#i'm hoping most of you in the states have done / are planning to do that

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

PART 6

Summary: Edward and Bella's wedding day was fast approaching. Bella begins to struggle with the idea of becoming a vampire. She also wonders what a future with Edward could look like if he continues his turbulent relationship with Y/N.

TW: Mentions of marriage, manipulation, lack of regard for the feelings of others.

Edward stood on the terrace, looking out into the forest and watching the sun rise through the trees. Y/N made her way over to him, crossing her arms and leaning against the railing.

The silence settled easily between them and for a moment it almost felt like it used to. He hoped that their tense exchange from the previous day would be forgotten, but Y/N had never been one for turning over new leaves.

Y/N had always been impulsive and Edward dealt with it well until her impulsivity put Bella at risk.

"That gaudy ring that your human has been parading around with leads me to believe that congratulations are in order... I didn't think you had it in you to make so many life ruining choices in so little time," Y/N stated.

"How did you find out?" Edward asked.

"The real question is why you hid it from me," She replied.

"I didn't hide it," Edward said.

"Did you think I wouldn't come back if you told me you were engaged to her?" Y/N questioned.

Edward hesitated, "I needed you," He stated softly.

Y/N hated that he thought the simple statement justified his lies to her. Edward had never been outright cruel, he moved in the shadows with practiced precision. He kept his hands clean while burying the knife in her flesh like he had done countless times before.

Edward lied by omission, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You needed my power, not me," Y/N said.

"I care about you, Y/N... I want you to be here with us," Edward said.

"Where exactly do you think I belong in this perfect life you've created for yourself, hmm? Following you and your wife around until she eventually dies so you're not alone?" Y/N asked, looking over at him.

"I'm turning her into a vampire after the wedding," He said.

"Oh, how sweet of you to consider me when planning your happy life," Y/N replied bitterly.

"Don't patronize me, Y/N," He snapped.

"You started it," She said calmly, straightening up and turning towards him.

Edward huffed, "That wasn't my intention," He said.

"You're a fool, Edward. I have told you that you need to cut her loose and you've chosen to shackle yourself to her instead," Y/N said.

"I love her," Edward stated.

"She is plain... The only thing that makes her interesting to you is the fact that you can't read her mind. The fascination will wear off after a few decades and you will toss her away like chewed gum," She said.

"I would never do that to her," Edward snapped.

"But you did it to me without an issue," Y/N replied coldly.

Edward huffed, "You were a danger to her, Y/N," He said.

"No, I wasn't. If I wanted the girl dead, she'd be dead and you know that," Y/N said.

Y/N was right, she didn't need to be able to use her powers to kill Bella. Y/N may have had some ill intent during their previous interactions, but she hadn't taken any action.

Y/N had been Edward's trusted friend for years and he couldn't imagine a future without her. He loved Bella, but Y/N was family and he wouldn't turn his back on her.

"You're right," Edward muttered.

Y/N looked over at him, almost confused by his response to her, "Did you just agree with me?" She questioned.

Edward shot her a look, "I did, but don't let it go to your head... I know that you haven't been welcoming to Bella but I want to be able to trust you around her. I'm willing to continue our friendship if you are," Edward said.

"Is your little girlfriend going to be okay with this?" Y/N questioned.

"It doesn't matter. You're one of the most important people in my life and she'll have to deal with it," Edward said.

Y/N smirked, "Already picking favorites before you're even married... Good luck with the wedding," She said, stepping away from the railing and moving inside.

Edward lingered on the balcony, he felt unsettled after their interaction and he couldn't pinpoint why. Y/N knew about Edward's engagement and the plan to change Bella after the wedding which had been his biggest cause for concern.

No one in the family had told her, which meant that the news had come from Bella directly. Edward's relationship with Bella had been strained lately and an unsupervised interaction with Y/N could definitely explain it.

Bella hadn't been sleeping, her nights were filled with bad dreams and restless sleep. When Edward asked her about what was worrying her, she brushed him off and told him that everything was fine. Edward hated not knowing what she was thinking, she had been quiet and it worried him.

There had been no yelling or use of excessive force during his conversation with Y/N which should have made him feel better about their situation, but it didn't.

They were in uncharted territory and Edward couldn't help but feel on edge. Bella was still an undoubtedly fragile human and he just needed to keep her safe until the wedding. After that, she would be a vampire and a permanent part of the Cullen family.

Edward suddenly stiffened when he realized where Y/N had gone. She would do anything she could to push him and Bella further apart, even if it meant using his own words against him.

...

Edward raced to town and arrived in Bella's bedroom quickly, Y/N was sitting in a chair while the young human hovered awkwardly by the door.

"Hello, Edward. I was just updating your human on the details of our talk. I think you have a couple things that need to be discussed," Y/N said, standing up from the chair.

Edward grabbed her wrist, "Why would you do this?" He asked angrily.

"I just think everyone needs to know where they stand before our friendship can continue. The human agrees, don't you?" Y/N asked, looking over at Bella.

"Leave her out of this," Edward snapped, grip tightening on her wrist.

"Stop it, both of you. My god, you're like children and it's ridiculous," Bella said, Edward released Y/N's arm.

"Look, she's right about knowing where everyone stands, but I know that she only came here to try and mess with my head," Bella stated.

"Not as stupid as she looks," Y/N muttered.

"Shut up," Edward snapped.

"Can you go? You've caused a sufficient amount of issues now, Y/N," Bella mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on her feet and crossing her arms.

"It would be my pleasure," She said, turning her attention to Edward.

"Have fun cleaning up the mess you've created, Edward," Y/N smiled, disappearing without another word.

Edward let out a huff, "Bella, I was going to tell you about reaching out to her," He started.

"When?" Bella asked, making her way over to him.

"You haven't been sleeping lately and I didn't want to add another thing onto your plate," Edward said.

"I haven't been sleeping because of all of this," Bella said, gesturing between them, "She hates me and she's getting in my head about everything. I have nightmares that she kills me before I make it to the altar," Bella said.

"She wouldn't do that," Edward stated.

"I think you're seriously underestimating her, Edward," Bella said, shaking her head.

"Y/N has a problem with me, not you. I haven't been entirely honest with her lately and that's on me," Edward stated.

"Why are you keeping things from her? If she's really your friend, you should be able to tell her everything," Bella said.

"Y/N and I have a complicated relationship, Bella. I can't just abandon her and I need you to respect that," He said.

Bella huffed, "What if I said 'it's her or me'?" She questioned.

Edward faltered, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again. He didn't know what to say, he assumed that the answer would be easy but he hesitated.

Edward had never allowed himself to think about fully giving up on Y/N. He didn't love her, but she was his best friend. He felt like he was missing something when she wasn't around.

Having Y/N disappear from his life had proved to him that he would never be ready to close the door on her.

"Wow... I don't even know what to say," She muttered, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"I don't love her, Bella, but she's my best friend and I won't abandon her," Edward said.

"She's a big girl, Edward. I'm sure she can handle it," Bella stated.

"No, she can't," Edward snapped.

Bella looked shocked before she let out a shaky exhale, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you... I just- This is something I am not willing to compromise on. Y/N has been through a lot and I owe it to her," Edward said.

"Fine, but I need to know that nothing is going to happen before or during the wedding," Bella said.

"I promise," Edward nodded.

Bella hoped that she could trust him, but the nightmares continued to plague her. She wanted to tell him that he needed to choose her, but his mind was made up.

His hesitation when she asked him to pick between her and Y/N only served to solidify her doubts. When she put him on the spot, he picked Y/N and in high pressure situations he was likely to do the same thing.

The wedding was only days away and a pit was beginning to form in her stomach. Marriage was one thing, but becoming a vampire was not something that she could opt out of easily. Edward put a lot of weight into the idea of marriage and once she became like him, she would be stuck.

Bella couldn't walk away from him after he gave her immortality. She also struggled to cope with the idea of having her entire life be stuck in such a toxic loop.

Y/N was reactive and manipulative, pushing them apart whenever they got closer to one another. She was possessive of Edward and had some serious issues that would interfere with their relationship for the foreseeable future.

Bella hoped that things would fall into place, but she was beginning to feel like they never would.

...

Edward and Bella were getting married tomorrow. Alice had planned absolutely everything for the wedding. She took care of the guest list, the invitations, the flowers, the dress and everything in between.

The property of the Cullen house had been fully transformed for the wedding. Intricate flowers were hanging from overhead and a beautiful arch had been created for them to get married under.

Bella was still having nightmares, but refused to acknowledge them as the wedding day approached. Bella hadn't heard a peep from Y/N since she meddled in their relationship after her conversation with Edward.

Y/N had moved back into the Cullen house, but had been keeping to herself for the most part. Bella was almost beginning to wonder if Edward was keeping her in check or if she was quiet for a more malicious reason.

Edward visited Bella in her bedroom before his bachelor party and they talked about his past. The conversation threw her off, it almost seemed like he was trying to give her a reason to call off their engagement.

Their relationship was still tense, but it was starting to go back to the way it had been. Despite Y/N trying to get under Bella's skin about Edward reaching out to her, the conversation had actually helped.

They were able to lay their cards on the table and be honest. Edward's connection to Y/N was complex and problematic but it was always going to exist. Their conversation lifted some of the weight from her shoulders, but hadn't relieved it entirely.

Bella sent him off to his brothers for his bachelor party before settling in for a night of restless sleep. Edward's bachelor party involved a rather entertaining hunt and some juvenile behavior with his brothers until the sun began to rise.

Edward walked through the forest on his way back to the Cullen house with Jasper and Emmett. Morning dew glistened on the greenery and birds began to chirp in the trees.

"I wonder what Y/N is going to get up to today. That's one hell of a wild card to have at your wedding," Emmett said with a smirk.

"She's not going to try anything," Edward stated.

"You sure about that?" Jasper questioned.

Edward huffed, "I don't know what she's up to lately," He said.

"Might be best to put Carlisle on Y/N duty. He can keep an eye on her for you," Emmett said.

"If I do that she'll think I don't trust her," Edward said.

"But you don't," Emmett stated, climbing over a fallen tree trunk.

"I don't want her to know that," Edward shrugged.

"I'm glad she's moving back in. I missed having her around," Emmett said.

"Me too," Jasper nodded, "She's fun and she makes you loosen up a bit," He said, looking over at Edward.

"She hates Bella," Edward stated.

"Nah, I don't think so. Just seems like she's trying to keep you from doing something stupid," Emmett said, Edward shot him a glare.

"Hey, I don't think it's stupid, but she definitely does," Emmett said, holding his hands up.

Edward huffed, "I'll talk to her. She has to know how important the wedding is to us," He said.

"Good luck with that," Jasper smirked.

The trio fell silent as they approached the Cullen house, splitting off into their respective rooms while Edward made his way to Y/N's bedroom.

He knew that Emmett was right and he needed to talk to Y/N. She had been far too quiet for it to mean anything good. He knocked on her door gently, lowering his hand and waiting for her to reply from inside.

Edward knew she was in her room and the silence frustrated him. Edward opened the door after a moment had passed, Y/N was sitting in her armchair with a book in her lap.

"No response means no one's home," Y/N muttered, flipping the page in her book.

Edward stepped into her room, closing the door behind himself, "I need to talk to you," He said.

"Well, if I wanted to talk to you I would've opened the door," Y/N replied.

"I'm getting married today and I need you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid," Edward said.

"I'm not willing to make that promise, Edward," Y/N stated.

"I can't have you there if you're going to pose a risk to the humans we've invited," He said.

"Uninvite me then," She said, closing her book and looking up at him.

Edward huffed, "You're my friend and I want you to be there. I don't think it's an outlandish request to ask you to behave," Edward said.

"Clearly you haven't met me," Y/N stated.

"I thought we were starting over after our last conversation," He said.

"Are you talking about the conversation where you invited me to be a third wheel in your marriage? Because I don't consider that to be a promising jumping off point for us," Y/N stated.

Edward shook his head, "You're insufferable, you know that? I have been bending over backwards trying to make things work between us and you don't care," He said.

"You brought me here under false pretenses, Edward. You have dragged me along like a fish on a hook for half a century. Forgive me for making you grovel a little bit," Y/N snapped.

"You're a hypocrite... You talk about the things that I've done, but what about you? You haven't always had good intentions with me either," Edward stated.

"We're both awful people, but at least I'm willing to admit it," She shrugged.

Edward sighed, "I don't want to fight with you, Y/N. I just want us to be civil and I would like to have you at the wedding," He said.

"I'll go, but I can't promise to be happy about it," Y/N replied.

"That's all I ask," Edward said.

[biitchcakes]

[flowersforbucky]

sweetener

bucky barnes x reader

summary: when the vacation that you've been planning for months gets canceled due to a last minute mission, you can't help but feel bummed - the bright side is that you're being sent on a mission with bucky.

word count: 5.3k - my masterlist

warnings/tags: canon level violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of blood, almost drowning, hospital setting, bad guys getting killed (not descriptive), non-sexual nudity, hurt/comfort trope, avenger!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, language, reader pov, no use of y/n, fem reader, bucky being super soft, not explicit but mdni please

when life deals us cards

make everything taste like it is salt

then you come through like the sweetener you are

to bring the bitter taste to a halt

Hand warmers. Flashlight and extra batteries. Can opener. Matches. First aid kit –

You glance down the handwritten list for the dozenth time that morning, checking and rechecking that you aren't forgetting anything obvious.

Your eyes flicker between the ridiculous amount of supplies scattered across your bed and the three large duffle bags on your floor that you're determined to pack it all into. You know that you are most likely being excessive, but you'd much rather be too thorough than not thorough enough when you're about to be miles deep in the Appalachian wilderness.

Sure, you'd be staying at a relatively civilized campground with restrooms and showers, but this is the first time that you've been camping in years, and your first time ever going camping alone.

A two day road trip there, then six days in the Great Smoky Mountains, and then another two day road trip back to upstate New York.

A much needed ten days of time spent by yourself, seeing as how you haven't gone on anything resembling a vacation in over two years. The last couple years have been nonstop work with very little time for relaxation.

To say that you're excited would be an understatement. Although you find immense fulfillment in the work that you do with the Avengers and can't see yourself doing anything else, you're ready to sit by a warm fire and sleep under the stars without a care in the world.

Just as you've finished packing the second bag and are about to begin on the third, the Bluetooth speaker that your cell phone is paired to begins blasting your ringtone, cutting off the music that you'd been listening to while you pack.

When you grab the phone off of your nightstand and see the name Nick Fury displayed across the screen, a ball of unease immediately forms in the pit of your stomach.

Nick Fury isn't the type to call and chit chat about how your day is going or what shows you've been binge watching. He's the type to call when he wants something done, and wants it done now.

“Hey, Fury,” you greet in a neutral tone as you perch on the edge of your bed. With the phone still connected to your speaker, you place it back down on the nightstand so that you are free to wring your hands together.

“Agent,” Fury's voice booms throughout your room. “I hope I've caught you before you've left the state of New York.”

Godfuckingdammit.

“Uh - yep. I'm still here. Packing up for my trip right now,” you answer, trying your hardest to conceal the irritation in your voice. There's a small voice in the back of your head telling you that you should just lie and say you are already on the road, but you're not stupid enough to lie to Nick Fury.

There's a second, louder voice in the back of your mind screaming at you that you shouldn’t have even answered the phone.

“You know I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm going to suggest you pack a tactical suit and weapon of choice instead of hiking boots and a sleeping bag. We just got word that a vibranium weapons dealer we've been tracking will be receiving a large shipment at a port in Destin tomorrow night. Need you and Barnes on a flight to Florida this afternoon.”

“Florida?” you repeat, unable to hide the shock and disappointment in your tone. “I can't go to Florida right now. I've been planning this trip for months. I put in the notice for my leave–”

“I realize that this is unfortunate timing but I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable, Agent,” he interrupts you in a tone of finality. “If we don't intercept this shipment then these weapons fall into very dangerous hands. With Romanoff and Rogers still in San Antonio until next week, I have no choice but to ask you and Barnes to handle it.”

You exhale an audible, frustrated breath and massage the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You don't know why you're surprised. It's not like illegal arms dealers take your vacation time into consideration when they plot their dealings.

“Is that understood, Agent?” he asks when you don't respond.

“Yes,” you say as you dig your nails into the flesh of your palm to hold back any further argument. “Yes, I understand.”

“Great. The jet leaves in three hours.”

The line cuts off before you can get another word out.

You groan out loud. Three hours. That doesn't even leave you enough time to feel sorry for yourself.

You look around at the chaotic state of your room before your gaze lands on the already packed duffle bags filled with camping supplies.

