#not really but putting that tag to be safe

[likea-silhouette]

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

rating: mature

word count: 2.8k

summary: Harry was once the boy you loved and wanted to spend your life with. The funny thing is that addiction is something that is never predicted. What happens when you run into your ex-boyfriend years after your breakup that was due to his vices? Read part one here

*based on the song Complex by Katie Gregson-MacLeod*

tagged: @imaginexxharry

The moment you step inside you feel a warmth and familiarity, almost making you completely forget about Harry and the uneasiness you had felt just moments ago.

This home. You’d spent so many wonderful days and nights within its confines. Whether watching movies and trashy TV shows with Nadia or playing board games that you only half understood, nevertheless still enjoyed. It felt like another home to you. “There you are!”, Nadia squealed above the music that wasn’t too low or high in volume, but just right. Immediately, a smile overtook your lips as you outstretched your hands to envelope your best friend in a warm embrace.

“God, am I glad you’re here”, Nadia said as she lifted her drink to her lips.

“Why? What’s wrong?” You looked at her quizzically as you tried to convince yourself it had nothing to do with your ex-boyfriend. Not everything revolved around him, yet, at this very moment, your mind was so preoccupied with him and only him that it was hard not to associate Harry with every subject that came to mind.

Nadia moved next to you and rested her elbow on top of your shoulder as her knuckles held her chin up.

“I swear I only know like three people here. I’ve just been walking around aimlessly trying to find a buddy to gossip with.”

You chuckled lightly as relief swept over you. “Well, I’m here now so consider yourself buddied up.”

Nadia smiled and rolled her eyes playfully in relief, “Thank-fucking-god.”

Eventually, the both of you wandered over to the kitchen where various alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages were being created by a hired bartender.

“Wow, you really splurged on this.”

Nadia’s lips curled into a smile as she shrugged, “Only the best for my guy.”

Once a gin and tonic was comfortably situated in your and your friend's hand, the both of you maneuvered through the decent volume of friends and family that had arrived in the time it took for you to browse and pick out a cocktail. Thankfully, refuge in the living room was close as you and Nadia took a seat on a sectional sofa that was free for the taking.

The conversation naturally flowed between the both of you as you caught up on new developments in the other's life that had occurred since you last saw each other a week or so ago.

Suddenly, mid-sentence, Nadia’s eyes widened as a smile spread across her face. This wasn’t any ordinary smile - it held something behind it, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Cautiously, you turned around to look in the direction Nadia’s eyes were focused on. You breathed a sigh of relief as you saw the familiar face of her husband, instead of the face of the phantom you had once loved.

You were safe. It wasn’t him. “Babe!”, Nadia called out, but with the larger volume of people chattering, combined with the music, her call went unnoticed.

Nadia stood from the sofa with both hands cupped over her mouth as she attempted once again to gain his attention with a shout of his name.

This time it did the trick.

Abruptly, Her husband turned around as his wide eyes searched the crowd. Once he caught sight of his wife, he instantly softened with a small grin on his mouth.

You watched as both he and Nadia exchanged glances of puppy love that were still present even after several years of being romantically intertwined. This very admiration had you mesmerized - maybe a little too mesmerized in fact.

The depth of enchantment that you felt from their love kept you easily distracted, so much so that you hadn’t noticed him initially until his eyes were melting craters in your face that were impossible to not feel the burn of.

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze and his met for the first time in so, so long.

His eyes felt both foreign and familiar all at the same time.

Unbeknownst to you, Nadia stood by your side with a grin as she watched from the corner of her eye as your mind pieced together the reality of what was happening whether you wanted it to or not. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you wanted.

Your mouth fell agape and eyes blinked rapidly, testing to see if this was your imagination playing tricks on you or if the man who once held your affection was actually walking towards you in tow of Nadia’s husband. Of course, It was the latter.

“There’s the birthday boy!”, Nadia beamed as she placed her hands on either side of her husband's face.

“You saw me like an hour ago baby.” You would’ve cooed and awed at the couple were it not for the distraction that was now standing directly in front of you with eyes that shamelessly remained in a trance that was solely for you.

Nadia and her husband both shared a mischievous smirk as they reveled in their front-row seats to your and Harry’s reunion. Not that you even thought about tearing your eyes away from Harry to take note of the not so subtle expression the couple were sharing.

“Hey! I’m so glad you could come.” Nadia’s husband greeted as he wrapped you up in a warm hug. Thankfully, this brought you out of the staring contest that Harry had trapped you in.

With closed eyes, you put on a best-effort smile as you returned his friendly gesture.

“Of course! Happy birthday.” You hoped the joy in your voice didn’t sound too forced.

“Oh, and this is for you,” you dragged your last word slightly as you outstretched the envelope in your hand in his direction.

Harry’s eyes followed your arm which was filled with new tattoos he wasn’t familiar with. He wondered what else had changed with you. Were you in a relationship? Did you have some fancy job with an even fancier apartment? Were you happy?

Were you happier without him?

“You know you never have to get me anything”, Nadia's husband spoke, breaking Harry from his thoughts that wondered if there was still a resemblance of the lover he never forgot.

Harry watched as you shrugged and said, “I know,” with a slight smile. This made him feel butterflies flapping in his stomach.

Nadia’s husband said his thanks with a final side hug and Harry found himself continuing to stare at you in your most sincerest of form. Celebrating with friends and exchanging gifts; something so deeply simple, yet watching you being wholly yourself had Harry’s heart beating so fast, he swore one would’ve seen it through his shirt.

“You always did love giving gifts.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at Harry after he spoke. Only then did he realize he said those words out loud instead of in the deepest parts of his inner narration.

Your eyebrows raised and your mouth slightly fell open as you took in the absolute music to your ears that was his accent and tone - it felt like pressing play on your favorite song for the second time in a row. You wanted more and more and more and couldn’t see yourself tiring of it for quite some time. The temptation to close your eyes and sway your body in complete contentment as you replayed the way his voice sounded crossed your mind. God damn it, you missed him.

Meanwhile, Harry’s eyes desperately searched his surroundings. He had to find an excuse to either leave this reunion of sorts or change the subject entirely.

Thankfully, his eyes caught sight of the empty glass in his hand.

“I’m uh-”, his hand slightly raised his glass in the air, “-going to get some more to drink.” “Help yourself, Harry. The non-alcoholic drinks should all be in the fridge in the kitchen.”

Harry nodded with avoidant eyes and turned his back to the group with a chest that breathed heavily with each step he took.

You, however, were still dwelling on the drink suggestion Nadia had directed Harry towards. “Does uh-” God, it was embarrassing. Why did you want to even ask? You weren’t supposed to care anymore.

“Never mind,” you said with a soft, yet tensed smile. “I’m a little low on my drink too. I’m going to go catch up with Harry”, Nadia’s husband spoke with his hand lovely running along Nadia’s back.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

You watched as he weaved through the crowd, taking a nearly identical path to the one Harry followed toward the kitchen until he disappeared behind a group of people. Quickly, you and Nadia fall back into casual conversation, avoiding discussing the ever-present elephant in the room. You’d be lying if you said you could focus on a single conversation topic that carried on between the both of you. Your body was still very much here, but your head was deeply submerged underneath the thickest of clouds. Eventually, a party guest, that you weren’t too familiar with besides remembering their face from Nadia’s wedding and past gatherings, joined in on your and Nadia’s conversation circle. You felt a swell of relief at the fact that you wouldn’t need to maintain subpar attention on the topic being discussed. Now, you were free to get lost in your thoughts and allow Nadia and the party guest to take the lead on the discussion. Your lips met the cold of your glass as you guzzled down the remainder of your cocktail.

Thank god - an excuse to get some fresh air.

“I’m going to grab another drink and get some fresh air. It's so nice to see you again!” You cheerfully waved to Nadia and the other guests, who gave you waves and friendly smiles in return. The moment your back was to the pair, the fake smile etched onto your lips slid off of your face as your mouth pursed and a light puff of air released from your cheeks.

The walk from the bar to the outside was a paranoid one. Every unknown noise had you gazing in its direction of origin as you searched for his familiar brunette hair and green eyes behind every crevice and corner.

Thankfully, the outside proved to be a serene place. It smelled of wood smoked to ash and shimmered from the large string lights cascading across the entire backyard. The sun was nearly half set, making the sky a dark purple that perfectly paired with the easy music playing from the speakers in the outdoor space. As your eyes took in your surroundings, you caught sight of where the smell of burnt wood was coming from. Immediately, your feet carried you to the circle-shaped fire pit that was tucked in a back corner and all by its lonesome.

The warmth of a flame blanketed your body as you sat in one of the chairs strategically placed around the burning orange hue.

