#shaking my brain. when am I going to do anything with the Visions I was having during canto v.

[outeremissary]

Recent doodles while I haven't been in a state to do much/keep mismanaging the free time I do have. It's mostly Kromer. She enchants me still. Her hair actually so goddamn awful to draw. The price I pay for being a Kromer fan

[redflagshipwriter]

Ghost Driver 6

Masterpost

His body was shaking. Jason came back to himself in fits and starts, mind suffering through the sludge of a concussion and heavy duty pain medication. His ears had finally stopped ringing after the explosion. He was aware enough to know that he had been in and out of it for what must have been hours.

He checked in with himself: he hurt. His body hurt, like he had hit a wall at high speed because of the uh, the explosion. His eye ached obnoxiously, and he had a crick in his neck. Jason rolled it cautiously. “This is not my beautiful sofa,” he said. Where was he? He should be sleeping off his injuries in a shitty cold apartment in downtown Gotham. The world rumbled around him like he was on top of an old water heater, or traveling at high speed.

“Definitely not,” said Dickie.

Oh. It was another dream. He closed his eyes. There was no scenario in which Batman took him back to the cave that didn’t involve waking up on a bed in a room with no shoelaces. He was scrunched into the front seat of a vehicle– that was the source of the shaking. A motor. He peeled open one eye to reconfirm that the world outside was wavy and green.

“This is different.” He didn’t feel much of anything when he looked at it. It was kinda dumb. He deserved a more substantial hallucinatory sequence after the new worst day of his life “Hey, was I really fuckin annoying when I was little? Is that why you didn’t like me? Because I dreamed I was on a road trip with little me and I gotta say, he didn’t deserve to have his head beat in with a crowbar, but he was truly obnoxious.” He grimaced. So sincere. Christ. He was an idiot and he always had been. Of course Bruce would never choose his son over his morals.

“Not a dream,” said a new voice. “Sorry.” They coughed.

Wait. Jason struggled to put it together. He did know that voice, but the guy it came out of was all wrong. “You look like a space mermaid,” he told Danny Fenton disapprovingly. “I am not a pirate. What are you doing? There’s no coherency in this dream.” He waved a hand around and immediately regretted it. “Go back to your other face.”

“Uh.” Danny sounded nervous. “This is just what I look like, all the time.” He gave a very bad fake laugh.

That was suspicious. Jason considered this. Fuck, his head was pounding. He sat up and fought past nausea to assess what was going on around him better.

Dick was staring at him inside the cockpit of an unidentified vehicle. He was aiming for a cheerfully detached mien, but Jason saw right through it. Dick was stressed out of his big dumb pumpkin head. Next to him was a Robin.

Jason narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t a ghost or vision. That was the new kid, upgraded uniform and all. “You lack panache,” he told Tim Drake disdainfully. He skimmed over the techno mermaid version of the incredibly hot getaway driver he had promised to protect from Batman and had the dim suspicion that he had fucked that up. He nodded at the vampire who was driving their spaceship through green air. “Hey, man.”

“...Hello,” said the vampire.

“Ignore him,” Danny hastily said. He gave Jason a queasy smile and twisted his fingers together. “You’re up up now? Sorry, you missed kiiiind of a lot. When you didn’t come back I decided to figure out what happened to you and I did kidnap a guy, so we have to fix that with paperwork.” He paused. “Also I did kidnap Robin a little bit. But that was an honest mistake! I thought he was dead.”

Jason watched this babbling, perplexed but charmed. “Who else did you kidnap?” His voice was a little choked up. He had kidnapped Robin? Batman must be losing his mind. He fought down a hysterical giggle. Dickie was here too, hell. The Bat-aneurism would be blinding.

The vampire heaved a massively put-upon sigh. “Some ruffian styling himself as a Joker,” he drawled. He was so powerfully unimpressed that his words took a moment to penetrate Jason’s brain.

He froze.

“So dear Phantom here gifted him to Skulker.” He pronounced ‘Skulker’ like the name might leave mud in his mouth if he wasn’t careful with it. “Skulker is disinterested in giving up his toy, so we are now in a very exciting chase.” The vampire sneered.

Jason hauled himself upwards with difficulty. His body felt so heavy. Every muscle hurt. “We are chasing him?”

“No, he is chasing us.” Dick pointed a thumb towards the back. “We’re, uh.” His whole face twitched. “We’re towing the Joker behind us. Skulker keeps trying to harpoon him to get him back.”

The ship jerked violently. Jason looked over to the vampire pilot, who was serenely unaffected by the violent subject matter.

He took a moment to experience childlike wonder. What had Danny done while he was unconscious? How had he pulled this off? Was it an elaborate proposal? If so, he didn’t need to try that hard, goddamn. Jason had an empty ring finger.

Jason considered all of this and tried to be cool about it. “What’s the end goal?”

Dickie leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and make deadpan eye contact. “We are going to take the Joker to a private prison in the Infinite Realms run by a cowboy ghost named Walker, and I am going to oversee transfer paperwork to give to Inspector Gordon.” He said it all like it made some sense. “Can’t have the Joker disappear without a record.”

“...Right,” Jason said, remembering that bit of information. He inserted as much disdain as possible into his voice for the sheer fun of it. “You’re a fucking cop.”

Dickie flinched.

“That’s right,” Danny said, pleased and impressed. “How did you know that? I found him at the police station and he said he would help out. This is my estranged godfather vampire, Vlad.” He gestured at the driver. “And I’m Phantom,” he said, despite being obviously Danny Fenton in a superhero transformation.

“...I’m Jason, but you can call me honey,” he said.

Dick choked on air.

Phantom flushed a very pleasing teal.

Jason flung an arm over Danny’s shoulder and reeled him in. He might have also leaned on him a bit, but that was the blood loss talking. He wasn’t swooning. “Tell me about this prison and how you feel about gold versus silver.”

Drake made a gagging sound.

“No, shh,” Dickie said quietly. “I want to see where this is going.”

[buckymorelikefuckme]

and baby makes three

(the reboot)

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 11.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** friends to lovers, pining, smut, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cockwarming (kind of??), trigger warning for having troubles with getting pregnant. it's still super fuckin soft despite all of that though, i swear.

a/n: okay so it's currently 6am as i'm typing this and i haven't been to sleep yet bc i decided to just heavily edit this instead of rewrite it bc i'm lazy i guess idk. this was posted originally back in 2021 i believe and it's still on ao3 it's just orphaned rip. i promise i'll be writing and posting new stuff soon ok pls have faith in me and cheer me on bc it's hard and scary and i don't wanna disappoint anybody :( ANYWAY, as usual, any and all mistakes are my own. if i've missed anything important pls let me know so i can correct it. feedback is encouraged (pls) and appreciated (i am begging...)

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and very unlikely. Sure, you liked kids well enough, but having one of your own…

It’s a thought that’s sat in a corner deep in your mind, buried beneath a million other impossible concepts; a thought that you’ve only ever glanced over and never gave your full attention, having ruled it out ages ago as something you just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

And then, on a day like any other, it pushes its way to the forefront of your mind, making itself known and unwilling to leave.

You’re going into the clothing store to find a new cardigan after your most favorite one got eaten by the dryer. Usually you’re a single-minded shopper, walking into a store with tunnel vision and on a mission to get what you need and that’s it.

Today, however, you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander on your way to the sweater section. Your gaze just so happens to land on the baby clothes… and your steps falter. It’s there that you see it, a tiny, pink onesie with a sleeping teddy bear printed on the front, displayed on an even tinier hanger. There’s matching pants with teddy bears all over them and ruffles on the butt and all your brain can muster up is cutecutecutecutecute.

Your feet carry you closer and before you realize what you’re doing you pick up the outfit, letting out a coo when you realize the teddy bear is fuzzy, softly rubbing your thumb across it. Somehow, you walk out of the store, not with a new cardigan, but with the cute baby outfit and a bow you thought looked adorable with it.

It’s not until you get home that it hits you, that you bought baby clothes for a baby you don’t even have.

The feeling that rushes through you is hard to describe. Shame? Embarrassment?

...Yearning?

No. Definitely not. Nope.

There’s absolutely no yearning going on here, not for a baby. You’ve never even had that desire before and you certainly don’t see yourself having it now. You shake your head to clear it, telling yourself you’ll take it back tomorrow.

Except you don’t take it back. You conveniently “forget” and it stays shoved on the top shelf in your hall closet. You pretend you don’t pause in front of said closet throughout the following days—weeks—chewing on the inside of your cheek and staring at the door like you can see through the wood at the evidence of your impulsive purchase.

It gets harder to ignore, though, when you start getting ads for baby clothing brands. And baby toys, bottles, handy little gadgets for new parents, nursery decor… It’s endless.

Then, as if it wasn’t already bad enough, all of your childhood friends start popping out babies like it’s a brand new trend. You don't think you've seen your social media this flooded with pregnancy announcements and baby arrivals, ever. Your emotions are mixed; happy for them, and for their excitement, but there’s also a weird discomfort settled in your stomach.

You hesitate to be that person who thinks the universe is trying to tell you something, but you do wonder. Why else would you suddenly have these feelings? Why else would there be baby stuff everywhere you look now?

It brings on other thoughts, as well. In this day and age, it’s not too unusual for women to have babies without being married, or without a significant other at all. There is the pressure, still, to at least be in a relationship, but considering you’ve been practically in love with one of your closest friends for the last two years, it’s safe to say that you’re tragically single, so having a baby with someone is out of the question.

And god, do you even want a baby?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, with a sudden clarity that hits you like a ton of bricks, you realize you do. It feels like a freight train has slammed into you. Your mind’s eye supplies you with images of a swollen belly and wide smile, a precious baby wrapped in a soft blanket, cradled in your arms, a gummy grin and happy giggle.

Emotion consumes you then, longing like you’ve never felt in your life, chest aching with how badly you want that.

It’s not as if you’re too young. You’re plenty old enough and you’ve got a secure job. You don’t subscribe to that whole biological clock nonsense, but you do feel that if you are going to potentially have a baby, it might be better to do it now while you’re still in relatively good health.

You groan, dropping your face into your open palms, the movie you'd been watching to try and distract yourself long forgotten as it continues to play on the television.

This is a lot to think about, you ponder to yourself. Taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, you decide the mature thing to do is give yourself more time to ruminate on it. Having a baby is no small decision. You need to be absolutely certain it’s what you want. It’s going to change your entire life, everything, and you’d be responsible for a new life. So, you’ll have to give yourself a few months to decide and then you can go from there.

***

You’re scrolling through yet another article on your laptop, engrossed in every detail of the process of artificial insemination and the symptoms and side effects that come with it. So engrossed, in fact, that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, the door opening and closing, and the heavy footfalls that follow.

It’s only when Bucky asks, “Whatcha reading?” that you are even aware of his presence.

You startle so hard that your knee slams into the underside of your table. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your knee and your wildly beating heart, you close your laptop with a snap and turn to Bucky.

“You could knock,” you grouse.

“Why give me a key, then?” he retorts, unapologetic.

You roll your eyes and grumble under your breath, “Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

Brows furrowed, you ask, “What?”

He gestures to your laptop. “What were you reading? Your nose was nearly smushed against the screen.”

You blink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse and coming up empty.

“Nothing,” is all your brilliant mind can supply.

Bucky’s eyes narrow for a few seconds, and you pray to every higher power and all that is holy and good that he won’t press further. You remain frozen under Bucky’s suspicious stare, hearing that Old West shootout music playing in your mind.

Thankfully, it seems the deities are feeling indulgent, as Bucky chooses let it go.

He holds up the bags he carried in. “I brought lunch.”

You perk up instantly. “Did you go to that one place—?”

“With the fried rice you like so much, yes,” he finishes for you, smiling.

“You’re the best,” you sigh, stomach rumbling eagerly.

“I know,” he replies, solemn and dramatic like the idiot he is.

He begins taking out the styrofoam boxes and chattering on about something dumb Steve did the other day, and you mean to listen, you really do. It’s just. That article is still lingering in your brain. There’s so many steps and hassles. Plus, it’s not cheap. It would be a hefty investment.

You’d only researched it because, after months of contemplating the pros and cons of having a baby, you determined the pros far outweigh the cons. But then the problem was: how to even make it happen.

Your first thought was that you didn’t think you’d let just any man come inside you, for many obvious reasons. You’d shuddered to think of it. Then there was surrogacy, which is admirable and wonderful, but you’d quickly dismissed that idea as you realized you wanted to actually carry the baby yourself. So that led you to artificial insemination. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet. There was something a little too clinical about choosing a random man’s sperm to have injected into your uterus.

Bucky’s still speaking as he grabs plates and forks, unaware of your inner monologue. “And then he got Sam involved,” he’s saying, scooping out food onto the plates, “which, as you know, I always think is a dumb thing to do.”

“I want to have a baby,” you blurt, eyes widening at your outburst.

Bucky fumbles with the spoon, sending fried rice flying, muttering curses as he tries to catch it with no luck as it lands with a dull clunk on the table. The silence that follows is loud. It feels like your heart is in your throat as you wait for him to just say something, anything.

“This is… quite a mess I’ve made,” Bucky finally observes. His voice is a bit higher than usual. “Where’s your vacuum? Actually, do you have one of those mini ones? Or would Clorox wipes be better? You know what, I’ll do both.”

He nods decisively then turns an expectant look towards you. His eyes look a bit wild, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

Wordlessly, you direct him to your hall closet. You realize your error a second too late when he opens the closet and reaches for the vacuum on the top shelf, where the purchase you’d made months ago also rests. His fingers get caught in the plastic bag when he grabs the handheld vacuum and its contents spill out. He goes to catch them right away, but once it registers what they are, he lets go of them like they’re on fire and nearly drops the vacuum on his foot.

Heat has been steadily creeping up your neck, but now your whole body feels aflame with embarrassment. The two of you stare at the baby clothes lying unassumingly on the floor for a long moment, until Bucky quietly walks back to the table with the vacuum clutched tightly in his fist. He flicks the switch on and it whirs to life, sucking up the bits of rice scattered around the table.

There’s another lengthy silence after he turns the vacuum off and you're unable to find the right thing to say to break it. Bucky does it for you.

“So… You’re serious.”

You meet his eyes and sigh heavily. “Yeah.”

He blinks a few times before clearing his throat, schooling his expression carefully. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

You cough lightly and start picking the peas out of your fried rice. “Well, that would be because I’m not.”

“I don’t think I follow,” he admits slowly.

You sigh again, lowering your gaze to your lap. “Look, I’ve thought about this a lot, okay? I’ve given myself months to really make sure it’s what I want. I’m in a good place in my life to have one, Bucky, and I don’t want to feel pressured to wait until I might get married.” You lift your gaze to his. “I want to have a baby,” you repeat firmly. “And I don’t need a partner to have one.”

You’re not sure why you feel the need to defend yourself. It’s not up to Bucky what you decide to do. You don’t need his approval, or anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because, even though you know it's not true, it feels like you're making too hasty of a decision.

After a beat, Bucky amends, “Well, I mean… You do…”

“Oh my god, shut up, you know what I mean,” you groan as you smack his arm, glad that he's not calling you crazy or trying to talk you out of it.

He doesn’t even flinch, the jerk.

“Wait, so what were you reading when I got here?” he suddenly questions, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, guiltily.

“Let me see your laptop then,” he counters as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You flounder for a second, scoffing. “What? No!”

“It can’t be that embarrassing, just show me,” he wheedles.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me see!”

“It’s private!”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

Your eye twitches. “I’m not a chicken.” Bucky smirks and before he can even open his mouth you interject with a finger pointed accusingly at his face, “Do not start clucking at me, Bucky. I’ll kick your ass,” you threaten, though it's weak and you're not the only one who knows it.

You glare when his smirk only widens. Slowly, he moves his arms like he’s gonna flap them like chicken wings.

“Ugh! God, fine! You wanna know what I was reading?” You open your laptop and slide it over to him, turning it to where he can read it. “There.”

Bucky scans the page, then scans it again, eyes flicking all over like it’s in a different language. His cheeks grow redder and redder as he reads and you get a small sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“Wow,” he mutters finally. “You’re turkey baster serious.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?” he asks innocently.

When you make eye contact with him, you purse your lips to keep the laughter threatening to bubble out at bay, but the ever growing smile on Bucky’s face is hard to resist and you find yourself snorting a laugh that leads to uncontrollable giggles. Bucky’s laughing with you, his eyes crinkling on the sides. The tension you hadn’t realized you held in your shoulders loosens and you nudge his knee with yours in silent thanks.

“So,” he says after you've both calmed down.

“So,” you repeat, dragging it out, drumming your fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing research, checking out all of my options, and while artificial insemination seems like the best choice… I don’t know, there’s just something too clinical about it,” you reply, voicing your concerns, “It doesn’t feel right. I know I said I don’t need a partner, and I don’t, but… Having absolutely no connection is weird.”

You shrug, waving a hand as if to say oh well, putting an end to the conversation, and pick up your plate to carry it over to the microwave. You reheat Bucky’s food while you’re up, and then you both start eating in comfortable silence. He gets halfway through his meal before speaking up.

“Have you… I mean, did you think about… I’ve heard that, uh. Some people ask another person…”

He trails off, clearly frustrated that he can’t just spit out what he’s trying to say. You think you understand what he means, though.

“I read up on surrogacy,” you say, biting your lip. “But I don’t think I’d want someone else to carry my baby.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t suggesting, uh, that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it!” he rushes to say.

You tilt your head. “What did you mean then?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, stilted, licking his lips. “For the artificial insemination, have you considered… you know. Asking someone you’re close with?”

You frown, not following.

“For—for the sperm,” he clarifies, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” you breathe, blinking rapidly, surprised as you think of how to reply. “Um. No? I wouldn’t even know who I could ask, to be honest. That’s quite the request, you know? Who would—“

“Me,” he interrupts, determined and cheeks flushed, “I would.”

Your own face heats. “Oh,” you say again, quieter.

You can say, with full confidence, that not once did it cross your mind to ask anyone to help you, but you especially would have never given thought to asking Bucky.

For a list of reasons, really, with “it’s Bucky” being right at the very top. Like—sure, yes, you’re in love with him, but after two years of no signs of reciprocation you’ve learned to stop dreaming, to stop hoping. If the attraction was mutual he would have shown it by now, right? And on top of that, his friendship means the world to you and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. You'd never forgive yourself if you ever managed to fuck up the one good, constant thing going for you.

“Bucky,” you start, slow and careful, “this… This isn't something you can just jump into. It’s something you should think about for a while.”

He contemplates that for a second. “You’re right,” he concedes with a nod. “But…” He purses his lips, glancing away for a minute before turning back to you, leaning forward. “Okay listen, this is important for you. It’s going to change your whole life. You said it yourself, not having a connection to the sperm donor feels wrong. You’re my best friend, alright? I—care about you. You should pick someone you can trust.”

He clenches his jaw after he finishes speaking. You sort of hate the way your heart both flutters and plummets at his words. It’s nice to know you matter to him, just not in the way you’ve wanted for too long.

And if you’re really honest with yourself, Bucky would be a great choice as a donor. He’s in great health, has strong features that would look wonderful on any gender. But would you be able to handle the repercussions of having his child? Would you be able to look at your baby and see those features without it sending a pang through your chest every single time? You can’t say for certain.

