, obviously confused, but since we weren’t the writers, we didn’t question its appeal to children yet.

The shot goes to Squidward sitting on the edge of his bed, looking very forlorn. The view out of his porthole window is of a night sky so it isn’t very long after the concert. The unsettling part is at this point there was no sound. Literally no sound. Not even the feedback from the speakers in the room. It’s as if the speakers were turned off, though their status showed them working perfectly. He just sat there, blinking, in this silence for about thirty seconds, then he started to sob softly. He put his hands (tentacles) over his eyes and cried quietly for a full minute more, all the while a sound in the background very slowly growing from nothing to barely audible. It sounded like a slight breeze through a forest.

The screen slowly began to zoom in on his face. By slow I mean it’s only noticeable if you look at shots ten seconds apart side by side. His sobbing gets louder, more full of hurt and anger. The screen then twitched a bit, as if it twisted in on itself, for a split second then back to normal. The wind-through-the-trees sound got slowly louder and more severe, as if a storm was brewing somewhere. The eerie part was this sound, and Squidward’s sobbing, sounded real, as if the sound wasn’t coming from the speakers but as if the speakers were holes the sound was coming through from the other side. As good a sound as the studio likes to have, they don’t purchase the equipment to be that good to produce sound of that quality.

Below the sound of the wind and sobbing, very faint, something sounded like laughing. It came at odd intervals and never lasted more than a second so you had a hard time pinning it. We watched this show twice, so pardon me if things sound too specific but I’ve had time to think about them. After thirty seconds of this, the screen blurred and twitched violently and something flashed over the screen, as if a single frame was replaced.

The lead animation editor paused and rewound frame by frame. What we saw was horrible. It was a still photo of a dead child. He couldn’t have been more than six. The face was mangled and bloodied, one eye dangling over his upturned face, popped. He was naked down to his underwear, his stomach crudely cut open and his entrails lying beside him. He was lying on some pavement that was probably a road.

The most upsetting part was that there was a shadow of the photographer. There was no crime tape, no evidence tags or markers, and the angle was completely off for a shot designed to be evidence. It would seem the photographer was the person responsible for the child’s death. We were of course mortified, but pressed on, hoping that it was just a sick joke.

The screen flipped back to Squidward, still sobbing, louder than before, and half body in frame. There was now what appeared to be blood running down his face from his eyes. The blood was also done in a hyper realistic style, looking like if you touched it you’d get blood on your fingers. The wind sounded now as if it were that of a gale blowing through the forest; there were even snapping sounds of branches. The laughing, a deep baritone, lasted at longer intervals and came more frequently. After about twenty seconds, the screen again twisted and showed a single frame photo.

The editor was reluctant to go back, we all were, but he knew he had to. This time the photo was that of what appeared to be a little girl, no older than the first child. She was lying on her stomach, her barrettes in a pool of blood next to her. Her left eye too was popped out and popped, naked except for underpants. Her entrails were piled on top of her above another crude cut along her back. Again the body was on the street and the photographer’s shadow was visible, very similar in size and shape to the first. I had to choke back vomit and one intern, the only female in the room, ran out. The show resumed.

About five seconds after this second photo played, Squidward went silent, as did all sound, like it was when this scene started. He put his tentacles down and his eyes were now done in hyper realism like the others were in the beginning of this episode. They were bleeding, bloodshot, and pulsating. He just stared at the screen, as if watching the viewer. After about ten seconds, he started sobbing, this time not covering his eyes. The sound was piercing and loud, and most fear inducing of all was his sobbing was mixed with screams.

Tears and blood were dripping down his face at a heavy rate. The wind sound came back, and so did the deep voiced laughing, and this time the still photo lasted for a good five frames.

The animator was able to stop it on the 4th and backed up. This time the photo was of a boy, about the same age, but the scene was different. The entrails were just being pulled out from a stomach wound by a large hand, the right eye popped and dangling, blood trickling down it. The animator proceeded. It was hard to believe, but the next one was different but we couldn’t tell how. He went on to the next, same thing. He want back to the first and played them quicker and I lost it. I vomited on the floor, the animating and sound editors gasping at the screen. The five frames were not as if they were five different photos, they were played out as if they were frames from a video. We saw the hand slowly lift out the guts, we saw the kid’s eyes focus on it, we even saw two frames of the kid beginning to blink.

The lead sound editor told us to stop, he had to call in the creator to see this. Mr. Hillenburg arrived within about fifteen minutes. He was confused as to why he was called down there, so the editor just continued the episode. Once the few frames were shown, all screaming, all sound again stopped. Squidward was just staring at the viewer, full frame of the face, for about three seconds. The shot quickly panned out and that deep voice said “DO IT” and we see in Squidward’s hands a shotgun. He immediately put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Realistic blood and brain matter splattered the wall behind him, and his bed, and he flew back with the force. The last five seconds of this episode show his body on the bed, on his side, one eye dangling from what’s left of his head above the floor, staring blankly at it. Then the episode ends.