You're too annoyed and short on time to care right now, so you empty the contents of both bags back onto your bed and tell yourself that you'll deal with the mess when you get back home. For now, you need to focus on packing the appropriate items for taking down a vibranium arms dealer in hotass Florida.

Beneath all of the disappointment and frustration, there's a glimmer of relief that at the very least it's Bucky who you're being sent on this unexpected mission with. You may not be fond of hot weather, but you are quite fond of him.

••••••

Just as Fury said, the jet departs from the compound at exactly three o'clock. You sit in the aircraft's cabin, reading through a thick file containing all of the information that SHIELD has compiled on Dmitri Petrov's crime empire, ranging from drug smuggling to illegal arms deals.

You are only a few pages into the report and it's abundantly clear why this mission was non-negotiable. Petrov has been getting away unscatched for years - tomorrow night will be the first clear opportunity for a take down since getting on SHIELD's radar.

“Coffee?” A voice snaps you back to reality, making you realize that you're reading the same sentence for the dozenth time. “Three creams, two sugars.”

You look up to find a vibranium hand holding out a disposable cup to you. If the fact that he's committed the way you take your coffee to memory isn't enough to increase your heart rate, his smirk and the crinkles around his blue eyes do the trick.

“Thank you,” you tell him, snapping the folder shut on the table in front of you. “My eyes are on the verge of bleeding.” You take a sip of the coffee - indeed, three creams and two sugars.

He takes the seat directly across from you, spinning the folder around for him to flip through himself.

“We land in less than half an hour and you've been reading this the entire flight,” he says teasingly as he thumbs through the pages. “I think it's safe to say you're prepared.”

He places the file back down, returning his attention to you.

“Just trying to get myself in the right headspace. I didn't know anything about this operation until a few hours ago, you know.”

Not one to complain, you had yet to bring up the fact that your trip had been postponed in order for you to be here. You had talked about the trip on several occasions with Bucky, but you didn't expect him to remember the exact dates that you were supposed to be gone.

Sure - if he was going to be away for over a week, you'd be hyper aware of it until he returned - but you weren't naive enough to think that he would know the exact dates of your comings and goings.

“I know,” he sighs, a sympathetic look on his face. “I was on my way to tell you to have a good trip and to be safe when I got the call from Fury this morning.”

Oh. Your cheeks heat at the casual admission from him.

“I'm sorry about your trip. I know you were really looking forward to it,” he adds sincerely. “I'm going to find extra enjoyment in putting Dmitri Petrov behind bars for causing it to get canceled.”

“You and me both,” you chuckle. “Really though, it's okay. I was bummed, but it's not the end of the world. It can easily be rescheduled once this guy is locked up and we're back home.”

You don't add the fact that you find yourself caring less and less about the canceled trip the longer that you sit here with him.

“There is at least one silver lining to this, you know,” he chimes, leaning forward with his elbows on the table between you. You instinctively lean in closer too, causing the side of your leg to brush against his beneath the table. You wait to see if he'll pull away, and when he doesn't, you leave the side of your thigh resting against his.

“Oh, yeah? And what's that?”

“Petrov’s shipment isn't set to arrive until tomorrow night, and they've sent us down here the day prior. It's not like we have to stay holed up in our hotel room for the next twenty-four hours, right?”

••••••

Bucky's right - there's no sense in locking yourselves inside the hotel room until the time of the weapons deal tomorrow evening, but when you see the hotel room that you'll be spending the next couple nights in, you think you would also be okay with staying inside if you had to.

It's not a five star resort by any means, but in comparison to the dingy roadside motels that you're normally stuck in for missions? This place might as well be a Four Seasons.

It's relatively small, but there's more than enough space for the two of you. There's one full size bed, plus a couch that converts to a futon mattress - the latter of which Bucky insists on taking, giving you the bed. The bathroom is nearly as big as the main room, with a jacuzzi tub that's bigger than three standard bathtubs put together.

And the best part of it? When you open the curtains to the sliding glass door on the backside of the room, there's a clear view of turquoise water and white sand.

“I guess Fury felt a little bad about springing this on me at the last minute, after all,” you sigh as you pull the door open, letting the light breeze pull the smell of saltwater into the room. “Can't say that I’ve been given a beachfront room for a mission before.”

Bucky walks up to stand beside you, leaning against the doorframe and staring out to the ocean.

“It's definitely a step up from the rat and roach infested Motel 6 that Sam and I had to spend three nights in when we were sent to Atlanta for recon last month.”

You shake your head, both cringing and laughing at the memory of him ranting about the motel room as soon as he saw you after returning home.

“It was the size of a fucking capybara. Why are you laughing? I opened the bathroom door and it charged at me–”

A sudden deep rumbling noise snaps you out of the memory and you glance down at your stomach in surprise. You suppose it makes sense that your body is screaming at you to eat - you had such little time to pack for Destin before your flight left that you hadn't even bothered with lunch today.

“How does pizza sound?” Bucky asks with a knowing smirk. “I saw a pizza place just down the street on the way here.”

“Anything sounds good right now,” you sigh, both starving and exhausted from your day of packing, unpacking, re-packing and traveling.

“I'll go grab one for us,” he tells you, pulling the keys to the rental car out of his pocket. “Just stay here and get settled in.”

You don't object, itching to change into comfier, more weather appropriate clothes. When you left the state of New York just a few hours ago, it was chilly outside. Now that you are in eighty plus degree Destin, the sweater and boots that you're wearing have got to go.

You unpack your bag, thankful that you had brought a pair of casual drawstring shorts. You throw them on, along with a tank top. You decide to go ahead and convert the futon from a sofa into a bed, and then search through the hotel room's small linen closet for a set of sheets and a quilt. If Bucky insists on you taking the comfier sleeping option and going to get food for the two of you, you figure the least you can do is make his bed for him.

When he returns, he not only has a large cardboard box containing the pizza, but a plastic bag hanging from his vibranium arm as well.

“Grab a towel and follow me,” he tells you before he's even closed the door behind him.

“Follow you?” You laugh, taken aback by the instructions. “Where are we going?”

You hop up from where you'd been mindlessly scrolling on your phone on the bed, doing as he asked and grabbing one of the complementary beach towels from the bathroom closet.

“Not staying holed up in our hotel room. Remember?”

And with that he pulls the sliding glass door open with his empty hand and exits the room, heading towards the beach that sits directly in the backyard. You don't even take the time to throw on a pair of tennis shoes before practically running after him through the sand.

He comes to a stop when he's a few yards away from where the waves wash up against shore and turns back to look at you. You take it as your cue to spread the towel across the sand at your feet.

He sits down and you follow, the cardboard box nestled between you. He opens it, revealing a pizza that is split down the middle - half your favorite, half his favorite.

“I know it's not a campfire in the Great Smoky Mountains,” he smirks. He digs into the plastic bag and pulls out a drink for each of you, along with some napkins. “But it's the best I could do in our current situation.”

The sentiment leaves you momentarily speechless. You know it isn't a grand declaration of love, and it might not mean as much to some people as it does to you - but you can't remember the last time someone went out of their way just to improve your day in such a simple yet thoughtful way.

Between the pizza, the vibrant pink and purple sky as the sun sinks beyond the ocean's horizon, the sound of the waves and him beside you, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.

“No,” you murmur. “It's not. But it's perfect.”

••••••

The next day, you manage to forget that you're actually on a super important mission taking down a dangerous illegal arms dealer.

The first half of the day feels like an actual vacation - the closest thing you've had to a vacation in a long time, anyway. You sleep in until nearly ten o'clock in the morning - which may not be considered sleeping in for some people, but in this line of work, you've overslept if you're still in bed at eight am.

After waking up thoroughly rested and refreshed, the two of you get brunch and then spend the early hours of the afternoon leisurely strolling at the boardwalk just a short drive from your hotel.

You and Bucky are sitting on a bench eating ice cream when you check your phone for the first time in hours and realize how quickly the day has gone. It's already four o'clock - you're due to be on lookout at the pier where Petrov's exchange will occur soon.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asks when you huff under your breath as you stick your phone back into your pocket. “Nervous about tonight?”

You're not nervous, truthfully. You're fully confident that you and Bucky will be able to handle the job. You've been on countless missions less straight forward than this before, and so has he.

“No,” you shake your head as you take another bite of your ice cream cone. “It's… silly,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal.

“I'm sure it's not silly,” he assures you gently.

You pause, staring at a couple holding hands in the distance as you contemplate your words.

Bucky seems to follow your gaze.

“Today has just been really nice,” you shrug with a small smile. “I almost don't want to go back home.”

From your peripheral vision, you see his face shift to look at you. You continue to eat your ice cream, pretending that his stare doesn't warm you more than the Florida sun.

“We're on the same page then, doll.”

••••••

A few hours later, a feeder ship pulls up to the pier just after dusk.

“We've got eyes on three men,” you say lowly into your communication device. “They're guarding the pier. No sign of Petrov yet.”

“He'll show,” Fury's voice echoes in your ear. “Keep watch until then. Backup is on standby to take him in.” The comm clicks off before you can respond.

“I know there's a lot riding on this going smoothly,” you grumble as you bring your binoculars back up to your eyes. “But sometimes I think he just really needs to get laid.”

You and Bucky are across the road from the pier, concealed by large shrubs and the darkness of the night sky. You've been sitting here as still and silently as possible for well over an hour, before Petrov's men had even arrived to stand guard at the dock.

You really fucking have to pee.

Headlights begin to approach from down the street, and as the vehicle gets closer you're able to see that it's a large, black van.

Totally not suspicious at all.

It comes to a stop close to the boat dock, and a second later Petrov hops out of the driver's seat. You recognize him right away by his shrimpy build and receding hairline.

“I should just take them all out from here and be done with this,” Bucky grumbles from beside you.

“I agree,” you sigh. “But Fury's adamant that Petrov be brought in alive if possible. He’s got an empire behind him that we need to find out as much as possible about. His men, however..” you trail off.

Bucky looks through the scope of his gun, zeroing in on one of the guards.

“Blow a tire on the van first,” you murmur. “So Petrov can't flee.”

“I'll take out these three guards, and then I'll get Petrov and call for back-up. You worry about getting to that ship and taking out anyone inside. Sound like a plan?”

“Easy peasy,” you agree.

Less than thirty seconds later, all three guards have dropped dead and Petrov is frantically running to his van, unaware that Bucky had shot the back tire after killing his guards. You and Bucky emerge from the shrubs, sprinting across the road. He dashes towards Petrov, who freezes and begins shouting curses in Russian when he sees what is running towards him.

Bucky lands a punch to Petrov's jaw as you're running past them, only slowing down enough to not trip over the guard’s dead bodies that are littered across the dock.

You're only a few yards away from the ship when you hear Bucky screech your name. You immediately come to a halt, turning back to see why he could be calling for you.

You see a tall, burly man - someone that you and Bucky hadn't noticed before - sprinting down the dock after you. He raises his arm above his head, his hand holding a rocklike object that he sends barreling in your direction.

It's the last thing you see before everything fades to black.

••••••

The shrill, repetitive beeping of a monitor pulls you out of limbo and back to earth.

You're met with painfully bright, fluorescent lighting that has you squinting your eyes shut before you can make sense of your surroundings.

“Bucky,” you attempt to call out but it sounds like the croak of a lifelong smoker. Your eyes begin to adjust to the harsh lighting, allowing you to see that you're alone in a hospital room. You raise your fingertips to where it feels as if your brain is pulsing through your skull. There's a thick, defined knot on the top of your head that's sensitive to the touch.

Panic starts to take over you. Bits and pieces of the mission start to flash through your mind. Bucky shooting the guards, you running towards the feeder ship when you heard Bucky yell your name and then turning to see –

“Bucky!” You call out louder, your voice still hoarse. You sit up, not hesitating to carelessly yank an IV out of your arm. You're vaguely aware of the fact that you're in only a hospital gown and that blood is now trickling down your left arm, but you don't care.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed, standing up far too quickly. Your vision fades to a fuzzy gray and you're overcome with an intense wave of vertigo as the room spins around you. You grab onto the metal side railing of the hospital bed to keep yourself upright, desperately trying to focus your eyes enough to find the nurse's call button.

“Hi! I'll be to your room in just a moment–” An overly cheerful, feminine voice pours from the speaker a moment after pressing the button.

“What happened? How long have I been here? Where is my–”

The door to your room opens, and you immediately breathe an audible sigh of relief as your last question is answered. He looks as though he could use a good night's sleep, but he is okay.

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky exclaims as he rushes over to where you're still clutching the hospital bed railing for support. You follow his gaze to your arm, seeing that there's now blood all over your gown as well as the white floor around your feet.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you mumble, embarrassed by your current state. He guides you back to the edge of the mattress before walking away to get a towel from the bathroom. “I was worried something happened to you,” you add weakly.

He wipes the blood trail on your skin before using the hand towel to apply pressure to the puncture in the bend of your arm.

“I'm okay,” he assures you delicately. “I had just gone to get some coffee.” He glances at the styrofoam to-go cup that you hadn't even noticed him place on the bedside table when he entered the room.

“How long was I asleep?” You ask, noticing that it's still pitch dark outside. You also notice that he's no longer in the clothes that he wore on the mission - now wearing a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants and a matching hoodie. “What happened?”

“There was another guy in the back of Petrov’s van,” Bucky tenses, still holding the towel to your arm for you. “We were both distracted and he snuck up on you. He hit you over the head with a piece of vibranium and threw you into the water.” His jaw clenches as he recounts what happened, meeting your gaze with a pained look.

“But you saved me,” you finish for him.

“Yes,” he gulps. “I did. But I was almost too late. By the time I knocked out Petrov and killed the man who hit you.. it felt like it took forever to find you in the water. You almost drown–”

He cuts himself off, unable to force the last word out. A nurse enters the room as you open your mouth to offer him reassurance. Bucky holds your gaze for a split-second longer before reluctantly dropping his hold on your arm and turning to take a seat in the room's singular guest chair.

The nurse informs you that they did a CT scan while you were unconscious, and that while you don't have any swelling or bleeding on your brain from the blow, the doctor believes you to have a concussion and tells you that she will need to do an exam now that you are awake before they feel comfortable discharging you.

Judging by the high-pitched ringing that you've heard in your ears since you woke up and the way that you feel dizzy when you even think about trying to stand up, you don't doubt that you're concussed.

An hour later, you've been thoroughly examined and it is confirmed that yes - you are indeed concussed. The doctor discharges you under the condition that you don't drive and that someone keeps a close eye on you for the next twenty-four hours.

“Don't worry,” you hear Bucky tell her when you step into the bathroom to throw on a pair of dry sweatpants, a t-shirt, and cheap shower slides that the hospital had given you to wear back to the hotel, seeing as how your tactical suit and boots are still sopping wet with ocean water. “I'm not letting her out of my sight.”

The nurse who helps you dress gives you a small smirk at his words.

“You're a lucky woman,” she tells you quietly. “He was worried sick until you woke up.”

You avoid her gaze, your cheeks heating. You busy yourself by tightening the drawstrings to the gray sweatpants.

“I am lucky,” you agree. “He's a great partner.”

She raises an eyebrow at the word partner, but doesn't make any further comment.

By the time that you and Bucky make it back to your hotel room, the sun has started to rise.

Bucky all but carries you inside, only letting go of you when you're perched on the edge of the mattress. Your head is still throbbing despite the extra strength ibuprofen that you'd taken before leaving the hospital, and you still can't walk without stumbling from dizziness, but at least the intense ringing in your ears has begun to subside.

You feel tired down to your very bones, but you have no doubt that Bucky is even more exhausted. You'd been unconscious for nearly eight hours during the night, whereas he had been awake the entire time sitting by your bedside.

“You get some rest,” you tell him. You brace your hands against the mattress, preparing to attempt to stand back up. “I smell like a mixture of sweat and fish from being in the ocean, so I'm going to shower off.”

You push yourself off of the bed, and as quickly as you stand, you're sitting back down. The room immediately begins spinning in circles around you, sending a wave of nausea through the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, not likely,” Bucky huffs lightly. “You can't stand up, and the shower doesn't have a seat. How about we compromise on a bath?”

You give a weak nod, too tired to protest. A warm bath sounds incredible right now.

Bucky retreats to the bathroom, where he turns on the water to fill the tub before returning to help you get up from the bed without toppling over. He secures his flesh arm around your waist and guides you to the closed toilet, where you carefully sit down.

“Do you.. need help undressing? Or..?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you breathe with an awkward laugh. “I think I've got it.”

He gives you a quick nod, looking away to give you the privacy to shed your clothes. You carefully tug the oversized t-shirt the hospital had given you over your head, wincing when it brushes against the swollen knot on the side of your scalp. You rise off the lid of the toilet just enough to push your sweatpants down to your ankles.