Once comfortably snug, you allowed yourself another deep, deep breath. This time with eyes fully closed you reveled in the peace and stillness that only the nighttime could bring.

However, your peace was short-lived as the sound of glass breaking caused your eyes to shoot open and everyone to quiet their conversations.

Quickly, your eyes searched for the source until you fell upon an image that felt eerily familiar.

A couple - a man who was inebriated times ten and a woman desperately trying to calm the man’s erratic movements and loud tone of voice. He held a once full glass, yet now was sloshed with clear liquid on himself and the ground.

The distress on the woman's face was evident as she tried to calm the man by soothingly rubbing his upper bicep and, I’m assuming, whispering words that were at the age level of how one would talk to a toddler who was throwing a tantrum.

I knew that routine all too well. The sound of the glass breaking was still ringing in your ears like a sharp knife clawing into a chalkboard, until, in the blink of an eye, you found yourself back in time. The bar was lit by only a few warm lightbulbs. The Saturday night bar crowd was in full swing as you found yourself nearly shoulder to shoulder with anyone you came across. However, Harry’s voice booming over the noise level of every other bar attendee had you briskly walking away from the bar and over to your boyfriend - well, boyfriend at the time. “What the fuck is going on?” You yelled over the music as Harry poked his finger into the chest of a man you’d never seen before. “Babe who is this? What are you doing?” Harry’s larger-than-normal pupils looked at you. You swore you could’ve seen steam coming out from the top of his head by how red his cheeks were and the flare of his nostrils. “This guy was checking you out!” he half slurred, half yelled. Your eyes moved to the guy who looked scared shitless with both of his hands pressing in front of his chest. “I swear man, I wasn’t looking at her. Swear to god” “Fuckin’ liar!”, Harry spat at the guy. “Harry who gives a fuck. The guy said he wasn’t looking,” I tried desperately to pull him by his bicep in the direction opposite of the innocent man. “I give a fuck! He was looking at you like he wanted to fuck you right in this bar for Christ sake”

“Nah man, I haven’t even seen her bef-” “If you were smart you’d shut the hell up before I make you.”

You gasped at Harry’s harsh words that were hard to hear, both due to the volume of the music, the chattering of conversation, and the amount of vodka he’d had in the last hour that made his lips move too fast for his words to get out cleanly.

“Babe please,” I whined desperately, using all of your strength to pull Harry by the arm again. However, it was no use. Harry slipped out of your grip with his glass shattering to the ground as it slipped out of his hands. You watched in horror as Harry suddenly got much closer to the man, their faces a foot or so apart, as his shoulders stood up straight in a much more defensive manner. What had started as a night of fun and drunkenness, quickly turned into Harry once again taking it too far - both with his alcohol consumption and his anger, though the two almost always went hand in hand. Tears started prickling out of your eyes as you watched Harry bump his chest against the other guy who was now squaring up to Harry and making himself look just as intimidating. He promised. He promised this would never happen again and yet it’s happened so many fucking times -more than you can even count.

Not even a brisk escape from the scene Harry had created at the bar and a cigarette between your lips could ease the pain. With your head resting against the outside brick wall of the bar, you felt your tears gently and freely roll down your cheeks as you puffed smoke from between your teeth.

That night, you remember asking yourself if you could do this forever. If you always had to be the one to pick up the pieces that Harry tore up in a drunken haze. If you always had to be the one who was strong even when you felt like the thinnest, soggiest, piece of paper that was left to disintegrate in the rain all by your lonesome.

You weren’t sure how long you’d fallen back into this memory that clearly stuck to your brain for a reason. However, you knew what brought you out of it and back to reality. His laugh was infectious and uniquely deep and hearty. There always was a slight rasp to it as well. You remembered it so damn well. Except this time, it wasn’t just a memory. It was very deeply real and current. Instinctually, your eyes searched for him in the backyard until his tall frame came into your view. Harry was standing in a group of people with that warm and amused grin on his face that always looked so good on him. You were only allowed a moment to admire his candid expression until his eyes met yours - as if you were magnetized to one another. Harry’s tongue peeked out of his mouth to briefly run along his bottom lip as his eyes focused back on the group. He spoke some words you couldn’t make out before extending his hand in a polite manner to each of the people surrounding him in the circle - as if he were excusing himself.

Then, with his left hand in his pocket, and his eyes looking directly at you, he began walking in your direction.

To be continued.

[cece693]

He's Cute

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader tags: you're Loki's brother, but actually nice and come in peace, bucky finds you adorable, humor, asking out a prince from another planet is hard, just ask bucky, part 2 can be done

Tony tapped his fingers on the conference table, wearing his best ‘well, here we go again’ scowl. In front of him, the Avengers were assembled, all shooting wary glances at Thor. “So,” Tony drawled, making sure to emphasize his skepticism, “we’re hosting another Asgardian prince. Is your father just collecting them at this point?”

Thor, doing his best not to look offended, cleared his throat. “I know you hold distrust after what Loki did, but (Y/N) is our younger brother. He’s quite the opposite from Loki.”

Clint quirked a brow, exchanging a glance with Sam. “‘Opposite’ how? Less shape-shifting and more interpretive dance, or…?”

Sam snorted. “I’d pay to see that, actually.”

Thor, for his part, stood straight-backed, looking earnest—and maybe just a little bit offended. “I assure you, (Y/N) is not here to conquer anything,” he reiterated. “My brother is gentle. He's nothing like our brother Loki."

Tony drummed his fingers on the table one more time. “Yeah, we’ll see. Might I suggest we have a ‘No Asgardian Shenanigans’ sign at the front door? We can hang it right under the ‘No Solicitors’ sign.”

“That might be a tad welcoming, don’t you think?” Clint drawled, lips curling in a wry grin.

Sam chuckled. “No illusions allowed, no staff-wielding illusions, no illusions about illusions.”

Bucky glanced around. They were all bantering, but he could sense the undercurrent of nervous energy. Finally, Steve caught his eye and nodded, inviting him to speak up if he wanted. But Bucky just gave a small shrug—he didn’t really have an opinion yet, beyond thinking that maybe it would be nice to have another level-headed god around. He’d heard Loki was a piece of work, but Thor—despite his bombast—had proven a decent ally.

“Well, guess we’ll know soon enough,” Nat said, pulling everyone’s attention back to her. She tapped her phone, checking the time. “Thor? When’s your supposed to show up?”

Thor’s chest swelled with pride, as though merely announcing your name was akin to proclaiming victory over the Nine Realms. “He will arrive today—shortly, in fact. Heimdall has secured him safe passage. I ask for your patience, my friends. He is not…accustomed to Earth.”

“Oh, this ought to be fun,” Tony said, pushing back from the table. “Alright. Everyone, let’s roll out the welcome mat. And by ‘welcome mat,’ I obviously mean ‘a healthy dose of skepticism laced with potential backup plans A through Z.’ Clint, let’s find a vantage point—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted, sounding exasperated. “He’s Thor’s brother, not a Hydra spy.”

Tony shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. Or have we collectively forgotten the Chitauri fiasco?”

Thor let out a deep, put-upon sigh, and Bucky caught the flicker of guilt in the god’s eyes. Clearly, Thor was sensitive about all that had happened with Loki. Which in turn made Bucky feel a little guilty for automatically being wary.

About an hour later, the Avengers had dispersed, though most lingered in the main atrium of the Compound. Bucky hung back near a wall, arms folded, scanning his surroundings with a soldier’s vigilance. He had no idea what to expect. A second Loki? Another six-foot-something, muscle-bound, hammer-wielding Asgardian?

The air crackled with energy, and suddenly, a swirl of rainbow light appeared at the center of the room—a mini Bifrost. Out of it stepped you.

Your entrance was about as dramatic as one could expect from a swirling cosmic rainbow, but you looked anything but menacing. Clad in simple Asgardian attire (far less extravagant than Thor’s usual gear), you blinked, adjusting to the Earthly surroundings and then you bowed—actually bowed—deeply and respectfully.

“Good day,” you greeted softly, your voice gentler than any of them expected. “I am (Y/N) of Asgard. It's an honor to meet the team that has accepted my brother Thor with open arms. I know you might be wary of me with all that has transpired with Loki, but know that I deeply apologize for any problems he...” You paused, searching for a polite way to phrase it, eventually settling with, “…might have caused.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “‘Might have caused?’ Yeah, that’s one way to put an alien invasion.” He exchanged a look with Clint, who shrugged.

“(Y/N) is different,” Thor explained, laying a large hand on your shoulder with a brotherly sort of pride. “He will not attempt subterfuge or illusions.”