Yet, the chance to have that type of connection with him, selfishly, sounds too good to pass up.

“At least think about it for a few days,” you murmur reluctantly.

It’s the most acceptance he’ll get and he knows it. A smile blooms across his face and you have to swallow down the warring emotions rising within you.

***

With the amount of research you do on the subject now, it doesn’t take long for you to find out that there are at-home kits for artificial insemination that are much easier (and cheaper). It’s easy to settle on that, clicking on the info to order your kit with butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You read through the instructions online and it all sounds simple enough, until you get to the part where it says that having an orgasm after injection helps increase your chances of conception.

Blinking, heat crawling up your neck, you read that step several times, hoping you read it wrong, but it doesn’t change.

You… You can’t masturbate with Bucky’s sperm inside you. That’s a line you refuse to cross.

And besides, he’s a healthy man in his thirties who exercises regularly and eats fairly healthy food! You probably—definitely—won’t need to take that step. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Once the kit arrives, you call Bucky and ask him to come over so you can explain the process to him. Since he’s only across the hall of your apartment building, he’s there a moment later, letting himself in with his key.

“Let’s make a baby,” is how he greets you.

“Hold your horses,” you reply, fighting back a laugh. “I gotta walk you through everything first.”

He plops himself down next to you on your couch. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

Squaring your shoulders, you begin telling him how it all works, and what parts he is key for. You speak through your awkwardness, avoiding eye contact, when you explain that he’ll need to masturbate into a clean, sterile cup. You leave out how it’s suggested for you to also masturbate, deciding it’s not pertinent information for him to know.

“When do we start?” he asks once you’re done.

“I have to take an ovulation test first to find out the best days for me to conceive, but once I do that we’ll be able to, um.” You gesture vaguely. “I’ll be able to do the injections.”

He nods. “Alright.” He looks at you then, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here every step of the way, okay?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome,” he returns softly.

“No, really, thank you,” you assert. “This is a lot to take on and I can never fully repay you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I want you to be happy, and I can see that having this baby is going to do that. I’ll do whatever I need to do to ensure it happens.”

You pull him into a hug, willing yourself to not cry. You’re not sure he’ll ever understand what this means for you, personally, or that you’d ever find a way to express it. He’s giving you so much more than just a baby.

***

The first injection time comes and you find yourself fidgeting where you sit as you wait for Bucky to bring over the, uh… sample. You do your best to not think about what he’s doing in his apartment, to not think about exactly how he’s collecting his sperm.

Now is not the time, you mentally scold yourself. Get it together.

A timid knock at your door alerts you to his presence. The fact he’s knocking says a lot about his own level of embarrassment about the situation.

His cheeks are pink when you open the door. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you return.

He clears his throat and lifts the small cup in his hand. “Here’s… well, you know.”

You gingerly take it from him, not knowing what else to say, but when he smiles somewhat crookedly and turns to leave, you find yourself asking, “Will you stay?”

Bucky’s steps pause. “Huh?”

“Will you—I mean… Would you mind staying?” You shift on your feet. “This is a big moment for me. I-I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Are you asking me to…?” He trails off awkwardly.

“Oh! God, no, I wouldn’t—no,” you assure, huffing a laugh, “I’m doing the injection, I just need a little moral support. That’s all.”

Bucky smiles. “Sure, I’ll stay.”

Relief floods through you. You step aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom and just before entering you stop in your tracks, nearly causing Bucky to bump into you.

“Um,” you mutter, turning to him. “You’ll have to, ah, sit out here,” you explain. “I have to be lying down…”

Understanding dawns on him. “Oh! Right, right, of course. Sorry.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” you promise.

He nods and watches you close the door. You walk over to your bed and sit down, glancing at the syringe you’ll be using and biting the inside of your cheek.

This is it. There’s really no going back after this. Sure, you may not get pregnant the first time, but Bucky’s already said he’d help you for as long as it takes. It’s just… very real now. You don’t feel any doubts, though. You want this.

Inhaling a large breath and slowly letting it out, hands shaking, you take the lid off the cup and pick up the syringe. You remember the instructions, making sure there’s as little air sucked in as possible when you draw out the semen, and getting rid of the few air bubbles that you see. You grab your pillows and lie down, propping them beneath you to lift your hips.

“Here I go,” you mumble to yourself, taking another deep breath and releasing it.

A couple minutes later, the syringe is empty and you’ve got your legs pulled up to your chest. You cover yourself with your blanket and call out Bucky’s name.

“You okay?” you hear through the door.

“Will you come here, please?” you ask.

He walks in cautiously, making sure you’re decently covered before entering fully, wisely not commenting on your position. “Well?”

“I did it,” you whisper.

He stays quiet, letting you parse through your thoughts. You blink when you feel tears threatening to gather in your eyes. He’s beside you in an instant, crawling in the bed and lying down, taking your hand in his.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” you reply, sniffing and wiping at your eyes.

“Still,” he presses. “You’re one step closer now.”

He pulls your hand up and kisses the back of it. You give him a watery smile. The two of you lay there in silence for a moment before Bucky breaks it.

“This isn’t how I pictured myself making a baby.”

It startles a laugh out of you and Bucky grins, pleased to have helped ease the tense atmosphere. He distracts you with idle conversation after that, talking about his plans for the upcoming weekend, asking about yours, tells you about the newest stupid thing Sam did; he talks and talks and talks, until your anxiety is gone, and then he stays to cook dinner for you.

Your hug when he gets ready to head back to his apartment lasts a couple minutes longer than usual. Bucky quietly allows it, dropping a kiss on your forehead when you pull away.

“Same time next week?” he jokes, making you crack a smile.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you reply exasperatedly as you close your door.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he returns over his shoulder.

***

Weeks pass. More injections. Pregnancy tests taken.

But nothing happens.

All of your tests come back negative.

When reading up on artificial insemination, and pregnancy in general, you’d understood that there was a chance it wouldn’t happen right away. You thought you were fine with that, that you’d be alright with the waiting and all. Looking at your growing collection of negative tests, however, has a sense of dread building within you. You do your best to quell it, telling yourself there’s no need to stress over it. Yet.

Besides, your mind supplies in an overly cheerful manner, there’s still one more method to try!

***

The next time Bucky brings over his sample, he lets himself in, like always, and passes along the cup with an encouraging smile. You try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. He either doesn’t notice or he at least pretends not to, thankfully.

But when he goes to make himself comfortable to wait, you’re reminded that you haven’t told him about the, uh… change in procedure, so to speak.

You clear your throat delicately. “I don’t think you’ll need to stick around this time.”

Bucky frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” You trail off, cheeks pinking, yet not finishing the sentence, because how do you explain this?

“I promised you I’d be here every step of the way,” he recalls. “I intend to keep that promise.”

You wince. “I really appreciate where your heart is, Bucky, I really do, but I literally cannot let you be here for this injection.”

“Why not?”

You look heavenward for mercy. “I have to…”

When you don’t finish your sentence again, Bucky raises a single brow, gesturing for you to go on. “You have to… what?”

You huff, throwing your arms out. “I have to orgasm, okay?”

His eyes go a little bit wide, but you can tell he tries to control his reaction. He swallows, shifting where he sits on the couch.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Have… have you had to do that before?”

“No. Well, I mean, it was suggested, but I never…”

His eyebrows furrow. “Does it help or something?”

You absently scratch your neck. “They say it increases the chances of conception.”

“But you haven’t been doing… that.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to.”

Bucky inhales like he’s going to say something, but then doesn’t.

“Yeah, so, I don’t think you should be here,” you utter, quickly adding, “No offense.”

“No, yeah, that’s fair, um. I’ll just—I’ll head back to my apartment,” he states as he stands. “You can—I mean, if you still want me to—I can come back over? After you… uh…”

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, voice tight and high.

He nods, looking lost and like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. Finally, he mutters a soft bye and is out the door.

Alone now, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots and your heart is doing its damnedest to beat out of your chest. You try to tell yourself that it’s just another injection, that this is the same as any other time you've done this, but you know it’s not. It's really, really not.

Laying down on your bed, syringe in hand, is much more nerve wracking than before. On your left lies a new addition to your routine. You don’t know why you’re acting like such a prude all the sudden. It’s not like you’ve never masturbated before. Though, you suppose the major difference is that you didn’t have Bucky’s sperm hangin’ out in your vagina all those other times while you did it.

“Quit being such a goober about this,” you tell yourself.

This has to be done for a reason. If you want to have a baby—and you do, very badly—then you’re gonna have to deal with the process.

Once you’ve injected the sperm, you reach for your bullet vibrator next to your left hand. The instructions say not to insert anything, only to stimulate your clit. You try to clear your head, think of it as a chore or something, yet it’s hard not to think of a certain someone.

The vibrator buzzes with the press of a button. You adjust your hips, making sure they’re tilted, then bring the vibrator to your clit. The first touch makes your stomach tense and thighs spasm.

You close your eyes, running the toy along your slit. You really don’t want to drag this out, would prefer to get it over with as quickly as possible, but your mind begins running away with images.

Bucky, settled between your spread thighs, one hand resting on one of them, the other controlling the vibrator. You imagine he’d tease you, slowly trail it along the crease of your thighs, over your hips; everywhere but where you wanted it.

Bucky would probably give in once you whine and beg enough, once your desperation bled into your voice, and hold the vibrator directly to your clit, drink in your cries of pleasure like they’re the finest whisky.

He’d mutter soft but firm encouragement, tell you how good you’re doing, how good you sound. He’d start circling the vibrator, going from quick to lazy swirls, then he’d change the setting to a higher one just to hear you whimper. His free hand would run up your torso to pinch at your nipples for added stimulation.

When you imagine him leaning down to add his tongue into the mix, your mind blanks as your climax hits you, a ragged moan forcing its way out of your throat. You’re quick to turn the vibrator off and toss it to the floor, deciding you’ll worry about cleaning it later, chest heaving as you pant for breath after an intense orgasm.

Shame and embarrassment consume you, mock you for using Bucky to rub one out. You’d given in to the fantasy so easily.

Truthfully, it’s not the first time you’ve thought of him while pleasuring yourself, but the context this time is completely different, and you feel immediately guilty. Admittedly, it’s probably irrational.

That doesn’t stop you from cringing at your actions.

***

You’re sure you’ve bought out the entire pregnancy test section from the convenience store down the block. Currently, there are six different brands in front of you, all promising the most accurate results.

Bucky is sitting in your bedroom, quietly waiting for you to pee on all of them so you can both find out what they say. You chug the last bit of your third bottle of water even though your bladder is fit to burst at any moment. Turning the faucet on for modesty, you make quick work of the tests, then wash your hands.

And wait.

You call Bucky into the bathroom with you. The two of you quietly sit on the edge of your bathtub, counting down the minutes. Part of you wishes Bucky would say something dumb to break the tension, like he usually does, but you're also kind of glad he's just here, next to you, a silent comfort.

It seems like hours have passed when you’re finally sure you can check them.

The first one is negative, and so is the second. The third, however, reads positive. Your heart begins racing, clutching at the counter, but before your hopes get too carried away you read the rest. To your dismay, they are all negative. You stare down at them all, eyes falling on the loan positive test multiple times, knowing that it’s likely a false positive, yet stupidly hoping otherwise.

Your chin wobbles. Bucky hugs you from behind, resting his cheek on your shoulder.

“What do I do, Bucky?”

At your broken whisper, he sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Neither of you know what to say or do after that. Bucky continues offering quiet support, his solid presence at your back, and you’re grateful. Eventually, he leads you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, sitting you down at the table as he starts preparing dinner.

When you’re both eating the spaghetti he made, he breaks the silence.

“Do you think…” he starts, pausing to think of how to phrase his question before carefully carrying on. “Are you going to stop?”

“I don’t want to,” you answer, the implied but hanging heavy in the air.

Bucky sits his fork down. “I know you want this, very much.” He pushes his hair out of his face as he leans forward, elbows settling on the table. “But I hate seeing how sad you get when the tests come out negative. I feel so… powerless. Like I could be doing more or something.”

“You’re doing all you can, Bucky,” you assure.

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think I am.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He licks his lips, locking his fingers together. “I think we should have sex.”

Your fork drops to your plate with a clang, eyes going wide.

“I apologize for how blunt that came out,” he states with a wince. “But, I mean, think about it. You’ve only been using my sperm from a syringe, and up until the last time, you hadn’t been, um, orgasming with it.” You look away, bashful. “I just wonder if maybe trying the old-fashioned way would give you better results.”

“Bucky,” you start, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before shaking your head. “It’s one thing for you to offer your sperm, which I’m thankful for, truly, but… Having sex?”

“I’ve already told you I’m willing to do whatever I need to do,” he retorts earnestly. “Your happiness means a lot to me, okay? I hate sitting around and watching your heart break every week. You’ve tried it your way, now I think we should try mine.”

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek, knee beginning to bounce under the table.

His hand slides onto your knee, stilling the movement as he ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are impossibly sincere and your resolve crumbles in an instant.

“It won’t… It’s not going to change anything,” he assures. “I won’t allow it.”

You swallow roughly. He may not, but your heart is going to take its toughest beating yet. It’s going to be hopeless trying to overcome the inevitable emotions that come with sex.

Even so, somehow, your longing for a baby eclipses all of this. Now that you’ve imagined holding your child in your arms, raising them and loving them, you can’t go back. Not anymore.

“Okay,” you allow, softly.

Bucky’s shoulders relax, lips tipping up into a devastating smile.

You’re so fucked. (Pun intended.)

***

Two nights later, you’re pacing in your bedroom, impatiently waiting for Bucky to arrive. You’d been unsure whether or not you should dress up. You didn’t see the point, honestly. Still, a small part of you wondered what his reaction would be if he saw you all done up in lingerie. At the moment, you’re in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts.

It’s Bucky, you think, and this isn’t a normal situation, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.

You hear his key turning in the lock then and your heart begins hammering away. He calls your name as he enters.

“In here,” you reply, twisting your fingers nervously.

He walks into your room looking just as on edge as you are. He also seems to have had the same idea about his attire, comfortable in his white tee and sweatpants. His feet are bare and for whatever reason that feels way more intimate than it has any right to.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi.”

You bite your lip, eyes flitting around your room and coming back to settle on Bucky. He huffs.

“This is ridiculous,” he declares, “It’s just us.”

“Right,” you nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not gonna be weird.”

“Nope.”

His jaw ticks. You stare back at him. It only takes a moment for you to realize that somebody has to make the first move, so you steel yourself and turn on your heel, walking towards your bed.

“I’m keeping my shirt on,” you announce as you unceremoniously drop onto the mattress, grabbing your pillows to stuff them under you.

Bucky follows at a sedate pace, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He pauses next to you, taking a second to roll his shoulders, then he climbs in and settles in front of your bent legs. He gingerly places his hands on your knees.

“May I?” he asks.

Mouth suddenly dry, you nod. He moves his hands to the waistband of your shorts and tugs. You lift your hips to help him slide them down and off, along with your underwear. Gently, he spreads your legs.

Your breathing has picked up considerably, eyes firmly trained on the ceiling. You know you’re already wet and are blessedly thankful he doesn’t mention it.

The first slide of his fingers has you inhaling sharply. He slowly gathers your slick and trails it up to your clit, lightly circling it. Your mind recalls your fantasy, but you quickly shove it back to the depths of your thoughts, lest you do something idiotic like tell him about it.

He spreads your legs more, adjusting his position between them. His fingers move down until he can sink one into you. You gasp, hands shooting out to grasp your sheets. He wastes no time and begins thrusting his finger inside you.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that it’s going to be very difficult to hold back any noise or reactions. Goddamnit, you will try, though!

When he decides it’s time to add another finger, you feel yourself clench around them, and his soft fuck does not go unnoticed, evident in the way your pussy traitorously clenches again.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice cracking, but doesn’t finish his thought, making you have to break your staring contest with the ceiling and look at him.

He’s not even looking back at you, he’s staring at his fingers, watching them pump in and out of you, half bent over with a slack jaw, like he wants to…

He meets your eyes then, licking his lips.

Oh.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, knowing you’re probably going to regret it, you nod.

He’s leaning over and sucking on your clit before you can even blink. You cry out, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his free hand shoots out to hold you open. It makes you squirm, fisting the sheets even tighter. His fingers curl inside you as his tongue licks around them and you whine, high and needy, and then mouth is back on your clit, tongue swiping over it, sucking on it with loud, obscene noises.

His hand comes up to grab the hem of your shirt, shoves it upward until it’s bunched underneath your breasts. Those fingers ghost back down your torso, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

He speeds up his thrusts and your hand flies down to grip his hair. You don’t think you’re meant to hear the quiet grunt he lets out, but you do, and it has you panting even harder. Your orgasm is building, fast, and you pull on his hair in warning.

“Bucky,” you say on a gasp.

Using his arm to hold you down, his free hand joins, thumb swiping over your clit now as he dips his head to slide his tongue in alongside his fingers. It draws a yell out of you, the ever expanding pleasure within you bursting into the hardest orgasm you’ve experienced thus far in your adult life. You know you’re moaning, bucking into the sensations coursing through you, and you’d feel abashed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

Before you can become too sensitive, Bucky withdraws his fingers and sits up. You can’t even really catch your breath, though, because in the next second he’s whipping his t-shirt off and shoving his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock.

Your thighs do clamp closed then, at the sight of how thick he is, and he tries and fails to keep his smirk hidden.

“Oh, shut up,” you wheeze.

“Didn’t say anything,” he counters.

He doesn’t let you argue, choosing that moment to shuffle closer and line up with your opening. Cautiously, he eases himself inside, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, brows furrowing as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly. When he’s in as far as he can go, the breath wooshes out of him, his head falling back. You know he’s trying to be polite and let you adjust, but—

“Oh my god, move,” you demand, impatient.

He huffs a laugh, dropping his heavy lidded gaze to yours. “Bossy.”

“Did you really expect anything else—oh!”

The grin he aims your way after grinding into you is downright sinful. You mentally tell yourself to kick him for that later.

He grabs your hips and the pillows and settles you closer to his lap, changing the angle, then pulls out and glides back in, creating a painstakingly slow rhythm.

You have to close your eyes. You can’t look at him anymore. You knew he was probably a god in bed, but to now have firsthand experience? There was no way you’d be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them.

His grip on your hips tightens, the only warning you get before his thrusts turn sharp.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow beneath your head.

The sound of your skin meeting his is harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Well, okay, you’re not exactly being quiet, but you can’t be blamed for that.

Bucky, however, is nearly silent. The only thing you hear from him is heavy breathing. You wonder if he’s holding back, the thought crossing your mind for a split second, and then you’re clenching around his cock, trying to see if you can gain a reaction. And boy, do you get one.

He grunts and sucks in a breath, lips parting as his eyes squeeze shut. His hips pick up their pace and hair falls into his face. You find yourself wishing he was closer so you could brush it out of the way.

Stop it, you scold yourself.

He pauses to grind into you again, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock, and you both sigh. Bucky leans forward, hooking your legs into the crooks of his elbows, and resumes his brutal pace.

“O-Oh,” you whimper.