“Okay,” you murmur, letting him know that you're ready to step into the tub.

He grabs one of your hands in his, and places his metal hand on the small of your back as you step over the side of the large jacuzzi tub and into the water.

Not that you don't trust your other teammates. But with Bucky, it doesn't feel vulnerable.

You're aware of the intimacy of the scenario, but you can't find it in yourself to feel insecure or embarrassed right now - you're sure that's largely due to the concussion, but you think it's also simply because of who you're with.

If it were Sam, or Steve, or anyone else, you know you'd be mortified to be utterly exposed as they help you take a bath. If it were anyone else you wouldn't be taking a bath right now - you would have just gone to sleep and waited until you could fully do it yourself instead of putting yourself in such a vulnerable position.

He lowers you into the water, your entire body instantly relaxing at the warmth. You glance to his face, noticing a faint purple bruise along his cheekbone.

“I'm going to leave the door cracked. I'll be right outside if you need anything. Just let me know when you're ready to get out, okay?”

You don't respond, instead reaching up to his face, where you run your finger along the outline of the bruise. He freezes beneath your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Don't worry,” he assures you softly. “It was a lot worse when it first happened. It's already almost gone.”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. “It happened because of me. I wasn't paying attention as well as I should have been. Should have heard that guy coming.”

“Don't say that.” He places his flesh hand on top of where yours still rests against his cheek and then brings it in front of his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. “You're okay, and that's the only thing that matters now.”

“Mmm,” you hum, staring at his lips that are no more than an inch away from your hand.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice patient and curious.

You hesitate for a brief moment before leaning forward and pressing your lips to the bruise in a featherlight kiss. You pull back, once more resting your back against the tub and giving him a small shrug.

“Just thinking that I wanted to do that. Have for a while.”

He grins, a faint blush taking over the apples of his cheeks.

“Yeah, I'd say you're definitely concussed.”

He then presses his lips to the side of your hand, causing goosebumps to form across your skin despite the warm water that you sit in.

You chuckle, your smile matching his. “I am,” you agree. “But the concussion will go away soon, and I'll still want to kiss you then, too.”

“I hope that you will do just that.”

••••••

One month later

You wake up to the smell of campfire smoke that creeps through the crack in the partially zipped tent.

Despite a thick sleeping bag, multiple blankets, and the plush sweater that you wear, you can't help but shiver.

Something is missing.

You look around the tent, your eyes adjusting to the early morning daylight that filters into the tent.

Someone is missing.

You reluctantly exit your cozy sleeping bag, shoving your wool sock covered feet into your boots and crawling out of the tent.

Bucky is facing away from you, cracking an egg into a pan that is positioned over the fire.

“Good morning,” you murmur as you creep up behind him, wrapping an arm around his midsection. He wraps his own arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he teases softly. “What's on the agenda today?”

“Maybe some hiking, maybe some biking,” you shrug into him. “Maybe a little bit of you keeping me warm in that tent.”

He laughs, more carefree than you've ever seen him before.

“See? It's a good thing that your trip got postponed. What if I wasn't here to keep you warm?”

You raise up to capture his lips in yours, the taste of fresh brewed French press coffee on his breath.

“Remind me to thank Fury for that when we get back.”

thank you so much for reading 💕🫶🏻 comments and reblogs are infinitely appreciated!!

[mariasont]

maria, i have an ideaaa!!

bimbo!assistant!reader goes on a date with a really shitty guy. and she sneaks away to the back door and calls hotch in the alley to come and save her (it’s also raining). she’s all wet and her makeup’s all ruined when hotch comes.

he then takes her back to his place and takes care of her… and… mushy soft fluffiness happens… and maybe feelings are confessed… and maybe a kiss or 2 happens…🥰💖

TALK ABOUT A BAD DATE - A.H

a/n: genius, genius, you are an absolute genius!!!!!!!!!!! this was probably my fav bimbo!reader fic to write <3 thank you sm for requesting

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: um the rain takes out reader's shirt, so she does kinda flash him for a hot sec, hotch also blatantly checks out her ass, cuties being sickeningly cute, cuties kiss in 4k

wc: 2k

A perfect, flawless, stunning, never-been-done before outfit wasted on a loser of a guy. Your makeup had taken an hour alone, your hair—well, you didn't even want to think about it because you were certain you were starting to break out in hives.

You steadied yourself against the brick wall, the uneven asphalt beneath your heels threatening to take you down as you fished your phone from the depths of your purse.

You dialed the first number you could think of--Hotch's. His was also the only one you had memorized. The battery icon flashed a warning of five percent as you hunched beneath the alleyway's awning, trying to shield yourself from the rain. You desperately hoped he'd pick up.

There was frankly no plan B if he didn't. Go back inside and ask you so-called date for a ride? That was not an option. The moment he pulled up in one of those big trucks, with its deafening music and roaring engine, you regretted not driving yourself. After all, you were well aware what men were compensating for with a big truck.

"Hotchner."

His voice was gruff, the sound slightly distorted by the speaker. You imagined he had just walked through his door, despite the time being eight o'clock on a Friday night. He was presumably preparing to pour his routine glass of scotch.

"Sir, it's me," you said, attempting to ignore the relentless raindrops assaulting your makeup--a battle they seemed intent on winning. Clearly, the concept of setting spray was foreign to them. "Can I ask you for a favor? If you say yes, I pinky promise I'll stop rearranging your desk. I know you have a system, but it just looks so bland sometimes."

"I'm going to overlook that desk comment," he stated, his sigh audible through the phone. You could picture the pensive frown that came with it. "What do you need?"

You drew your lips into a tight line, looking down to watch the rain mock the effort you had put into your outfit.

"Can you come pick me up? Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Pick you up? From where? Are you okay?"

You shivered slightly, your free hand instinctively rubbing warmth into your arm. You should've brought a jacket. The thought of sharing this evening's failings with your boss did not sound appealing, so you avoided most of his questions.

"I'll text you the location, okay?"

"Okay, yes, I'll be there. Just stay put."

You thanked him and followed that by a double promise to stay put (he didn't believe you the first time). You also told him you'd wait inside, which was less than truthful. The thought of getting drenched was far more attractive than the prospect of bumping in that women-hating boy again.

You didn't have to wait long, thankfully, spotting Hotch's car turn into the alley, the headlights flaring up like spotlights against your face. You used a manicured hand to shield your eyes, narrowing them against the glare. The distinct sound of a door opening and closing signaled his arrival, and soon, Hotch was striding towards you.

"Christ, get in the car," Hotch insisted, more a command than a suggestion.

He was by your side in an instant, his arm on yours as he opened your door and helped you in. Then, unexpectedly, he reached over you to fasten the seatbelt. You giggled, his hand pausing just above your thigh.

"What?"

The rain gently streamed over his perfect skin, his hair now saturated and plastered to his brow, his blue dress shirt bearing the brunt of the downpour.

"You don't trust me to buckle my own seatbelt?"

"I don't trust you with a lot of things." Completely false. "For instance, your choice of men." Completely true.

He clicked the seatbelt into place and swung the door shut, cutting off any chance of a response, then moved around the car to the driver's side.

You can't help but pout, even as your eyes traced the line of his jaw. "How'd you know?"

Any trace of annoyance vanished as quickly as it came as he placed a hand behind you, giving you an even better view of his profile while he reversed the car. Your focus shifted to the ripple of muscles under his shirt.

"I'm trained to know when someone is in distress and you practically spelled it out. The restaurant, the clothes..." His voice tapered off, disguising his pause with a cough while his gaze flickered over your outfit, his cheeks tinged with a fleck of red. "I've got a spare sweatshirt in the back if you need it."

You traced his line of sight to your chest. Emitting a small squeak, you quickly shielded yourself with your arms, realizing that your white top had become completely see through.

"Totally not embarassing," you say, pursing your lips as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

"It's fine," Hotch insists, but you don't miss how his eyes are now careful not to drift from the road. "Put your seatbelt back on."

"I can't reach the sweatshirt."

You shift to face the back, knees planted on your seat as you lean over to grab just the thing you were looking for. In the rearview mirror you catch the brief moment his eyes do stray, discreetly (or so he thought) sweeping over your ass.

A self-satisfied smile crept across you face as you slid back into your seat, slipping on the sweatshirt. It smelled like him—an intoxicating blend of aged leather and pine. You liked it. A lot.

"So do you wanna talk about it?"

You really didn't. With a sigh, you dug through your purse for your lip gloss. Flipping down the passenger mirror, you froze, confronting your reflection.

"Hotch, didn't you think to mention my face is all... smudgy?"

Your mascara (and setting spray) had betrayed you, leaving dark trails down your cheeks and a slightly unhinged look.

"Your face is perfect," Hotch remarks dryly, like he was tired of you, he undoubtedly was. You were a handful after all. "Why are you avoiding my question?"

You let out a delighted gasp.

"Did you just say my face is perfect?" Leaning over the console, you tap his nose with your finger. "You're just the sweetest."

The look Hotch gives you is flat, expectant as if he knows just what you were trying to do.

"Okay, okay, fine, it was just a terrible date. Like, Hotch, I'm talking disaster-level bad. He made fun of my job, ate like a toddler, and his truck? He wouldn't shut up about it." Your hands are now shuffling through the contents of your purse in a panic. "And now, I can't find my keys."

"Your house keys?"

A breath of frustration flows from you, fingers pulling through your hair as you nod. "Dang it."

You felt a slight unraveling in your usual poise, and the panicking that came with it. Hotch's hand landed on your shoulder, his thumb grazing across your collarbone.

"Hey, it's fine. It's late, and you're upset. You can stay at my place tonight, I'll crash on the couch, and we'll find your keys in the morning."

He made everything seem so simple.

"I'm not upset," you insist, lips pursing as you angle your body just enough to feel his touch more fully.

His hands felt right on you.

He chuckled quietly, his thumb tracing a path from your shoulder to brush away the solitary tear beneath your eye that you hadn't noticed before.

"Must be a raindrop," you shrug. Hotch's soft laugh tells you he doesn't quite buy it. "Are you sure you don't mind me staying over?"

"I'm certain."

"Okay."

"So why did your date make fun of your job?"

"Because," you start, your fingertip lazily sketching doodles on the misted car window, "when I was telling him about being an assistant and working for you, he implied that the only reason you hired me was so you had something pretty to look at."

"Well, he's not entirely wrong."

You let out a surprised giggle. "Hotch!"

You reach over the console, pinching his arm which he just laughed off, pulling into what you assumed was his driveway. You had never been to his house. It was nice. Really nice, the kind you'd find in movies—not imposing, but inviting, with its brick walls and stout brown pillars framing the porch.

You were even more surprised when you entered the house. The image you had of Hotch's house one of meticulous order, a place where you could hear the tick of a clock from rooms away. But this... this was a home. There were throw blankets casually draped over the couch, books overflowing, armchairs worn in just the right places.

You lean down, intent on stripping off the torturous heels, but a wobble has you teetering. Hotch is quick to step in.

"Here," he offers, lifting each foot in turn to his knee, skillfully undoing the straps and easing them off you.

Standing flat-footed, you suddenly feel much shorter, and you wonder if Hotch has ever seen you without them.

You look up at him, smiling cheekily. "My very own prince charming."

He ignored you and moved through the living room. "Do you want a pair of sweatpants?"

"Sharing clothes now, are we? I bet there's a clause against this in the employee handbook."

Hotch raises an eyebrow, "I don't think I need to remind you of the numerous times I've overlooked your creative interpretations of the handbook rules."

"So you're admitting to showing me favoritism?"

You plucked the sweatpants from his hands, not giving him an option to respond as you shuttled yourself into his bathroom. You changed quickly, trading your sopping wet clothes for Hotch's dry, warm ones.

You reentered the living room to find Hotch reclining on the couch with an ease that was new to your eyes. He, too, had slipped into something more comfortable—sweats and a form fitting grey long sleeve that threatened to distract you completely.

You dropped your purse onto the coffee table and settled next to him, maybe a little closer than you should have.

He let out a sound that was more a breath than a laugh, a sound that all the same made your heart flutter unexpectedly. "You've still got some, uh, makeup under your eyes."

He reached up to wipe it away with his thumb.

"It won't come off that way," you said, grabbing his wrist with a soft smile. "I have makeup wipes in my purse."

But he didn't hand you your bag like you would've thought, instead he dug through it, pulling out the wipes and starting to dab at your face. The softness of his touch felt disarmingly intimate, so gentle it coaxed your eyes to flutter more slowly, eyelids becoming more heavy.

Your head tilted downward and Hotch used his free hand to tilt it back up. "Stay still, or I'm going to poke your eye out."

"You're making me sleepy," you murmur, your voice a soft, drowsy hum, but then he moved the wipe to your lips and suddenly you were anything but.

He was even more gentle with your lips, if that was possible, wiping away the gloss like you were made of glass.

Your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself gazing into his warm, brown-sugared eyes, your heart thundering in your chest. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. How did you get so close? You weren't sure, but he was there, noses almost touching.

He pulled away the wipe, using his thumb to clean up left over gloss though you were sure there wasn't any. His hand paused there, resting on your lower lip like it was meant to be there. You felt every fiber of your being stand on high alert. You wondered what he was thinking.

Did he want to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss him?

"Are you going to kiss me?" You asked, half-hopeful, half-daring, giving a microphone to your inner monologue.

He took a moment, eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes then back down again. "Yes."

It was certain. Like there was no doubt about it, but he didn't move.

"Okay, I'm ready," you breathed out, pulse roaring in your ears.

Hotch's laughter was a low and warm sound. You had heard it a lot tonight.

"You kill me," he said, and it wasn't patronizing—it was affectionate and genuine, and it made your whole body turn to mush.

Then his lips were on yours, and you were both laughing, the sound muffled by lips. It was tentative at first but it quickly morphed into something sweet and soft and perfect.

"Aren't you glad my date went terribly?" you mumbled into his soft skin.

"Devastatingly glad."

One thing was clear—Hotch was not going to end up sleeping on the couch tonight.

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[potofsoup]

Happy July 4th, everyone, and good luck to the UK voters out there!

Wow it's Year 11 of doing these!! Here's the AO3 link to the past 10 years, and here's the tumblr link.

Reminder that this is a long game -- some of the judges making decisions were appointed back in the 80s. Many of the cases that were decided this round were from Trump's term. So it's going to take long-term, consistent voting over a decade to start tipping things in the other direction. (Which I talked about in 2018 re: Trump shenanigans and 2022 re: Dobbs).

A lot has been done by the Biden administration (I'm assuming most folks have seen this post by boreal-sea with their very helpful sources), and much of that will be overturned by Trump, especially if he gets the Senate, and especially now that he would have a blank check for anything "official". So let's make sure that doesn't happen.

And even if Trump does get elected, your decisions down-ballot might effect control of the House or Senate, or might make it easier to vote next time, plus the whole plethora of state and local issues. It's Republican state attorney generals who are challenging climate regulations, for example.

Plus, when you really get down to it, only one of the candidates plans on pardoning himself and all his friends if he wins, and attacking the government if he loses. Maybe that guy shouldn't be the President.

If you're new to voting, remember to check voter registration deadlines! I'm a permanent vote-by-mail voter and it's so nice. :)

Transcript under the readmore

Page 1: Sam and Bucky meet up with Steve for a picnic. Steve: Thought you guys were still in Sudan? Bucky: I’m forcing Sam to take a break.

Sam collapses onto the picnic blanket. Sam: Oof, it just never stops, does it? Steve: Nope.

Bucky hands Sam an orange popsicle. Bucky: Eat and relax for a bit, Sam. Sam: Thanks.

Page 2: Bucky asks Steve: How are things state-side? Steve responds: HORRIBLE. Bucky: I thought you’ve been tentatively hopeful about what Biden has been able to achieve? Steve: I was! Student loans, child care, climate regulations, infrastructure, labor, trans rights … he’s quietly done a lot through regulatory improvements and congress bills. But now all people will talk about is how he’s OLD. And then there’s the Supreme Court’s decisions … Chevron and immunity… Steve puts his head in his hands, while Sam and Bucky look on with some concern.

Page 3: Bucky hands Steve a blue/raspberry popsicle: Steve, take a deep breath, and a popsicle. Sam: Sounds like we missed a lot. What’s going on? How bad is it? Steve: Pretty bad. The Supreme Court has made some decisions that give the Court and the President A LOT of discretionary power. Sam: Yikes, that doesn’t sound good. Steve: Well, the Chevron thing means that judges with life-term appointments can override policies made by government agencies. And now it’ll be harder to hold a President accountable because he will have immunity for any “official” actions.