Bucky, observing quietly from his corner, noticed how you half-cringed at the mention of illusions, as if even the word brought you guilt by association. You glanced around at the assembled heroes: Tony with his pointed skepticism, Nat’s arms folded in careful assessment, Steve’s polite-but-guarded kindness. Even Sam gave you a sidelong look that said he wasn’t entirely sure he believed in second Asgardian princes yet. Only Thor, unwavering in his faith, and Bruce, gently curious, seemed at ease.

Clearing your throat, you continued, “I truly want to learn of your customs and help in any way I can.” Your voice quieted further. “I understand if my presence here makes you uncomfortable. You have already faced so much.”

Natasha eyed you, the corners of her mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles. “Well, you’re certainly more polite than your brothers,” she said, glancing at Thor pointedly.

“That’s not difficult,” Clint muttered, earning a huff from Thor.

Bucky only half-listened to the exchange; he was more focused on the shy curve of your posture—how you carried yourself with a subtle humility that was so unlike Thor’s boisterous confidence or Loki’s cunning. He realized then he was staring, so he forced himself to look away, crossing his arms over his chest to maintain some semblance of aloofness.

Steve, ever the one to break awkward silences, stepped forward to shake your hand. “We appreciate your honesty, (Y/N). I’m Steve Rogers. I promise no one here means you harm,” he said in a reassuring tone.

You took his hand carefully, as if unaccustomed to the formality. “Nice to meet you, Captain Rogers.” A flicker of surprise crossed your face as you felt the firmness of his handshake. “Your grip could rival Thor’s,” you murmured, almost impressed. Thor puffed up, beaming that you’d complimented one of his comrades.

Sam spoke up next, his voice colored with curiosity. “So, no illusions, no plans of world domination…I’m guessing you’re the ‘normal’ one in the family?”

You seemed flustered, but your lips quirked in an embarrassed smile. “I—I wouldn’t quite say that. But I have always strived for peace.”

Tony waved a hand. “Alright, Peace Prince, welcome aboard. We’ll see how it goes. Just don’t conjure up any giant space whales or open any more cosmic portals in the middle of Manhattan, deal?”

Thor looked positively mortified that Tony would even imply such a thing, but you only nodded politely. “Yes, sir. No space whales. I can assure you of that.”

At the “sir,” Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I like you. Please continue to address me as ‘sir’ in front of the others.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

Thor cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to calmer waters. “(Y/N) will be staying with us for a time—learning Earth’s ways. Please, treat him as you would me.”

“So we haze him with endless pop culture references and toss him in the deep end?” Sam joked.

Bucky saw you swallow hard, and something about your shy, uncertain expression tugged at his chest. Without meaning to, he spoke up for the first time in the meeting. “I’ll help,” he said bluntly.

Everyone turned to look at him, surprise etched on their faces—especially Steve, who arched an eyebrow as if to say, Didn’t know you were volunteering, pal. You brightened, relief shining in your eyes. “That is very kind of you. Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Just…Bucky,” he mumbled, cheeks warming the tiniest bit.

Natasha’s keen eyes flickered between the two of you, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Great,” she said lightly. “Now that we’re all introduced, who wants lunch?”

Over the next few days, you integrated yourself into Avengers life with unexpected ease. You asked Tony endless questions about Earth technology, took great care to help Bruce reorganize his lab (after you discovered you had a knack for meticulously alphabetizing everything from chemicals to coffee mugs), and politely sparred with Natasha, who grudgingly admitted you were surprisingly tough yet considerate.

Meanwhile, Bucky quietly observed you. He watched you cheerfully fix up the lounge furniture after Thor accidentally broke a coffee table. He saw you carefully water the potted plants in the hallway, eager to ensure none of Earth’s “fragile vegetation” withered on your watch. Little by little, Bucky found himself drawn to your presence—drawn to your soft laughter, your bright curiosity.

But one thing stood out above all else: you never once bragged about your title. You never boasted about your Asgardian heritage or demanded special treatment. You even seemed embarrassed whenever anyone called you ‘Prince (Y/N).’ Instead, you were humble—sometimes painfully so. And that humility, combined with that sweet, open-minded wonder, made Bucky’s heart do somersaults he hadn’t felt in years.

Bucky sat in the compound’s lounge one afternoon, pretending to read a newspaper while sneaking glances your way. You were studying a half-eaten bag of potato chips like they were the eighth wonder of the world.

“Steve,” Bucky murmured, beckoning his friend closer.

Steve, doing his best to hide an amused smile, leaned in. “What’s up?”

Bucky tilted the newspaper so Steve could see you turning the potato-chip bag upside down, letting crumbs tumble out onto your hand. “He’s cute,” Bucky muttered under his breath, so quietly it nearly dissolved into air.

“…Should I act surprised? It was obvious from the moment you volunteered to show him around the tower,” Steve finished, his voice just as low. He flicked his gaze from Bucky to you and back again, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide the hint of pink that dusted his cheeks. “I’m trying to be subtle, all right?”

Steve snorted. “That’s rich coming from the guy who’s sneaking glances every ten seconds.”

Bucky’s gaze drifted again to you—now tapping the bottom of the potato chip bag in an effort to extract the last crumb. The entire display was so earnestly adorable that Bucky had to bite back a smile. “Look,” Bucky sighed, voice dropping lower, “he’s Thor’s brother. A prince. And I’m—well—” He gestured vaguely at himself, as if that summed up a lifetime’s worth of complications. “You really think he’d be interested?”

“Yes,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I do.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest—he’s just curious about Earth, he’s friendly to everyone, it doesn’t mean anything—but then, as if on cue, you turned around in your seat. The instant your eyes met Bucky’s, your face lit with delight. You waved at him so earnestly that you almost spilled the bag of chips.

Bucky swallowed. “Fine,” he muttered, giving Steve a pointed look. “Maybe there’s a small chance.”

Steve suppressed a laugh, nudging Bucky forward. “Then go talk to him. Ask about chips, or Earth cuisine, or literally anything. Just say something.”

Bucky tried to summon that stoic confidence that sometimes worked for him. Instead, he felt like a high school kid with a crush. “Right,” he mumbled. “Be casual. Real casual.”

He stood up, discreetly adjusting his jacket, and made his way over to you. You greeted him with a bright smile—still holding that bag of chips as if you’d discovered gold. “Hello, Bucky!” you said. “I didn’t realize such simple food could taste so addictive.”

Bucky felt his heart do a little flip at the sound of his name on your lips. “Yeah, uh…chips,” he replied brilliantly, jamming his hand in his pocket in a desperate attempt to appear nonchalant. “They’re a big deal around here. We’ve got, uh…like, 70 flavors, I think.”

Your eyes widened. “Seventy?!”

“Maybe more,” Bucky corrected himself. He cleared his throat. “So, you like them?”

“Very much. I fear I might become dependent,” you admitted, glancing a little sheepishly at the half-empty bag. “But enough about me—how’s your day? I noticed you’ve been reading that newspaper for a while.”

Bucky cringed internally. Busted. “Oh, yeah—lots of…uh…interesting articles,” he fibbed, holding up the folded paper. He glanced at the front page, realized it was yesterday’s news, and hastily lowered it again. “Anyway, I was thinking, maybe we could…you know, get out for a while? Go, uh…check out a café nearby.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion creeping across your features. “But the Compound has a coffee machine. It’s in the kitchen, right? I can fetch you coffee, if you like.”

“No, no,” Bucky corrected, trying to keep his composure. “I mean, we could go out. Just you and me. Kind of an…outing.” He struggled with the word date, but it hovered there, unsaid.

Your eyes went wide, as though another revelation had dawned upon you. “Oh! You need supplies? Are we on a mission?”

“No, not a mission,” Bucky explained, scratching the back of his neck. “Just hanging out. Relaxing. Maybe having a nice conversation—away from everyone else.”

You nodded, albeit slowly. “A private conversation…in a place that also serves coffee?”

“Right,” Bucky confirmed, trying not to seem too relieved. “It’s…well, on Earth, we call that a ‘date.’”

He finally said it—date. His palms were sweaty, but he held your gaze, waiting.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, brows shooting up. “I’ve read about dates in one of the Midgardian relationship guidebooks. Something about courting rituals and paying for each other’s drinks to demonstrate affection?”

Bucky’s cheeks felt warmer by the second. “Yeah, that’s…that’s the general idea. You interested?”

“Yes!” you said, then paused, a flicker of doubt crossing your features. “But do we need to bring my father into this? Thor mentioned father-gifts or is that just for official betrothals? I don’t want to be rude.”

Off to the side, half-hidden in the hallway, Steve pinched the bridge of his nose to stifle a laugh. Bucky shot him a quick glare—thanks for the backup, pal. Chuckling nervously, Bucky shook his head. “No father-gifts required. On Earth, it’s usually just between, well…the two people going on the date.”