Mr. Hillenburg was obviously angry at this. He demanded to know what the heck was going on. Most people left the room at this point, so it was just a handful of us to watch it again. Viewing the episode twice only served to imprint the entirety of it in my mind and cause me horrible nightmares. I’m sorry I stayed.

The only theory we could think of was the file was edited by someone in the chain from the drawing studio to here. The CTO was called in to analyze when it happened. The analysis of the file did show it was edited over by new material. However, the timestamp of it was a mere 24 seconds before we began viewing it. All equipment involved was examined for foreign software and hardware as well as glitches, as if the time stamp may have glitched and showed the wrong time, but everything checked out fine. We didn’t know what happened and to this day nobody does.

There was an investigation due to the nature of the photos, but nothing came of it. No child seen was identified and no clues were gathered from the data involved nor physical clues in the photos. I never believed in unexplainable phenomena before, but now that I have seen something happen and can’t prove anything about it beyond anecdotal evidence, I think twice about things.

[jeremiahdowney]

Squidwards suicide

https://youtu.be/qq1e5dIilJ0

I just want to start off by saying if you want an answer at the end, prepare to be disappointed. There just isn’t one.

I was an intern at Nickelodeon Studios for a year in 2005 for my degree in animation. It wasn’t paid of course, most internships aren’t, but it did have some perks beyond education. To adults it might not seem like a big one, but most kids at the time would go crazy over it.

Now, since I worked directly with the editors and animators, I got to view the new episodes days before they aired. I’ll get right to it without giving too many unnecessary details. They had very recently made the SpongeBob movie and the entire staff was somewhat sapped of creativity so it took them longer to start up the season. But the delay lasted longer for more upsetting reasons. There was a problem with the series 4 premiere that set everyone and everything back for several months.

Me and two other interns were in the editing room along with the lead animators and sound editors for the final cut. We received the copy that was supposed to be “Fear of a Krabby Patty” and gathered around the screen to watch. Now, given that it isn’t final yet animators often put up a mock title card, sort of an inside joke for us, with phony, often times lewd titles, such as “How sex doesn’t work” instead of “Rock-a-bye-Bivalve” when SpongeBob and Patrick adopt a sea scallop. Nothing particularly funny but work related chuckles. So when we saw the title card “Squidward’s Suicide” we didn’t think it more than a morbid joke.

One of the interns did a small throat laugh at it. The happy-go-lucky music plays as is normal. The story began with Squidward practicing his clarinet, hitting a few sour notes like normal. We hear SpongeBob laughing outside and Squidward stops, yelling at him to keep it down as he has a concert that night and needs to practice. SpongeBob says okay and goes to see Sandy with Patrick. The bubbles splash screen comes up and we see the ending of Squidward’s concert. This is when things began to seem off.

While playing, a few frames repeat themselves, but the sound doesn’t (at this point sound is synced up with animation, so, yes, that’s not common) but when he stops playing, the sound finishes as if the skip never happened. There is slight murmuring in the crowd before they begin to boo him. Not normal cartoon booing that is common in the show, but you could very clearly hear malice in it. Squidward’s in full frame and looks visibly afraid. The shot goes to the crowd, with SpongeBob in center frame, and he too is booing, very much unlike him. That isn’t the oddest thing, though. What is odd is everyone had hyper realistic eyes. Very detailed. Clearly not shots of real people’s eyes, but something a bit more real than CGI. The pupils were red. Some of us looked at each other, obviously confused, but since we weren’t the writers, we didn’t question its appeal to children yet.

The shot goes to Squidward sitting on the edge of his bed, looking very forlorn. The view out of his porthole window is of a night sky so it isn’t very long after the concert. The unsettling part is at this point there is no sound. Literally no sound. Not even the feedback from the speakers in the room. It’s as if the speakers were turned off, though their status showed them working perfectly. He just sat there, blinking, in this silence for about 30 seconds, then he started to sob softly. He put his hands (tentacles) over his eyes and cried quietly for a full minute more, all the while a sound in the background very slowly growing from nothing to barely audible. It sounded like a slight breeze through a forest.

The screen slowly begins to zoom in on his face. By slow I mean it’s only noticeable if you look at shots 10 seconds apart side by side. His sobbing gets louder, more full of hurt and anger. The screen then twitches a bit, as if it twists in on itself, for a split second then back to normal. The wind-through-the-trees sound gets slowly louder and more severe, as if a storm is brewing somewhere. The eerie part is this sound, and Squidward’s sobbing, sounded real, as if the sound wasn’t coming from the speakers but as if the speakers were holes the sound was coming through from the other side. As good as sound as the studio likes to have, they don’t purchase the equipment to be that good to produce sound of that quality.