Page 4: Sam: So if the President tries to, say, overturn a democratic election result, he’ll be allowed to as long as it’s in his job description? Steve: I don’t think threatening state electors is “official” business, but that will be decided by federal judges. Who get their jobs by approval from both the President and the Senate. Bucky: Yeesh. No wonder you’re stressed. Any good news? Steve: Well, thanks the Biden and the razor-thin Senate majority, the newer bills don’t rely on the Chevron deference. Still not great but not catastrophic. Sam, squirting ketchup on his hot dog: So what I’m hearing is that it’s now more important than ever to have a President and a Senate who you can trust to appoint fair judges, pass bills, and not commit crimes.

Page 5: Steve: Plus all of the state level offices, now that more and more deciding power has been thrown back to the states — abortion, LGBTQ rights, voting access… Bucky: Hey, at least this is a big election year so we can actually do something! Steve, with his arms crossed, looking surly: Except that all people want to talk about is how Biden is “too old” and “not doing enough,” as if that is on par with Trump’s desire to dismantle basic rights! As if the candidate who doesn’t embody ALL their ideals is not worth voting for! Bucky interrupts with a smart and a loud “PFFT.”

Page 6: Bucky: Um, Steve. YOU were like that in 1940. Sam, nudging Bucky: “Oh, this I gotta hear. Spill, Barnes.” In sepia, Steve is pacing around their apartment while Bucky is sitting and reading a newspaper. Steve: I can’t believe he’s running for a 3rd term! we need a fresh candidate to vote for! This is hardly a choice at all! AND he refuses to engage in Europe! All of Europe under fascist control and we’re just twiddling our thumbs? He’s letting millions die through his inaction! Bucky: Most people don’t want another war, Steve. If he came out for it, he would lose. Steve, indignant: But Buck, it’s your Polish relative who are in danger! Bucky, closing his newspaper and looking at Steve: Yeah, and between FDR and Willkes, I trust FDR to help if he could.

Page 7: Steve, in sepia, looking away: Should he be encouraged to do more? Maybe I should vote for Browder. The Communists have historically be Anti-Fascist.

Sam interrupts off-screen: Waitaminute! STEVE was going to PROTEST-VOTE? Steve: We were in a Blue State, Sam! Sam: But what about the down ballot races?! Steve: RELAX, I did my due diligence down-ballot. I wanted a senate that’s more progressive than the President.Voted LaGuardia for Mayor, too. Steve hesitates: Then, when I got to the President… I realized that the Best case scenario would be that my vote did nothing, versus if it actually spoiled the election. And when I asked myself who I could trust to work with my Senator… well, FDR had a good record with Labor. (sepia shot of young Steve voting) Bucky interrupts: Hold on, Steve.

Page 8: Bucky, eating a cookie, arching an eyebrow: You didn’t vote for Browder? Why didn’t you tell me? Steve: And have you say “I told you so” for the next century? Bucky: Heh.

Steve, with hand on his chin: What’s weird was that, despite everything, I still felt HORRIBLE when I ticked that box. Sam: Sounds like you built up the meaning of that vote far too much in your head. Logically, we know that a single box can’t represent all of the complexity of a whole system, but the desperately WANT it to. Just look at how people have built up so much around the term “Zionis” that it’s made productive conversations difficult.

Page 9: Sam and Steve speak in the background while Bucky reaches into the cooler and pulls out a box. Steve: Sigh. And that’s something that goes beyond the election. Sam: Which is why we need to vote, AND do other things. Bucky, looking at Steve and Sam: Like how Steve works to push organizations on the local level? Or like all the work you do as Captain America? Sam: Exactly. Vote AND.

Sam looks at Bucky fondly: Like how you vote AND make me and Steve take breaks. Bucky, looking stern because he can’t handle compliments: Shush, Sam.

Bucky holds up a cake that has the number “107” on it: It’s time for cake. Happy Birthday, Steve.

[eubybubble]

slytherin boys after an argument

ft. Tom, Mattheo, Theodore, Lorenzo

Theodore Nott

Realization hit him hard after a prolonged silence. The air felt thick, and he felt nauseous as he shifted his gaze from a small crack on the wall under his fist to your face. He just swallowed and left the room without a word.

He was terrified of himself, didn't he promise to never raise a hand on loved ones? Technically, he hadn’t, but it was too close. Thoughts flooded his mind as he rushed up the stairs in a desperate attempt to breathe fresh air. It wasn't surprising that he instinctively headed to the Astronomy Tower – your favorite place. Reaching the top, he stood there and retrieved the cigarette pack with trembling fingers. After hesitating, he lit one. Everything seemed to remind him of you. It was never that serious, you just wanted to help him.

Now, he felt like a total fool. Leaning against a wall and sliding down, he pondered over the the relationships. You were too sweet, he couldn't let you suffer near someone like him. With that, he set his mind on ignoring you and breaking up with you because "that'd be better for you." It seemed like you would only agree, he didn't consider any other possible answer.

In the next few days, he deliberately skipped meals and tried to ignore your questioning gaze in halls. However, you heard a slight cough from behind after the lunch.

"May we discuss something?"

"Well, if it isn't Theodore Nott! What—" he didn't let you finish.

"Let's break up." you froze, staring at him in disbelief.

"Nott, are you insane? Didn't you think to ask me?"

"I'm doing it right now."

"Really? It felt more like you just stated a fact and I can only accept it. It was really low of you to avoid me." Your eyes became shiny as tears started to accumulate involuntarily. Theodore noticed it, and despite the cold agenda he planned, he rushed towards you, wiping the tears.

"You wouldn't want to be with me," he mumbled.

"What? We could've talked! We've always talked about how important communication is, but how come we don't practice it? I know you, and I know myself; I wouldn't give up on our relationship that easily. And more than anything, I know that I want to be with you. Why would you do that to me?" you sobbed, clutching onto him as if you were afraid that if he left now, you would never see him again.

"Shush, principessa, I'm so sorry-" he didn't expect such a reaction from you. As you hid your crying face in his chest, his heartbeat only became faster. What an idiot he was for even thinking of such a thing. "I'm so sorry. For everything I've done and said. I'll work to be better for you," he rambled quietly. "Do you trust me? Are you ready to give me another try?" His voice cracked slightly as he asked the last question. You just nodded, and he chuckled at the sight. "Tesoro... I'm so sorry. I promise you it won't happen again." He gave you a forehead kiss, and he really meant it. Even though he didn't say anything about it, he decided to quit smoking. Yes, it won't be easy or a short process, but at least he found a far better addiction - you.

Tom Riddle

From the moment you saw Tom, you thought it could have worked out. At least, you hoped so. It all felt dumb. All those times when your friends told you to break up or said that he didn’t care about you - you refused to believe them. And now, it got you here when the most precious person told you were some troublesome trivia. In the past, you and Tom would at least talk during lunch or sit next to each other in Potions where he patiently helped you, but now, he skipped most lessons, and if he attended one, he’d sit alone. Everyone noticed it, and you became the target of their whispers and snickers. Some even went as far as mocking you in the halls.

“Well, if it isn’t the one Tom Riddle dumped. What, did he finally realize that you’re pathetic?” you tightened your hold on your books and tried to leave hurriedly until the blonde boy from the group shoved you into the wall. “Aren’t we talking to you? Why are you leaving so suddenly?”

It was a pretty loud encounter, so Tom, who was walking nearby, heard it and stopped in his tracks. To tell the truth, he didn’t even want to break up. He invented this silly excuse to protect you because he was afraid of his own actions. He hoped you’d be stubborn and come once again, but you didn’t. That’s when he knew he messed up, but his pride held him back from going to you. And now, someone was bullying his treasure.

But they underestimated your power. You didn’t want it to escalate into violence, but they started it first. With a swift movement of the wand, you threw them off with a big blast. Not even bothering to look behind, you paced up and bumped into someone.

“Oh.” As he put his hands on your shoulders to steady you, he eyed the unconscious group behind. “Using a spell of such power at this hour?” he mumbled nervously.

“Care to explain why you care? Get off, Riddle.” You tried to shove him away, but his grip was strong.

“What’s going on with you? I didn’t even do anything to make you that mad.” You nearly choked at these words.

“Tom.” He hesitated. “Do you think I’m that dumb to fall for your words? Move out of the way.” But he just stood there without a change.

"Don’t leave. I was just... I was afraid I’d hurt you," he whispered as he clutched onto you. "I was afraid of my own plans, of my own thoughts. But please, promise me never to leave, even if I change. I won’t hurt you, just stay by my side. I never expected to fall in love..I had everything planned ahead in a neat way, but you came in like a surprise. Yet, here we are, and it's you. There's no turning back now" You never saw Tom being so vulnerable, and you could do only nod. You cupped his face.

"Hey, I’m here. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll be here," you softly reassured him, not noticing how easily he drew you right back.

Mattheo Riddle

You had hard time absorbing everything Mattheo said. It was already dark outside, but you didn’t care to turn on the light or illuminate the wand with “Lumos”. You sat on the bed and went through the box with a glossy eyes. You couldn’t believe that he saved every gift, every letter, note - even those that you gave him before dating. Quiet sobs escaped your chest upon finding the promise ring at the very top. Why does it feel so awful when you believed you made the right choice?

As if on cue, your roommate entered the dorm room. "Hey, look what everyone’s talking about in school- oh, are you okay?" She turned on the lights and noticed your teary face. Quickly wiping everything away, you pretended to be busy, gathering everything back into the box. "Yeah, my eyes are sore from reading in the dark," a lame excuse, "what were you gonna tell?"

She knew you disliked having your privacy intruded upon. "So, three students were caught for an outrageous duel and a series of mobbings in Hogsmeade! Surprisingly, it was two Gryffindor students and one Hufflepuff. That fits into the ‘don't judge a book by its cover' narrative. I wonder when the stereotypes about the houses will end. Remember when everyone didn't doubt that it was Slytherin?" she sighed.

As if it weren't enough of a heartbreak, you discovered that everything you had ever suspected Mattheo of was all filthy lies and gossip. Suddenly, you felt dizzy.

You didn’t care about decency or dignity as you rushed to Mattheo’s dorm. He, too, was struggling. Despite everything, he regretted speaking harshly and leaving the memory box. What if you never returned and tossed it away? His heart clenched at the thought.

Feeling too irritated and unwilling to join others in the common room for a card game, he was all alone for now. In futile attempts to fall asleep, he heard a light knock on the door.

"Who’s that?" he groaned, too lazy to open the door.

"Hey, can we talk?" His muscles tensed upon hearing that familiar voice. Rushing to the door, he unlocked it immediately. "Oh, hi," you blushed and stopped mid-sentence, staring at his torso. He glanced down, realizing he forgot to put his shirt on.

"Shit. Sorry, one second," he shut the door in embarrassment and put on a random sweater. "What do you want?" he still held a grudge against you.

"I wanna... apologize. You have every right to shut the door, but I wanted to tell you that our relationship isn’t a joke to me. I love everything about you. I was just so stupid to believe all the gossips floating around Hogwarts, but that doesn’t matter. I came here to tell you how insane you make me feel. I mean, these days when I tried to collect my thoughts and was avoiding you, I was thinking of you non-stop. Mattheo, I’d fight the world to be by your side." As you rambled on and on, his gaze softened, and he pulled you by the waist.

"That’s my girl. I felt terrible when you acted the way you acted, but I hope it won’t be the same in the future?... I also apologize for saying unnecessary things."

"That’s okay, you had every right to be mad. What about I’ll order the food and we’ll watch a movie?"

“Gladly” he was grinning now. It wasn't necessary to tell him that you were also ordering a new broomstick, the perfect one for the perfect boy to make it up. It was the least you could do now. As you scrolled through the list of new films, Mattheo coughed.

"So, uh, can I get my box back, please? You didn’t go through it, right?" a light blush covered his face.

“Actually, I did, Matty. I didn’t know you are so sweet” he groaned at this comment “but I’ll return it to you. Sure.”

Lorenzo Berkshire

The moment Lorenzo received his numerology exam back, he couldn't believe the mark he saw. 70, satisfactory. Many would pray for such a grade, but he had studied and sacrificed too much for this.

As he walked to breakfast, he scanned the Great Hall but couldn't spot you. The previous day's argument flared up in his memory, and he wrinkled his nose as he sat down to eat. As predicted, a white owl sat on his shoulder, delivering a letter with Berkshire's family logo.

He run his eyes over the text. “disgrace..wasting time..bad influence” and blah blah blah. Nothing’s new, except the threat that ordered him not to come home until he got back on the track academically. He's been following his parents' wishes for too long; he was too afraid to ruin the perfect son image that he completely lost hold of his priorities.

Oh, how he wished to be in your embrace now, to listen to your soothing voice and nuzzle up to you in the dark. But he ruined it single-handedly.

He stood up and went to lessons, scratching an apology note for you in the meantime. At DADA, the only class you two took together, he tried to sit next to you and apologize, but that place was taken by a Hufflepuff girl, to which he could only frown. Throughout the lesson, you felt his gaze on you, but never once did you turn your head back at him. If he needed a break that much, he could get one. After all, you got tired of constantly begging him to relax and spend time with you and felt like a total fool.

After the lessons ended, you were the first one to leave the classroom, but he's not an idiot either. You felt someone gently taking hold of your wrists and pushing you into the empty classroom. The door closed behind.

"Can we talk and communicate like grown-ups?" Lorenzo inquired.

"You said everything you wanted last time. I have to go, Hermione's waiting for me in the library," you blatantly lied.

"Oh, really? Because when I last talked to Hermione, she told me she would be with Ron," he calmly stated, stepping closer. "I don't really remember things I've said, but-" You didn't let him finish.

“Enzo, you needed break and I’m giving it to you” his jaws tightened in frustration at your unwavering stance. “You told me I was a burden and you know what? I think you were right because lately, that’s what I felt like in relationships with you. It’s like I’m begging you to spend time with me. Maybe it's best to return to being friends” you mumbled. But he just shook his head, moving nearer once more until he stood right in front of you.

"I'm sorry I made you feel this way. It's not an excuse for my behavior, but I've been stressing about..something," he sighed. "You don't deserve to be treated like that, but trust me, I'll be better." He gently reached out for your arm. "I need just another chance. The only one. I've already written back to my parents, and I hope they will get off my back. I've also told them about us," his voice got quieter. "I hope you won't mind." Your breath hitched. He had always been postponing this, even if you wished for it. There was a minute of silence and apprehension before he wrapped you in a hug. "I hope you can forgive me, sweetheart. How about we go to the cafe you like this weekend?" he mumbled, peppering your face with kisses.

a/n: I apologize if it's not the way you imagined, but hey, I tried my best. Also, I think they were super careful and sweet afterwards!

taglist: @lilanxietysstuff @nopedefe @marina468

[heroesneedalancer]

Post by u/DJConvex to r/AskReddit on Nov 6, 2024:

People who work in DC for the government, what is the vibe?

Comment by u/Meduselde:

Resigned. We are generally very good about not discussing politics in the workplace but the vibe was obviously off. My more conservative colleagues who were happy Trump won were extremely respectful. There wasn't smug gloating and they were very obviously being cognizant of others' feelings even more than normal. It was extremely appreciated. Ultimately, we survived the first administration and will survive again. It's not necessarily Trump who was the problem last time, but his inexperienced senior appointees. The world isn't going to end nor do I feel democracy will crumble at his feet. It's just gonna be chaotic, and that's the worst part as a worker bee. At least with Biden we had consistent leadership and clear guidance, even if you didn't agree with it. Under Trump, your "yes man" says "no" and that's how you rotate through four SECDEFs. But as a sign of hope, it also means that even the most loyal DO say "no" sometimes, especially when businessmen are finally confronted with the realities of governance.

They chill out REAL quick on their dismantlement plans when they see the work these agencies do and what's at stake if they don't stand up for their people. It's easy to say you will dissolve or cut funding for something when you do not truly understand it. And as much as people say we can ALL be magically replaced with "yes men," even the most stone-hearted appointees recognize that the last thing you ever want is to lose the entirety of your skilled workforce. They learn it's best to get the skilled people to work towards their vision and not hire enthusiastic but stupid people to attempt the same. If they do, they risk looking inept themselves. You don't get skilled federal workers in a blue portion of the country to work for you by being a fucking Nazi. We're cranky and will make your life hell if you behave like that. I'm not talking about some sort of organized resistance movement because we feel like it. That's wrong. But just imagine hundreds of thousands pissed off at you. If that's the Deep State at work, then we aspire to be the quality of swampy Deep State your racist uncle thinks we are. If implementing dictatorship was that easy, Trump would have taken out every agency his last term and fired us all. I am actually extremely proud of the resiliency and checks and balances that the American federal government has in place to prevent most of the shit he says he can achieve by waving a magic executive wand. (He's done this once. He knows he can't. He just lets the majority of the population believe he can.) Us feds will make it, as we always have.