Your shoulders visibly relaxed. “Ah, excellent. That simplifies things. I wouldn’t know what to buy your father anyway—does he prefer golden chalices or—?”

“No, no,” Bucky interjected quickly, biting his lip to keep from outright laughing. “Seriously, no father involvement. We just go, maybe sit down, order coffee, talk.”

You seemed to take a moment to let that sink in. Then, you grinned wide. “That sounds delightful. When do we depart for this coffee date?”

“How about tomorrow morning? Around ten?” Bucky offered.

You placed a hand over your heart, nodding firmly. “Ten in the morning. I will be ready. Should I wear armor, or is that too formal?”

Bucky glanced at Steve again, who was now silently cracking up. He smothered a grin, turning back to you. “Casual clothes are fine. Maybe just…I dunno…a shirt and jeans, if you have them?”

“Ah, yes! The mortal garb. I’ll do my best not to clash patterns.” You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Though everything on Earth seems to clash with my Asgardian boots.”

Bucky let out a soft laugh, feeling tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding in slip away. “You’ll be fine, trust me.”

Moments later, you excused yourself to research casual Earth attire, leaving Bucky standing in the lounge with a strangely giddy feeling in his chest. That’s when Steve sauntered in, arms folded, his smile practically ear-to-ear. “You see?” Steve teased. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t quite hide his grin. “I almost had to explain father-gifts, so maybe a little complicated.”

Steve chuckled. “Looked like you handled it just fine. And if you need a quick escape route tomorrow, you know I’ve got your back.”

Bucky gave him a playful shove. “Thanks, punk.”

Steve shrugged, still grinning. “Anytime, jerk.”

[somewillwin]

hi! as someone who is sick and tired of all the arcane/caitvi negativity in tumblr recently i love your blog sm! it rlly makes me happy :)

also dont listen to the haters! they have no life if they really spend their days by spamming hate to someone about fiction.

THERE IS CAITVI HATE HERE ON TUMBLR?!?

I thought tumblr was safe from it NOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭

Thankfully besides the slut shaming anon I haven’t gotten any negativity. I’m glad I’m putting a bit of love then in the tags

[ambiguous-avery]

Read for Me

Sam Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 3408

Summary: Researching with Sam was always a treat. Unlike most hunters who did it simply as a means to an end, Sam always seemed to genuinely enjoy having a nose in the books. He was a kindred spirit in that way. Maybe that’s what made you fall for him. Turns out, he’s felt the same way about you. Who said researching couldn’t be fun?

Tags/Warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI, no use of Y/N, she/her pronouns, femme nicknames (baby, pretty girl), reader is AFAB, oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V sex (remember to be safe, friends), spanking, PWP (Plot? What plot?), no beta we die like men

A/N: I may be a Dean girlie through and through, but I’d have to be absolutely blind to not appreciate how damn good Sam looks. I’m a sucker for guys with longer hair. I’ve never written for Sam, and I don’t feel like I have as solid of a grasp on his character. But hey, we all gotta start somewhere yeah? I am apparently incapable of writing a short smut piece. Also in my head, Sam is a kinky fucker, and no I will not hear otherwise.

It had been far too long since you sat in the library of the bunker, nose-deep into a lore book. The last several months had seen you taking hunts all across the west coast with little to no reprieve in between jobs. Such was the life, though. There was always something else to hunt. Always someone else to save. Always some threat that needed to be put down. It was a hectic way to live, but you couldn’t deny that it was fulfilling. You helped people. And that would always make it worth it.

But that only made the quiet moments that much more precious. 

The Winchester’s bunker was hardly home, but any hunter worth their salt would be hard pressed to find a library of this caliber. You may have been a decent hunter in the field, but texts and manuscripts were where you really shone. Sam and Dean had answered your call for help on hunts before, and you had done the same on occasion. There had always been a hint of something between you and Sam from the beginning, but neither of you acted on it. The life of a hunter wasn’t one that afforded either of you the luxury of getting attached to any one person. So the two of you simply existed in the orbit of the other, occasionally passing close but never touching. Never breaking that physical barrier. 

But the both of you could appreciate being around the other without the need to directly interact. Which is why you were sat across the table from Sam in the bunker library, each of you engrossed in your own book. You peeked over the top of the pages, sneaking a glimpse of him in his zone. He had no right looking as handsome as he was. The way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. The way his lips moved silently as he read. It was all too captivating. You quickly averted your eyes back to your own book, cheeks flushing with a warmth that had nothing to do with the bunker's heating system. 

A creak of the chair across from you broke through your focus, and you looked up to see Sam closing his book. His hazel eyes met yours, and there was a flicker of something unnamable that passed between you. Without a word, he stood up and walked over to the bookshelves, running his fingers over the spines of the ancient tomes as he searched for a specific volume. You watched him move with a quiet grace, admiring the way his muscles shifted beneath his flannel shirt. Sam finally pulled out a thick, leather-bound book and made his way back to the table, sitting across from you again. You went back to focusing on your book.

Sam glanced up from the tome in front of him, catching a peek of you engrossed in the text. A soft smile played on his lips as he let himself admire from afar. No one read like you did. The way your eyebrows rose and fell when you read something new. There was always a glint in your eye when you stumbled upon a particularly interesting passage, and Sam couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through his chest. When you turned the page and chewed on your lip, Sam made the executive decision that he was done with the unspoken connection.

He cleared his throat, his breath briefly catching when you looked up at him through your lashes.

“Can I be honest with you for a moment?” he asked slowly, steeling his nerves. You set your book down, your heart racing at the vulnerability in Sam’s gaze. His question lingered in the air, heavy with unvoiced feelings that danced between you.

“Of course,” you nodded, urging him to continue. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his expression before he took a deep breath.

“I… I know that we’ve kept each other at arm’s length. For good reason,” he started, his eyes never leaving yours. “But every time we’re in the same room, it’s like there’s something unspoken between us. Am I reading that right, or am I completely off?”

You took a steadying breath, tension crackling between the two of you. You simultaneously wanted to thank whatever god might have been watching over you and punch them for encouraging Sam to drag the truth out into the open. You had been content letting whatever there was between you and Sam just sit in the dark, never touching on what it could be. But here it was. Brought into the light at last, waiting to be explored. You swallowed.

“You’re not completely off,” you admitted softly, feeling a rush of both fear and exhilaration at finally acknowledging the undercurrent of something more than had been threatening to pull you under. “There’s always been something, hasn’t there?”

Sam let out a long, slow exhale, relief evident in his eyes as he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice just barely above a whisper as if the moment would shatter to pieces if he spoke too loud. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Thought it would just fizzle out over time. But it didn’t. And it’s not just me, is it?” he continued, standing from his seat and moving around the table to your side. He reached out tentatively, his fingers grazing yours on the table. “I don’t want to ignore it anymore,” Sam confessed. You intertwined your fingers with his, a rush of raw desire and emotion breaking free from behind the dam you had built up.

“I don’t want to ignore it either.” You looked up at him.

Sam dipped down and pressed his lips against yours in a long-overdue kiss. It was soft and gentle, a tender exploration of something that was simultaneously both familiar and foreign. But as you both grew bolder, the kiss deepened with a fervor that threatened to overtake you all at once. Sam’s free hand came up to cup your cheek, and his tongue swiped at your lower lip. You responded eagerly, parting your lips as his tongue slid against yours. The library melted around you, only leaving the sensation of Sam’s warm touch and the taste of desire on your lips.

When you broke apart, both of you were breathless and flushed with a newfound desire that coursed through your veins. Sam rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all he found instead was a mirrored reflection of the same yearning that burned within him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for longer than I care to admit,” he confessed. You smiled softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his face.

“Me too,” you replied, abandoning the book in your hand entirely and twisting in your chair to face him better. You pressed another soft kiss to his lips. “Don’t suppose there’s anything else you’ve wanted to do for a long while, hm?”

The playfulness in Sam’s eyes winked out and was replaced by a smoldering intensity that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. He kissed you again, this time with a hunger that hadn’t been there before. His hand left yours and instead, he tangled his fingers through your hair, carding them through the strands. 

“There might have been one or two other things...” he mumbled against your lips. He straightened up, pulling you out of your chair with him. “Up on the table.”

“Wait, here?” You spoke in a hushed tone, even though you knew that you were the only two in the bunker. Dean had left who knew how long ago, grumbling something about the ‘nerd convention’ being in town. You hadn’t caught the full extent of the conversation, mainly because Sam and his brother could converse with glances alone, and you had given up trying to figure it out forever ago.