Below the sound of the wind and sobbing, very faint, something sounded like laughing. It came at odd intervals and never lasted more than a second so you had a hard time pinning it (we watched this show twice, so pardon me if things sound too specific but I’ve had time to think about them). After 30 seconds of this, the screen blurred and twitched violently and something flashed over the screen, as if a single frame was replaced.

The lead animation editor paused and rewound frame by frame. What we saw was horrible. It was a still photo of a dead child. He couldn’t have been more than 6. The face was mangled and bloodied, one eye dangling over his upturned face, popped. He was naked down to his underwear, his stomach crudely cut open and his entrails laying beside him. He was laying on some pavement that was probably a road.

The most upsetting part was that there was a shadow of the photographer. There was no crime tape, no evidence tags or markers, and the angle was completely off for a shot designed to be evidence. It would seem the photographer was the person responsible for the child’s death. We were of course mortified, but pressed on, hoping that it was just a sick joke.

The screen flipped back to Squidward, still sobbing, louder than before, and half body in frame. There was now what appeard to be blood running down his face from his eyes. The blood was also done in a hyper realistic style, looking as if you touched it you’d get blood on your fingers. The wind sounded now as if it were that of a gale blowing through the forest; there were even snapping sounds of branches. The laughing, a deep baritone, lasting at longer intervals and coming more frequently. After about 20 seconds, the screen again twisted and showed a single frame photo.

The editor was reluctant to go back, we all were, but he knew he had to. This time the photo was that of what appeared to be a little girl, no older than the first child. She was laying on her stomach, her barrettes in a pool of blood next to her. Her left eye was too popped out and popped, naked except for underpants. Her entrails were piled on top of her above another crude cut along her back. Again the body was on the street and the photographer’s shadow was visible, very similar in size and shape to the first. I had to choke back vomit and one intern, the only female in the room, ran out. The show resumed.

About 5 seconds after this second photo played, Squidward went silent, as did all sound, like it was when this scene started. He put his tentacles down and his eyes were now done in hyper realism like the others were in the beginning of this episode. They were bleeding, bloodshot, and pulsating. He just stared at the screen, as if watching the viewer. After about 10 seconds, he started sobbing, this time not covering his eyes. The sound was piercing and loud, and most fear inducing of all is his sobbing was mixed with screams.

Tears and blood were dripping down his face at a heavy rate. The wind sound came back, and so did the deep voiced laughing, and this time the still photo lasted for a good 5 frames.

The animator was able to stop it on the 4th and backed up. This time the photo was of a boy, about the same age, but this time the scene was different. The entrails were just being pulled out from a stomach wound by a large hand, the right eye popped and dangling, blood trickling down it. The animator proceeded. It was hard to believe, but the next one was different but we couldn’t tell what. He went on to the next, same thing. He want back to the first and played them quicker and I lost it. I vomited on the floor, the animating and sound editors gasping at the screen. The 5 frames were not as if they were 5 different photos, they were played out as if they were frames from a video. We saw the hand slowly lift out the guts, we saw the kid’s eyes focus on it, we even saw two frames of the kid beginning to blink.

The lead sound editor told us to stop, he had to call in the creator to see this. Mr. Hillenburg arrived within about 15 minutes. He was confused as to why he was called down there, so the editor just continued the episode. Once the few frames were shown, all screaming, all sound again stopped. Squidward was just staring at the viewer, full frame of the face, for about 3 seconds. The shot quickly panned out and that deep voice said “DO IT” and we see in Squidward’s hands a shotgun. He immediately puts the gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger. Realistic blood and brain matter splatters the wall behind him, and his bed, and he flies back with the force. The last 5 seconds of this episode show his body on the bed, on his side, one eye dangling on what’s left of his head above the floor, staring blankly at it. Then the episode ends.

Mr. Hillenburg is obviously angry at this. He demanded to know what the heck was going on. Most people left the room at this point, so it was just a handful of us to watch it again. Viewing the episode twice only served to imprint the entirety of it in my mind and cause me horrible nightmares. I’m sorry I stayed.

The only theory we could think of was the file was edited by someone in the chain from the drawing studio to here. The CTO was called in to analyze when it happened. The analysis of the file did show it was edited over by new material. However, the timestamp of it was a mere 24 seconds before we began viewing it. All equipment involved was examined for foreign software and hardware as well as glitches, as if the time stamp may have glitched and showed the wrong time, but everything checked out fine. We don’t know what happened and to this day nobody does.

There was an investigation due to the nature of the photos, but nothing came of it. No child seen was identified and no clues were gathered from the data involved nor physical clues in the photos. I never believed in unexplainable phenomena before, but now that I have something happen and can’t prove anything about it beyond anecdotal evidence, I think twice about things.