And we will live up to our oath to serve the Constitution, not a president. We serve every official of every party faithfully within the bounds of legalities and our oath. Working for administrations you may not like it's just a part of the job that we all recognize. Public servants at the federal level generally hold that extremely close to their heart. The ones that don't (I'm talking to YOU, WaPo "informants!") put us to shame. We're just tired, man. I can't believe it has already been four years since the last round. There's going to be some waves, no doubt, and some people definitely are going to be hurt at upper levels. But grab a Twisted Tea and buckle up. We'll at least pretend it's meant to be a roller coaster and ride it. TL;Dr Democracy is not going to die. But a drink and "thanks" would go a long way.

EDIT: Woah! I woke up this morning and am surprised by how much traction this got. I'm sad that this was the most positive thing some people had read. I'm sorry it's been that bad. I am not predicting outcomes. I have no idea how it's going to go. It's going to be bloody. But the hope I am trying to get across is that we are a resilient people and a group of (generally) good people. It will be okay, okay? The people that really make or break your daily life are those around you and your local government. Hold those around you close to your heart and always be kind. Everybody go outside, take a deep breath, eat something you love, and hug your grandma (even if she voted differently). The world is still turning and the sky is still blue. Being surrounded by spiraling anger on the internet only makes us the losers, not those we disagree with. The only thing we can do right now is wait. We have a few months to cool off! Enjoy your holidays!

EDIT 2: I think everybody has forgotten about this, but go check out the memorandum signed by the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the end of Trump's first term after January 6. The feds basically said "fuck that" when people were scared that the government was going to turn the military on them to help Trump in some way. While it was specifically addressed to our armed forces members, it was spread throughout the DOD and beyond. Partially as a result of federal workers' fear (not actually ordered, to be crystal clear) that they would be asked to turn on citizens. This sentiment was echoed across the entire government via internal emails (from Trump appointees!) as well to the civilian workforce. That's one of my proudest moments as an American and why I know we will get through it.

Emphasis mine. Link to original Reddit Post. Link to an article about the aforementioned memorandum signed by the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Don't give up. We will get through this.

[7seas-of-ryy]

Crestfallen - Part 1

Author’s Note: I'm on a mini break from work for a few days and I was in the mood to write! I will try to get the next part out quick but I'm not sure when it will be. I hope you enjoy!!

Overall Summary: Although you were born in the Day Court, you've been living in the Night Court for a century. You're close with the inner circle but what will happen when a new healer is brought into the picture?

Part 1 Summary: Exhausted from your first solo mission, you just want to rest but Rhys has other plans. What better way to meet the new healer than to get a check up from her?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: talks of injuries

Your body was laced with exhaustion and all you wanted to do was go home and sleep. You just spent a few weeks away on a tiring mission but Rhys always made you check in with him when you got back first.

So, you dragged your body up to his office and slumped down in a chair.

"You look like hell." Rhys deadpanned.

"Gee, thanks!" You retorted sarcastically.

You laid your head back against the chair hoping to relax a bit.

"I was going to go over the mission with you right now but by the looks of it, you need to be checked out by a healer." He gave you a worried look.

"I don't need-" You started but your High Lord and friend immediately cut you off.

"I don't want to hear it. You were only just our researcher, barely started training a couple months ago. This was your first solo mission. I'm sending you to the healer." His tone left no room for argument.

"Fine, I'll go see Madja." You spoke.

"Actually I forgot to tell you. Madja has been training a new healer, she started the day you left actually. You're going to love her, she's really good." Rhys gushed, "She works out of a shop in town, I'll send you the address."

You nodded your head and stood up. Not happy you had to travel to yet another place that wasn't your bed. Normally you could use your powers to take you places but lately it seemed harder and harder. Assuming it was from your exhaustion, you brushed it off.

You were born in the Day Court and quickly found your way to Velaris when you became an adult. You always felt like you didn't belong anywhere until Rhys offered you a spot in his court.

Your powers were very similar to Azriel's powers. Only instead of shadows swirling around you, you had beams of light. No one had ever trained you properly so you weren't the most comfortable being out in the field until a couple of months ago when Cassian and Azriel had started working with you.

They both felt confident enough for you to take on a solo mission, knowing it should be an easy job and that's how you ended up here, limping through town to get to a healer.

Once you found the shop, you walked in and saw Madja with a woman about your age.

"Ah dear Y/N! You are back! I would like you to meet Clara, she is a new healer in Velaris. I have to head out right now so she will be taking care of you." She spoke warmly, "And Clara, let me know your assessment of her when you are done."

She was gone within seconds after speaking. You gave Clara a small smile.

"You're Y/N?" She questioned.

"Yes, It's nice to meet you!" You told her, reaching out your hand to shake hers.

"Yeah." She said, not even looking over at you.

Assuming she was busy with whatever she was doing, you didn't think too much of it. You let your hand fall down and quickly took a seat.

"So what's wrong?" She deadpanned finally looking over at you.

"I just got back from a mission and Rhys wanted me to have a full check up. I know for sure I have a fairly long cut on my back but besides that I think I'm probably just sore." You let her know everything that was going on with you hoping she could help with your cut and get you out of here.

Without speaking, she got up and walked over to you. She started to pull your shirt up without asking and looked at the cut for about 10 seconds.

"It should heal on its own, you don't need anything from me." She stated and left the room.

You looked around the area a few times to see if anyone else was there. Maybe Cassian was pulling a prank on you, but you didn't see anyone. Confused, you stood up and called out to Clara.

"Am I good to go?" You asked with a slightly raised voice.

"Yep." She clipped out.

You were beyond confused by that entire interaction but you felt even more weak than when you were in Rhys' office. So you left to get home, bathe, and sleep.

Once you were inside your small cottage, you didn't even have any energy to get clean. You fell down on your couch and let the sleep overtake you.

---------

The knocking was getting louder by the second. It was so loud, you could practically feel the pounding in your head.

"Y/N wake up!" You heard a female voice call out.

Rolling off the couch, you slowly got up and opened the door. Mor stood on the other side with a worried look on her face. Her eyes trailed down your form and the look turned from worry to disgust.

Following her eyes, you looked down at yourself. You were still wearing your torn and dirty clothes from your mission and there was an odd odor coming from you.

"Sorry, I must've been so tired when I got home yesterday I just fell asleep without bathing." You gave Mor a sheepish look.

"Yesterday? Babe you got back from your mission two days ago!" The worry evident in her tone.

"I've been sleeping for two days?!" You shrieked.

How could that be possible?? The mission wore you out but nothing has ever made you that tired before.

"You need to see Clara. Something is definitely wrong." Mor told you.

"No, I'm ok. I'll wait until Madja is back and she can look me over then." You told her, hoping she would leave it alone.

"What? Why wouldn't you just go see Clara right now?" She questioned you.

Torn between telling her the truth or just playing it off, you decided the truth would be best.

"I saw her yesterday and she told me I was fine. Actually, she kind of brushed me off. She was very rude if I'm being totally honest." You confided in your friend.

Mor laughed right in your face, slowly stopping when she saw you weren't laughing with her.

"Wait, you're not joking? Clara is the sweetest fae I've ever met." She spoke shocked.

"Well she must've been upset yesterday or something because she was not sweet to me." You stood your ground but didn't want to keep talking bad behind her back.

"C'mon, I'll go with you. If she's rude again, I'll say something." Your friend said and held her hand out to you.

Relieved, you grabbed her hand as well. The two of you head off to the shop. You still felt drained so it took a little longer than usual. Mor kept sending worried glances at you the entire time.

The two of you entered the shop and Clara ran over to Mor, wrapping her up in a hug. She gave you a bright smile next, greeting you.

"Sorry, I wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable with hugs seeing as we just met a few days ago! How are you??" Clara spoke as if she was so excited to see you again.

Assuming that she was just having a rough night when you saw her last, you gave her the benefit of the doubt.

"Hello, well I'm still feeling pretty weak-" You started.

"She's been sleeping since you saw her two days ago." Mor finished for you.

"What?? Oh my, I better get you checked out." Clara spoke urgently, "Mor you can wait outside my shop."

Mor gave you a look and you gave her a small nod in return as if to say she was ok to leave. Once the door shut behind her, Clara started to look over some charts.

"So, you've really been sleeping for two days?" She deadpanned, her entire tone shifting once it was only you.

"Um...yes. Mor just woke me up." You stammered, shocked at the sudden change.

"Are you always so lazy?" She asked while writing something in her chart.

Your eyes went wide at her question.

"What?" You asked.

"I mean, I was told you are close to Azriel. Is that correct?" She questioned then continued without waiting for your response, "I just think it reflects poorly on the spymaster if someone so close to him is so lazy... and a slob."

She finished her sentence looking you up and down. To say you were shocked would be an understatement.

"Excuse me? I don't know if I did something to offend you but it is not ok for you to speak to me like that." You stood up as you spoke, ready to leave and never see her again.

The only problem was you must have stood up too fast because you were starting to feel dizzy. Then all at once you fell to the ground with a thud, and passed out on the floor.

[logansdoll]

Heyyy it would be awesome if you wrote a third part for “37” where Charles gives Logan’s memories back and we go through flashbacks of some of his best memories, his wedding, the day his kids were born…something like that, it would be very heartwarming 🥰🥰🥰 or even maybe coming back from the past and seeing his kids again

sunflower

part three of "37"

CW: fluffy fluff, all the feels, suggestive, profanity, takes place after the events of Days Future Past, very bittersweet, your daughter's a lil menace, your son's a lil cutie pie, angst if you squint, i never know how to end these things, etc.

"Logan, the mind is a fickle thing," Charles sighed, resting his hands on his desk with a solemn look. "I can't possibly guarantee that this will work, much less in one session—" "I don't care how long it takes."

Logan's face drew tight with the statement, his patience visibly wearing thin.

He'd been listening to the same bullshit for twenty minutes...

"I don't care if I need a hundred different fuckin' sessions. I'm gettin' these memories back," he spelled out, leaning forward in his seat and roughly tapping his finger on the desk. "It doesn't make any damn sense. This body's been in this timeline for fifty-fuckin'-years and it doesn't remember shit."

"Because it is your consciousness that is the problem, Logan," Charles groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That is what I've been trying to tell you."

Logan piped down for a moment, brows knitting together as he leaned back in his seat, taking an annoyed drag of his cigar.

"Your psyche is from a completely different timeline, and now resides in a completely different body. It's like asking to recall the memories of a random person walking down the street," the professor explained, again.

Sadly, he hung his head, greatly sorry for the misfortune of his friend.

"I wish there was something I could do, Logan. Truly. But I'm afraid it just can't be done."

But Logan didn't buy it.

Huffing a small plume of smoke out his nose, he glanced out the window, catching sight of you teaching a class on the lawn.

Using your powers, you grew a large sunflower out from the ground, the younger kids marveling at the sight as you began pointing out its anatomy, most of them enamored by the huge petals—which were bigger than their little six year-old frames.

And in a small pause in time, your eyes flitted up to meet his through the window, that heart-stopping smile finding its way onto your lips as you gave him a tiny wave.

It warmed him, experiencing your light for the first time in years without the threat of annihilation on the horizon.

Domesticity like this is something he'd craved all his life, and now that he had it in his grasp, he wasn't going to settle for anything less.

A stilling chill descended on his chest at the thought of your smile, and the countless others he'd missed.

Your tears of joy when he proposed.

Your frazzled excitement with the wedding planning.

Your radiance as you walked down the aisle.

He missed it all.

And he'd be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to try and get it back.

"Charles..." Logan started, stamping out his cigar in a nearby ashtray. "My whole life is standin' out there under that tree... and I can't remember a goddamn thing about her after 1973."

His tone turned cold, eyes sharp as he stared the professor down.

"I don't care if you have to rip my head in half... I'm gettin' those memories back."

The old man let out a sigh, accepting that going on like this would bring no other outcome.

He'd have to give the man what he wanted... consequences be damned.

'Let's hope he survives...'

"This will be violent," Charles stated off-rip, wheeling himself out from behind his desk. "I am essentially hammering your mind like a dam, making cracks in its defenses until it eventually gives way."

Logan nodded, watching as the man settled in front of him, raising his two fingers to his temple.

"Now... try not to move."

Logan shut his eyes, and in an instant, it felt as if his head was struck by a speeding train.

He let out a growl of pain as images began to flash behind his eyes, the next one always coming quicker than the last.

"Hon, which color do you think would go best with my complexion? Eggshell or Porcelain?" you asked, eagerly holding up two different swatches against your skin.

"You look beautiful in anything, baby," he stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Either one is fine."

"As sweet as that is... it doesn't help," you huffed, playfully attempting to scold him.

"Fine then. Eggshell," he answered, quickly.

You raised a brow, an amused smile playing at your lips as you leaned in closer, "Are you just saying that to get me to shut up?"

He let out a chuckle, resting his forehead against yours, "Never."

Yes...

"Can't wait 'til this damn reception is over," he growled in your ear, lips dragging down your neck as you both hid in a nearby hallway. "First time I've been alone with you since I do."

"Logan..." you gasped, tucking your lip between your teeth in an attempt to muffle yourself as he tightly grasped your hips. "Someone'll hear..."

"Then I guess you better keep quiet," he smirked against your skin, giving your collarbone a soft nip.

It's all coming back...

"Logan..." you started, nervously, hands held firmly behind your back. "I have something to tell you... and I'm open to talk about it if you're upset..."

His brows furrowed as he turned away from his dresser, looking toward you with an air of concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his protective instinct spiking at the sight of your fearful expression. "What happened?"

Unable to say it, you slowly held up your hand, revealing a positive pregnancy test.

His eyes widened like saucers, throat drying at the tiny piece of plastic.

"You're... pregnant?"

You nodded, silently, his reaction not soothing your anxiety one bit.

But, as if on cue, he moved toward you, striding across the room and pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

"I'm gonna be a father..." he muttered into your hair, the phrase not one he thought he'd ever hear. "I'm gonna be a father..."

Wait...

"Logan!" you cried, tears welling in your eyes as you glanced up at him, scared. "I can't...mmmph fuck!... I can't do it! Hurts too much!"

"C'mon, baby, keep pushin'. You're doin' so good," he cooed, swiping stray strands of hair out your face as the nurse on the other side of the bed helped cheer you on. "Just a little bit more. You're right there."

With a grunt, you squeezed his hand tight, letting out a growl of pain as you gave another push.

Pop!

Logan's eyes shot wide, the man nearly biting through his tongue as he glanced down at his hand.

You dislocated his finger.

Though it seemed to be worth it as that final push was what did it.

"It's a girl!" the doctor smiled, carefully holding up the newborn.

Looking upon her small, chubbed face, Logan felt a sense of protectiveness sink into his chest—one that he only felt when things came to you.

In that moment, and every moment after that, he knew he would lay his life down for her, no question.

And she wasn't even a minute old yet.

I have—

"James! Get back here!" a little girl squealed with laughter, bursting into the office after a little boy, who looked terrified.

Logan snapped out his head with a gasp, shooting up from his seat and unsheathing his claws out of muscle memory.

'James...'

Quickly, Logan retracted his claws as the boy ducked behind his leg, gripping tightly onto his jeans as the girl stormed over.

She looked just like you, save for a few small details, and had a small snaggle-tooth poking out on her right side, only adding to her adorableness.

Not to mention the bone claws she had protruding from her knuckles.

"No fair! You can't hide behind Dad every time you're scared!" she furrowed her brows, upset.

"Mommy told you about your claws, Laura..." James mumbled, voice barely above a whisper as he shyly peeked out from behind his human shield.

'Laura...'

The boy was Logan's mirror image, looking almost exactly like he did at that age..

Apple doesn't fall too far from the tree...

Charles could sense the pieces clicking in Logan's mind, and figured lending a hand would be best after what he'd been through.

"Logan, these are your—" "Laura Marie Howlett!" your voice cut in, the little girl flinching at the sound.

Quickly, she retracted her claws, whipping around with a guilty smile, which was met by your less-than-approving glare.

"What have I told you about chasing your brother inside? And what have I told you about using your claws to do it?" you scolded, walking into the office. "You two are interrupting your father and Professor Xavier."

Logan let out a soft sigh, taking the moment to finally look over his family.

Like a slow moving stream, things were coming back to him, the feeling like a fog clearing from the recesses of his mind.

Every birthday.

Every boo-boo.

Every first.

Slowly but surely, they were all returning.