The new angle is heavenly, his cock dragging along a spot inside you that you thought nobody else could find. Unable to help yourself, you clutch at his arms, nails digging in.

“Shit,” he groans, thrusts faltering.

He lets go of one of your legs to slip his hand between you, rubbing at your clit and sending you that much closer to your second orgasm. He can tell you’re close, but you’re gonna need something to push you over the edge. He leans down even closer, breath fanning out against your cheek.

“C’mon,” he pants. “Let go.”

You shiver when his tongue flicks your earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, keening as the pressure builds. He thrusts harder, faster, and when you grasp his hair and pull, he growls and latches on to your shoulder, biting down. You gasp from the added pain and then you’re coming, shuddering and whining through your release. Bucky isn’t far behind, raising up and fucking into you savagely before pausing abruptly, groaning as he finally comes. He lazily thrusts a few more times to draw it out, then stops, stilling with his cock inside you.

Your hair is sticking to your forehead, as well as your shirt to your clammy back, breathing in lungfuls of air. Bucky is softly caressing your thighs, letting out shaky breaths as your pussy continues to flutter around him.

It takes several moments for you to gather your wits, for the rest of the world to come filtering back in. You are truly and completely fucked now, in every sense of the word.

“Well…” You trail off, voice scratchy.

“That was…”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Let’s hope it worked this time.”

You hum. “Thank you for your service,” you reply with a lazy salute.

You yelp when he pinches your hip, kicking at him in retaliation. The jostling reminds you, with a gasping groan, that he’s still buried balls deep inside you.

“Um.” You cough lightly. “You wanna, you know… pull out?”

He looks down where you’re connected like it hadn’t even dawned on him. “Oh, uh. Well, I thought maybe it could, like. Help.”

His gaze stays locked, fingers flexing on your hips, and you feel like squirming again.

“I think it’s good,” you say quietly.

Bucky finally glances back up at your shy tone, cheeks pinking. He clears his throat.

“Right.”

Carefully, he eases his softening cock out of you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

You can’t hold back yours, though, gasping once he’s gone. You feel unbearably empty, but refrain from voicing that incessant thought.

Bucky’s intense eyes stare at your pussy until you reach for the throw blanket next to you. He watches you throw it over your lap, drawing your legs up to your chest, and takes that as his cue, jolting into action.

“Okay, so.” He starts, then stops, climbs off your bed and pulls his sweatpants back up. “This was—I mean, if it doesn’t take this time, we can… try again.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Sounds good.”

He nods, bending to pick up his discarded t-shirt. “Great. I’ll just, um, see myself out, I guess.”

You nod, sending a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes in his direction. He seems to contemplate something for a second, then leans down to kiss your forehead before saying a quick goodbye and leaving.

As soon as you hear your apartment door shut, you let your tears fall.

***

It’s not really like you mean to avoid him after that.

Honest.

You simply become busy, that’s all. You definitely don’t go out of your way by taking the stairs in your apartment building to avoid possibly bumping into him in the elevator. No, you take the stairs because you could use the cardio. It’s important you stay healthy right now. And when he texts you to ask if you want to have dinner, you can’t help that you’ve got boatloads of work to catch up on—all five times he asks.

Okay, so, that’s a lie. You’re totally avoiding him. But what on earth are you supposed to say to him now? You don’t think you’d even be able to look him in the eye anymore, not after the fuck of your goddamn life.

That night confirmed what you already knew for the last two years: Bucky absolutely ruined you for anyone else.

More than anything, though, you were angry with yourself. He’d only offered because you weren’t getting your desired results the other way. You should have been able to separate your feelings and emotions from all of it. After all, none of this was about whatever you feel towards Bucky. This was about trying to conceive a baby.

You try telling yourself to get over it. He’s your best friend, you can’t just cut him off because you’re a spineless pansy.

I just need some time, you reason. You can give yourself a few days to wallow over what could have been and then you can reach out to him and pretend like everything is fine. Because it is.

***

Flash forward two weeks to you attempting to sneak into your apartment, only to jump out of your skin when you turn around and find Bucky sitting on your couch, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re still alive,” he drawls.

His tone suggests annoyance. You suppose you deserve that.

“Hey,” you say after a pause.

He stares at you for a moment longer before speaking again. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t let it get weird.”

You agreed, you almost say, thankfully biting it back. You drop your purse on the entryway table, sliding your shoes off and making your way over to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You tug your sweater sleeves down and tuck your feet beneath you. “I haven’t ever… I’ve never been intimate with a friend before. It was just… a lot.”

It’s a half truth, at least. You haven’t had sex with a friend before. Or, well, not one you had feelings for.

“You could’ve just told me,” he replies, reaching for your hand.

You nod. “I know, and I should have, I just. Things are all out of whack lately with the whole… trying to get pregnant thing.”

“If I overstepped in any way—” Bucky starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“You didn’t,” you promise. “You’ve been nothing but fantastic throughout this whole ordeal. Honestly, Bucky, you’ve done way more than anyone else would have in this situation. I just had a lot going on in my head and let it get the best of me. I’m fine, I swear.”

He searches your eyes and must find what he’s looking for.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he pleads.

Heart cracking in your chest, you can only nod, shuffling closer to pull him into a hug. He buries his face in your neck and holds on tight.

***

Another week passes.

Bucky is with you as you wait for the results of the latest pregnancy test. He’s reassured you that you’ll keep trying until it happens if it didn’t work this time.

When the timer on your phone goes off, you release the breath you’ve been holding. You take tentative steps over to the sink and gingerly pick up the test.

Positive.

Your stomach swoops. It’s positive. You check again, reading the digitized screen, but it stays the same. Positive. Holy shit.

“Okay, wait, no, I need to do more. I can’t get my hopes up again,” you mutter, rushing to open the cabinet under your sink to dig out several more varieties of tests.

You don’t even wait for Bucky to leave before you’re peeing on the other sticks. He’s seen it all at this point anyway, and he doesn’t seem to care, sitting on the edge of your tub with an anxious expression. The downside is that you have to wait another few minutes for these tests to finish and you can’t sit still, pacing back and forth in the small space of your bathroom.

The timer goes off again. You feel like you’re going to throw up when you finally work up the courage to look down.

Every single one of them… Positive.

A shocked, happy laugh escapes you. You cover your mouth, turning to Bucky with wide eyes.

He rises to his full height, coming closer and peering down at the tests, then back to your teary eyed expression.

“Did we…?”

Words failing you, you nod, giggling in astonishment. Bucky’s face breaks into the biggest, handsomest, most gut-wrenching smile. His happiness is palpable and you’re suddenly so overcome with emotion. Your hands are gripping his face and angling it to align your lips to his before you register what you’re doing. He freezes and you hurriedly pull away, taking a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the gap between you in a single stride.

He kisses you like his life depends on it, pressing your bodies as close as possible, his hands cupping your cheeks. You clutch his shirt desperately, never wanting to let go. He steals the breath straight from your lungs when he swipes at the seam of your lips with his tongue, moaning happily when you allow him access. A feeble whine from you after he flicks his tongue against yours makes him break the kiss.

“I have a confession,” he breathes into the miniscule space between your mouths.

“What?” you question distractedly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze shoots up to his, astounded. He brushes stray hairs off your forehead, runs his thumbs softly under your eyes.

“I’ve been selfish this whole time,” he reveals. “I couldn’t let you choose some random stranger to be your sperm donor, to father your child, couldn’t bear the thought of you carrying their baby, because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I wanted to be the one. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

You’re hearing the words, yet your brain can’t seem to make sense of them. Surely you’re hearing him wrong. You can’t possibly have this too, right? You can't have Bucky and have his baby…

But he’s here, very real and solid beneath your hands, looking at you like you’re his entire world.

“Bucky…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words, at a complete loss. “I-I’ve loved you for so long now, I didn’t think you…” You shake your head, a giggle escaping you as you stare at him in wonder. “I couldn’t let myself hope.”

He grins, relieved, planting a few chaste kisses to your mouth. “I know this entire circumstance is totally backwards, but I want you, and I want this baby. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Fresh tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “Are you sure?” you still ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You have to kiss him then, uncaring of the tears that trickle down your face. The only thing you are focused on is the way his hands trail down your back, pausing to squeeze your ass, then grip underneath to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms locked around his neck, as he heads for your bed. He makes a point of throwing your extra pillows on the floor before settling between your thighs and kissing the hell out of you.

He pulls away only to undress you and himself, but he’s always back as quickly as possible, lips pressing kisses wherever he can reach. You impatiently tug at him until his lips are attached to yours again. The way he fucks his tongue into your mouth is nothing short of indecent and it sends a rush of pure want all the way to your core.

When you bury your fingers in his hair, gripping it tight, he grunts, biting your lip. You whimper and he grins as he pulls away.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” he praises, his hands beginning to sweep down and up, tickling under your breasts.

His thumb and forefinger pinch one of your nipples and you gasp, back arching off your mattress. He repeats it on the other side, just to hear the same noise.

“Bucky, please,” you beg.

“Please what?” he prods. His hands drift further to the creases of your thighs, spreading them open. “What do you need?”

You whine, canting your hips up. “You, I need you, please.”

“You have me, sweetheart.” He tilts his head and you make a noise of frustration. “Use your words, darlin’.”

“Fuck me, please,” you burst out, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

Bucky smiles, slow and torturous. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Fuck this perfect pussy until you’re so full of my come that it drips down your beautiful thighs?”

“Oh god,” you mumble.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teases.

His fingers slide down your slit, gathering your slick then thrusts two fingers in at once. You groan brokenly, shifting your hips to try and get more friction, but he holds them down with his metal arm. Agonizingly slow, he begins fucking you with his fingers. It’s good, it’s amazing, but it’s not enough. Not when you know what his cock feels like. He takes his precious time fingering you and you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind before the day is done.

“You have no idea how incredible you felt around my cock,” he tells you in a ridiculously conversational tone. “I was trying to think of any excuse I could come up with to have you at least one more time.”

He shifts until his mouth is directly above where you’re dripping for him, and he waits until you make eye contact with him.

“But now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making you come apart on my cock any chance I get.”

You hardly have any functioning brain cells at the moment, but even if you could form a coherent sentence you wouldn’t have been able to say it aloud, because then he’s descending and all you can feel is the wet warmth of his mouth.

He definitely doesn’t hold back this time, that much is apparent in the way he devours you, lips and tongue drawing out noises you’ve never heard yourself make, pressing his face so far into your pussy that he has to come up for air. His mouth and chin shine when you chance a look down, and when you clench on his fingers his smile goes smug at the corners.

He plants kisses along your hips, the insides of your thighs, around where his fingers are buried within you. He curls them, in search of the spot he found last time. He knows he found it when you try to close your thighs around his head and cry out. Now that he's found it, he angles to brush it on every thrust of his fingers and attaches his mouth back on your clit.

You chant his name, nearly sobbing as you approach your climax, until finally you fly over the edge. Your vision blurs and you’re not sure if you’re making any noise now, unable to hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Bucky helps you ride it out until you’re shuddering from sensitivity.

He kisses your thighs again, trailing them up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts.

“So good, did so well,” he mutters.

Weakly, you lift your hands to trace them down his toned stomach and around his back, down further so you can cop a feel of your own, smiling at his grunt of surprise.

“That was great and all,” you say, arching your back so your chest presses against his, “but I do believe I asked you to fuck me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who said I was done with you?” It’s apparently a rhetorical question, as he continues before you get a chance to reply. “I’m gonna fuck you until you come, and then I’m gonna keep fucking you until you come again, and only then will I come so deep inside you there’ll be zero doubt I’ve put a baby there.”

Your legs are lifted and thrown over his shoulders in a blink, his cock pushing into your pussy, dragging out a high-pitched moan from you. There’s barely a pause and then he’s fucking you, just like you asked. The pace is brutal right from the start, a steady rhythm that has you mewling and writhing in pleasure. Bucky is watching his cock as he thrusts in and out of you, his mouth hanging open slightly as he pants. He hikes your hips up a little higher and you jolt through your startled moan. This angle is divine and the telltale signs of your second orgasm start tingling at the base of your spine.

“Can feel you,” Bucky says through panting breaths, “so close. C’mon, let me feel you.”

He pulls you down on his cock, grinding into you, his thumb reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. You sob through your release, shuddering against Bucky as you clench around him. He groans, still barely moving as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Come here.”

He helps you sit up, still seated on his cock, making you both hiss from your movement. Your arms automatically wrap around his shoulders and his around your waist. He kisses you so sweetly, a stark contradiction to the way he just fucked you. When you pull away, resting your foreheads together, he grins.

“Hi.”

You crack a smile. “Hi.”

“Ready for more?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think you got it in you?” you tease as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The light smack to your ass startles you and you let out a soft sound of surprise, hands tugging his hair harshly. Bucky’s eyes light up.

“Interesting,” he muses.

Another slap, a little harder than the first, and you’re whimpering, your walls clenching around his still hard cock.

“I’ll play with that later,” he promises, voice breathy.

You bury your face in his neck and start shifting your hips. He takes the hint, gathering you as close as he can and thrusts up into you. He can’t pull out as far this way, but the snap of his hips more than makes up for it. You mouth at his collarbone messily, kissing and licking your way up to his jaw, biting marks wherever you see fit. You make it up to his mouth and he kisses you, wet and filthy. You suck on his tongue and a ragged moan claws its way out of his throat. The need for air eventually has you pulling away.

“It’s a good thing you love me back,” you whisper in his ear. “Nobody else could ever compare to you.”

He growls, fisting your hair and yanking your head back to look him in the eye.

“Nobody will ever compare,” he corrects.

You moan. “Yes,” you agree, whining, “No one else could’ve given me a baby.”

Bucky thrusts harder and faster at your words. You’re picking up on a few hints and you can’t say it’s not doing it for you either.

“Filled me up so good, fucked me so well. Gonna be round with your baby soon.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he keens, hurrying to lay you flat on your back so he can fuck into you easier.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, your cries of pleasure mixing in with Bucky’s grunts and curses. His grip on you tightens almost painfully as he chases both your and his orgasm. You’re sure to have bruises tomorrow and you already know you'll be poking at them to remember this moment.

“C’mon, baby, wanna feel you too,” you beg.

His thumb finds your swollen clit once more. It’s beyond sensitive now, feels like a shockwave coursing through you, and without any warning, you come. You spasm around Bucky and he swears under his breath, thrusts going sloppy. With a final groan, he comes inside you, his hips moving seemingly on their own as he draws out both your pleasures. Slowly, he comes to a stop, but he leaves his cock buried in you like he did last time.

You know you’re gonna feel too empty when he does pull out, so you don’t mind sitting like this for a while. Bucky softly runs his hands across every inch of your skin he can touch and you bask in the affection. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, smiling when he hums happily. It takes only a minute for you to notice the way his hands migrate to your stomach, and when you do you kiss his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go again later,” you suggest faintly.

Bucky grins. “We can do it a hundred more times if you want.”

“Guess I better enjoy it while I can.”

His smile goes soft at the edges.

It’s not lost on you how incredibly crazy all of this is. There will undoubtedly be a conversation, a much needed one that isn’t going to be simple or easy, but it’s necessary.

For now, though, you bask in Bucky’s warmth and loving embrace.

***

Keys jingle as they unlock the door and you perk up where you’re sprawled on the couch. Bucky enters, arms laden with bags from the convenience store.

“They didn’t have the banana ice cream you asked for,” he announces, continuing before your pout fully forms, “but they did have the double chocolate brownie kind you love so much, so I got that, as well as the sour gummy worms, beef jerky, and fried pickles from the deli on your list of demands.”

“What about—”

“And your strawberry Fanta,” he adds with a fond, slightly exasperated smile.

You’re unable to stop your expression from going soft and dreamy.

Ever since you and Bucky figured out where to go with your relationship, he’s been even more attentive and accommodating (and that’s saying something).

You expressed your worry about the possibility of something going wrong, that one or both of you would get bored and leave, or there’d be a big fight that neither of you could forgive. He was quick to reassure you of his commitment, told you there was no way he would ever get bored of you, and that as long as you both promise to talk things out in a calm, mature way, then you’d be alright.

It all sounded so easy when it was put like that. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized he was right. It wasn’t fair to either of you to already give up before you’d even started. So you’d taken a deep breath and leaped.

Now, you’re five and a half months in, your belly steadily growing and making everyday life increasingly uncomfortable. The changes to your body were physically and emotionally draining, to say the least. Moreso the emotional side. You’d hoped you wouldn’t be one of those pregnant women with strange cravings, and for the most part they were pretty tame, but you do like to dip your sour gummy worms in banana ice cream. Bucky didn’t attempt to hide his disgust over that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask on a pleased sigh.

He places your small cornucopia of goods on the coffee table. You sit up, huffing for breath during the struggle. You go to reach for the ice cream first, but Bucky catches your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles as he kneels in front of you.

“You were yourself. Smart, kind, selfless, unbelievably sexy.” You snort at that, but he’s undeterred. “And you’re giving me the best gift I could ever dream of. A family.”

Instantly, you’re crying. He’s grown accustomed to the mood swings by now, taking it in stride as he wipes away the tears with gentle hands.

“Stop being so disgusting,” you blubber through your hiccuping cries. “You’re such an asshole.”

Bucky laughs. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, kissing him. “Love you,” you grumble.

He leans down and plants the softest of kisses to your belly. “And I love you, little lady.”

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and unlikely, but life has a way of turning out exactly how it’s supposed to… And you wouldn’t change a thing.

[ghosttotheparty]

saw this prompt @newgrangespirals @steddieas-shegoes; needed to write it but also i kind of derailed it bc my brain has a mind of its own and its focus is steddie so i apologize also on ao3

He’s met with silence. 

Eddie supposes Murray Bauman must only ever be met with silence after speaking; he doesn’t seem the type of man to hold an easy, casual conversation. Especially now. 

Even Argyle is silent, his fork stalled on its way to his mouth as he looks from Murray to Jonathan, whose face is red, then Nancy, who’s equally flushed. 

Eddie looks at the table, his vision blurring. His hands are shaking.

“Murray,” Joyce says in a lethally calm voice. Eddie had forgotten she was here. “Go.”

“What do you mean, go?” Murray says, his voice quieter like he’s starting to sense what he’s just done. “We’re in—“

“Murray,” Joyce snaps. Eddie flinches. His fingers are knotting with the hem of the tablecloth, his food uneaten on his plate. “Go. I will deal with you later.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Murray’s chair scrapes across the uneven tile floor, and his footsteps retreat. And then there’s silence again. Tense, tense silence. 

“Steve,” Nancy says quietly, and Eddie looks up at her, glaring even though she hasn’t done anything to him. Jonathan looks at her too, anxious. Joyce sips her water, her hand shaking, and Hopper has his head down, his face hidden in his hands. 

“I’m good,” Steve says shortly, and Eddie looks at him, his stomach flipping. Steve is smiling a little, but it’s an awful smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He pushes his plate away with a breath like he feels just as sick as Eddie does, and he nods, but he doesn’t look like he’s really here. “I’m…”

“Steve, it— it wasn’t—“

“You told him my name,” Steve snaps, looking at her across the table, his eyes wide. Nancy looks like she’s going to start crying, and Eddie finds that he really doesn’t care if she does. “And you still…”

He laughs. Dryly, humourlessly. Eddie feels like he might throw up. 