“Yeah, here,” Sam confirmed, his voice low and husky with desire. The thrill of it all coursed through you, charging the atmosphere between you further. You didn’t hesitate as he helped you up onto the sturdy wooden table, unceremoniously pushing books and papers aside to make room for you.

Sam stepped between your legs, his hands coming to rest on your waist as his lips found yours once more. It was fervent and needy and full of the promise of more. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles tense beneath his shirt. His lips seared yours, branding you with the heat of his passion and desire. Your lips parted with a quiet moan as his lips trailed down your jawline, leaving a hot trail of kisses along your neck. Your head fell back in a silent invitation, willing to give him access to every inch of your skin. He took it, backing off just long enough to yank your shirt up and unclasping your bra with practiced ease. Although, he couldn’t even be bothered to fully remove anything, just shoving your shirt and bra out of the way as he sucked and nipped at a spot just beneath your collarbone. 

And his hands – God his hands. One kept a hold on your shirt and bra, keeping them out of his way as he teased a nipple between his teeth. The other ran up your back, grabbed a handful of the hair just above the nape of your neck, and pulled, still bracing his arm against you to serve as counterpressure. You arched into his touch, your hips pressing against him in a silent pleas for more of his attention. His hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of you as though he was making up for lost time and memorizing your shape with his fingers alone. Each kiss was slow and deliberate as he took you apart piece by piece. His fingers trailed their way down your sides, grazing your hips and sending a shiver through you. When he finally moved to trail kisses back to your lips, you met him halfway, pulling him closer until you felt the length of him press against your center.

“Fuck, I want you,” you breathed against his ear, voice breathless with need. Sam paused, lifting his head so he could meet your gaze.

“I want you too,” he echoed back to you. “But I don’t know that I want to make it that easy for you.” Your breath hitched at his words, heart pounding in your chest as need swept through you, pooling at your core. The thought that Sam could very well leave you like this, wanting and waiting and so fucking turned on was simultaneously terrifying and thrilling. The playful smirk that crept onto his face told you everything you needed to know; he wouldn’t leave you like this, but he was certainly going to drag it out.

He tugged at the button of your jeans, and there was no elegance in the way he helped you shimmy out of them and your panties. The surface of the library table was cool against your skin, and just when you thought that Sam couldn’t possibly be any sexier than he already way, he sank to his knees. Watching a man as physically imposing as him drop to his knees before you was a sight that needed to be imprinted on the back of your eyelids so you could see it again and again and again. His hands were steady on your hips as he tugged you to the edge of the table, his eyes only leaving yours when he pressed a kiss to your knee. The heat of his breath ghosted across your skin as he kissed and licked his way up the inside of one thigh. Then, avoiding the spot where you wanted him most, he sucked a bruise on your other thigh, trailing kisses back down until he was at your other knee. You reached down, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer and urging him on.

“Beg when you’ve had enough,” was your only warning before his mouth was on you, tongue stroking along your folds and fingers digging into your thighs to hold you at his mercy. You whimpered and whined and moaned. Every gasp and sigh and plea only fueled him more, and when he sank two fingers into your wet heat, your back arched and you cried out his name. You bucked against him, desperate for more – desperate for him. You felt him smile against you, before he swirled his tongue around your clit and twisted his fingers in you to curl them up towards your belly. You clawed at him, torn between pulling him closer for more of that delicious friction or pushing him away to escape the overwhelming sensations. 

“Sam,” you groaned, legs tensing on either side of his shoulders.

“Hmm?” he hummed against you, the vibrations adding to the tension that coiled inside you.

“Please.” You tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled because you were pretty sure that the only words in your vocabulary were ‘Sam’ and ‘please’ anymore. He took pity on you and sucked your clit between his lips, laving it with attention while he pulsed his fingers against that sensitive spot inside you. 

“That’s it, come for me, pretty girl.” You shattered beneath his touch, your orgasm crashing over you. Your legs shook, and the hand you have placed behind you to brace yourself just about buckled as Sam continued his assault, drawing out your climax and setting every nerve alight.

Sam didn’t relent. You whimpered and patted his head with urgency as things moved into ‘too much.’ He soothed you with his tongue, his movements becoming gentler as you came down from your high. He stood, his lips meeting yours in a hurried kiss, and you tasted yourself on his tongue. You moaned into him, and he ground his hips against you, his cock hard and demanding.

“Sam, please,” you begged. “Please fuck me already.”

“Don’t worry. I’m far from done with you, pretty girl.” 

He urged you forward, coaxing you off the table and onto unsteady legs. Mercifully, he helped steady you before prompting you to turn around. He pressed a hand between your shoulder blades and gently nudged you forward until your front was pressed flat against the table. There was the vague clinking sound of his belt and zipper before Sam was crowding you. The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of relief. He kept his hand on your back and steadied your hip with the other as he pressed forward, filling you with the entire length of him. 

“Fuck…” you breathed, arms braced on the table in front of you and arching into him. His thrusts were slow and measured at first, giving you time to adjust. Then, he sank fully into you, leaning over you to grab for one of the books that had been scattered across the table. He was so goddamn tall that he reached over you effortlessly.

“I’m gonna make you work for it, pretty girl,” he said, the tone in his voice unlike anything you had heard from Sam before. You barely had a moment to try and figure out what he meant by those words as he cracked open a book and propping it up in front of you. “Read for me, baby. Out loud. Any time you make a mistake, I’m gonna punish you for it.”

You might have laughed if the moment were different. Reading was as easy as breathing for you, and if he thought that this was a challenge, then he didn’t know you as well as you thought. You took a deep breath and read over the first line on the page. And then he moved, and all the wind was knocked out of your sails. On the initial thrust, you managed to keep your composure, but somewhere between three and four, you stumbled over the Latin name for some creature you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to. His hand met your ass, and you yelped, jolting forward. The hard edge of the table dug into your hips, a stark reminder that Sam had you entirely at his mercy. Trapped between the solid form of him and the cool surface of the library table. And you realized that the Sam behind you was an entirely different side of him you had never experienced before.

Sam chuckled – fucking chuckled – as he soothed his hand over the placed where he had just spanked you.

“Keep going, pretty girl,” he said, amusement in his voice. You could hear him smiling as he spoke. If you didn’t enjoy this, he might have sounded cruel. Thank god you were into this as much as he was. You took another deep breath, doing your best to ignore the stinging. “Don’t worry, we can go slow.” And he kept to his word. The languid way he moved his hips gave off the impression that he could do this for hours if he had the time. You continued reading, faltering again when his hand slid from your ass to your clit. He made a ‘tsk’ing sound before spanking you again, striking the same spot he had before. You squealed under him, excitement coursing through your veins, and he picked up his pace, every thrust making it just a little harder to get through the next sentence.

Your words stumbled and faltered as his movements grew more urgent. Sure enough, when your voice caught on the phrase ‘Ad libitum’ because of course it would on a phrase like that, his hand connected with your skin again. You gasped, pushing yourself up onto your toes in an attempt to meet his thrusts. The pleasure and pain mingled together in a heady mix that would no doubt fry your circuits if you lingered for too long. You whimpered as the cycle continued. You read as best as you could, but your mistakes grew closer and closer as Sam’s thrusts grew harder and faster. It was like being on a tightrope between desire and frustration helpless under his dominance. But you couldn’t think of anywhere else you would rather be. Occasionally, his hand would leave your clit to spank your ass again, both a punishment and incentive to do better next time. Every smack echoed loudly in the room, adding another layer to the symphony of sounds.

He slid out of you, just long enough to hoist you up and sit you back on the edge of the table, the book completely forgotten as he sank back into you. Sam’s breathing became more labored, his movements more urgent as he drove into you deeper and harder. You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, realizing that he had been so desperate to have you that he hadn’t wasted extra time stripping.  Your name tumbled from his lips in a low growl, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, meeting his thrust for thrust, desperately needing to feel him closer. Your orgasm was building again, and when his lips found their way to your neck, he bit and sucked a love bruise there. You came shuddering around his cock, and your name left his lips once more in a hoarse cry as he buried himself deep inside you, finding his own release moments after.

The library was quiet again, filled only with the sounds of yours and Sam’s ragged breaths. As you lifted your gaze to meet his, your breaths mingled in the stillness, and you could feel the connection between you settle into something more comfortable. More steadfast. Like the roots of an old tree. He leaned in to kiss you savoring the moment with a gentle intensity before slipping out of you. 

“You are something else, you know that?” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. And just like that, the Sam you had come to cherish reemerged – the sweet and caring gentle giant. His hand cupped your cheek tenderly, and he kissed you once more, a soft and chaste touch that spoke volumes. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” he suggested with a warm smile. “I think we’ve spent enough time among the books for now.” And his words were a gentle breeze, guiding you back to reality. The life of a hunter might have been unpredictable and fraught with danger, but, really, it wasn’t something you couldn’t handle together.