Without warning, Logan dropped to his knees, pulling the two kids into a tight hug, fiercely fighting off the emotion swelling in his chest.

"Daddy?" James squeaked, concerned.

"Are you okay?" Laura asked, confused.

He nodded, silently, the sight making your heart both burst and ache.

After all this time, your husband was truly whole.

Fifty years of suffering and agony had finally come to an end.

taglist !!

@catiwinky @seamlessepiphany @vinaluvsu @kellyxo1 @amandarobertsboyce  @captainloki1 @qveendiorsworld @sarahskywalker-amidala @mei-simp @oatmilkriver @br3nt-12 @bimboshaggy @lightsgore @edszn @couturewinx @sunroxic @notanotheroldman @bontensbabygirl @buckleysg1rl @marvelgirlie-4 @eljaynosine-triphosphate @nickf1 @pinkisokay @mercurysjoy

[meydang]

cute wings

(sfw)

Nameless!Sunday x Nameless!reader

Based on Sunday's ultimate animation and my own headcanons about halovian's lore.

.

.

.

"So what was that move you whip out earlier? The one with the vines and everything!" You said, clearly impressed while sitting down on one of the couch.

"Have you been hiding the other two pair of wings or do they only come out when you do that last move?" You asked eagerly when Sunday enter the parlor car, the both of you having just gotten back from your trailblazing expidition together. Your eyes following him as he joins you on the couch, with sparks of curiosity in it.

It hasn't been that long since Sunday joined the Astral express, but he could definitely say that it's been enough for him to start opening up to all the nameless and vice versa.

"Ah, are you refering to my supporting spell?" This is the case especially for you, with your seemingly endless energy and desire to learn about everything, it's only a matter of time before you start flooding him with all these question about anything that piqued your interest.

"For halovians, our wings are like a representation of our emotion and power, similar to that of our halo." Sunday pause for a moment, you guessed to try and think of an answer that will satisfy your question.

"To put it simply, take that fight we just won earlier for example, I was using my power to aid us, the wings that appeared were due to my strong emotion and use of power at the moment." He turned to look at you as you nod multiple times, trying to grasp your head around the new information like a lost puppy trying to figure out where it is.

You do that quite often - something Sunday has took notice and find endearing.

Cute, he think.

"Sooo... does that mean the wings can only come out when you are in a state like that?" You finally said after some time. "Aw pity, I was hoping you could make them appear anytime you know, I think they are really adorable!" You said what you were thinking with all honesty, completely oblivious to the fact that your last comment caught the halovian off guard and flustered to his core, hints of red dusting his cheeks.

"Th-that is not entirely correct, I can make them visible if I want to, but I'll need to be in a state of strong emotion or focus on my power in that case." Sunday tries to brush of your compliment about his wings with his answer, but before he could given it anymore thoughts, you have already came up with an idea.

Sunday jolts slightly as you prop your chin onto his shoulder, your face display a smug expression, looking up at him with your hand on top of his own.

"Wait, if I'm correct... Then I'll just have to make you feel emotions strong enough for your cute wings to come out, right?"

Huh? What did you just say? What are you planning? How did- what? There is a million things going through Sunday's head right now and the fact that your gaze are still fixed on him while this is happening does not help at all. Sunday doesn't know what is worse, the way he got insanely flustered just by a few compliments or you being extremely close to him right now.

"Well...? Aren't you gonna say anything?" He heard you said in the slowest and most teasing way possible, as if to get even more reaction from him. Before he could even answer, you stood up and move infront of him.

"Sunday." you said while bending down to face him, your hands on your knees and face tilting down at him with an adoring smile.

Huh?

"Yes?" He managed to say, his head spinning to guess what are you planning to say next.

"Although it hadn't been long since you join the express, you have been adapting and trying your best to keep up with the crew really well." Sunday can feel his cheeks burning with every sweet words uttered from your mouth. You on the other hand, are determined to get his marvelous wings to come out.

"You have done a great job as a nameless... Don't you think so too?" You continue, still looking down at him but leaned in a bit closer, too close for Sunday to maintain his composure. If he still has any, that is.

"Ah, th-thank you. That's very kind of you to say." As his wings move to cover his face, he can here an audible 'aww' coming from you which caught him by surprise. Resulting in him moving them to his side again, for a better view of what was happening.

"It worked!" Opening his eyes, Sunday sees you smiling and gushing over his wings - ah, right, his other wings that have appeared due to him being oh so flustered just by your simple remarks.

"May I touch them?" You asked, your gaze gentle, yet still intense that it makes Sunday gulp nervously as his face turn even more red.

"Yes, you may." Sunday doesn't know why he gave you permission, as if you being in such close proximity to him wasn't enough to get his heart pounding. Especially with the fact that his wings are actually pretty sensitive.

With a happy grin, you reach out to glide over the feathers with the back of your hand, not missing how doing it make Sunday shudders a bit.

"Oh, sorry!" You retrieve your hand after noticing.

"No no, it's fine... please continue." He assured, not wanting you to feel bad. Even if he doesn't exactly want you to keep thumbing his wings like this... purely because it's making him all embarrassed and a blushing mess.

"You know... what I said earlier about you joining the express. I wasn't just teasing you, I actually meant it." You reach out for his wings again, this time with a soft smile, making sure he knows you are being sincere.

Sunday made a dumbfounded expression, or atleast you think he is, his face shows a mix of gratitude and confusion as he stare at you.

"I am grateful that you hold me on such high regards, though... I do not believe I have made any significant contribution to the express, more less better than all of you." Sunday answered truthfully. How could you say all these good things about him when he doesn't deserve any of it? How are you still able to welcome him with open arm? After all his mistakes, after the grand pursuit of a dream paradise through such manipulative methods, and-

"Sunday!"

He blinked,

Once,

Twice,

"Hey, are you okay? You just zoned out for a moment." You move your hands from his wings to his shoulder, sitting down next to him again, tone worried.

"Sorry... I was just deep in thought. Were you saying something?" He quickly apologized, feeling bad for making you worried. Yet again another reason he doesn't deserve your praises, Sunday blames himself.

"I said stop thinking bad about yourself. Don't ever say anything like that... nobody is perfect, everyone has their own flaws and values. You just have to not let your doubts get to you." You turned Sunday towards your direction a bit, so that he's looking at you in the eyes.

"Hm, promise me you'll never think negatively about yourself again." You said firmly, waiting for him.

"I-I promise." With an exhale Sunday replied to you, smilling. "Thank you."

You smile back "There we go, now that's my little angle~"

!?

This is the second time you have caught him off guard in this conversation. Little angle? At this point he swear you will be the death of him eventually, Sunday think as you suddenly lit up.

"Well, let's lighten things up a bit..." you said, pulling out your phone. "Say cheeseeee" what are y-

Snap

Just like that, a picture of Sunday smilling sheepishly and flapping his wings was sent to the astral express family group chat. Earning you a panic, embarrassed Sunday and the multiple 'aww's from the trailblazer and March.

_

The Astral Express Family

You: (picture)

You: I found a happy bird on the express today~

March: aww

Trailblazer: wow! Six wings!

Trailblazer: aww

Sunday: ...

_

[buckyalpine]

Cheating!Steve x reader, Bucky x reader

Oh look, more cheating Steve with sweetheart Bucky to save us

A/N: Last year someone asked me for some mad angsty fic and I posted and deleted it so quick because it was god awful. Just awful. However, I had kept a draft of it cause even though I hated it and everything about it, I didn't want it gone forever. Upon rereading it recently...I kinda like it. So I decided to change some stuff (like most of the entire plot), switch around characters (I'm a Bucky girl) and repost. If you want to see the OG fic, I can post it again or just edit this to add it under the new version

Steve couldn't stand seeing you like this. In the hospital room, the needles prodding you, it all reminds him of hydra and the things he had seen on numerous missions. When you almost die, he's thrown back into the spiral where he has no hope for a future. And nothing changes after you get better. You had almost died once. Missions were getting riskier and you weren't always in the clear. In his mind, everything good in his life leaves him or gets ripped away eventually. Peggy was a prime example of that. It's just a matter of time.

Even in your injured state, your attention was all on Steve. You knew how much he hated seeing you hurt. It sent him into a dark place few people had witnessed. As soon as your eyes fluttered open, your tired eyes met his red rimmed, puffy ones. For days, every time you try to bring him back to you, he has his walls built up again.

He won't let himself love you more.

He drinks.

He drinks enough to get drunk. It takes bottle after bottles but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything any more. So much so, he decides to seek the warmth of someone else.

Because you almost left him.

You could die so easily.

You almost did.

Nothing matters any more. His moans of pleasure are empty but he's wrapped around her none the less. He doesn't stop until his body can't move, too exhausted to even think about guilt.

-

You have it all planned out. You were finally released from the hospital and the first thing you wanted to do was spend time with Steve. The team had left the compound so you could set up a movie night for you and the captain, you don't want to let him slip from your grasp, not after all you'd been through together. You didn't go through hell and back to lose him like this. You fought for your life to pull through.

There are snacks laid out on the table, a movie pulled up, some hot chocolate made just for you and him. You shuffle nervously, your heart beating erratically. You didn't spend 4 years with him just for this to end because you nearly died. No. He was worth the fight. His cold demeanor was not towards you but towards the fear of losing you. And that fear was from love. Love you both shared deeply for each other.

You knew he got back from the bar late; if he was too drunk then you'd help him to his room and talk to him in the morning. It was a new habit of his but you understood.

Except he never came. He always made it home. Not tonight.

Steve stumbled in the next morning, rubbing his eyes, seeing a small sleeping form on the sofa, snacks and some drinks laid out in the living room. He swallowed thickly when he sees you get up from the couch wearing one of his hold hoodies, making your way towards him.

"Steve?"

You have a soft smile on your face, but it drops when you get a closer look at him. Tears prickle at your eyes when you see the way his neck is littered in bruises, his skin still flushed. He can't look you in the eyes, not after what he'd just done.

"I-

You freeze before him, you don't want to ask. You don't want to know. The broken expression his face is enough for you. You wordlessly leave the living room, locking yourself in, giving FRIDAY instructions to make sure no one can enter.

"Did you talk to y/n" Bucky asks excitedly when he sees Steve sitting in the living room. He knows how excited you were about the movie night, spending days planning every last detail. His excitement drops when he sees the food untouched and you're nowhere to be seen. "Where is she?"

Steve remains silent, staring at his hands. The rest of the team enter the living room, hoping to find you both curled on the couch, but no. Nat's eyes narrow when she sees the hickeys on Steve's neck but something tells her they're not from you, you've never marked him like that before, you've always been so gentle with him.

"How could you?" She hissed, while the rest of the team look at her in confusion. It doesn't take long for them to piece things together. And it's a mess.

You come down to the living room, both Sam and Tony holding Bucky down on the couch while he glares at Steve, his hands still in fists. They all turn towards you with broken eyes, this is not what they ever wanted for you. The second he sees you, he breaks down. You're numb to his cries, his pleas.

He finds you leaving the compound at 1:00 AM from where he's still seated on the couch, something you'd never done before.

"Baby? Where are you going"

You ignore him, making your way to the garage. You were never able to sleep since and staying in bed only left you alone with your thoughts.

"I-I need some space. Don't worry about where I'm going"

"Y/n, please, just let me explain"

"No"

"I made a mistake, I-

"I don't care. I just want need some air"

"Promise me you'll come back?"

You shake your head, you can't even look at Steve. You scoff, shoving past him, not caring when he hisses in pain. His cheek is bruised, spots of dark purple and blue bloom around his eye and you'd seen Nat icing Bucky's hand earlier.

"Y/n, please angel, I-I just want to talk, just promise me you'll come back?"

"I promise" You reluctantly mumble, hopping on your motor bike and speeding off before Steve can call after you again.

You loved him so much.

You fought so hard to pull through for him, you heard every word he'd said to you when you were unconscious.

Tears clouded your vision.

It all happens too fast for you to comprehend.

The car doesn't see you.

The bend is sharp.

You bike is sent over the edge.

Darkness.

-

It's been a week.

You still haven't woken up.

It's all his fault. It doesn't matter that the driver was intoxicated. It didn't matter that it was dark out. You wouldn't have left the compound if he hadn't done what he did and it eats him alive.

He's not met with any sympathy.

No one bats an eye at his tears or sobs, too concerned about your well being to go and comfort him. Like clock work, every member of the team visits on rotation since they can't all be there at once. however Bucky is exempt from all hospital rules with one brooding, grumpy stare.

Bucky is by your side every single day. He doesn't say anything when Steve grips your hand, praying for you to wake up, silently praying himself while your heart monitor continues to beep. Steve refuses to move from your side but he's not given much of a choice when Fury summons him personally for someone mission related.

He's only gone for a few hours but that's when you finally stir. Bucky is on his feet instantly, paging for the doctor while stroking your hair.

"Hey pretty girl" Bucky whispers when your eyes finally focus, the knuckles of his metal hand gently caressing your cheek. The cool sensation helps you feel more alert. You smile seeing his baby blue eyes, feeling safe as he talks to you softly.

-

Everything hits Steve all at once. He didn't just betray you. He betrayed the team. His bestfriend. Himself. All the people who had faith in him to make the right choice, to do the right thing, to protect them. And he threw it away. Everyone waited a month for you to fully recover before throwing a welcome back party so you'd actually be able to enjoy it. Steve looked back longingly at the happy group gathered together in the living room, more emotions hitting him again.

He was happy you were alive. His sweet, sweet girl pulled through. H

He was envious of the love everyone was sharing, one he wasn't privy to anymore. He was invited, he was still apart of the team after all but he knew it wasn't his place.

He was jealous.

Jealous of the way you melted into Bucky's side. Longing to feel that warmth that he used to feel himself. Bucky had his arm around your waist, keeping you tucked right by him, taking care of you long after you were discharged. He wasn't going to stop any time soon.

There was something between you two, everyone could sense it. The soft gazes at each other and innocent kisses. Bucky wouldn't let a day go by without pressing his lips to your cheek, your nose, your forehead, the top of your head. He needed you to know you were loved and cared for. He stuck to his guns, claiming his actions were purely platonic but the pink blush on his cheeks proved that he was a bald faced liar.

-

Steve knows theres no one to blame but himself. He sighs and swallows the lump in his throat as you stand on your tiptoes to kiss the brunette, sealing you both together forever. He's always thought it would be the two of you standing together at the alter but how things had changed. The cheers of the crowd are a dull buzz to him. He watches Bucky swoop in for another kiss, this time dipping you and capturing your lips sweetly.

"I love you Mrs. Barnes"

"I love you more, Mr. Barnes"

Your happy, love struck giggles cause the first tear to fall.

He does his best to smile when you both walk by, flashes of what your wedding would have looked like. The white dress. The veil. The flowers.

if only he never-

But it was too late.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

can I have Brian, Helen, and Toby (seperate please) nsfw with f!reader who wears Christmas lingerie in front of them? And call it their (Christmas’s gift)?

I'm sorry this is so late after Christmas, I did not mean to post this so late, but it did at the very least come out much longer than I intended. I hope you enjoy <3 Reader is AFAB and has female genitals, but no other gendered terms are used

Brian:

Poor, poor Brian, his heart can barely take it when you call him upstairs. His heart's already racing from running upstairs in excitement from your text stating you had another gift for him, and it feels like it'll beat right out of his chest once his eyes land on you, posed nice and pretty on his bed for him. His brain malfunctions and all he can do is stand there with his mouth hanging open, unsure of what he should do or say, his cheeks and the tips of his ears bright red. It takes you giggling at him to snap him out of his stupor, and you'll have to gesture for him to come over to you, and he does so quite timidly, perching on the edge of the bed. His hands are itching to touch you, and he can't help the way his own breath hitches when his hands roam over your barely clothed figure, the green and red lingerie complimenting you so well, and he wants to carve it into his memory forever. It's fully subconscious when he asks if he can record you in it, and he feels like a huge pervert once it hits him what he asked, but all you do is immediately smile and agree, so despite his reservations, he happily does so.

Grabbing his phone, he makes quick work of undressing himself, and he begins by just recording your body, posing you, and showing any angle he can of you in your lingerie. His hand caresses and squeezes down your body, working his way down to thumb over your clothed clit, cursing quietly at the noises you're making and how sexy you look. He wanted to record himself fucking you, but he can't resist anymore, and he quickly tosses his phone to the side, stripping you of the lingerie, sliding his fingers inside of you to give you a quick stretch, before he finally slides his cock inside of you as he holds you tightly. You're both quite worked up from the evening's events, and while he tries to go slow and take his time with you, it doesn't take much to have either of you reaching your peaks, collapsing together onto his bed. You'll both find out later his phone did in the end at least record the audio of your sex, both that round and the one after it, too, much to Brian's deep embarrassment. Despite said embarrassment, that video becomes the most replayed one on his phone, something you'll tease him about for quite a while.