Steve closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he feels a migraine coming on, and he laughs again. 

“Steve—“ Jonathan tries to say, but Steve just holds his hands up, shaking his head. 

“I’m just…”

He pushes his plate farther away, moving his chair back with a loud scrape, and then he’s leaving too, going upstairs. Eddie watches him go, watches Robin get up to follow him before she deflates, seeing the way Steve gestures for her to stay, to leave him alone. Robin’s hands are shaking, and Eddie can practically feel the anger radiating from her. 

The silence is back after a door slams upstairs. 

Joyce sets her glass down loudly, and she puts her hands flat on the table next to her plate, taking a deep, shaky breath. Hopper says her name softly, but she holds a hand up, shushing him. 

“I have never…” she starts slowly, her voice shaking with anger. “I have never been more disappointed in my life.”

“Mom—”

“Jonathan,” Joyce snaps, fixing a look on him, and he falls quiet. “…I did not raise you to be the other man. And Nancy, I…” She puts her hands on the table again, taking a measured breath before she looks at Nancy. “I am not your mother, but I think I am well within my rights to say I’m disappointed in you, too.”

“Ms Byers—”

“I don’t want to hear a word out of either of you,” Joyce says calmly before she touches her face, rubbing her chin anxiously as she stares at her plate in front of her. Nobody is eating anymore. Eddie still feels sick, but he also feels like he’s blended into the wall, like everybody’s forgotten that he’s here at all.  He looks at the table, at the fraying tablecloth that’s clutched in his fingers. 

“Unbelievable,” Joyce mutters to herself. “I can’t…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Nancy takes a shuddering breath. She might be crying. 

“Eddie, dude.”

Eddie looks up, his eyes meeting Argyle’s. He’s looking over at Eddie anxiously, his head tilted a little bit, and as they look at each other, the others look at Eddie too. And suddenly he isn’t in the wall, but he’s the centrepiece of the table, the showstopper, the freak. 

It’s like they all remember what Murray said at the same time. 

“Eddie,” Joyce says, her voice softer than it was a moment ago. Kinder. Eddie looks at her. “Honey, if… if it is true. None of us have any problem with it.”

If it is true.

They all know it is. Eddie can tell just by looking at them that they all know. 

He feels so… small. Like he’s fifteen again. Like he’s new in high school, like he’s walking down the hallway and feeling all the stares, the eyes and eyes and eyes looking, watching, analysing, judging. Even though Joyce’s gaze is kind, and Hopper gives him a slight nod when their eyes meet. 

Eddie’s chest feels so tight he can’t breathe, each breath shallow and weak, and he’s kind of lightheaded, and he feels fucking nauseous. 

“I, uhm.” He clears his throat, his stomach churning, and he untangled his fingers from the tablecloth, taking a sharp breath. “Excuse me,” he says quickly, breathlessly, moving his chair back so fast it tips on the uneven tiles. He feels like he might pass out as he goes upstairs, hearing Argyle say something quietly behind him.

Upstairs feels even quiet than downstairs. Like every room could have an echo. 

Eddie finds a room that’s empty except for some cardboard boxes, and he shuts the door behind himself before he goes to the opposite side of the room, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to the wall. It’s cold. 

He’s breathing too fast, and his head feels light, like if his eyes were open his vision would be dark. He wraps his arms around himself tightly, squeezing as he exhales until he wheezes, until there’s nothing in his lungs, and then he inhales as slowly as he can. In, in, in, until he can’t anymore. He holds it. Exhales. Does it all over again. 

Until he can breathe without suffocating. 

He turns to rest his back on the wall, and he slides down to the floor, closing his eyes and pulling his knees to his chest, exhaling shakily. 

He’s never felt like this before. 

He feels so… lonely. 

He feels almost cold, even though sunlight is streaming through the window, beams of golden light glowing across the floor. 

He cries. Even though he tries not to. He can’t help it, and the tears are absorbed by the sleeves of his hoodie. 

Steve’s hoodie. Eddie hates that he’s wearing it, even though Steve brought it just for him. Even though Steve specifically made sure he brought a black one, even though it smells like Steve. Eddie hates that Murray noticed that it’s Steve’s. 

He stays there for a while. Until the sunlight dims. 

He only lifts his head when the door breaks open, and Steve’s voice says, “Eddie?”

Eddie stands quickly, wiping his face and sniffling as Steve finds him and shuts the door behind himself. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, his voice wavering. “You okay?”

Steve nods. He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but his eyes are shining blankly. And Eddie aches. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to. Steve blinks at him, hesitating. 

“I kind of already knew,” he says like it’s a question. “I just…” He exhales, swallowing, and Eddie knows he’s talking about Nancy and Jonathan. It. “I, like, convinced myself I didn’t care? That it— it didn’t matter?” 

Eddie listens, leaning against the wall, watching Steve push his hair back anxiously. 

“I mean— the world was ending, who gives a shit if— if I get cheated on? It’s so fucking stupid.” He doesn’t seem to realize he’s even talking to Eddie. He’s just talking. Saying what he didn’t say downstairs. “But I’m so… Jesus. Hearing it out loud, like— like Murray was fucking proud, like it was funny, I’m just… I don’t know.”

Steve deflates, leaning against the door, looking at Eddie, and his eyes are shining. 

“Embarrassed?”

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“...I trusted them,” Steve says quietly, weakly. 

“You trusted them,” Eddie repeats. “What they did is their fault, Steve, you didn’t do anything wrong. Trusting them wasn’t wrong,” he adds adamantly, watching the way Steve’s eyes shine. “You thought they were— they were trustworthy. You didn’t know they’d do something like that.” 

Steve sniffs, looking at the floor. His cheeks are flushed, and Eddie hates himself for thinking he looks beautiful. 

“You have every right to feel hurt,” Eddie says gently. Steve looks at him. He swallows. “And to feel angry.”

“What about you?” Steve asks quietly after a moment. Eddie blinks. 

“What about me?” 

Steve looks at him. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s for a moment, intent and searching before he speaks. His voice is so soft. Kind. 

“He just outed you in front of all of us,” he says quietly. “You’re not angry?” 

Eddie blinks again. 

Steve looks at him so kindly. Eddie likes being looked at like this. Like Steve is listening to him even though he isn’t speaking. And Eddie realizes that Steve just knows, that he doesn’t question it. That he knows how Eddie is feeling, but is waiting for him to say it himself.

Eddie’s lip quivers, and he feels like a child again. 

“I…” He hesitates, taking a breath as a wave of nausea washes over him again. Steve just looks at him. “I’ve never come out to anyone,” he says weakly. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. “I’ve never gotten the chance to. My— My dad found some zines in my room when I was fourteen, and I didn’t… I didn’t have to say anything.” His voice is shaking. He’s never told anyone about this, not even Jeff. “The only time I ever heard that man say anything about God was when he was trying to beat the queer out of me,” he says, laughing the way Steve laughed downstairs. Humorless. Almost hysterical. “And he— he called Wayne to tell him everything because he…” 

Eddie trails off, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

“I told myself no one would ever know when Wayne took me in, but I swear it was like overnight, the whole town knew,” he chokes. “Because of— of my hair, or my clothes, or— or because people associate queerness with evil and— and Satanism, I don’t fucking know, but everyone knew and I…” 

He covers his face, his face hot with embarrassment as a sob escapes him, and it feels so stupid to be so upset right now, but Steve just waits patiently, listening and looking at him. 

“People keep taking it,” Eddie chokes, his face wet with tears now, looking at Steve desperately. “It’s mine, and people keep taking it from me.” 

Steve nods. 

And then he’s coming close and wrapping his arms around Eddie, and Eddie is crying into his shoulder, his hands clutching at Steve’s shirt the way they clutched at the tablecloth earlier, his fingers gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles ache. He’s shaking. But Steve’s hands feel steady as they run over his back, and Eddie wants to die. 

Because Murray told them to have sex. And Steve is still here, holding Eddie while he cries, even though he knows Eddie is gay, even though Murray told the whole table that Eddie likes Steve, that it’s so painfully obvious that he likes Steve. That he’s pining, yearning. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into Steve’s neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobs, and Steve moves a hand to hold the back of his head, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s curls to cradle his skull. And it’s almost fucking tender, and Eddie doesn’t know how he got here. Or where he’s going to go. 

Steve is murmuring to him. Quiet I got yous and It’s okays, his voice breathy and soft in Eddie’s ear. Eddie melts against him, and Steve holds him tightly, swaying with him, rubbing his back and scratching his fingertips over his scalp carefully the way he does when Eddie has nightmares. 

Eddie whines into his neck, choking on his breath, and Steve’s arm tightens around his waist like he’s preparing to catch Eddie if he falls. 

“I know,” he whispers softly. “It’s not fair.” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

It’s not fair. 

It’s fucking bullshit. 

The whole world thinks it knows him better than he knows himself. Even if they’re fucking right. It’s not fair. He’s never gotten to speak for himself, never gotten to really introduce himself. 

He aches when he finally stops crying, his fingers relaxing but still holding Steve’s shirt loosely, and his hands are sore. Steve runs his hand through Eddie’s hair. He waits, holding Eddie close even though he isn’t crying anymore, touching him gently, kindly, as Eddie catches his breath. 

“You know what I’m angriest at?” Eddie asks softly after a few moments, his voice weak and breaking from his crying. Steve touches his head again. 

“What?” Steve whispers. 

“...He’s fucking right.”

Steve is quiet. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as they burn again. 

And then Steve is shifting, holding the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie blinks his eyes open to look at him. Steve looks into his eyes intently, and it’s almost too much, but Eddie can’t look away, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt. 

“About everything?” he whispers softly. Tentatively. 

Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes, and he nods. 

He feels sick again. He can’t breathe. 

Steve’s hand moves to Eddie’s face, and he’s so fucking warm. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheek so lightly Eddie can barely feel it. And Steve’s face relaxes, like he’s deflating, as he touches Eddie’s face, as his other hand presses into the small of his back. 

“I really fucking hate him,” Steve breathes. His eyes flicker across Eddie’s face, and they linger on Eddie’s mouth. Eddie whispers his name. Steve hesitates, stammering silently for a moment before, “Can you say it?”

Eddie steps back a little, and their hands fall even though they’re still close enough for Eddie to see the green in his eyes. 

“...Say what?” he asks hesitantly. Steve looks at him, his eyes shining, and he looks so desperate suddenly. 

“Everything,” he says breathlessly. “I wanna hear it from you.”

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears, but Steve looks like he’s begging, and Eddie is weak. 

“I’m gay,” he says softly, whispering like he’s worried someone outside might hear. “And I…” He takes a breath. Steve’s eyes look back and forth between Eddie’s like he’s looking for it. “I have, like… a huge fucking crush on you.”

Steve’s eyes drop to Eddie’s mouth like he’s watching his lips form the words. Eddie is trembling. Steve suddenly feels like he’s across the room, like he’s far away even though they’re standing so close. 

“I might fucking be in love with you, Steve, I…” 

He chokes on his breath, and Steve is touching him again, reaching for his face and wiping away his tears carefully, stepping closer. Eddie’s hands find his waist, and he grips his shirt again. 

Steve says his name. 

It always sounds so nice in his mouth. 

“You don’t– You don’t have to,” Eddie says, trying to tear himself away, closing his eyes as Steve holds his face and wipes his tears. “I know, it’s…”

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, his hands tightening on Eddie’s cheeks, and he’s so close now, their noses almost brushing. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

 Eddie’s eyes widen. He leans back to see Steve clearly, and Steve looks so nervous that Eddie aches. 

“Really?” Eddie asks weakly. 

“I…” Steve pauses, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks and licking his lips, hesitating. “I might be fucking in love with you too,” he whispers. 

Eddie closes his eyes, exhaling as Steve strokes his cheeks again. He gasps for breath when Steve’s forehead touches his, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt before he slides his hands over his waist gently. He can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Steve asks again, his breath soft on Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah,” he chokes. 

Steve’s palms press to Eddie’s cheeks, and Eddie’s hands clutch at Steve’s waist desperately when Steve’s nose nudges his, when their lips brush. He feels like he’s dying. 

But Steve kisses him so softly, so sweetly. Holding his face tenderly in his hands and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling away to look at him, to check, even though Eddie is holding him against himself, even though Eddie’s chin lifts like he’s subconsciously searching for his mouth again. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and Steve is smiling at him. It’s such a soft smile, and Eddie forgets everything that’s happened today. Except Steve’s lips on his. 

“Please,” he breathes. Begs. Pleads. 

Steve kisses him again. One of his hands slides to hold the back of his head again, his fingers threading into Eddie’s curls, and his other shifts down to Eddie’s neck, his fingertips slipping under the hoodie as his thumb brushes over Eddie’s throat so lightly it tickles a little bit. Eddie’s hands press to Steve’s waist and slide to press into the small of his back, and he’s probably wrinkling the fabric of his shirt, but neither of them cares as they tilt their heads, as their lips part. 

They pull away to look at each other after a few moments, close enough that they’re sharing breaths as they both breathe hard, as Steve’s fingertips scratch over Eddie’s scalp lightly and Eddie’s eyelids flutter for a second. And then Steve is tilting his head and leaning down to kiss Eddie’s neck, his fingers twisting in his hair to hold him in place, and Eddie is dying, letting out a whimper as his eyes close and his hands reach for Steve’s arms. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his upper arms, squeezing as Steve presses a slow kiss under his ear. His mouth is so warm. 

Steve kisses him when he lifts his head, and Eddie kisses him back desperately, reaching to wrap his arms around his neck, whining when Steve’s hands find his waist and pull. 

Then Steve pushes, reaching up to hold the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie stumbles back, his fingers tangling in Steve’s hair and tugging when his back hits the wall.  Steve’s hand blocks his head from the wall, and Eddie smiles against his mouth, gasping when Steve’s tongue slips across his lip. 

“Steve,” he gasps, lightheaded as Steve sucks on his lower lip, as one of his hands slides under the hoodie to touch his skin. His palms are a little rough with calluses, scratching the sensitive scar tissue on Eddie’s waist lightly, and Eddie groans. 

Steve pulls away with a gasp, looking at Eddie desperately, frantically, his other hand holding his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his lips are shining, and his hair is a mess, and Eddie wantshimwantshimwantshim—

“Do you wanna leave?” Steve asks, his voice rough, and Eddie looks at his mouth, still panting. “I… I don’t wanna see any of them, I just…” He’s breathless too. His hand runs over Eddie’s scarring again almost mindlessly as his thumb brushes his cheek. “Do you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. 

Steve smiles softly, his eyes shining at him, and he leans in to kiss him one more time, caressing his cheek. (Caressing. Jesus.) Eddie hums, savouring it before they part with a quiet, slick noise that seems to echo in the empty room. 

Eddie feels lightheaded again, but he’s smiling like he’s sleepy as Steve shifts his hands to press his chin up, smiling at how pliant Eddie is. Eddie laughs under his breath, his hands holding Steve’s shoulders. 

“I’m so fucking… relieved right now,” Eddie whispers, his head falling to rest on the wall behind him. Steve kisses him again before he pulls him close, hugging him tightly. 

Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, wrapping his arms around him tightly, wanting to jump up and wrap his legs around his waist, to cling to him like a koala, wanting to climb inside him, to be as close as fucking possible. Steve exhales roughly, pushing a hand into Eddie’s hair. 

Steve holds his hand as they leave, ignoring the others that are gathered in the living room, even though they’re clearly waiting for the two of them. Eddie lets the door slam shut behind them. Steve drives. Eddie reaches over and puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently as he looks out the windows and watches the world go by. 

He’s kind of anxious about this, whatever it is. Anxious that he isn’t what Steve thinks he is, what Steve hopes he is, anxious that he isn’t enough for him. 

But he’ll try his best, he knows he will. He’ll bring Steve fucking flowers, he’ll write him fucking poems if it makes him smile. He’ll ravish him the way he deserves, touch him the way he likes, tell him every chance he gets how fucking beautiful he is. He’ll kiss him good morning and learn how to make his coffee just right. He’ll memorize the pattern of his moles and name constellations on his skin. 

He’ll remind him every single day, as long as Steve lets him have him, what he deserves. 

[nodirectionhome-ao3]

Blood Traitor

Written for Jilytober 31 Prompts, Day 16: “My words are my faith, to hell with our good name.” 1,174 words.

———

James wakes to the sight of a red halo, hovering over him. 

At least he thinks that’s what it is. It’s tricky to tell, without his glasses. It could just as easily be something dreadfully unpleasant up there. A fire charm, perhaps. Or some sort of embarrassing Transfiguration spell conjured by the lads to torment him a bit. But as his eyes adjust to the light and he squints them just so, the specific shade of red becomes undeniably familiar, and he feels his lips stretch into a smile. 

“Alright, Evans?”

No answer. Blast. Is he hallucinating? That thought draws a discontented groan from him. Leave it to Avery to find a curse that makes me bloody hallucinate.

He groans again when he sits up, biting his tongue against the flash of pain that surges through his body at the movement. It’s everywhere—his muscles, his joints. Even in his damn ears, somehow. 

He reaches out blindly with his hands, patting at the nightstand and huffing a bit when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

“Here, mate,” a new voice says. Sirius. A cold hand finds his, and he feels his glasses pressed into his palm. 

“Ah, thanks Padfoot.” 

James blinks as his vision slips into focus. The scene that awaits him is decidedly not cheerful. He’s in the hospital wing, his bed surrounded by people—Sirius and Remus standing to his left, Pete at his feet, and on his right…

Lily sits perched on the edge of the bed beside him, her hands fidgeting in her lap. Her hair is pulled back away from her face, and her eyes are rimmed with red and somewhat dulled with the tell-tale signs of a long afternoon spent crying. 

A different kind of pain jolts through James at the sight—far worse than anything physical. He racks his brain immediately for the best way to comfort her, to soothe her, to show her that this is nothing—nothing.

“You gave us a right scare there, Prongs,” Sirius speaks up after a moment. His expression is grim—too grim—like he’s staring down at a ghost. It unsettles James, distinctly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Bah.” James waves a dismissive hand, biting back a wince at the pain that runs through him. “I’ve felt worse.” A lie and they all know it. “Those Slytherins should really reconsider their methods here. All they’ve really done is give me a brilliant excuse to miss class for a week or two. Or d’you think I could stretch it for longer? They can handle the Tentaculas in Herbology while I’m kicking back in bed—eating the finest foods the kitchen has to offer and watching my dear friends do all my homework for me. The high life, truly.” 

Sirius’s mouth twitches, almost into a smile. “First of all, you prat—you’ll be eating nothing but broth for a while, with all the potions Pomfrey has you on.”

“Delicious,” James says. 

“And second of all—” Sirius really does smile this time. “—if you think any of us are going to do your homework for you, you’re as dimwitted as the dungeon snakes.”

James grins. “My, my, Padfoot. Don’t you see how grievously injured I am?”

Sirius opens his mouth to retort—no doubt with a blistering quip on the tip of his tongue—but before he can, a horrible noise bursts from James's right as Lily bursts into tears.