---

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[kittynugg]

hi i wrote some stangst

words: 1,737

p.s: REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!! credit to my pal @empressofsamoyeds (soorry for the tag) for the idea! ALSO DO NOT TAG THIS AS SHIP CONTENT. THIS IS NOT FOR YOU IF YOU SHIP THEM.

Stan stepped out of the shower, shuddering as the cold air hit his skin. Like every other time he showered he was quick to towel himself off and get dressed in the first clothes he could get his hands on. So.. the clothes he’d been wearing for the past month, now? They smelled. He’d have to do something about that sooner or later.

The mirror was fogged up as he tied up his damp hair, but he could still see just enough of what he was doing to get it done. 

He stared at his blurry reflection. When he reached to wipe the condensation off of the surface he hesitated, his expression somehow going more blank than that numbness he’d been used to for years. That was.. Funny. He kinda looked like Ford with his hair up like that and the mirror all foggy.

No, he really looked like him.

That familiar empty feeling washed over him as he looked into the mirror, his brain filling in the blanks made by the distorted surface. A pair of glasses. A coat. The haunted look of a guy who’d seen things that shouldn’t even be possible in his eyes.

It took him a while to tear his attention away, maybe a couple of minutes, but once he did he rubbed the sting out of his eyes and left the bathroom. His “walk” had become more of a trudge in the past few weeks. He did whatever that was down the hall. Something about almost seeing his face made his feet even heavier, made the decision to get up that morning even more regrettable.

But it also gave him this weird resolve to keep going.

Maybe if he didn’t kill himself he could actually see that face. Alive, safe, maybe even happy. 

He kicked open the door to the office or study he was staying in, announcing in a sitcom-y voice, “honey, I’m home!” Then he put his hands on his hips with a distant grin. “Oh, wait! I don’t have a wife! Or a husband! I’m all alone and nobody fuckin’ loves me because the only person who ever did is god-knows-where!” An unhinged laugh bubbled up in his chest.

“..Anyway,” he flattened after finishing his manic display, then collapsed face-first into the couch he’d been ‘sleeping’ on. Nice couch. Felt like the only thing in the world that actually supported him. “But it’s an inanimate object,” Ford would say, not getting the joke. 

And then he’d say something like.. “You’re an inanimate object, nerd.” Then Ford would tell him that was wrong and that he wasn’t making any sense. Stan would just laugh at him.

Back in the real world, he shifted on the cushions to make himself comfortable. He knew just how bad the idea was. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get up. Right now, he just couldn’t force himself to care. Whenever he was up, he’d be up. Wasn’t like anything was waiting for him. Ford actually wasn’t on the other side of that portal, facing whatever it was that had him terrified enough to speak to him again. 

Everything was fine. Great, even! So great that he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He heaved a muffled sigh into the couch, knowing that if he pulled his face away from it now it’d be stained with tears. Now he was fucking crying.

Pa would tell him to man up and do something about it. When he tried, his arms wouldn’t move to push him up and his legs only shifted into a more comfortable position. The couch was warm. The basement was so, so cold.

Get up.

He tried again. This time he was too lazy to move at all.

Repeating the command didn’t work. Get up.

Just get up. You need to get up so you can work on the portal so you can get Ford back so you won’t have a reason to cry anymore. Come on, this is the first step. The first step is always the hardest. Up up up. Please.

Instead of listening, his body just sighed again. Then he folded his arms under his forehead to put some space between his face and the couch and shut his eyes.

----

Eventually, he found himself blearily waking up with half of his body hanging on the couch and the rest on the floor. The very first thing that caught his eye was the light from the window glinting against Ford’s glasses, abandoned on the table where he could be reminded of why he was still kicking every time he woke up.

He peeled himself off the hardwood floor with a grunt and stood there for a moment as his shitty excuse for a brain sputtered and revved like his car when he tried to start it. He’d have to do something about that sooner or later.

…

Ford. Right.

A hesitant hand reached toward the glasses, and he turned them in his hand. The lenses were smudged. Ford never let his glasses get smudged. Always crystal clear or it was like he didn’t have them at all, they had to be perfect. He wondered if Ford still carried a spare on him. If he didn’t.. Shit, Stan couldn’t even imagine that. Not just being sucked into whatever nightmare he was so worried about but having to deal with it blind.

The thought of Ford, his brother, of all the people on this Earth (or.. outside of it), going through that made him sick. Maybe he should eat sometime today. Slice of toast might settle his stomach down for a bit. 

He stared down at the spectacles in his hand and shook his head, then wiped them on his shirt. Lifting them up to the window shone enough light through the lenses for him to see that they were still smudged, just.. Spread around. His shirt was dirty.

Typical, he just made it worse. A look was cast around the room, nearly untouched in the month he’d been there.  “Just fuckin’ poetic,” he whispered to himself if only to test if he even had it in him to talk. “It’s just like my life.” His eyes narrowed at the glasses. “..In a way.”

Barely resisting the urge to throw the damn thing, he set the glasses back on the table and looked toward the door. He should get to work.

He picked up the glasses again, leaving the room with the gait of someone wading in cement. 

It was the same autopilot he’d been on for ages that led him back into the bathroom. When he slipped the glasses onto his face, his vision actually cleared a little. Maybe he should look into getting an eye test sometime. 

He put up a finger and spoke in his best Ford impression, “I may be a little bookworm, but I know what I’m talking about!” The sheer accuracy of the voice made him chuckle. He sounded just like him!

When he found himself staring at his reflection again, his other hand reached for the shower. The knob creaked as he turned it to the highest temperature and he watched absently as the mirror fogged up again.

Hair was up. Glasses were on.

They really were twins..

His shoulders drooped, and after a few seconds of careful consideration he spoke up. “Hey, Poindexter.” No, that wasn’t right. Say his name. “..Ford.” 

Another pause. Then he folded his arms behind his back and spoke in that impression again. “Stanley,” he greeted himself under his breath. Something about it, something about hearing Ford’s voice and– and almost seeing his face was..

It hurt.

But it felt good. The kind of hurt that he couldn’t help but reach for, like the burn of alcohol or a cigarette. Speaking of which, he was running out. He’d have to do something about that sooner or later. Not now. He was busy right now.

“I’m, uh..” his fingertips tapped together in a subconscious tic. “Still trying to get you back, Ford.” A smile spread across his face and he gestured behind him with his thumb. “I’ve been reading your textbooks, yanno, it’s actually startin’ to make sense. It’s not as fancy and sophisticated as you had it but it’s something to show for all the work I’ve been puttin’ in..”

Arms made their way behind his back again and he straightened his posture a little. “My idiot brother, learning physics..” A wistful sigh from “Ford”. “And it only took the worst tragedy of your life to finally kickstart it.” His expression softened, and he moved to place his hand on a shoulder that wasn’t there. His fingers twitched. “You know I’m proud of you, right? Not everyone would go through this much effort for.. Anyone, really.”

He needed to hear that. From the real Ford. This was good enough for now.

“I know, yeah.. I just– I hope you’re still out there. If you’re dead, or.. worse, I don’t know what I’d do with myself, Ford. I don’t know what I’d fucking do, and–” he took in a sharp breath, running a hand down the side of his face. His nails dug into the skin. “And I’m really scared to think about it.”

Silence.

His voice cracked when he spoke again. “..I’m scared, Ford.” The glasses over his eyes and the fog fading from the mirror left him with nothing. Nothing. A reminder of just how little he had. That was it.

And Ford offered no response.

Tears dirtied the lenses of the glasses even more, so he took them off and swiped at his eyes. He set them on the rim of the sink. This was stupid. All of this was stupid. Why was he still here? Why was he still holding on?

His legs wobbled underneath him and he just.. sat on the floor and gave in. With a shaky breath, he gave his tears a moment to fall and murmured into his knees, “because you’re my brother.”

It took him a few minutes. Maybe half an hour. But eventually, Stan pushed himself up and retrieved Ford’s glasses. He rinsed them in the sink to clean the dried tears off of them and only stopped when they were spotless. Crystal clear. The way Ford liked them.

Turning to leave, he muttered, “Love you, bro.”

“I love you too, Stanley. I’m sorry for everything.”

..He already forgave him.