Helen:

Well, well, well, what do we have here? When you texted Helen and asked him to come upstairs for his final gift he wasn't sure what you had planned, but he knew your mischievous mind had to have something nice sorted out for him, and he certainly wasn't let down. However, if you're gonna sit on his bed and smirk so confidently at him, posing as though you're teasing him, Helen's going to tease you back. What, you thought he'd unwrap his gift and indulge in you right away? You thought he'd go ahead and fuck you like you wanted him to? Oh, no, no sweetheart. He's gonna pull out his art supplies and really commemorate this before he gives you what you want. He pulls over a chair and has you pose for him in specific ways, first drawing and sketching several different positions. By the end of that your muscles are tired and strained (he doesn't let you drop from your positions at all, after all), but he's not done with you yet, pulling out his easel, and painting you all the same, in specific poses. It's been over an hour of you doing this for him, your cheeks warm, your body aching, and it's not until he sees tears blooming in your eyes that he finally chuckles and gives you what you want.

He strips off all of his own clothes, but he makes you keep the lingerie on, as it's his gift to enjoy, after all. He simply tugs your panties to the side and gets to work fucking you immediately, considering you're already dripping wet from his eyes watching you all that time. He fucks you hard and rough and gives you no breaks, his cock hitting the deepest parts of you as he pounds into you, and you can hardly catch your breath from the force of his thrusts, but you can handle it, can't you? He's just repaying you for the lovely gift you've given him, and he's not going anywhere, considering he's going to make you cum as many times as he drew and painted you, and then maybe a few more times just to be thorough. By the time he's finished with you, you won't be able to walk without his help, and that thought alone has him pistoning into you even faster, his chest heaving and cock throbbing as he does his best to make both of you feel as good as physically possible. It won't be until you're begging him to stop, saying it's too much, that he finally gives in.

Toby:

Toby finds himself confused staring down at the message you'd sent him about a final, special surprise, so there's not really much rush in his steps as he makes his way up to his room, humming quietly to himself as he goes. However, once he opens his door to ask you what else you have planned, he wishes he would've had more pep in his step. His mouth is hanging open, and it takes him a moment of realization that he should close his door, and he slides into his room quickly, slamming the door shut a bit harder than he meant to. He shuffles over to you pretty quickly, his eyes roaming over your body, his hands following soon after. He wants to say something, anything, but he's so flustered he can't bring himself to say anything, it's your soft touch on his cheeks that gets him to look at your face and take a deep breath. When he's calm he eventually asks what this is all about, and when you answer that you just wanted to give him a special surprise he can't stop the small noise that bubbles out of his throat as he looks over you one more time.

He licks his lips, his fingers tracing the outline of your lingerie, and he can't help but thank you, several shy times at that, and you have to be the one to tell him that it's alright, and he can enjoy you to his heart's content. He's quick to press his lips to yours in eager kisses, his fingers gently working off your lingerie, and then his own clothes when you gently push him away so he can remember to breathe. He's eager to make you feel good in repayment for the surprise, his fingers thrusting into you eagerly, his mouth working overtime on your clit, and it's not until you beg him after your second orgasm to fuck you that he remembers that he wants to feel good with you too. With all of his stamina, Toby doesn't feel the need to go slow once he's finally inside of you, his hips eagerly thrusting into you. Toby's already so close, so worked up from everything, but he holds himself back, working your clit while he fucks you in an effort to finish with you, and when he feels that familiar squeezing around his cock it pushes him over the edge as he collapses on top of you, tiredly mumbling against you that this is the best Christmas ever.

[dj-of-the-coven]

To the leftist and anarchist Jews of Tumblr -- shalom!

My name is Rivkah (aka DJ) and I work at an anarchist bookstore collective. Since the beginning of the Israel-Hamas war in '23, I've watched as the welcoming center for humanist resources that I worked so hard to maintain became more and more infested with antisemitism--because of and in spite of people's honest attempts to be good allies to the populations of the Gaza strip and West Bank. There's been antisemitism mixed in with everyone's humanitarian rhetoric since the beginning. I knew this, as every Jew did, and it wasn't easy remaining silent about it. I was doing so in order to let the voices of the most affected people speak first, expecting that once the shock wore off, we'd have more of a national discussion about how to care for Palestinians and Israelis as well as Jews in the diaspora, shifting the conversation towards a 2-state solution, more conscious efforts to de-radicalize antisemitic and islamophobic extremists, and peace between the multiple indigenous populations of the Levant. Well. Needless to say, this was rather optimistic thinking.

A few months ago, someone in the collective crossed a line. A book appeared on our sale table entitled "The Invention of the Jewish People" by Shlomo Sand. I doubt that I need to elaborate what this is to the population of Jumblr.

After this happened, I confronted the collective about this spike in antisemitic sentiment--the deliberate spreading of Khazar theory was simply too much for me to bear--and to my horror it was also revealed that we had no literature on contemporary Jewish issues aside from books on Palestine. I snapped. In the wake of this incident, I began a project of intensive research on the history of antisemitism and the ways it infiltrates leftist rhetoric and breaks up social justice movements. What I found left me surer than ever that something needs to be done about antisemitism in leftism and anarchy before it's too late; before more innocent people are killed by ignorance and misguided justice.

I'm taking a great risk by making this request on my main blog, but I'm doing this anyway, because I want to make it clear to people that wanting peace is not a "centrist" opinion. I am an anarchist. I am a punk. And I am a Jew who believes that a 2-state solution where everyone is safe is possible. We're not going to get a perfect socialist utopia out of the region any time soon, but two democracies are better than none.

Why should any of this matter to you? Well, I have something to ask of any parties that are interested.

I'm planning to give a presentation to the collective about antisemitism and how to recognize it within themselves and their activism, and to this end I've already done a massive amount of research, but nothing is complete without qualitative data. If you have anything to say to goyische leftists about what to change rhetorically in order to reach a more egalitarian future, I want to hear about it. Feel free to add your comments in the notes or in my asks. I will be accepting stories of antisemitism that have happened to you as well, if you're willing to share.

Thank you all for reading and I hope to hear from you soon!

Antisemites will be blocked on sight. Islamophobes will be blocked on sight.

[g3llyfish]

Hey I wanted to request something funny.

Like redson and macaque ( separately ) kidnaps one of mk’s friends, fem s/o and they start laughing ( not like mocking them ) but more like ( I can’t believe this happened ) while saying “ no no I’m sorry..it’s just..this is the most effort a man has ever put into me 😂 “

Idk i thought it was funny in my head 🤔 hope this was okay

"DELUSIONAL"

Redson x FEM! reader x Macaque (Seperate)

Either platonic or romantic

Redson and Macaque judging the reader, Reader being delulu, MK just wants his best friend back TT

NOTE:

MY FIRST ASJ AAA Tbh, it can also be considered as GN!reader cause I mostly do second pov but I still hope you enjoy!!

🔥 || REDSON !!

It has been a few week of him trying to defeat the noodle boy to get his staff

As expected, he fails again and again, machines after machines being crushed by that stupid staff and that stupid monkey boy

Knowingly that there's no use for his machines since they only go to his scrap corner

Until an idea pops up in his big demon smart boy brain

What if he kidnaps someone who is dear to MK and bargain them for the staff!

I mean, if that stupid noodle boy loves his friends so much he would do everything to get his best friend back!

Brilliant! Amazing plan even!

Meanwhile, you were hanging out with Mei and MK in the anti-gravity arcade, having the greatest time if your life

Until the ceiling broke down...

You were immediately grabbed by the demon bull clones and tied up so you wouldn't escape.

     "Redson?! Get back here with our best friend!" MK shouted at the bull prince who has you in his arms as you struggle.

     "Never! Catch me if you can, noodle boy and dragon horse girl!" Redson yells back as he laughs dramatically and surrounds him, you, and the bull clones with his fire to teleport away.

     Now you are hung from the ceiling in his lair, if that's what you like to call it considering the lava pool, tools, materials, engines, and many more are laying around the gigantic room.

     "Let me go!" You demanded "What are you planning now, Redson? Y'know MK is gonna MK.O!!™ you again right?"

     Redson scoffs a laugh, lifting up his welding mask to look up at your hanging state as he puts down his blowtorch.

     "After I finish my invention, we will go up to the mountain where my father was imprisoned..." He started to monologue "and then... I will exchange your life for the staff! ...that noodle boy cares for you so much that he will give it to me willingly! And once I have the staff is mine... MY FATHER WILL GAIN HIS POWER AND BE THE GREATEST RULER OF THE WORLD!"

     Redson's dark and overdramatic laughs echoes through the room as the lava's light reflected behind him, creating a giant menacing shadow of himself on the walls.

     Meanwhile you only blink twice at him, not being effected by the intimidating aura that the prince made.

     "You think I'm worth more than the staff?" "What"

     "Well, you basically said that I'm the same price as the staff... Do you think I'm that special?" You grin at him while he was only flabbergasted by your words.

     "W-what?! NO YOU IDIO--" "I don't know, like, you kidnapping me, thinking that I'm enough to be exchanged with the staff, you could've picked Mei but you chose me!"

     Redson gave you a dumbfounded look, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as you explain your conclusion.

     "Like, you took effort to kidnap me, you think I'm that worth of effort? No one has ever done that for me" You continue as you sniffle a bit.

     "Did-did you forget about the part where I said about my world domination?" Redson simply ask as he gives you a deadpanned stare.

     "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm just so happy right now, you think I'm worth more than the staff? You think I'm that unique?" "Shut up, you're delusional."

While he made his invention to secure his plan, you were in the background trying to make him admit that he thinks you're special

You're not what he thinks you are that's for sure, with you being a giggling mess while you're LITERALLY CAPTURED BY TYE DEMON BULL PRINCE

He expected you to be like MK and Mei, someone who wrecklessly fighting anything that move...

Not someone who is off to delulu land with quips at the back of your hand

He definitely regrets the kidnapping plan

🍌 || MACAQUE !!

After the 'stealing-wukong's-powers-from-MK' plan didn't work, he couldn't find anymore information or updates in MK's life

Macaque has to keep a close eye on him afterall, considering he is Wukong's apprentice

So why not get one of MK's best friends? He can't just lurk in the shadows

Sure, that'll work but he needs more dept and personal stuff about MK, to find something to hold him back

So while you were on your way back home, not paying attention to your surroundings that was when Macaque took the opportunity.

You took a step and before you knew it, you were falling down to the ground into a theater place for shadow puppet shows.

You landed on your back on the wooden ground, making you raise your brow in confusion cause you remember that you were walking on a pedestrian.

As you look around the place, you hear a dark echoey chuckle from behind you making the hair on your skin rise.

You stood up immediately to see none other than the shadow of the six-eared Macaque.

"Hey, doll..." He chuckles again, his grin getting wider as his shadow shrinks and he turns into his monkey form.

"Macaque?! What am I doing here?! Are you here to hurt me?! Well bad luck, monkey!" You glared at him making him smirk.

"Don't worry, don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you, I'm just here to borrow you for a while" Macaque says shrugging, getting closer towards the stage that you stood on.

"Me?" You ask in full confusion, your body relaxing as you put down your defenses.

"Mhm... You see, hiding in the shadow is not enough for getting information and I need you get me some," Macaque answers.

You pause as each side of your lips starts to slowly rise, "Me?"

"Yup, if you don't comply... then I might take back the 'I won't hurt you' part, simple, hm?" Macaque threatens with a hum.

You pause again, longer this time "me?"

"Yes, you..." Macaque sighs as he gives you a 'are you deaf?' look.

You held your laugh for a while before laughing aloud, Macaque, ofcourse felt as if you're underestimating him as he gets a little grumpy at your reaction.

"Wh- why are you laughing huh?!" "Pfft-- sorry! Sorry, sorry, it's just... I don't know it's funny"

"Funny how?" Macaque ask as he raises his eyebrow in frustration and crosses his arms.

"I don't know, you could've chosen anyone that could stalk MK for you but you chose me! Hah! I just didn't expect that someone would actually put effort on me" you laugh out.

"Effort?" Macaque questions, he wouldn't disagree with himself but he's definitely worried for your well-being.

"Yeah, I mean, you could've just sended me a text saying 'give me information or you're dead' text like my other exes, but here we are!" You continue to blabber making Macaque give you a concerned look.

"I-what..." "Yeah! I'm kinda flattered that you put so much effort on me, kidnapping me, tracking me down, watching which street I go to-- okay that's kinda creepy--" "okay, stop"

Macaque has to make you stop so he can continue his plan

He's mostly concerned about you cause who tf reacts like that?

He had to make a deal with you to proceed with his 'information gathering' plan but you always gawk at the fact that he chose you out of all people

Plan unsuccessful (?)

I'm sorry if it isn't to your expectations TT tell me criticisms if you'd like but I still hope you had fun with the fix as much as I did, love you pooksters :P

[gilverrwrites]

Hi

Could you make a Sam Winchester having erotic dreams with his female best friend?

Author Note: Hello! I hope you don't mind, but I combined this request with your other request for Dean in the same scenario (and added Cas cause 😍) I'm also working on a separate fic for Dean having erotic dreams about a rival per that request. I really hope you enjoy! ❤️

Rating: M/18+

Words: 1940 (Dean 685, Sam 685, Cas 570)

It's a total coincidence that Dean and Sam are both 685 each!

Please remember: To focus on the things that make you happy.

Dean Winchester

“Oooh yes Dean, yes, that’s it.” Your voice sounds hoarse and breathy. Makes sense cause you’ve been moaning like that, praising like that all night. “You like that baby?” Dean asks from beneath you, completely entranced by the bounce of your breasts and the sway of your hips as you ride him. “You like fuckin’ yourself on my dick baby?” “Yes, Dean, yes! You feel so fucking good. Make me feel so good.” You chant, and when your head rolls back in ecstasy, Dean follows. His fingers grip at your skin, forcing you against him as he ruts into you, spilling himself inside.

That was last night’s dream. The most recent in a string of dreams that left him hot and bothered every morning. The worst part was facing you. Trying to look you in the eye, discuss a case, or make a game plan without thinking about you naked and moaning on his dick.

He’d been avoiding you as much as possible, but sometimes just your name was enough to make him pop a boner, much like the one he had now. He positioned his beer bottle over his offending member and forced himself to stare out the window, averting his gaze from the sight of you, bent over the nearest pool table.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” The sound of your voice made him jump. Man, how out of it was he?

“What?” He looked up at you, hands on hips, staring down at him. The sight made his lips dry. “Oh nothin’, I think I’ve had too many. Maybe I should call it a night.”

“You’ve had like two drinks. That barely even touches the sides.” You state, and you’re not wrong. You know him too well. He can’t help clenching his jaw as you sit down across from him. When he sees how your new angle offers him a perfect shot of your cleavage, he thinks he might start grinding away his teeth. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean then?” He leans in closer. Not to be closer, but he hopes leaning forward might help hide the bulge in his jeans.

“You’ve been acting funny, and avoiding me all wee-“

“N-“

“Don’t interrupt. Yes, you have.” You punctuate your statement by placing your drink on the table. You don’t slam, but it's hard and firm enough to communicate your point. “Don’t you try to deny it Dean Winchester! I know you too well. You’ve been avoiding me, and when you can’t get away you’re all squirrely and quiet. Now tell me what’s going on.”

He drains his beer as he thinks it over. Partly to try and return some moisture to his mouth but primarily to buy himself some time while he thinks things over. If he’s honest, he might get something out of it. A one-night stand, a fuck buddy, maybe more? Or he might lose you, which he couldn’t stand.

“I…”

“Come on Dean, whatever it is, we’ll get through it. We always do.”

Fuck it. You’re right. He gestures to the bartender for another round, takes a deep breath, and spills. And a funny thing happens: he starts to feel more relaxed as he lets it out. If you’re not into it, that’s fine. So long as it doesn’t scare you off.

When he’s done, he watches you as you process his confession. Man, he loves the way your face moves when you’re thinking.

“So…” You purse your lips and take a quick sip of your drink as you prepare your response. “What’s the problem? Do you not want to sleep with me?”