James stills, his heart stuttering to a stop. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Lily Evans cry, and he’s never—never seen her cry like this. She’s sobbing in a matter of seconds, the back of her hand pressed against her nose while she shakes and shudders.

“Lily,” James says, not bothering to cover his wince this time as he pushes against the mattress beneath him, dragging himself closer to her. “Oh Merlin, Lily, no, don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” she gasps. “I’m so sorry. I’m so—”

“Hey, no, it’s alright—”

“No, it’s not. It’s not alright, James. You—” She hiccups. “You could’ve died, and it’s—it’s—it’s all my fault.”

James feels his heart plummet. “Whoa, hey—enough of that, now—here, shhh—c’mere—”

She doesn’t protest when he pulls her closer, collapsing against his chest in a flurry of sobs. He kisses the top of her head—once, twice, three times. He smooths her hair. He kisses her head a fourth time. “It’s not your fault, love,” he soothes. “This had nothing to do with you.”

It’s not entirely the truth, and he suspects they both know it. After all, they’d only been public about their relationship for a day before the Slytherins cornered him in that dark corridor. And Avery had certainly made his motivations crystal clear while he and his goons surrounded James, aiming curse after curse at his aching body.

‘Blood traitor,’ he’d snarled, over and over again with each successive curse. ‘Blood traitor,’ spat through flashes of green. ‘Blood traitor,’ hissed with each kick to James’s ribs. ‘Blood traitor, blood traitor, blood traitor,’ until it was all James could hear. Until he couldn’t think, breathe, feel—

“It’s not your fault,” James says, more firmly this time. He can’t bear to let her think that. “Their hatred is not your fault.”

“James—”

“Lily.”

He pulls back as delicately as he can, gently guiding her face away from his chest until she’s looking up at him and he’s smoothing those fly-away hairs of hers behind her ears, pressing his forehead down to hers. He can smell the faint aroma of her shampoo. Citrusy. Soft. Intoxicating. Lily.

“To hell with them,” he says. “To hell with all of them. I don’t care about blood or surnames, Lily. You know that.”

She inhales shakily, shivering a little while his thumbs brush those blasted tears from her face. “I—I know. But—”

“No buts,” James whispers. “They can do whatever they want to me, but they’ll never make me love you any less.”

She lets out a shuddering breath, a strangled sob, and then she’s sinking against him again—burying her face into the soft flannel of his hospital pajamas. 

He smoothes her hair again. He kisses her temples. It takes some time, but eventually he feels her begin to ease. Her sobs peter out, her body stills, until she’s no longer shaking against him but is just leaning there. And he’s just holding her. And all is right, really, when they’re sitting here like this.

“But,” he says at last, taking back up his earlier teasing cheerfulness. “If you really want to thank me for being a perfectly gallant, brave, self-sacrificing sort of boyfriend—”

Sirius and Pete both snicker. Remus groans. 

“—then I wouldn’t say no to you doing my Potions essay for me.”

Lily chuckles against him, and the tension James has been holding in his chest breaks at last. She lifts her head again to look at him, and he’s relieved to see that usual sparkle lighting back up in her eyes. “In your dreams, Potter.”

[parfaitblogs]

¡hola! como estas? you said you were accepting requests? can i request a blurb of spencerxclumsy, anxious reader? in public, she drops something or spills a drink (something like that) and she feels ashamed bc she’s always been made to feel that way. but he helps and reassures her that it’s no matter to anyone? sorry if this is a dumb idea, ha. gracias x

spencer reid x clumsy! reader. fluff/comfort. 0.4k words. 18+ suggestive content at the end. reader is mentioned wearing makeup.

a/n: holaaa! i took spanish up until grade 10 don’t ask me anything else LOL. i wrote this as a fully fledged fic then reread the request and saw you said blurb so i rewrote it like this... is this what a blurb is… guys the last time i posted my writing was on ao3 in 2021 and before that it was 2016 on wattpad so! i don’t know anything about anything! but if you want the full fic then just let me know because i am happy to post it :]

spencer reid who will catch you in the morning when you fall down the stairs –  asking if you're okay, but not pressing when you nod your head, even with the tears blurring your vision that he could see.

spencer reid who walks back to the fast-food joint you went to for lunch, because you dropped the paper bag full of the team's food, and you were, once again on the verge of tears, feeling awful because "that was everyone's lunch!" spencer reid who grabs your arm milliseconds before you slam into a pole to pull you out of the way, chest shaking with laughter as you glared at the inanimate object that got in your way (not the other way around!). spencer reid who helped you pick up and organise all the files you had just scattered all over the police station's floor, then pulled you aside and spent thirty minutes calming you down because “it's okay” and “nobody will even notice”.

then, spencer reid who will stare at you with furrowed eyebrows and a deep frown when you escape from the bar after your fifth and final incident of the day – pushing you over the edge; spilling your drink that rossi had so kindly bought (not that he really had a choice) all over yourself. who will then follow you out after cleaning it up the best he could, and joke with you to distract you from the ache in your heart and the tears streaking down your face, clearing a path through your makeup. who will ask you what's going on in that "beautiful head of yours", and get thoroughly confused when you say you're embarrassed about everything that had happened today. who will call you angel and explain that "embarrassment is caused when we think the self-image we cultivated isn't being received that way anymore", and make you laugh because of course he has an explanation for being embarrassed. 

spencer reid who will reassure you that he isn't making fun of you in his brain if you fall over or spill a drink all over yourself ­­– quite the opposite actually. no, he is instead worrying about the bruise you will no doubt have tomorrow, or the fact that your skin is now sticky and you're probably very uncomfortable. and he tells you that "nothing you do is embarrassing to me" and that "everything you do is endearing. i wish you could see that". so you will just cry harder, which will prompt him to hug you and pepper your forehead with kisses. and then he will take you home (or back to your hotel room), and he will show you every other way he can make you embarrassed, until you're so flustered you can't protest any further.

[morellywrong]

Teddy Bear

Warnings: stalking (?), lovesick Ethan, gender neutral reader✨, obsession, unhealthy standards of love, Ghostface!Ethan ofc, really dark themes in this one like low-key non-con but not explicitly described, kidnapping, implied drugging

Request!

It's kind of short I'm sorry I panicked 😭👹

"Hey...how are you doing?" Ethan wraps his arms around you, relishing in the fact you find comfort in him.

Your hands grip at the cotton of his jumper, breathing his in scent you've come to find familiar and safe.

"I'm okay..." You mumble into his chest, sniffling softly.

A body had been found. The body of a boy who'd just asked you on a date the day before.

"I-I just...I don't get it...I saw him yesterday- who would wanna hurt him?" Ethan sighs against your scalp softly, bury his face against the top of your head.

"I don't know...someone with intent, for sure."

You nod, not thinking much of it as you pull back, about to wipe your own tears when one of his hands fly up, wiping a stray tear from your cheek.

"C'mon, let's go back to my place....I'll look after you." You agree. Of course you would. Who would blame you? A grieving person is a vulnerable person, no less.

You wake up blearily with unfamiliar clothes on your body, in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room.

When you sit up, your head protests, pounding with ache as you try to clear your spinning vision.

"Y/n...I didn't think you'd be awake yet..."

That voice. Which once held comfort, now holds a sinister, underlying intent.

"Ethan? Where...where am I?" He sits on the bed beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

"You're with me, that's all that matters. I kept you safe, remember?" Your brows furrow, shaking your head softly. You don't remember. You don't even remember walking to his dorm.

Although this is definitely not his dorm.

It's a dingy old room. Maybe a basement? Or somewhere in a warehouse. Wherever it is, you're sure it's far away from anything else.

"You said you were scared. That the killer might've targeted you....you're safe here. He can't get you here." He whispers against your ear, before brushing his nose against your skin, almost like he's trying to ingrain the scent of you into his brain. Like an apex predator.

"...it's you." You mumble, staring blankly ahead of you. You don't have the energy to show much more emotion than numbness.

"Hm?"

"It's you. You're Ghostface..." You whisper, taking a shaky breath as you glance at him sluggishly.

He grins, sharp and ruggedly.

The smile was once comforting to you. When it was much more gentle, or seemed that way at least to you.

Now it holds secrets. Horrible, disgusting secrets.

"Look at you, smart little thing....so silly." He kisses your cheek before standing up.

"...are you hungry?" You look up at him, and it dawns upon you.

Images of the previous night briefly flash across your vision. Of him leering over you. Whispering in your ear. Putting words in your mouth as you couldn't speak for yourself. Touching you, claiming you as his own.

He grins down at you, placing his finger under your chin, watching your tired, helpless eyes meet his. It's like he knows you're beginning to remember.

"...welcome home, darling..."

[whump-imagines]

Cereal Aisle Meet Cute

Kelly x reader

WC: 810

Requested fill

---

You were walking down the cereal aisle trying to finish your grocery shopping as quickly as possible. About an aisle and a half ago you'd started feeling nauseous and it was only getting worse.

The further you walked the more you felt like you were struggling to drag your feet any further.

Next, you noticed a building headache and the shakes. The jittery feeling was what had you remembering you'd barely eaten breakfast in your rush to get out of the house.

Before you could decide what to do next, your vision was tunneling and you felt like you were spinning then it was dark.

Opening your eyes, you were greeted by concerned green eyes looking down at you. You quickly realized you were laying on the floor. “Oh, no.” This had to be the most embarrassing moment of your life. You tried to sit up but the stranger stopped you.

“Don't move,” he ordered. He was pressing something to your forehead.

“I'm fine.” You tried to argue.

He looked like he didn't believe you. “You hit your head pretty hard when you fell. Let me check for a concussion first.”

You snorted. “What are you, a doctor?”

Flashing you a cocky smirk, he shook his head. “No, I'm a firefighter. My name is Kelly, what's yours?”

You introduced yourself as you realized you'd been staring at him.

He let go of the pressure on your head and placed his fingers in both of your hands. “Can you squeeze my fingers?”

You did as he asked while arguing, “I really am fine. I think I just didn't eat breakfast… low blood sugar.”

He nodded, guiding you hand to hold the cloth, or maybe a napkin, against your forehead. “Follow my finger.”

Again, you did as he asked.

He pulled his phone out his pocket and turned on the flashlight. He shined the light in your eyes and pain exploded across your head. “Ouch. Jesus, why did that hurt so much?”

“Because you have a concussion. I'm going to call you an ambulance.”

“Ugh,” you groaned. “Is that necessary? I really think I'll be fine.”

“That gash in your head is probably going to need stitches and you have a concussion. You need a head CT to check for a brain bleed,” he explained.

“Oh.” Suddenly you were trying not to panic. You couldn't bleed to death in a cereal aisle. That had to be the most embarrassing death possible.

“Hey, just breathe,” Kelly soothed, pulling your attention back. “It's not likely but there is a small possibility, best to be safe.” He dialed as held the phone up to his ear quickly giving your location and explaining what happened.

Now knowing how bad this could be, you were trying not to panic. You could feel yourself starting to wheeze with quick breaths.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart. Just follow me.” He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his chest. He took exaggerated deep breaths for you to follow.

“Is there anyone you want me to call to meet you at the hospital?” he asked, possibly in an attempt to distract you.

You shook your head. “No. I just moved here six months ago.” You tried to take a deep breath. “The only people I know are my coworkers.”

By the time you'd calmed down the paramedics were there. They greeted Kelly like they were best friends and something about that helped you to finally relax.

You weren't sure when you'd grabbed onto Kelly's hand but as they rolled you out of the store you realized you were squeezing it hard. You eased the pressure off and quickly apologized to him.

“Squeeze all you need to, I can take it.” He winked at you and let go of your hand as the medics loaded the stretcher into the ambulance. He climbed in and sat beside you taking your hand once more.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“Riding to the hospital with you,” he stated as if it was the most obvious thing.

“You don't have to do that. I'm sure you have better things to do with your day.”

“Unless you want me to leave, I don't have anything else to do. You shouldn't have to be alone.”

You sighed a breath of relief. “Thanks.”

Eight Months Later

Kelly walked into the bedroom where you were getting ready to go grocery shopping with him. He leaned close and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Did you eat breakfast? I don't need you fainting on me at the store.”

Rolling your eyes, you grumbled. “One time and you never live it down.”

He just chuckled as he pulled you into a hug. “I'll stop teasing you… some day.”

“Sure, you will.” You pull him in and kiss him. “I don't regret that skipped breakfast. It's the reason I met you.”

[pendingnomdeplume]

i am drowning, and there's no sign of land pairing: hozier x gn!reader rating: T tags: angst, mental illness, hurt/comfort words: 761

author's note: This was pre-written and is part of a backlog of items I still have from the previous blog. xoxo.

title from: No Children by The Mountain Goats divider by: cafekitsune

It’s late when you call, a last resort for which you’ll profusely apologize and ask forgiveness that you’ll never believe or accept. The stains of leftover tears make your skin feel tight as you rub at your swollen eyes and take a deep breath. At least your breathing has evened, no longer wracked with hiccuping sobs that make your ribs hurt. 

“Hey, are you okay?” It’s the first thing to rush from his mouth, worry obvious in his voice. You can imagine him now, frizzy hair thrown up and out of the way while he sits at his computer or hunches over a notebook—the anxiety gripping his chest as he sees your name pop up at an hour that is usually all his own. 

The only response you can summon is a humorless laugh as you shake your head despite him not being able to see it. 

“Do you need me to call someone?” Andrew wouldn’t ask without reason, and you’d provided plenty of reason for this level of concern before. 

“Nothing so dire.” You wince at the way your voice cracks. “It’s just…it’s been a night.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

It’s such a simple phrase, but it makes your heart swell and tears prick the corners of your eyes. One of the few people who’s never made you feel like a burden on them. 

 You sigh. “My brain won’t stop, and it’s so loud today. I don’t know what actually triggered it, but…it’s been pretty touch-and-go the last few days.”

You brace yourself for an impact that likely won’t come. Andrew isn’t like that, won’t blame you for not reaching out sooner as if it’s a moral failing. Likely, he’ll be more frustrated with himself for not seeing signs even when you’ve worked so hard to conceal them. 

“Did you email your psych?” 

The question sends an electric buzz of irritation along your skin that you try to shake off. He knows you hate that question, but he also knows that you drag your feet on your own well-being—part of the menagerie of mental illness that convinces you it doesn’t matter anyway. You pause and take a deep breath to swallow down the snappy comment that desperately wants to break free. 

“I did, but I don’t know when I’ll hear back.” 

You’re both quiet as each of you thinks of the next thing to say, but everything that comes to mind is just as alarming as the call itself.  A barrage of self-doubt, self-pity, and self-deprecation tumbles through your brain, and you squeeze your eyes shut as though it will do anything to quiet the roar. 

“Do you…want to talk about it?” The question is asked thoughtfully and extended carefully. You take a moment to turn it over in your mind, gauging where exactly your own emotional energy is at. 

Finally, you shake your head. “No, I don’t think…I don’t think there’s anything to really talk about. Not right now, anyway. I just…” 

I just don’t feel real. I need an anchor to reality. 

Andrew asks, “Do you want to get on FaceTime, then? I’m working on something if you want to hear.” If you need company.

When the screen fills with his image, he smiles and greets you softly. An acoustic guitar rests in his lap as he flips back through his notebook to find where he’d left off. As he plucks out quiet notes, you shimmy down under the covers and reach over to turn off your bedside lamp. Andrew glances over when he notices the shift in his peripheral vision, and he smiles again when he sees your eyes peeking out from beneath your duvet, already starting to get heavy with sleep. 

You watch him for a while, occasionally catching the way he glances at his phone to see if you’re still there, still awake. Warmth floods your chest as he sings to himself, little sounds and whispers here and there as you catch a few words that make little sense to you within the greater context. 

Sleep takes you just as the sky begins to shift. The birds just outside Andrew’s window signal dawn, and he’d nearly forgotten he was on a call at all with how comfortable and cozy the silence is between you. 

He catches the way your eyes dart beneath closed eyelids, clearly in the depths of a dream. He whispers your name once, then repeats it louder than before, but you barely stir. Finally, he reaches over, letting his hand hover over the End Call button before whispering a barely audible, “Goodnight.” 

[tan1shere]

Ellie x anxious reader !

A/n: hi my beautiful people, it's currently 3 am.. and I have work in a few hours but we won't talk about that 😍 got this little idea since I'm an overly anxious person. Mine always creeps up righttt when I'm about to sleep, if you're like me. I get you, and honestly I hope some of you are so I don't feel so alone. Or whether you get it any time of the day (ditto, I just get it worse at night.) This one's for you !! Anyways, enjoy :)

Masterlist

♤ Your anxiety came in all shapes, forms, and sizes. Any time, all day sometimes everyday. It's always going to be there, but you've tried to learn to control it. Buttt when that's not the case your loving girlfriend is always there to ease your pesky brain.

♤ It would always happen at night, when you'd get off to sleep, at first you kept silent. You didn't want to bother, nor be a nuisance towards Ellie, but one night she noticed something off about you.

- you were stalling, making up excuses of things you forgot to do that day.

"Shit, the laundry-"

"Bubba, you can always do it tomorrow. Come lay down with me sweetheart."

- her gentle tone soon got to you and you told her.

"What's gotten into you?"

- the look she gave you was pure worry, concerned for your frantic behavior. Then when you kept inhaling these breaths, making then end in slight sighs she just needed to get whatever it was out of you.

"M-my-"

- you shake your head, you felt so stupid, you begin to put your head on your hands, she pries them away so softly, getting you to look at her as she placed her soft fingers on your cheek.

"Talk to me. Please? It's hurting me knowing something is bothering you so much."

- you could tell she meant it. You always felt like no one did, feeling silly about your anxiety, as that's what others made you think. That you were just being dramatic. A baby. You let out another breath.

"I get really anxious, about heaps of things, to the point where my brain feels like its on fire and I can't focus on anything properly. It gets worse at night time, so I try to make myself tired, knowing that if I lay down wide awake my thoughts will scatter."

- she listens carefully to what you have to say, she was always such a good listener.

"Why didn't you tell me baby."

"I was scared you'd think I was pathetic.."

- your head lowers but she immediately stops that from happening. Her eyes on yours as she begins to speak in a soft tone.

"You, my girl. Are one of the most bravest woman I know. To have to deal with such a thing all the time is huge, and the fact that I've never even witnessed it shows how truly brave you are. Though I wish you told me sooner, its awful holding such things in."

- her hand never leaves your face stroking your cheek. You melt into her touch, her voice and presence making you sleepy. Maybe that's all you needed? Her?

"I love you, Els."

"I love you so much more angel."

♤ One technique she uses on you is the 5 things game. 5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste. Which is always water that she gets for you.

- Youd just been having a panic attack, your emotions, your brain going mental. You felt like you couldn't breathe. When she heard something fall in the kitchen she came racing over to you. Your vision incredibly blury with a mixture of tears and whiteness from the light headedness.

"Hey hey, eyes on me."

- her voice was like silk, still in desperate need to calm you down.

"Come on baby."

- she would encourage you, moving your hand to her chest, trying to get you to calm down a tiny bit before she continued.

"5 things you can see."

- you'd take a second to respond not knowing if you could get words out, let alone forming a sentence.