(note: might be a part two with ford if im feeling brave)

[noirsdoll]

-> on the edge

pairing: leon x kidnapper!reader

words: 2.7k

tags: dubcon, vomit, implied drugging/roofieing, boobjob/blowjob, nonconsensual knifeplay and bondage, tiny bulimia reference (as a joke), mentions of drug use (from leon), reader is a femcel, leon is a perv and loves tits, reader threatens to kill leon several times

notes: sorry for being dead... this is the funniest thing i've ever written LMAO (which is like, rlly lame and rlly funny in its own right) yeah i was just like "how would og4 leon react if he got kidnapped?" and it devolved to "shy femcel pukes on dick" so yeah enter at your own risk LMAO um everything is a joke kinda mostly yeah

read it on ao3

Note to self— do not share needles. 

It’s the first thought on Leon’s mind when he wakes up to the blinding fluorescents of wherever the fuck he is. An acrid stench hits his nose and makes him grimace, one he’s all too familiar with. The smell of vomit— his vomit, crusted down the front of his shirt like a baby who just spit up. 

Leon tastes blood in his mouth— is a tooth loose? He feels one wiggle, searching with his tongue as he takes in his surroundings, or rather lack thereof. 

He’s been in these situations before, it’s nothing new for an esteemed government agent like him. Flash a badge here, a charming smile there, and they’ll usually ignore the illicit drug use. Perks of being the president’s fucktoy, he might as well ask them to stamp his punch card. 

But this isn’t an interrogation room, or a house that he recognizes, or anywhere remotely discernible. Just four walls, a cement floor, and one rickety swinging bulb. 

Leon goes to stand up from the cold floor and realizes he’s cuffed to the radiator behind him. What in the…? He tugs his arm once, twice, but this isn’t one of those gag handcuffs that comes off with a safe word. 

Did he get fucking kidnapped?

There’s no way anyone would wanna do that. He’s just blond, kinda tall, ridiculously handsome— okay, he’s kinda starting to get it. But spiking his drink? What is he, a teenage girl?

Leon’s pretty sure he got roofied, cuz his puke smells suspiciously like the cheap beer he was touting at the dive bar last night. Running through the list of faces he remembers— cute girl, buff dude, gorgeous pair of tits— he’s not sure if any of them would be the type to slip a pill in his drink. 

His thoughts are graciously answered, however, when the door opens and you come into vision. 

“Ah, you’re the one with the rack,” he says, the thrilling conclusion to the mystery. 

You prickle, staring at him. “What?”

“I’m flattered, sweetheart, but you really could’ve just asked me out. I’m not easy, but I’m open to a little begging—“

The sound of your switchblade cuts him off and Leon’s heart drops to his ass. “What are you doing?” He asks.

You walk toward him, kneeling down. You’ve got this thousand-yard stare that is not helping the butter face— and the knife too, he supposes. 

Dragging the blunt end of the blade along his cheek, your gaze flits from the metal to his eyes. “Got any last words?”

Leon chuckles uneasily. “Is this supposed to be like roleplay…?”

Your eyes widen and you glance at his dick and then back up. “Are you enjoying this?”

“I mean, I’m open to anything.” And by anything, he means his dick between your tits. How are they so big? “I dunno why you wanna do this while I smell like vomit.”

“Can’t handle your liquor?”

“Can you see your shoes when you put them on?” He blurts. 

“Are you calling me fat?” You ask in indignation. 

“I’m just wondering, considering the partition in the way.”

You slap him. Deserved, he thinks. You didn’t stick your knife in his chest though, so you’re not really mad. You’re just a bit stubborn— most ugly girls like you are. What kinda freak accident messed your face up like that? Is it hereditary? Will he catch it?

Leon can weasel his way out of this one if he tries. “That was a compliment. sweetheart. I’m just a little creative.”

“Don’t call me that.” You raise your knife, pursing his cheeks to force his mouth open. “I’ll cut your tongue out if you do.”

“What would you prefer? I’ve got a list.”

“You’ve got a death wish, is more like it.” You scowl. “You’re not scared?”

“Very little scares me, honey.” Leon’s seen the human body torn up a hundred different ways. He could teach biology, but he’d be bad with remembering all the names. He’s good with tits though, your tits to be specific. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you dead.”

“You got a vendetta against me or something?”

“Not you.” You say it like it’s obvious. “Your kind.”

“So you’re what, reverse Hitler?”

You don’t answer, instead trailing your knife along his tongue in warning, spit drools down his chin and makes him feel grosser— he was just getting used to the vomit too. “You’re insufferable.”

“Don’t need to kill me for it though,” he says once you’ve pulled the blade away. The metal and the fresh blood leaves a film of iron coating his mouth. It’s not as painful as it is disconcerting. “Is the dry spell getting to you?”

The way you stiffen up gives you away almost immediately. Women are so easy. “That’s none of your business,” you huff, actively making it his business.

“I can help with that, you know.” Leon’s got a lot to offer. Boil him down and he’s just a set of pearly whites with a couple of loose holes and a mostly functioning dick. “You’re pretty cute.”

You scoff. “Guys like you will say anything. I know your type.”

“Which is why you have it out for my phenotype. I get it.” Leon really doesn’t, but every serial killer needs a quirk and the list of available ones gets shorter every day. “But there are exceptions to every rule. Not all blond guys are assholes.”

“You are.”

“I’m a gentleman.” He leans back against the radiator, spreading his legs to allow you more space between them where you’re nestled. “I know how to treat a girl like you.”

“You don’t talk to girls like me.”

He has to hold back a laugh. You’re a fucking femcel. Tits like that and you’re a femcel. What has this world come to? “Have you looked in a mirror?” 

“I know I’m ugly.”

“I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about those.” Leon gestures to your chest with a nod. “You’re telling me no one’s offered to put a bag over your head and fuck you?”

You frown, “yeah, but it’s really fucking rude.”

“Women, you’re all so picky. If I was in your position, I’d take it.”

You slap him again– maybe he should keep a tally. Your eyes are tearing up, making the homicidal girl angry is definitely the wrong move.

“Hey, hey, I’m joking, okay?” Only sort of joking. It was more like a Freudian slip if he’s being honest. “Don’t cry.” It makes you look worse.

“Shut up or I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you grit.

The reason you’ve gone unfucked might not just be the face, you don’t seem to be mentally well either��� no shit, you’re threatening him with a knife. “Relax, relax, alright? I was just trying to ask you if you, you know, wanted to do it.”

That seems to distract you. You stare at him for a moment, mentally debating it. “Would you actually do it?” You ask softly. Leon’s right again— all that anger when you’re just an insecure, unloved little girl.

“I’ve been trying to these last ten minutes, if you haven’t noticed.” Boobjob, here he comes.

“And you’re not just doing it because of this?” You gesture to your knife.

Yeah, obviously. “No, of course not,” he smiles, “back at that bar last night—”

“That was three days ago.”

“Whatever. Anyways, I was gonna talk to you. Swear it.” He holds up his cuffed hand like he’s swearing on a bible, knowing full well he’s been excommunicated from the church since his first line of coke.

You lean in closer, lowering your voice to a whisper. “So you’d kiss me?”

“I can do anything you want, baby,” he grins. 

You smile back, shakily, like you don’t know how. “If you try anything, I’ll kill you.”

Leon knows you won’t. He’s already got you. “Lay some on me, sugar.”

Tentatively, you kiss him, feeling him up, ignoring the puke stains. You’ve clearly never done this before– the shaky slide of your lips gives you away. And everything else too, he guesses. He was hoping you’d at least have some experience making out with a dildo.

Leon pulls back, resting against the radiator. “Hey, hey, relax, okay?” He tilts his head to meet your downcast eyes. “I’m not in a position to judge, y’know.”

You swallow, nodding. “Yeah, I know. We should probably just… cut to the chase.”

Leon can assume what the chase is, because you go straight for his worn jeans. Pulling down that and his underwear grants you the sight of his pathetic semi. He was really trying, okay? Your tits can only do so much to balance out that face.

You grimace. “That’s what a dick looks like?”

He’d probably slap you back if he wasn’t restrained. “Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you?” You’re the one that robbed him of his nightly Viagra.

Leon shifts his hips. “You ever sucked dick before?” He knows you haven’t, he just wants to see your reaction.

Your eyes widen, you glance down and then up and then down again. “I have to?”

He nods earnestly. “It’s the only way.” This is payback for locking him down here.

“Okay…” You move your hair out of the way, sinking lower. It’s an awkward position— your ass is in the air and you’re hunched down on your elbows. Leon can only spread his legs so far, even with all the practice he’s gotten. The knife lays somewhere out of sight— forgotten, hopefully.

“It’s like a popsicle,” he says, “or a lollipop.” Whichever calms you down more. He can recognize first-time jitters when he sees it.

You grab the base with one hand and glancing up at him, pop the head past your lips. The whole thing is unintentionally lewd, you just want to see his approval, but Leon’s lips still part in half surprise. At least the wet heat of your mouth is decent. Not as good as your tits might be.