“No, I do. Obviously, you’re…” hot, incredible, the only woman I want. Unable to voice any of the thoughts in his head at that moment, he gestures to you, head to toe and back again. “I just don’t want it to cause problems between us. Our friendship”

 “Then we won’t let it.” You state matter-of-factly. “Now, are you gonna take me back to the bunker so we can fuck each other dumb or not?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Sam Winchester

His fingers are knuckle deep inside of you as you lay back, spread out across his bed. “Fuckkk… Sam!” You look up at him, eyes hazy, hair a mess, and he can feel his dick throb in response. “Sam, I’m so full.” “Poor baby.” He coos in response. “So full already, and I’ve barely even touched you.” He watches the way your expression melts at his words with pride, when he sees your lips start to form your reply, he places a direct smack to your clit. The whine you release is music to his ears. The way you wither and moan as he begins to play with your clit, fuck, you’re so hot. “Are you ready for more?” He asks. He’s pleased when you begin vigorously nodding. “Yes, Sam! Yes! Yes, please!”

Years of impersonating officials and hustling at almost every bar he stopped at had earned Sam a more than convincing poker face. But you always saw right through it.

For that reason, Sam had been bending over backwards to avoid you. He wasn’t totally sure what he was hiding, the fact that he’d dreamed about you, or the fact that he’d furiously masturbated to the memory of it upon waking up. Either way, he wasn’t ready to face you.

He’d hung back in the morning, grabbing his breakfast later than usual. Gone to the local library all day to research, citing a change of scenery when Dean questioned him, and had gone grocery shopping as an excuse to stay out later.

After unpacking the shopping, he’d hopped in the shower, making up for skipping his usual morning routine.

What he hadn’t accounted for was finding you, dressed in nothing but your panties and one of his t-shirts, in the centre of his bed. The very bed he’d vividly fantasised about pleasing you in.

It wasn’t an unusual sight. You were his best friend after all. You often hung out in each other’s rooms, and you frequently borrowed his shirts. He just really could have done without all this today.

“Hey Sam.” You greeted him with a smile, looking up from your laptop. “I missed you today.”

“Hey.” He responds awkwardly. Both hands clutching at his towel. He clears his throat before continuing. “Yeah, I was busy I guess. You too.”

“No worries.” You assure him before returning your gaze to your screen. “I could use your help with something if that’s alright?”

“Sure.” He approaches the bed. Certain close proximity will escalate his predicament he resolves to remain standing. However, looking down at you, with your head so close to his crotch, is equally stirring something within him. Reluctantly, he sits beside you. He glances at your computer briefly but quickly becomes preoccupied with adjusting and readjusting his towel, determined to cover the growing erection beneath.

“So, I’ve been looking into the apple of Sodom for Claire but…” he swears he meant to listen, but he’d never noticed how good you smell before, or how your skin glows even under the dingy light of his room. “Sam? Sam are you even listening?”

“Yeah, of course.” He finally tunes back in. “Apple of Sodom, Claire… hand of God?”

He looks into your eyes to judge his improv, but you’re staring, wide-eyed, right at the thing he’s been trying to hide.

“Is that- are you…” You look at his face, and he can feel the heat spreading across his cheeks. “For- because of me?”

“I’m sorry!” He stands, pausing to compose his words before continuing his apology. “I just, I had this dream last night about you, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about all day. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong.”

“Why is it wrong?”

“Because you’re my friend. My best friend.”

“Right.” You always saw right through him, but fortunately, that was a two-way skill, and right now, he could hear, he could feel the disappointment you were radiating.

“Unless…” he cocks a brow at you, and your body immediately perks up. You look up at him, eyes hazy, identical to his dream. “Do you want this too?”

Castiel

You’re a vision on your knees before him, eyes watering, cheeks puffed out, hair tangled between his fingers. He stares intently, relishing in all the subtle movements of your faces as he lazily pumps his penis between your lips.  His grip grows tighter every time he feels the back of your throat against his tip. Your muffled pants and moans are music to his ears. The way your lips glisten beneath the sheen of your own saliva is erotic, and he worries the sight of you alone will be enough to make him finish before he’s really begun.

It’s that vision he’s thinking of now as he watches you on your hands and knees, scrubbing a chalk pentagram off the floor.

He’s brought out of his chain of thoughts by the sound of your voice. “Is there something on my face?”

“No.” He squints at your face; he is confident it looks fine, more than fine, beautiful in fact, but he examines it in more depth, nonetheless. “There is nothing on your face. In fact, your face is quite adequate.”

“Quite adequate, I’ll take that as high praise.” You laugh. He’s not certain what’s so funny, but the sound is exquisite, and only further fuels the unfamiliar fiery feeling he’s experiencing. “But seriously, why are you staring at me?”

Your line of questioning makes sense to him now. He briefly considers lying to you, but on the spot he cannot think of anything convincing. “I slept last night.”

“I didn’t know Angels did that.” It’s not a question, but he has learned many human cues during his time on Earth. You’re digging for more information.

“We can, but we do not need to, so typically we don’t. I thought I might trial it to see if it would help in replenishing my grace.” He answers.

“Did it help?” Your inquisitiveness is ceaseless. It is something he has always liked about you.

“No.” He replies, he enjoys the brief frown of disappointment you give in response. “I did however, dream of you.”

“Ahh, and what did me and my quite adequate face do in your dream?” You’re smiling again as you scrub at a particularly stubborn stain. He notices the unintentionally alluring way you chew at your bottom lip and is immediately reminded of the way you had looked in his dream, as you waited in anticipation for him to expose his genitals.

He allows himself to wonder how you will react to his next statement; he hopes you’ll be as excited and pliable as you had been in his fantasy.  “You were nude, on your knees, performing fellatio on my, well, my vessels penis.”

“Oh!” You respond in a tone that he believes to be humorous and a little surprised. Until you look down at your knees, considering your precarious position. “Oooooh.”

You don’t say anything else, nor do you look back up at him. He begins to worry that he may have said something inappropriate, or that you thought he had disliked the experience.

“It was an enjoyable dream, if that is your concern.” He attempts to offer comfort.

“Well, I suppose that’s good news.” You nod to yourself; your tone gives nothing away. “I wonder if my real-life skills are as enjoyable as your fantasies.”

“I wouldn’t know, we have never…” His line of speech, his thoughts are interrupted by the enticing sight of you crawling towards him. “Oh.”

[supernaturalfreakout]

"Serve you."

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: Sam brings you to orgasm with your bullet vibrator whilst you cockwarm him. Plus some emotional revelations and some ever-so-appropriately-timed philosophical musings. In other words, you're just a couple of hot, horny nerds with a soul-bending emotional connection (emphasis on the horny).

Tags: 18+ MDNI, implied BJ, sub/Dom dynamic, sub!you, dom!sam, gentle dom sam winchester, BDSM, confessions, mutual longing, cockwarming, vibrator, multiple orgasms.

Words: 2k

Notes: As with most things I write, this started off as a drabble/just some thoughts/ideas. I've hardly edited this. This may eventually may make an appearance in my longfic, History on Your Side, but I haven't got there yet, and I'm too impatient to keep this to myself. I hope you enjoy!

Sam’s eyes meet yours, the thin band of hazel ringing his pupils glazed with pleasure. The gold flecks dance in the lamplight, swimming with desire as he reclines against the headboard, chest rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. He looks dazed: his lips wet and parted, the sweat on his skin making him glow like a god. You’ve never seen him so... 

So...?

He is blinding, angelic, gazing down at you with... what?—adoration?—awe? He’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. How can he even exist? He is beyond comprehension.

Your heart beats a little harder in your throat and you swallow around the lump that has formed, the salty tang of Sam’s release still fresh on your tongue. What is he seeing as he takes in your state: naked and disheveled, what you have just done, what you are planning to do? You can’t be sure, but the way it makes you feel when he looks at you… The way he makes you feel. Him wanting you, desiring you, basking the afterglow of your ministrations. You feel like the most powerful woman on the planet.

Chancing a smile, you shuffle your already-grazed knees in the blankets.

“I wanna be the best, and worst slut you’ve ever had,” you rasp without thinking, but stop yourself short before saying, I want to be your everything. It’s too much to ask, you know—but fuck—it doesn’t make it any less true.

You watch his eyes widen, then... soften slightly. He is all hard muscle and bone, but you know that beneath that rough exterior is a terrain he’s sheltered behind the barricades of his lifestyle for too long. Just like you have. He’d taught you that, no matter how unintended.

“Shit,” he says, his breath hitching. “You already are.”

You already are. It sounds like a confession to your unvoiced thoughts.��

“And I,” he continues, leaning forward and cupping your cheek with his palm, “want to be the one to fulfil your desires.” His thumb brushes a gentle stroke against your jaw, making your hairs stand on end, electric. “Every depraved, little thought. Every dirty fantasy. Every desire you’ve been too afraid to ask for—including the ones you deem you don’t deserve.”

He isn’t just talking about sex anymore. This is.... personal. He knows. Somehow, he knows. He’s always known—the way you view yourself—how you’ve deemed yourself unworthy of love. Because... He feels that way too, you realize, your heart breaking. This man. This perfect, selfless man, has never deemed himself worthy of love. 

At least he hadn’t, until—

Sam’s hands find your waist, calloused palms gliding over smooth skin, and he pulls you towards him, guiding you onto his lap. You let your knees fall on either side of his hips, his bare skin a warm, familiar comfort.

“I,” Sam says, your face now level with his, “want to be the one who gives that to you, Y/N. It’s my greatest honor to serve you.”

“Serve me?” Your voice is but a whisper, but the question sits heavy on your tongue. It tastes foreign, but sweet, a flavor you’ve never encountered, but now that you have, you’ll never forget the aftertaste.

“Yes,” he says, matter-of-factly. “As your Dom, it’s my duty to serve you.”

Duty. That word again. It's come up a lot in your conversations. What is it with this man and his superior sense of moral responsibility? For a seemingly non-religious man, he attached a lot of reverence to it. For him, it was an imperative. He was attracted to it like flies to honey. He did go to law school, you reflect. He's definitely read too much Kant. 

He cups your check again, his gaze flicking between your eyes and lips. “Everything I do is to serve you, Y/N. Even when I’m commanding you, I do it to serve you. Thank you for trusting me to do that.”

A sense of revelation washes over you at his words. Although you’ve never doubted him, not even for a second, trusting someone to anticipate your needs—to know when and how far to push your boundaries, and when to pull back—is not something to be taken lightly. Now, you realize, that putting your trust in him should have been harder than it was.

But he’d made it so easy—you’d never once felt pressured, put on the spot, or coerced. As counterintuitive as it may sound, being his sub—being commanded by him, at his mercy, restrained at times—actually makes you feel more free. Liberated. It all suddenly makes so much sense, like a lens snapping into focus. 

He looks you in the eye again, steady, analyzing, and you know that he is asking for permission. That look, coupled with the strained sensation against your thigh. You know that this conversation isn’t over, but yet—

You can feel him beneath you—again—hard and insistent, undeniably desirous. You’ve never known such stamina.

You nod, yes, and that is all the confirmation he needs.

His lips meet yours in a heated kiss, his tongue shortly following, as if he’s savoring every note of your taste.

Your bodies move together and you shift your weight, rising slightly to angle yourself against him.

You join together slowly, deliberately, the stretch of him a welcome pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth. You sink deeper, deeper, until you are held-fast against him. He fills you so completely, so perfectly, you can feel it in your soul. It is more than the physical—you’ve never felt so whole, so complete.

Sam smiles against your lips as he holds you there, unmoving, seemingly happy to just sit here inside you.

“You see?” he says. “We fit perfectly together, you and I.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you tease.

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just the effect you have on me.”

You roll your eyes, start to say something, then let out an embarrassingly breathy moan as Sam’s lips attach themselves to your throat. 

“You were saying?” He chuckles, continuing to explore your neck with his lips and tongue. 

“I... I can’t remember.”

He chuckles again, smugly, then moves his lips to nibble at your earlobe. The way his body presses against you angles his cock even tighter into your sweet-spot, and the desire below your belly cascades with liquid heat.

“Fuck,” he growls, his breath hot against your ear. “I can feel you baby—what this is doing to you. You’re so fucking wet. So fucking responsive. Such a good girl for me.”

You don’t even bother to hold back your moans now, it is all too much—he knows exactly what to do, knows exactly what to say to get you going. Always has.

“Yes,” you mewl. “And it’s all for you, Sir. All for you...”

You begin to grind your hips, chasing that high only he can give you, but Sam seemingly has other plans. 

“Hey,” he whispers, placing his hands on your hips to still you. “Not yet. Slow down.” 

As frustrating as it is, you comply. Sam has a way of testing your patience like no one else. It has always been worth it, though. 

You watch as he extends his arm to the side, rummages around in your bedside dresser. Immediately, you know exactly what he has planned, and you throb around him at the thought. 

His hand emerges grasping a small, silk, drawstring pouch, and you watch as he slides out your small-but-mighty bullet vibrator.

It may not look like much, but it is powerful, versatile and lands itself perfectly for situations like the one you currently find yourself in. 

You’d told him about your toys, this one especially, seeing as it had kept you company most recently whilst he was away. 

He sets the empty pouch back in your drawer.

“So this is what had you screaming my name down the phone?” he says, smirking. 

You whole body flushes at the memory: Sam’s voice in your ear as you both got yourselves off; you at home, Sam in some dingy motel room when he’d managed to steal some time alone.

“It might be small,” you say, “but it’s very effective.” 

“Hmm,” Sam says, considering. “I think it’s about time we get acquainted, then.” 

You watch open-mouthed as Sam brings your vibe to his lips, letting the tip enter his mouth. 

“Cold,” he says, then pushes it in further, coating the entirety of the metal with his saliva. 

You continue to gape as he removes it, then after three testing clicks with his thumb, sets the vibe alive. 

The sound of the buzz alone has you tingling, especially at the thought of Sam controlling it. 

“May I?” he asks, holding the device between you. 

Your nod is urgent, but Sam’s actions are anything but as he brings it to rest lightly against your mouth. The sensation is strange, but not unpleasant, and it sends a tingling sensation right through your brain. 

“Open,” he demands, and you comply, letting the vibe buzz against your tongue for a minute before he drags it down your chin and across your jaw, painting your combined saliva in a shiny, wet stripe across your flesh. 

When it meets the side of your neck, you flinch, giggling. You’ve always been ticklish there. Sam knows that, and he only looks amused. 

After that agony, he drags it over your collarbones, then over your chest, taking a moment to circle the tip around your nipples, making them pebble. 

“That good?” he asks, no doubt in response to your increasing moans, and you nod, biting your bottom lip. 

“Good,” he says, smiling. 

After another few moments, he slowly trails the vibe down your stomach, only lightly, as if the tip were a knife skimming the surface of your skin. But before it reaches it’s destination, it veers of to the side, snaking along the insides of your thighs, and you can’t hold back the groan of want that has built beneath your vocal cords. Your clit is throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can’t stop yourself from rocking into his pubic bone for a second of relief. 

At that—and in true Sam fashion—he pulls the vibe away completely, stealing a kiss before you can do so much as protest. His tongue glides against yours, and you let the taste of him flood your system. He’s throbbing too, you can feel it—aching inside you, yet his kiss is anything but urgent; it is controlled, completely deliberate, and utterly frustrating. You want to be devoured. 

When he pulls back, you are breathless, but his breath is steady. How does he do it? you wonder. You suppose that is why he is such a good Dom for you: he is the gravity keeping you in orbit in an otherwise chaotic universe. The steadying force, keeping you from spinning out of control. Without him you’d either combust, or float around aimlessly like you had done for the past several years. 

When you are least expecting it, Sam finally lets the vibe make contact, pressing it lightly against your swollen clit. The rumble is ecstatic, and you gasp as you let the sensations take over, dissolving every rational thought in your skull.

It doesn’t take long. After all that apprehension, you are a loaded gun; cocked and ready to blow.

Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back in ecstasy and release a high-pitched squeal of pleasure.

Sam cups the back of your neck, and then it's his lips on your throat again, his voice in your ear.

"That's it, moan for me, baby. Ah—fuck—you're so tight, so close already, I can feel it. Come around my cock, princess. Yeah, that's it. My beautiful girl..."

His words. His voice. His lips. His tongue on your neck. His cock inside you... It's all so... perfect. He's perfect. So—

You start to tremble, and then it hits you, all at once, like a freight-train derailing, again, and again...

“Fuck!” you scream, as your climax seizes you, grasping you by the throat and throttling you blue.

As quick as the first one leaves, another comes in it's wake, surging towards you like a lightning bolt—sharp, intense, and impossible to escape. Your nails dig into Sam’s shoulders as he turns the vibrations up to the max, and you all but wail his name, bucking against the vibe, his cock now firing to life inside you. He lets you take control now, rocking him inside you, milking him dry as you both come together in a writhing ball of orgasmic bliss.

A few, sweat-soaked minutes later, collapsed and tangled together in euphoria, he concedes with a grin, “Very effective, indeed.”

Even he is breathless now.