"You.. *gulp* th- that glass.. that I just broke.."

- she didn't stop you rambling, the more words the better. She needed your mind far gone from any other thoughts.

"The counter, the sink. The early morning sky."

"Good good, 4 things you can feel. You got this mama."

- it'd keep going until you got to the last one, your brain was far from the original problem by then, but she needed you hydrated, knowing your mouth was also incredibly dry.

"Last but not least, one thing you can taste?"

- she grabs a fresh glass pouring water into it, giving it to you to drink. You take a good sip, letting it wet your mouth feeling so much more calm now.

"Water."

"That's my girl."

- she would always say that, making a smile spread across your face, you always felt so safe with her.

♤ Another one she will do on occasion is hold your hand gently, playing with your fingers and or rubbing small circles on your palm. Even when she holds your hand she will rub her thumb on the back of it. It distract you, calms you down. Especially if you're talking to someone, not only are you anxious but you're just genuinely awkward, so sometimes you freak out when talking to people. That's when she will grab it, letting you know she's there with you and there's nothing to worry about.

♤ yawning. You would always yawn when you felt short of breath, whenever you felt uneasy in your chest yawning seemed to help with that. Ellies noticed all your techniques over the years of being with you. Sometimes it made her feel like she couldn't help you in any way and it got to her, you'd assure her that you were fine but she knows that was far from the truth.

♤ so she studied your helping mechanisms, one was something hot on your chest, like a heating pack. It calmed you right down. Ellie even Googled some other things to try help. She once noticed after you had drunk a little bit that the type of alcohol seemed to make you sleepy.

- she was typing away at her computer when she came across something that said some alcohols can get you sleepy.

"Whatcha doin Els?"

- your soft voice was heard as you enter the room, her eyes meet yours.

"Just some research baby."

-she flashes you a smile, going to continue. You return the smile, going out the room to leave her be. As she continues to read articles, she found a home remedy to help with sleep, and anxiety. It was quite simple. Ellie came back downstairs and began to make it in a tiny bottle. She also read lavender was good for sleep, grabbing some oil of the scent from the cupboard, and putting a bit on the heating pack.

-you were in the living room, watching TV when she comes in super happy. Finally she could help you.

"What's this?"

"I made some things to help you sleep. These drops will help, put three on your tongue every night, and this heat pack. Which! Has some lavender oil rubbed into it."

- she ends her explanation off with a toothy smile, feeling so proud of herself. It only made you smile, feeling the secure feeling you'd always feel with her. She truly was your world.

:))

[rowanmutt-afterdark]

I've gotten a LOT of Mirage x Reader requests, so here I am feeding the lot of ya. Hope you enjoy! I got a couple ideas this one was by far my favorite. I already planned on doing an oral scene but a suggestion to do it helped motivate me.

I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope to write more Mirage and other Transformers Characters I'm the future.

Enjoy~

WARNING : ⚠️ 🔞 NSFW themes, oral sex, and masturbation included in this short fic. Please do not read if you are under the age or 18. This is a NSFW blog so if you are under the age, please move on!

ROTB Mirage X Gender Neutral Reader

It's night, that's all you know. You've lost track of the time. The amount of time you've spent on your back with your legs suspended over a pair of shoulders for… you can't even remember. All you can feel is a mouth and glossa teasing your sex. It's like his glossa is dancing around, leaving your back tingling and your legs shaking as he starts to bring you towards yet another orgasm.

You are making the lewdest of sounds as you buck against his face. His glossa slowing down as he helps you ride through your orgasm until he feels you go limp, is only when he pulls away to smirk down at you. A shit eating grin that makes you glare at him through your half lidded lashes.

"What number was that?" Mirage asks as he pulls away briefly to lick his lips, his blue eyes casting a glow over your body in the darkness of your garage.

"I-I can't remember." You admit, breathing heavily as you try to catch your breath. You hear a tsk and his glossa clicking in disappointment.

"Now, Mami/Papi, I told you to count for me. It seems I may have to start all over, again. I don't mind doing that, but from your bodies reaction. You're getting tired. Now, let me ask again, baby. What number?" He asks. You rack your brain for a number, your brain is so hazy with lust and the feeling of floating on cloud nine makes it even harder.

"N-nine?" You ask.

There's silence before you feel his mouth on you again making you sob in pleasure as he picks up where he left off. Sucking at you rather loudly, pulling your hips up off the table and closer to his mouth, your hips were practically pressing against his nose!

"Not quite, baby. The number you were looking for was thirteen. Seems you need another to help jog your memory. Don't worry, I'll keep you awake. We still have a few more hours until your roommate gets back. For now, enjoy the ride, baby."

You groan before squealing as his glossa is quickly working at you again. You can hear his lips smacking and sucking around you, it's loud and lewd. You love it. Though your body was starting to scream at you that it was starting to get to be too much. Mirage has you so focused on his glossa that you don't hear the sound of his paneling covering his spike opening with a soft 'click'. A soft glow and his arm not holding you is moving jerking motions.

You take a peek to see his servo wrapped around his erect spike. It's bright blue and red bio light lighting up his torso and thighs as he strokes himself while he's enjoying getting a taste of you. It's hot to see him getting lost on the pleasure he is feeling and giving you.

Mirage is a giver, he loves seeing you get worked up and begging for him. Due to the size difference, it's rather difficult to take him. So, you have found other ways around penetration. Though after the incident involving you almost popping yoru jaw out of place trying to give him oral, he's not let you do anything to his spike besides giving him a handjob or using your thighs.

"I can feel you getting closer, Ven a mí, nena~" He purrs against your sex making you arch your back and open your mouth in a silent scream as you cum again. This one hits you so hard that your vision goes white as Mirage helps keep you still against his mouth so you can ride it out.

When you come back to, Mirage has you laying on the blanket he laid out earlier. You are laying on your back and him laying on his side with his servo on your middle. You glance at his crotch to see his spike has already been tucked away, but his thighs are covered in his release.

"Have fun, mi amor?" He asks with a cheeky smirk. Your response is smacking at his chest rather weakly.

"Fuck you."

"We just did."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, mi amor."

[quietblueriver]

Because I can't imagine Imogen was ready to let that moment in the basement go, some quickly written Southern Gothic angst/love/comfort set between their nighttime excursion and Imogen's visit to the temple the next day. Light spoilers for ep. 77.

-

When the door closes, the sounds of Fearne’s hoofs fading down the hallway, Imogen turns quickly to her pack, doing what she can to look busy as she shuffles clothes and tries to catch her breath. She needs a minute. She needs more than a minute. She needs…

“Imogen.” 

It’s loving and soft, because of course it is, because it’s Laudna, but it’s also…she’s doing that thing she does sometimes, where she acts like Imogen doesn’t know what she wants. Like Imogen is too young and too naive to understand. The same tone she used in the basement. Promise me. 

As if Laudna wouldn’t burn the world down for her. As if they don’t both know it. 

It’s not the first time she’s dealt with this bullshit. Laudna gets to be passionate and protective and fierce in her love (I would murder everyone around us if anything happened to you) but Imogen is supposed to pretend like Laudna’s life is worth less to her, to the world. Supposed to somehow just…let Laudna go. Because what? She’s a little bit dead? A little bit different? Imogen leveled a city block without conscious thought and nobody’s trying to put her down like a rabid dog, so why does everybody act like that bitch Delilah makes Laudna’s life irrelevant? Why does Laudna act like her life doesn’t…like Imogen should just be able to…

Her veins crackle, shoulders so tight they rival Ashton’s, and when the sound of Laudna’s boots stepping closer reaches her ears, she says, sharp and unyielding, “Not now.” 

The steps halt immediately, the room quiet aside from the settling fabric of Laudna’s skirt and Imogen’s heaving breath. 

“I’m…I really am sorry, darling.” 

Her body moves before her brain can stop it, eyes bright and anger flaring as she turns fast enough to surprise them both. Laudna is running her eyes up and down Imogen’s body a bit frantically, like she’s working out a puzzle, and it’s not fear, but it’s a close enough cousin that Imogen sees a flash of her daddy, hard eyes turned on Imogen in the barn after one of the foals got out. The shame is enough to temper her, but it means all the rest of it comes up instead: anger, still, but hurt and fear and the deep grief that lingers in the corners of her dreams, in the desperate way she sometimes holds to Laudna. 

“For what?” Her voice breaks, but she shakes her head again as Laudna holds out a hand, so Laudna drops it, fists her skirt nervously instead. “Why are you sorry?”

There’s genuine confusion on her face as she says, “For everything in the basement. I know…I know how it must have seemed, when my form of dread looked so much like her. I know it can’t have been pleasant to watch me lose control that way. Being there just…” 

Imogen holds her hand up, light licking up her fingertips, and Laudna’s words trail off, her eyes caught on the lightning running through Imogen’s scars, worry furrowing her brow. Imogen forces down the impulse to comfort. She’s started this conversation, and she needs to finish it. For the both of them. If she lets herself get close enough to run a thumb over the crease between Laudna’s eyebrows, to hold the hand still playing with the material of her skirt, that’ll be it. So she doesn’t, focuses instead on the memory of Laudna’s hands in hers in that room. Promise me. 

“I’m not mad ‘cause you looked like her, Laud. Or ‘cause you…I know what that place was to you, an’ I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for you to be there again. You don’t,” she works to keep the frustration from seeping into her words, “you don’t have to keep apologizin’ for her. You’re not her, Laudna, even though everybody keeps actin’...you keep actin’ like you are.”

She crosses her arms tight across her chest and stares at the floor, blinking hard as her vision blurs with tears. 

“I know I’m not her. I know that, darling.” 

The toes of her boots come into Imogen’s line of sight and she doesn’t tell her to stop but she does back herself up, pressing as hard as she can into the table behind her and wincing slightly as a sharp corner digs into her skin. The boots come no further. 

“Do you? Because it feels like you…” She uncrosses her arms to wipe her palms swiftly across her cheeks. “It feels like you’re just waitin’ on her to take over. Waitin’…” Her voice cracks again, and she grabs behind her, finds the handkerchief sitting beside her pack and brings it to her face. 

“Imogen.”

She shakes her head fiercely, forces a deep breath and then looks up to meet Laudna’s eyes, fist clenched around damp fabric. “Waitin’ to leave.”

Laudna takes half a step forward and stops as Imogen tries to back up further, managing only to dig the corner of the table further into her flesh and guarantee herself a bruise. Laudna’s going to gnaw through her lip, Imogen can already tell, and there’s black pooling at growing nails, ichor waiting to be pulled between nervous fingers. Still, Imogen holds the line, appreciates the distraction of pain, the sturdy wood that won’t yield to her body’s pressure. 

“I don’t want to leave, darling. I don’t want to leave you. I’m not giving up. I promise.” 

Promise me. Her eyes shine, anger forcing its way to the front of her mind again, and Laudna begins to say something, but Imogen beats her to it, words cutting.  

“Oh, do you? Promise? Should I go get Fearne, then? So there’s a witness?”

“Imogen, what…”

“Is it…d’you think I’m so out of line that…or maybe so ridiculous? So naive that…” Her scars burn now, heat across her skin and in the tears pressing against the corners of her eyelids. They continue to leak despite her best efforts, tracking down her cheeks until Imogen brings the yellow fabric of the handkerchief back to her face, letting her eyes slide closed for a moment. 

When she opens them again, Laudna looks stricken, her body fighting its instinct to close the distance between them, frozen in the face of Imogen’s obvious desire for space. 

She presses out through the thickness in her throat, voice rough, “You made me…you made me promise to…in front of Fearne, Laud. Did you…how was that fair? What was I supposed to do, when she was right there? Are you…are you that scared to talk to me about it? You think I’m that…that absurd, that you needed somebody else there to…to keep me in line?” Imogen laughs bitterly, and shrugs. “I mean, I guess I get it. I’m standin’ here provin’ your point, yeah?” She ducks her head and stares at the worn leather of her boots, breath shaky as shame heats her face. 

“No. No, of course not. Imogen. That’s not…” 

Darling, can you look at me? Please? 

She does, because Laudna asks her to, but even as their eyes meet, Imogen’s jaw aches as she holds herself together, shuts herself off, refuses to give up any more of herself. She can’t bring herself to deny Laudna’s request, but she doesn’t force herself to vulnerability. Not now. It’s strange, to put up her walls this way with Laudna, but it’s Laudna who has hurt her this time. 

Laudna, whose black eyes are nearly as wide now as they are when she transforms, full of concern and confusion and a love obvious enough that it makes Imogen grind her teeth in resistance. 

“I’m so sorry, Imogen. I didn’t realize…” Her lips are black with ichor and her hands are in constant motion at her sides, strings of black magic expanding and contracting as she fidgets. “I thought it would be…You were…you were so alone, last time. I thought maybe, if you had Fearne, if she knew what I wanted…what I wanted for you…Imogen, I don’t want you to have to carry it alone. Not again. That’s all, darling. I don’t think you’re absurd. Of course I don’t. I wasn’t trying to…to trick you. Or trap you. I would never. Please.” 

The pleading tone makes no dent in the wall Imogen has put up, is nothing in the face of the voice in her mind, reminding her of Laudna’s words in the basement, the look on Fearne’s face. I’m quite literally a dead end. Promise me. 

“Why are you so sure I’ll have to carry it at all? Why are you so sure she’s gonna win?” 

The tears are constant and furious, dripping unchecked down her cheeks, and she hates it, hates feeling this exposed, but she forces herself to keep her head up, to hold Laudna’s gaze. 

“Imogen.” 

The same tone–love, yes, but something far too close to pity for Imogen to let it lie. 

“No. No. I’m not stupid, Laudna. I know what you are. I’ve been in your mind, remember? I’ve seen her there. I’ve known since the day we met that you were different, and I still…I fell in love with you, knowin’ full well what you are and what that means. I’ve seen your form of dread, seen your body split open. 

The curtains on Pate’s house are made from my old shirt. Your hound has laid its drippin’ head on my lap. For fuck’s sake, Laudna, I slept next to your dead body. Your truly dead body. An’ I sleep next to you every night. Have for years and will for as many more years as I’m alive, if I have anythin’ to say about it. 

I love you, want you, all of you, and you know that. I’m not quiet about it. So why do you keep actin’ like I’m gonna wake up one day and be surprised by what you are? Why the fuck do you keep callin’ yourself a dead end?” 

“Because I am one, darling.” It’s sad, and resigned, and there is ichor dripping down her cheeks now, thick tracks left on pale skin. “I don’t want her to win, my love. I don’t. Please believe me. But I have to be realistic. For me. For the both of us.

And Imogen, even if she doesn’t win…

I love you so very deeply. More than I’ve loved anyone or anything in any of my lives. But I am dead. I’m not meant to be here, and you deserve someone who can…who can live, really live, with you. You deserve everything, and I can’t give you that.”

Bullshit. It’s bullshit. The part of her that understands why, understands what Laudna’s been through and the demons that pull at her, whisper to her, the part that drives her almost always, that keeps her soft–it’s gone, lost for the moment to a lifetime’s worth of hurt, of being abandoned or tolerated, never quite good enough for love. 

She aches as she spits out, voice as hard as it ever has been with Laudna, with anyone, “If you don’t wanna be with me, you can just say it. You can just…” She shudders, hardens. “Just stop pretendin’ you’re doin’ this for my sake, alright? It’s insultin’ to the both of us. If you don’t want me, just say so.”  

“Imogen.” 

She can’t do it, not anymore, so she turns to the table behind her, grips the edges as her body shakes. She clenches her jaw until she’s overcome, until a sob escapes, loud and ugly and broken, and then Laudna’s arms are around her waist, cool lips and cool breath against the shell of her ear, “Imogen. Darling. My love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I want more than to be with you. I’m trying. I promise I’m trying. I don’t want her to win. I don’t want to leave you. Ever.” 

She turns and buries her face in Laudna’s neck, her own arms wrapped around Laudna’s fragile ribs as tightly as she can manage without hurting her. A hand buries itself in her hair, nails scratching against her scalp as she’s held close. 

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry. Come sit with me? Please?” 

She nods into Laudna’s shoulder, body still shaking, and Laudna hums as she holds her for another minute, pressing kisses to her temple before pulling away just enough to grab Imogen’s hands and lead them both to the bed. They settle across from each other, Laudna holding one of Imogen’s hands between them as she brings the other to Imogen’s face, pressing two fingers gently against her chin until their eyes meet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She’s so sincere, so unfailingly honest, and Imogen fights against the urge to duck her head again, ashamed and sheepish. 

“No, Laud. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t…I know you love me and I know you’re tryin’. I do. I’m just…I’m scared. I lost you once and I can’t…I don’t think I can do it again. And sometimes it feels like you think it’s an inevitability, that you’re gonna leave me. That she’s gonna…

And I get it. I do. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to have her with you, to know she’s there all the time. But to have you ask me to…to let you go? To move on? To be happy? With Fearne right there like it was…What would you say, if I asked you to do that? Could you promise me?” 

Laudna flinches at the thought, her head almost unconsciously shaking in denial. 

“I know I…I know I’ve said some things. About Predathos and Ruidus and what it might take, what I might have to give up. But I hope you know I don’t…I’m not bankin’ on that, Laud. I don’t want it. Especially not now. Not when we…” She brings Laudna’s hand to her mouth and kisses her palm, her wrist, her knuckles. “I want you.” 

Laudna rocks forward, kissing Imogen fiercely, catching her bottom lip with sharp incisors and settling a hand possessively against Imogen’s throat. 

I want you, too. I’ve never wanted anything like I want you. 

Imogen lets herself be pressed back into the bed, sighs as Laudna trails her mouth across her jawline, bites at the lobe of her ear before making her way down to her collarbones, nipping and soothing with a cold tongue. 

I don’t want to leave you. I never want to leave you. 

A hand drags at the fabric of her dress, pulling up and up until nails run sharp against the skin of her thighs, fingers moving until a palm presses against her hipbone, holding her down as Laudna’s mouth finds hers again. 

Let me show you, darling. Let me show you how much I want you. Please. 

Later, tucked into the stupidly nice bed, with Imogen’s head resting on her chest, Laudna says, “It’s still difficult for me to believe that you want me. That you’d give up a normal life for me.” Imogen runs her palm over Laudna’s ribs, waits quietly. “Selfishly, I want you to, even though it…it’s not what I want for you. You deserve so much more, so much better than what I can…” Laudna squeezes at Imogen’s arm before she can object, and Imogen snaps her jaw shut. “Thank you, love.” She feels the press of lips against her hair. “I understand why you were angry with me. I…I would be, too, if you tried to tell me to leave you. To live without you. Even if I knew you were doing it for good reasons, as you undoubtedly would be. 

I know you want to be with me, even if I don’t understand why. Even if I worry that I can’t give you what you deserve. I’m sorry that I keep trying to take that choice from you. I'm going to try to do better. I promise.

And as for me…I want you, Imogen. I want to be here, with you. And if I’m lucky enough that you want me, too, well. Please believe me when I say I have every intention of trying my hardest to stay.” 

Imogen pushes herself up to kiss the sharp point of her chin, the corner of her mouth. 