In a bit, he promises himself. Leon’s a patient man, he’ll try this first. You bob your mouth a few times, drooling saliva down his shaft. You only make it about halfway along the length each time. Leon drags his heels back towards him, giving him the leverage to rock his hips up into your mouth.

It’s gentle, of course, but you still gag. He lets up, letting you have a moment. You pull back to drag some grateful breaths down your throat. Spit pours in a cascade down his cock. Holy shit. You’re slobbering like a dog.

Not needing a pep talk this time, you go right back in. You sink lower this time, Leon can almost call himself proud. His cants into your mouth get more and more intense. The frequency of your gags increase and the worst happens.

You retch, dragging him deeper down your throat only to vomit all over him. Leon’s mortified, scuttling back as far as he can, essentially uncorking your pharynx and letting it gush out onto the floor and…. your tits.

Leon could almost cry. Both for his incoming UTI and the ruined state of your beautiful tits– the only hot thing about you. It’s his fault. He flew too close to the sun. The puke’s brownish-yellow, bits of food caught in it.

You wipe your mouth, catching your breath and staring down at it all. “I’m sorry. I’m just… used to throwing up.”

“You’re fucking bulimic?” He can feel your puke soaking into the fabric of his clothes. Gross gross gross. Somehow zombie guts are less horrible than this. 

“I can make it up to you!” You say, floundering. “What can I do?”

He stares at you for a moment, unblinking. Then he remembers this is your first time ever and you’re probably never getting fucked again. “Take your shirt off.” Leon’s not even sure why he still wants to see your tits at this point, but he’s in too deep now. 

You do as you’re told, surprisingly. Maybe you’re just too mortified. You’re in a cheap bra, you bunch up your shirt and try to mop up the vomit as best you can. 

“Can you take the rest of it off?” Anything to help his rapidly shrinking boner. 

You pause. “You want to see that?”

Can’t be worse than anything he’s already seen. “Course I do.”

You reach behind you and unclasp your bra, the material wilts off your figure and Leon finally gets to see your tits in action. They droop a little once free, so impossibly big and round, your nipples are hard from the cold. They need to invent new letters of the alphabet for your cup size.

You take the rest of your clothes off too, but it’s not as exciting. His dick comes back to life, a modern day miracle. “Put it between your tits.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” He holds your gaze, not backing down on this.

There’s no complaint on your end. Cupping your tits— the way he wishes he could right now— you maneuver them around his cock. And Leon finally gets his boob job. 

It’s not at all like he imagined, you clearly have no idea how to do this, but at least you look good, warm skin up against his dick that has started to leak pre like a faucet. He tosses his head with a sigh, gently moving his hips. 

Your face is flushed with embarrassment as you meet his gaze— it looks good on you, balances out your features quite nicely. Then your tongue lolls out and licks at the head of his cock and Leon could swear he just entered heaven. It’s a shame that heaven looks a lot like your cement basement.

Maybe he should go for ugly girls more often. There’s this sense of desperation you’ve got going on that is making you seem way better at this. It makes sense— you never know when you’re gonna get this close to a guy ever again.

His cuffs jingle as he tries to pull his wrists from them, his horny mind bent solely on getting his hands on you and your body. Leon’s getting greedy now, he wants to know what your tits feel like. He debates dislocating his wrists to slip him out of the thin metal cuffs.

Your eyes are zeroed in on the tip of his cock as you suck it. “Is this okay?” You ask. 

“More than okay. Can you put your mouth back on it—? Fuck—“ Your mouth sinks lower and his thighs twitch, his hips meandering hopefully toward your wet mouth. 

The last thing he was expecting when he woke up in this basement was a very satisfactory blowjob. Seems like he really is a lucky guy. You don’t seem to be very committed to your goal of exterminating the blond male race if you’re here sucking off the guy you planned to kill.

You’re working his dick like it’s a full time job, your spit pooling around the base of his cock and glistening on your tits. You press your boobs tight to his dick like you’re trying to keep it warm on a cold day. How thoughtful of you.

Leon busts embarrassingly quick, spraying hot cum all over your face, getting caught in your eyelashes. Your mouth drops open in shock and you sit up— your fault for being in the splash zone.

“Are you gonna let me go now?” Leon asks as his dick flops back down against his hip, softening up. 

You wipe the cum from your cheek, tentatively tasting some. You make a noise of surprise, going back for seconds. “No, I think I’ll keep you here.”

Fuck. So much for a quick getaway. Mr. President will find him eventually.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I love you Safety Wizard.

(Inspired by @keroascrazy)

[buggachat]

i do just have to say though.................... i feel like people who really really loved the movie's portrayals of the characters are adding aspects of the show characters onto them? you know what i mean? like i see people say that adrien and marinette were more likeable in the movie than the show, when movie adrien didn't perform a single act of kindness in the entire 2 hours despite kindness being a core trait of adrien in the show? marinette was normal and not particularly weird at all and just kind of a generic protagonist? were adrien and marinette actually more interesting in the movie than the show, or are you just cherrypicking the aspects of them you like the from the show and putting them on the movie characters to make your favorite amalgamation?

marinette fell for adrien not because he showed vulnerability and forgiveness and kindness and opened his heart up to her.... but because he awkwardly tried to help her up after being kind of weirded out by her? so like i guess she thought he was hot and that was basically it? chat noir fell for ladybug not because she was strong and confident and showed determination in the face of fear... but because she begrudgingly helped him up in the middle of a battle? so like i guess he thought she was hot and that was basically it? they fell for each other over just the bare minimum interactions? most of their relationship was a montage? like, did the movie do the work to convince you of lovesquare's romantic potential, or did you go into the movie already shipping them because the show had already convinced you?

thats totally a valid way to enjoy the movie ftr! i'm just saying.... idk it's weird to see people praising the movie for being "better" when i feel like a lot of the enjoyment of the movie actually hinges on watching the show as context for their characters. and i guess im just a cringe slow-burn enjoyer but i find it weird that people are using "faster" as a synonym for "better"

[squidcandy]

sketched out a pathetic sopping wet cat etho moment from secret life (clip under the cut)

[cheaploafs]

no fights are ever won without sacrifice

[deanofsam]

it just occurred to me that some of you might have missed seeing american football player joe burrow’s suit this past june during paris fashion week, and it is my personal opinion that everyone see these images at least once in their lifetime, especially those of us with a shared interest in slutty clothes on men (fictional or otherwise). so here they are.

[sypherdraws]

how we doin salwada nation

[mumbo-jumbo-facts]

MUMBO JUMBO FACT #219

In the thumbnail of his third episode, he put skizzle's snail instead of his. Whether this was accidental, or it was there because they were worried about skizz is unknown

[stripetkattelalala54-gf]

Welcome to the madness!

I couldn't resist drawing King Booario too. My design was very much inspired by @akiiame-blog design and @pianokantzart design. Check them out if you haven't yet, they are both amazing.

[beneathsilverstars]

if i failed to protect my kid during the apocalypse and they almost died wandering on their own but got rescued by a team of four competent, battle-experienced adults who cared about them very much and made them feel less scared and useless but refused to let them fight, i think that would be a pretty decent outcome and i'd be pretty okay with it. sure i could dream up a better situation but there's a hell of a lot of worse ones too.

[moe-broey]

Close ups on the pocket details!!! I'm SUPER happy w how the top pockets look 😳😳😳

I think the variety of pride pins with the moral panic button/Mr Faggot beadwork just. Really sells it. Shadow the Hedgehog voice Pee Your Pants. If you're going to be a shithead about me I'm going to be really annoying and do a bit about it. Plus the little golden angel pin... ALSO really pulls the whole thing together. "God help you" Right in front of my guardian angel? Really? 😒And how could I not make mention of. The Skull. I love you The Skull. It's a button (not sewn on yet, pinned) that I filled the details in w nail polish. Oh yeah! Besides the bottle cap pins (acrylics sealed with mod podge and a prayer), the biggest addition there is the chain lining the pocket flap! I think it looks SO SLICK

The pansy was gonna go on the queer side, but then I got the boutonniere idea! And I think it looks nice! Kinda adds to the asymmetry of the floral print/plaid blocking. And... of course.... I have... my friends...... 🥺 Biggest additions here are the glow-star pentagram pin, soda tabs and the heart locket!

I don't really have many new additions to the bottom pockets. Not yet! The only thing I did was stitch one side of the handcuff chain, and rearrange the pins holding up the other side. The cuffs/scorpion was just an impulse addition before going to a concert. But I do like it! And it looks even better now! Meanwhile, that other pocket, I actually have no idea what I'll do. Sakura is just there cause she matches really well, esp w the angel pin actually!