“I love you. I wanna live my whole life with you. A stupidly long and real happy life. And anybody who tries to get in the way of that is gonna have a real hard time of it. You hear me?” She’s not talking to Laudna, and they both know it. “I’m gonna fight for you, Laud. And I’ve been told I’m real capable.” 

She kisses her again, and again, until eventually they settle, Laudna’s breath evening out slowly the way it does in sleep, muscle memory stronger than the reality of her undeath. While she sleeps, Imogen plans. She might be capable, but she’s also owed a few favors, knows how to make sure she’s owed a few more. She’s never really prayed before, but she can learn. For Laudna, she can do a whole lot more than that. 

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 6: Hues

Content Warning: Implied mentions of blood/injury, reader discresion is advised.

I'll be making a very pretty piece of art to go with a very NOT pretty piece of writing, what can I say, it's what I do best (I draw yah in and then BAM pain) Anywho, enjoy!

Word count: 414

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Light is such an interesting thing. How it captivates, illuminates. How its able to provide so much to the human eye, to all eyes for that matter. How it reassures you.

How it tricks you.

Blinds you.

Harms you. Unintentional or not. 

Light is a gift that can hurt. Can wound.

Just as it's doing to you now.

You hadn't meant to mess up, though no one ever does, you could argue. You'd just wanted to help. To talk. To understand.

Sun had warned you, countless times, to be fair. You had never believed him. Something about needing to see things for yourself. And you had, oh, you had.

You don't think it had been intentional, certainly not malicious. You knew Moon. You knew what he was like. Even if he had hurt you, something deep in your gut told you that it hadn't been his fault.

You know, the Attendant was a great example of light and how it shifted. Specifically the hues they represented.

Yellow. Blue.

Fun and adventure, fits of giggles and play.

Yellow. Blue. 

Cool and quiet, peace and rest.

Yellow. Blue.

You hadn't realized how deeply your care for the two had grown until you'd decided to drive back tonight and tell them. Though first, you had to deal with why Moon had been hiding for so long, why Sun had insisted on no naps and no lights off. You'd quickly gotten the answer to that.

Yellow. Blue.

Yellow. Blue.

Purple.

Black.

White.

Red.

There's so much red in your vision now. It's practically all you can see. It's to the point you can’t differentiate what's dripping into your vision and what's actually on your shaking hands. 

You can see movement in front of you, glancing up slightly you see it's indeed who you thought it would be. They're panicking, more worried than you are about what's been done. You can't hear them. 

It's causing the two of them to continuously flip back and forth. It's almost, comforting, to witness, even if you know it's anything but. Maybe because the idea they both care soothes you. Maybe it's because you can still make out the shifting hues beneath the heavy, heavy red.

Yellow. Blue. Yellow. Blue.

Your eyes feel heavy.

Yellow. Blue. Yellow. Blue. 

You don't want to close them, but know you don't have much a choice.

Yellow. Blue. Yellow. Blue. 

You smile through the pain. Maybe things will be okay when you wake up.

Yellow. Blue. 

Black. 

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

yeOUCH (in more ways than one :)) Sorry all, my brain decided this is what we were writing when I wrote it at 1:00 am last night, I think she cooked ngl, maybe with a whole lot of onions, but she cooked fr fr. But anyway, if you want to read my other responses, see here. Thanks for reading!

[georgiapeach30513]

No More Last Chances

Summary:  When you can’t handle Cole’s smothering, he makes sure you can take a little more.

Pairings:  Cole Turner X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, sex pollen/dub con, kidnapping, unprotected sex, PIV sex, degradation, multiple orgasms, creampie, multiple men, DP, mentions of DVP, blowjob, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  2.5K

Cole Turner Masterlist

You tremble as your eyes try to peer through the bag that’s over your head.  Wiggling your hands and legs only to discover that they were bound.  Tied up and face covered.  Nothing to do, and nowhere to hide.  Twisting your head you look around your space, and it looks like an almost empty room, minus a bed.

It is cold.  The type of cold that makes your barely dressed body pop up with goosebumps, and your nipples push against your clothing.  What were you wearing?  So much of your skin is exposed.  Silk.  Tight.  Covering only enough to make you not naked.  

“Hello?” Your voice echoes out in the room.  “Hello?” You croak again, losing all hope.  What did he, she, or they want?  Judging by your lack of panties, you could only guess.  

“Hello?” Your voice cracks as tears start to roll down your face.  The tears weren’t helping anything.  And it pissed you off.  Your fear is turning to anger.  “Let me the fuck out of here.  Hello!”

“Hey, HoneyBee,” the bag over your head slowly lifts off you, and you don’t have to let your eyes adjust to know who had you bound up in this stupid mother fucking chair.

“Cole!” Seething through your teeth, as your brows furrow and you glare at him.  “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?  Unite me this instant.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Cole!?” Unaware if this was a question or just a demand, your face starts to soften.  “Cole?  Please.”

“There’s your manners.  You know, I love you.”

“Loved,” you interrupt, and he cracks his neck, hissing through his teeth.

“Love.  I still do, HoneyBee.  And you ran.”

“You were smothering me!  You text twenty-seven times in a row, and I didn’t even have a chance to respond.”

“When I text, you should acknowledge that you’re thinking of me, just as much as I’m thinking of you,” you roll your eyes, and tilt your head back, looking up at the ceiling.  He was going to start monologuing again.  “I took time out of my day to tell you how beautiful you are.  How much I love you, and that you’re amazing and wonderful, and that I missed you.  And you couldn’t take five seconds out of your day just to say you love me.”

“I am working.  I don’t have the time to do that when I am having to watch and teach twenty-five eight year olds.  I have…”

“Shh.  I speak, you listen.  And then it occurred to me, you lack boundaries.  You need them set up, so you know how our relationship is going to work.”

“We’re not together.”

“I said to be quiet!” He was worse than your students.  Throwing a tantrum because he needed to be heard.  “You need boundaries.  And I need you.  I need you to understand, and…why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why did you bring me here?  You kidnapped me,” he shakes his head no, trying to think of an excuse to call this anything but kidnapping, “You did.  I am tied up and wearing a silk slip, and nothing else.”

“I have my reasons.”

“Why?” You ask, and Cole lifts up his hand.  His fingers peel back one at a time before you’re left to stare at his palm covered in a powder.  “Cole, what is…” he blows over his hand, and dust flies into your face.  Coughing and sputtering, you watch as he innocently drags a chair to sit in front of you.

“Cole?”

“I’m just waiting.  I was told it wouldn’t take long,” crossing his legs, his eyes drift down your body.  Watching as beads of sweat prickle your skin.  What was happening?  You have to look away from Cole because the most lewd and disgusting thoughts were plaguing your brain.

Taking a deep breath, you roll your eyes closed, but visions of his body hovering over you as his hips drive him deeper into your warmth have you jolting them back open.  It isn’t any better.  They were undressing him when they opened as well.  Playing tricks on you, and making you view him completely naked with his cock hard and calling your name.

“Cole,” you whimper.  This wasn’t right.  And you couldn’t think of anything but him.  “Cole,” a deep need that is seeking pain courses through your veins, clouding your judgment because all you want is relief.  It’s what you desire more than the air you breathe.  

“Cole,” whining as your hips start grinding on the chair.  “Cole.  Cole!” It helped a little.  The fabric runs over your drenched cunt, offering a little relief from the pain.  And that asshole sits in front of you grinning from ear to ear.  Of course he would enjoy your discomfort.

He is no doubt enjoying the show you are putting on, but you couldn’t help it.  You move over the chair so much that the silk slip starts to ride up.  Exposing your dripping core to Cole, and you didn’t care.  You weren’t going to stop.  If riding a chair was going to offer relief, it’s what you would do.

“Sweet lord,” Cole growls as his eyes stare at your visible pussy.  Watching as your slick spreads over the chair hungrily.  Trying to moan out anything but his name, but there was no use.  He was right there.  His pants are tight and bulging.  He was hard from your little desperate show.  

“My goodness,” he moans again, standing up to walk beside you, and moves your top down, pulling out your tits, and rolling your nipples between his fingers.  “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” you plead.  His hands were offering even more relief.  “Cole, I need it.”

“I can tell.  You’re creating a trail like a little snail.  Desperate and fucking a chair.  It didn’t take long,” you want to cry when he takes one hand off your chest, and lifts your chin up to look at you.  “What color are your eyes?” Who the fuck cared.  You want his fingers in some hole in your body.  Let you suck on them, or let your pussy suck them into the depths of her warmth.

“They look black right now.  Are you so needy that you’ve become a junkie for my cock?”

“Cole!” Ouch.  That hurts not only your cunt, but your ego.  “Cole!” Did he want you to beg for him?  How much lower could you sink than grinding on a chair?  “Cole, untie me!”

“Why, HoneyBee?  What could I possibly gain by untying you?”

“Please.  My god, please!” He is cruel.  You have already embarrassed yourself enough.  You couldn’t say what you really wanted him to do.  No.  He could tell.  Your body was telling on you.  It was visible.  And you couldn’t even close your legs.  Couldn’t even touch yourself.  Something needs to be inside you.  You need friction inside your pussy.

“Oh, come on.  I know that you’ve got to be burning to be stretched.  Your sweet little cunt needs someone to fuck her, but I’m enjoying this show.  If you want it, ask nicely.”

“Fuck me!”

“Ask nicely,” his mouth turns sideways and into a devilish smirk, but you didn’t want to ask nicely.  You could hardly breathe.  Sweat slides down your body almost as much as your core was dripping down the chair.  It hurt.  It burned.  And you needed relief.

“Eh eh!” He tsks when you start to shout at him.  He knew you enough that you didn’t break easily.  “Ask nicely, or I leave for a while.  You won’t even get to stare at this,” unzipping his pants, he pulls out his beautiful, succulent and achingly hard cock.

Running his thumb on the tip, and you see strings of precum stretch off him upon removal.  He was a tease.  Slowly stroking his cock.  Able to touch himself, while you’re quaking inside.  No amount of grinding was offering any relief.  It was like being edged for eternity.  Never given the moment to actually orgasm.  Getting close enough, so close, but nothing.  It was a cruel build up, and then it was gone.  

“Fuck you,” you spit at him, but he chuckles.  

“Oh, I can fuck myself.  You on the other hand will be left on that fucking chair, hunching until you go mad.  Starving, but only worried about getting that cunt stretched and pumped full of my cum.  Is it so hard to ask nicely?”

Why did his cock look so pretty being stroked with his hand?  Why couldn’t you look at anything other than his cock?  What did he blow at you?  Blow?  Would a blow job help?  Job?  You could give him a pussy job.  Pussy?  Your pussy needs to be filled.  Filled?  Just like a cream filled donut.

“Cole,” you whimper out his name.  “Cole, please.  Please can you just fuck me?”

“Fill that tight little hole with cum?” Cole’s eyebrow arches up, and you nod your head.

“Yes.  Cole, please.  Please just fuck me.  Please, it hurts.  Please?  Pretty please fuck me like a bitch in heat.  Please, I need you and your cum, and that thick giant cock.”

Cole’s movements become rigid as he stands.  Fingers shaking so hard it was a struggle to undo the bindings on your arms and legs.  You can’t even stand.  Couldn’t do anything but grind hard on that chair.  Moving so rapidly over it that Cole has to pick you up.  Place you on your back, and your legs spread wide.  Ready to take him and that thick veiny cock.  

“Cole,” you beg again, trying not to touch yourself as he stalks over to you.  “Cole,” your hands start to dip between your legs, but he chastises you.  “Cole, I need to be fucked.  God, I need to be fucked so hard, and good, and deep.  Ahh,” the bit of relief you feel as Cole pushes through your weeping cunt. ��

You sigh in relief as he completely bottoms out, leaving you panting and needing more than just to cockwarm him.  “Cole!”

“Hold on.  I’m enjoying this.  You were always so much prettier like this.  Filled and stretched with my cock, and oh so satisfied.  What is this?” He asks, acting all surprised.  “Are you already fluttering around me?  I enter into you and you’re coming like a desperate little whore?”

He was cruel.  You feel like you have been aching for hours.  Of course you were ready to come.  Your body has been needing this.  “Cole, fuck me so hard!” Pulling himself out of you, he quickly stabs back into your wet channel, and a louder sigh rings up at him.

It feels glorious.  A scratch that had finally been itched.  Feeling a rush of adrenaline in your body.  Euphoria.  Such a sweet delightful high.  Smiling as your body rocks with Cole’s motion.  This was better than being drunk.  Better than any massage you have ever had.  It was spectacular.  Something you couldn’t even put into words because it was that good.  

“How many fucking times are you going to come?”

“All of them,” you sigh as another burst of flames rips through your body.  This was the life.  Constant orgasms, and fucked too dumb to even know what was happening.

“I’m almost there.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Right there.”

“Please, don’t quit.”

“Right…fuuuckk!” Oh no!  Was this the end?  That was too quick.  There had to be more.  

Cole’s cream starts to leak out of your body, and the irritating unease starts to build back up.  This was going to be painful again.  No!  You couldn’t do it again.  Never again.  You needed to be fucked always.

——

“When do you think you can get here?” Cole asks, staring at you gripping tight to his ankles as you bounce over him.  The perfect view of your cunt spread wide over him.  “What do you mean?  I’m exhausted.  I can’t sleep.”

“Cole.  I can’t stop,” you inform him.  Why would you want to stop?  It’s the best high in the world.

“I know she’s desperate.  I need more than you.”

“Oh fuck.  This is the best thing ever!” You triumphantly declare as another orgasm makes you smile.  You didn’t want to stop.  You couldn’t stop.  The pain was always there.  Always.

“I used all of the powder.  I don’t understand,” Cole smacks at your ass, hoping that would make you get off, but it doesn’t.

“Fuck my ass!”

“Do you hear her?  She was against anal.  So….you gave me all that sex pollen for what reason?”

“Cole!  Fuck my virgin hole!” Begging seemed to do the trick with him.  

“Just all of you come up here!  I can’t fuck anymore.”

“No!” You cry.  Cole had to fuck.  You need to be fucked.  Fucking was all that mattered.  Fucking was everything.

——

“She never sleeps,” Jax eyeballs you as Bucky fucks harder into your ass.  Steve lays there filling you up, petting over your pretty throat, and Dean just fucks your mouth harder.  “Why did you use all the sex pollen?”

Cole turns toward his friend, pursing his lips.  You would have never agreed to being airtight like this.  To have men ruin your body almost every hour of the day.  “Uhh…why did you give me all that sex pollen?” He turns back to watch you with your eyes gleaming at the man that was using your mouth.  You were in heaven.

“In case having sex with her didn’t help.  It could have given you time to make her see she belongs with you.  And then you go on and blow every bit of it in her face.  What is wrong with you?  I don’t know how long this is going to last.  She’s offering up her greedy little holes for whatever person wants to fill them.  You fucked up big time.”

“Jax,” you breathlessly call over to him.  Tears stream down your face, and you moan as another high courses through you.  “Jax, I need two cocks in my pussy.”

“Oh god,” Cole moans, as you sit up more.  The force of Bucky was making your body ripple with pleasure.  

“Or…oh fuck…suck my titties as everyone uses me!  Please!  Fuck fuck fuuuckk!!  Call some more friends.  Call them!”

“No!” Cole gives you a pout.  This isn’t how it was supposed to go.  You were supposed to want him.  Not every other man.  But my god did you not look beautiful being used.  “Dean fuck her mouth some more.  Jax, let's suck on her tits.”

“Fuck that shit.  I’m cramming my dick beside Stevie’s.  You and him can suck on tits.  Maybe she’ll be in control enough to give you a handjob.  But I am not missing this opportunity.”

“How long was this going to take?  How long would it last?  Were you forever to be doomed to being a used wet hole forever?  Or eventually could you sleep?  You weren’t sure.  What you did know was that you wanted to be used.  Needed to be used.  And the urge was still just as strong.  But maybe after each man had destroyed you, you could be at peace.  Or maybe, just maybe you needed to be fucked for the rest of your life.  Taking turns.  Or bringing in new men.  

You didn’t know.  Wouldn’t care.  You guess your holes were just open for business.  And that’s what you took comfort in.  Being used.  Every second.  Every minute.  Every hour.  Of every day.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @harrysthiccthighss​ @annislittleshopofhorrors​ @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory​

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch21

Description; what you’ve all been waiting for - REAL progress. We have Gaz and John being heroes- Graves is ‘dead’ 💀 and Laika is saved…

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

Graves has holed us both up in Alejandro's main office. He has placed guards outside.

"Looks like we have company.. My boys in the tunnels seem to have stopped replying to comms. I suspect your little buddies have something to do with that, sweetheart.. I've been notified that they have taken the prison back - the Mexican Special Forces are on the loose, along with Alejandro.. I assume you heard our phone call too, huh? Sounds like Captain John Price is stepping into the ring.."

I shake my head.. "No, no - they wouldn't come for me.. If they are with Alejandro, then they will think I'm a spy.. If they are here, it is to kill both of us" I whimper, shaking like a leaf. I still hadn't had chance to warm up since getting soaked over night. My body is aching all over and my shoulder still thumps with pain when I over stretch it. The wound on my leg has reopened as well. I am not in great shape.

"Well, we will soon find out, in the mean time I want to find out more about you. Tell me, Laika.. what are you hmmm? Beta.. huh?" I nod nervously.

"Strange, your Russian file doesn't clarify. Sounds like you're all sorts of fucked up because of the suppressants. You have no scent, which is strange. Beta's have a scent.. You aren't an Alpha, that much is obvious.. hmmm, I wonder..." he circles me, like I'm prey.

"Please, Alpha.." there goes my last ditch attempt... bile rises up my throat, I never want to call this snake 'Alpha' again..

He tilts his head and stops circling, he chuckles.. "Sounds pretty comin' from your lips, sweetheart.." he gets up in my space. I hold my breath, trying not to look terrified.

He pushes his head into my neck and inhales deeply, trying to find a scent. I can't help the yelp that escapes my throat. I thrash in the chair but I'm too well restrained to it to get any leverage.

He just laughs.. "See sweetheart, no scent.. but then again.." He does it again and inhales for longer this time.. he slaps his lips together, making a 'tsk' sound, "the Alpha in me is telling me otherwise.. I could take a bite.. find out, huh..?" My eyes widen and I try to shuffle away but can't. He leans forward but freezes suddenly when a loud, distant rumble sounds from the other side of the facility, followed by smaller pops of gun fire. I gasp, and tears fall down my cheeks uncontrollably.

Don't go feral.Don't go feral.Don't go feral.Don't go feral.Don't go feral.Don't go feral. You need to be thinking straight, mutt!

Weird, since when did my brain start rooting for me instead of against me..?

"Sounds like the 141 are topside.. they won't be long now" he laughs. I just sniff and shake, uncontrollably. I can feel something shift inside of me. I fight desperately not to snap. Stay conscious, mutt!

Graves picks up a comm link and shouts, his voice echoes around the entire facility. He has linked his comms to the speakers throughout the halls and security towers.

"Shadows, hold your position. I want everything locked down. If anyone's here, let 'em come to us.. we'll be waitin' for 'em, won't we sweetcheeks?" He holds the comm to my mouth.

I don't reply, turning away crying silently. He grabs my hair and snaps my head back to face him before kicking me in the reopened leg wound. I wail from the pain he had inflicted. I hear it screech down the speakers all over base. He laughs and throws me backwards by my hair. The chair falls backwards and I crack my head off of the floor. My vision swims for a few seconds before fading to black. I can feel blood dripping from my nose, but find myself unable to do anything about it. All that surrounds me right now is pain, darkness and a high pitched scream inside my brain..

*Ghost's POV*

Graves' voice sounds loudly over the speakers. Cocky bastard wants us to come to him. I have no problem doing that.

"Stay sharp - he knows we are here.." John shouts down comms from his position up in the Helo.

"-won't we sweetcheeks?" I growl. There is a few seconds of silence - he is just baiting us. She isn't actually here. Maybe she's escaped...

Then the most bloodcurdling scream sounds down the facility, it could have shattered glass, I swear. I almost go feral when I hear her. He is fuckin' hurting our the girl. I'll kill him.

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

I start to come round from my brief unconsciousness. The guns sound closer now. I can hear yelling too.

Then I hear Graves from behind "We got an assault team outside the HQ, they're gonna breach" - one of his Shadows reply - it sounds like Oz.. I groan slightly, my head thumping,

"We should move in and plus you up, sir" - "NO" Graves snaps, "I want all shooters holding their sectors- I got what I need here. We're going on the offensive-- That clear?

"Yep yep!"

"Get up girl, we are going" he shouts to me, grabbing my cuffs, slicing the ropes from my legs to free me from the chair, then all but dragging me from the ground and out into the chaos of the base. "Shadows, I'm out of cover - repeat out in the open.."

*Ghost's POV*

I hear Alejandro's voice in my earpiece "Did you hear that?" - "No,what?" I grunt - "Graves is on the move.. Gaz and I will secure this position until you, Soap and Rudy take Graves"

Gaz comms to Price that he and Alejandro had found Valeria and that she was secure. I couldn't care less about her but an objective is an objective. "Good" Price growls "Stay sharp. We're going for Graves now".. He doesn't need to mention Laika - that much is obvious, we are bringing her back..

Rudy, Johnny and I arrive to a metal door. "It's locked. Rudy, what do you got?" Johnny asks, breathlessly.

"Breacher charge" Rudy answers, planting the explosive on the doors. "Nice" - of course Johnny is still fascinated with bombs..

The door crashes open "Clear to engage all threats inside, if you see Graves, drop him" I bark.

The smoke clears and we see Graves running away on the second floor. He is dragging Laika with him. I grumble. "Hold fire.. we can't take him when he is that close to her.. too risky.." I yell.

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

Graves drags me toward a large metal door. It's locked - he comms a Shadow for codes but while he is waiting for a response, we hear their voices from the other side of the door. IT'S THEM!!

I open my mouth to shout for them but Graves slaps a hand over my lower face roughly and drags me back up the stairs. My legs are barely supporting me at this point but he forces me to run. He is far stronger than me. I can't fight him..

The doors crash open as we reach the top of the stairs.. I hear the Lieutenant shouting to hold fire..I furrow my brows.. why?! Fucking shoot at us. STOP HIM!

"Graves is getting away!" I hear Rudy shout. I need to do something. Think Laika, think!

I try to clear my head and think. Be clever, mutt. You have no weapons. Nothing. Just you. Just you and... Omega.. I'm an Omega, right? Supposedly anyway.. And he is an unmated Alpha whose Adrenaline would be sky high right now.. BINGO!

I feign a trip, falling to my knees. "Move, girl! Get fuckin' up!" - "Please, Alpha.. I feel funny.." - his head snaps up and he meets my eyes.. I try to maintain eye contact. The longer I keep him stationary, the better.

"What's wrong..? Your leg..?" - "No.. my stomach - too hot" - he growls. He fucking growls. This is working. He thinks I'm presenting. He tries to scent me, completely stuck in his 'Alpha' mindset now.

I hear the footsteps behind me and can't help the whimper that escapes when I feel Graves' tongue on my scent-gland. I gasp and push him away. My Omega's instincts protecting herself from being claimed without consent. As I push him away, he growls at me. I can feel myself slipping into feral subspace. I'd been brave and hurt for too long. My body didn't like it..

"He's there! Get him!!" I hear from behind me, it's Johnny... My brain clicks off then, turning into survival mode. I shuffle backwards and find myself at the end of the balcony. My eyes are darting left and right. Graves is looking between the exit, me and the men trying to kill us him. I try to run, but get hit sharply by the butt of Graves' gun. Everything goes black. The last thing I hear is Graves' voice. "You'll pay for this, you bitch. You fucking worthless BITCH".

*Ghost's POV*

I see Graves up ahead. Laika is on the floor, submitting to him.. what the fuck?!

Then I see her push him away. GOOD GIRL!

We are gaining on them. Clever girl!

He sees us when Johnny shouts out loud. I was annoyed that Johnny had ruined our sneak attack but adrenaline was high, and we'd witnessed him dominating Laika. So I understood. I'd hardly managed to keep a lid on it.

wait, what's she wearing.. SHE WAS THE FUCKING SHADOW...

Graves meets eyes with us, he runs, knocking Laika out before he does. She collapses against the balcony, teetering dangerously close to falling over the edge. I roar to catch her before she falls.

"On it!" Johnny shouts..

"NO, SOAP" Rudy shouts.. "I'll get her- you and Ghost get Graves - she is feral, an Alpha won't be good for her right now" he explains.

"He's getting away! GO" I nod, finding it difficult to run past the girl. Something is pulling me towards her but I trust Rudy.

"Head for the control room- There's an exit in back.. I'll get her out.. don't worry!" Rudy shouts as we follow after Graves.

"Haul arse, Johnny.. let's find him" I growl to Johnny. He nods, equally as angry as I.

Price's voice sounds through comms "All stations, be advised, Graves went over the wall" - "FUCK"

I hear an RPG fire at Price's helicopter, causing the aircraft to spin out of control.

"We're hit! We're hit!" - "Price-! Fuck, Alpha..." I watch the helicopter start to plummet, smoke clouding the sky.

"Going down. We're going down!" John shouts

"Steamin' hell... Captain..." I hear Johnny shout.

Rudy reappears from nowhere without Laika. My stomach drops and I growl lowly.Dangerously.

"Calm down, Alpha. I dropped her off with Garrick. He is obviously her favorite if that hoodie is anything to go by.."

I immediately feel a little lighter. She is back with the pack.. where the fuck did that come from ? She isn't even pack, yet.

Soap and Rodolfo run forward to the wall.

"Let's end this asshole" Johnny growls

Johnny reaches up to the wall with Rodolfo's help and turns back to me.

"LT, you coming?" - "No. Price and the pilot need help. You two finish this" I instruct.

Johnny and Rodolfo nod their heads as I turn away from them both.

All I hear before I'm out of earshot is Johnny shouting "Holy shit... Graves brought a fuckin' tank".

*Johnny's POV*

Prick has a fuckin' tank.. Rudy and I run forwards regardless. The slimy bastard climbs down and teases us by saying "Looks like the hunters are gettin' hunted now, huh? Ain't that a kick in the ass...?" what a fucking prick..

"Can't wait to bake this bastard"

"We'll need something stronger to kill Graves in that tank. This is our training area- plenty we can use, look around" Rudy suggests..

"You and your Mexicano friends fucked with the wrong hombre, MacTavish" Graves speaks from the safety of his tank..

Coward. "Come on out and let's talk about it" I taunt him.

"You think this is a fucking game out here? You wanna play war? Let's play some fuckin' war, chicos! One o' you dipshits needs to die last-- who's it gonna be...?" He taunts us.. get out the tank and lets find out. I'd take pleasure in killing him with my bare hands..

"Go fuck yourself, Graves"

"You got a healthy disrespect for authority, Soap. I like that about you..." - "You're Shepherd's lapdog. You get paid to break the rules"

"There's only two rules here, boys. Walk away or win. Guess which one I choose? Shoulda gone home when you had the chance, Soap- you and that asshole with the mask, hiding behind that uniform... and that FUCKING BITCH.. Oh she is DEAD next time I see her. I promise you.."

"Got Graves' attention now..." Rudy whispers - good, the plan has worked. Bastard always liked the sound of his own voice..

I throw the C4 ammo on Graves' tank and detonate it.

"Tank is taking damage, hit him again! Graves is on the run, stay after him, Soap... Boom, roasted!!” Rudy shouts after me

Eventually, Graves' tank is destroyed with the C4..Rodolfo and I run forward and inspect the destroyed vehicle.

"You did it, Soap!!!" Rudy laughs - "You and me, hermano" - "Brought a gun to a tank fight..." he laughs. I nudge him, softly and share a friendly fist bump.

"Soap to Ghost, I'm with Rudy. Graves is KIA. How's Price?"

He takes a second to respond and I feel a wave of anxiety roll over me.. Thankfully his voice sounds over comms after a few seconds.

"Angry. Lost a good cigar in the crash... Pilot's okay, too. Over."

"And Laika..?" - "Not back yet. Gaz, where are you?" - "Having some troubles with Laika.. could do with some help.. she ain't calming down.. Alejandro ain't helping either..." He shouts down the radio. We can hear shouting and hissing in the background.

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

I wake up to a familiar scent but I cannot shake the feeling of danger and pain. I am being carried. I thrash desperately and realise that I'd been uncuffed. I hear a grunt as I fall to the ground. I start scrambling away and I feel arms wrap around me from behind. I swing an elbow and here a crunch when I make contact with his nose.

"FUCK.. Garrick.. Control your girl.." - "Shit.. Laika.. Calm down, love.."

Smooth voice.. Garrick.. C'mon, snap out of it, mutt..

*Gaz's POV*

Rudy appears from nowhere carrying an unconscious Laika. Initially I feel elated when I see her, until I see blood all over her face and leg.. she looks completely awful..

I grab hold of her, cradling her in my arms, feeling the instinct to protect her. Rudy explains to me that I have to be gentle and quiet. She could be feral when she wakes up.. I've never dealt with this before. I nod and promise to try not to be too imposing.

Rudy runs off to help Johnny and Simon with Graves. He leaves me with Alejandro and Valeria, two angry hot-headed, strong smelling Alphas. Not ideal.. Valeria is restrained so at least she isn't a threat..

I can feel Laika starting to wriggle slightly in my arms. I relax when I feel her subconsciously press her nose into my neck. She was scenting me.. I hope she recognises it.. We hadn't seen each other in a while...

She starts thrashing. I try not to drop her but she escapes my grasp and falls to the ground. She starts shuffling backwards along the ground, away from me. She looks like a frightened animal, running from a predator. Alejandro sneaks behind her and grabs her. She yelps and throws an elbow busting his nose. "Oh shit.." I mutter, feeling bad for Alejandro but also finding it a tiny bit funny. "Deserved that to be honest, mate" I whisper to him as he shouts at me to control her.

I step forward with my arms outstretched.. "Hey, Love.. It's me.. Kyle.. C'mere.. want to check you're ok..?" I try, with the softest voice I can muster, even though the Alpha in me is clawing to get out. Her scent has changed. It's as strong as I've ever smelt it.. I hope that the sound that leaves my throat sounds like a purr instead of a growl..

"Al-Alpha..." she whimpers.. I freeze. Oh fuck, she shouldn't be calling me that.. FUCK..

I gulp and try to control my urges. "Captain.. could do with your assistance here.." I growl quietly down the line. "Don't send Johnny or Si.." - "Understood.." John replies cooly.

I turn, probably more aggressively than I intend to. "Alejandro, go.. I'll be fine on my own.. Take her and go with Rudy.. we will meet you later, mate.. Get your nose looked at.." I add on, teasing the man.

He huffs a small laugh and turns to leave, understanding the situation.

I turn back to face Laika. "Hey, Love.. You want to come over here with me..?" She shakes her head. God she looks so scared...

"Look.. it's okay - I'll sit down.. you come to me when you're ready.. okay, love?" I try, slowly lowering myself to the ground in a submissive position.

I can see the cogs turning inside her brain. She isn't all there right now.. acting off of instinct and instinct alone. She scents the air and whines. "Alpha..?" She whimpers again.

I roll my shoulders and grit my teeth, trying to contain the growl I so desperately want to release.

She starts crawling towards me slowly, as if she was keeping the option open to run if I so much as move a muscle..

She is so close now. Still sniffing and crawling. God, she reeks..

She pats my knee first, as if to test if I was going to pounce. I close my eyes and stay still.

The next thing I feel is her entire weight crawl into my lap and she clings to me. I can't help the noise that escapes my throat this time. A low, deep purr. I bet she can feel it rumble through my chest.

She shoves her nose in my neck and inhales.. I lift my hands and oh so gently rest them on her waist.

She tenses at my touch, but quickly relaxes.

"Ky-Kyle..?" - YES!

"It's me, Love.. It's me.."

She whines happily. I almost lose it when she starts nipping and licking along my neck. I squeeze her waist a little tighter, trying to remain in control.

I groan out roughly "Love, whoa, love... Come on now, we've got to get you home, yeah..? get you cleaned up.." - "Noo, wanna stay w'you" she murmurs against my neck.

Fuck if I didn't want her to stay with me too. C'mon Garrick.. control yourself!!

"I know love.. I know.. but I want you in your bed, safe.. yeah?" I try, manipulating her instincts a little bit. She nods against my neck. Okay, that was progress...

"Love..?" I ask her.. "Mmmhmmmm?" - "I called the Captain.. he will be here soon. Is that ok..?" - "Is he mad at me..?" she shakes against me.. "No, Love.. he was worried.. So worried about you. We all were.." she just shakes her head against me.

"Can I stand up..?" I ask- she pulls away from my neck then, and meets my eyes.. she looks so lost.. so confused. "You want to leave..?" Fuck

"No no no.. Love, that's not it at all.. I want to take you home.." - her eyes soften slowly at that and she starts nodding.

"Gaz.. I'm about to come round the corner to your location.. is that alright..?" Both of our eyes snap down to my comms. My eyes dart back to Laika’s..

"What do you say, Love..? Can the Captain come and see us..?" she looks scared.. time to manipulate her sensative state a little bit again.. I felt bad doing this but I have to..

"Pack Alpha.." I add on.. "Alpha..?” she replies in a whisper.. "Yeah.. our Alpha.." - "Our Alpha..?" Damn that sounded good...

"He could be, Love - can he come see us..? Please..?" she looks at me with wide eyes.. still sitting on my lap, our bodies pressed tightly together. I have to readjust myself several times so she cannot feel my knot pushing desperately against my jeans, looking for an escape..

She nods. She finally fucking nods..

John must have been watching from the corner because I don't even have chance to radio him before he is in front of us both, staring down at our position on the floor. Laika looks up at him with wide eyes.. John growls down at her, he never liked to see his things covered in blood. She tenses up and scoots backwards slightly.

John immediately softens his approach, slowly lowering himself to the ground. I bet in his head he is thinking that his back hurts and that his knees aren't going to thank him, but he does it willingly.

I can see him subtlety scenting the air. He can smell her too. She stares at him as he lowers himself down. She crawls off of my lap and I immediately stand and readjust myself, turning away to cool off.

*John's POV*

I finally hit the ground. My knees won't be happy about this tomorrow..

Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her.Get to her. The Alpha screams inside of me.

I open my arms and grumble, in as soft a voice as I can manage "Come over here, angel.."

She starts crawling from Kyle's lap and towards me.. I purr at her.. From my peripheral, I see poor, sweet Kyle standing and fixing himself. Good boy, he had done such a good job helping her out of sub-space..

She climbs into my arms and I whisper "Good girl, there we go, that's it.." I start standing from the ground, squeezing her back so she stays against me. She wraps her legs around my waist and arms around my neck. "C'mon, gonna take you home now.. get you taken care of.. what a clever girl you've been..." I reassure her.

She is whining and sniffing in my scent glands. Her scent starts changing from anxious to more relaxed. I keep purring, finding that it seems to be helping.

I start walking and she whimpers Kyle's name into my neck.. "He's here, Love.. right here.." I reply, nodding to Kyle to walk closely so she can see him.. he understands immediately.

She fits perfectly here..

Don't get ahead of yourself, John...

[viridescentelf]

!tw: body image! how the bg3 companions react to TAV having body image issues

astarion: thinks you’re joking at first. after noticing you‘re serious and not being cheeky back, his tone changes quickly to kind: „oh, oh dear. darling who the hell convinced you of this shit? look at you! who do i have to kill? who said something?“ as he presses further, he notices that‘s not exactly what you want. „darling, i cannot imagine a more perfect being. i wish you wouldn’t think so little of yourself, when i think the world of you. come here“ and pulls you in

karlach: „WHAT. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SOLDIER? DID YOU HIT YOUR HEAD?“ as you shake your head, she grabs you and hugs you extremely hard. she lets you cry and let out your frustrations. you can tell she‘s getting warmer as you speak. „I cannot believe you think about yourself, MY BABY, like this“ there‘s a pause and she hugs you tightly again. „Taters, you‘re lovely. I adore every inch of you. Don‘t you ever think I don‘t“ then she kisses you all over until you giggle.

minthara: slaps you. „Shut up, moron.“ then grabs your butt

lae‘zel: „the ghaik have infected your vision. obviously you’re blind and cannot see the wild intoxicating warrior I have before me. but if you truly see something that isn‘t there, i can hit your head a few times until you see true again“ she grins, turns away to sharpen her blade and mumbles „beautiful idiot“

halsin: eyebrows go / \ and true worry grows over his face. „my heart, come here.“ you climb into his giant lap as he holds you close, rocking gently back and forth. „i see your pain. i feel it. let it out, if you need to. shall i tell you what i see when i gaze at your divine face?“ you nod after a while, face buried in his chest. „i see starlight in your eyes. every time you bless me with your presence, i get lost in those vistas. i could stare at them forever. your body is oak father‘s gift. and what a gift he‘s blessed you with!“ he pulls you even closer, if that‘s possible. „don‘t let those evil thoughts win, my love. i adore you, just as you are“

shadowheart: looks at you confused. „is this a test? are you trying to make me shower you in compliments and embarrass me with them later?“ looks at you further. „in any case, i don‘t understand why you think that way. but i know all too well what it‘s like to believe something untrue.“ she places a hand on your cheek. „the love i have for you is true. and it is unconditional“ she kisses you gently.

gale: misunderstands what you said. „what? like your armor? yes maybe a new one will make you feel better. we can go find something for you!“ once you explain to him again, he finally understands. „oh, wow. i just stepped into a big puddle of shit didn‘t i?“ takes your hands and holds them tightly. „i love you, with every fibre of my being. i see none of what you see, i only see love within your eyes, the warmth of your wonderous and strong hands, that fascinating brain… i am in awe of you. don‘t ever forget it“ he kisses you sweetly and whispers in your ear „i wouldn‘t change a single thing about you“

wyll: immediately pulls you into a big hug. „don‘t ever think like that. i won‘t let you“ he holds your face in his hands. „have i said something or done anything that made you think this way?“ as you explain, that it isn‘t him, his thumb caresses your cheek. „love, you are exquisite. i will do anything i can to help you through this. what can i do to help?“ as you talk about the issues, he holds you in an embrace, lets you speak and listens intently.