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jen-with-a-pen · 2 months ago

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(In Your) Arms Tonight - 2/2

summary: Wade tests out his previous hypothesis with great success. Might experiment more later.

pairing: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson / Worst Wolverine x Deadpool

word count: 3.6k

warnings: MDNI 18+, Wade's POV-ish, blowjob, itty bitty blood mention, slight angst, nightmares/PTSD, pining, cursing, claws, crude humor and language, fluff, touching, *cue start of something new from high school musical*, Wade's a little shit, cum drinking bc i guess that's what happened, deepthroating, lowkey face fucking, bad flirting but it's kinda reciprocated, wade is the throat goat next question, wade kissed his roommate and they both liked it

a/n: here she is :') thanks yall for the patience and all of the magnificent love and comments for part one ❤❤❤ means the world to me, especially since it's my first time stepping out of stucky territory as a whole. also got a little away with the tags 😅 hope yall enjoy this !

Not beta'd. Half-written on my phone, edited and revised in ellipsus + gdocs. Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

If I've missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @tomshiddles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ❤️

My AO3 | My Masterlist

Read this fic HERE on AO3

❤️ Reblogs and comments are appreciated, as always ❤️

PART ONE | PART TWO

Wade forgot to turn the AC back on.

It's his turn to sleep in bed tonight and he's got the worst case of swamp ass you can get this far from a fucking swamp. He's already thrown the covers, sheets, pillows, and his boxers off; he swears if he gets up there will be a sweaty version of a goddamn chalk outline on his mattress.

He stretches. Notices he can feel both hands now, fully grown and everything, fingernails and all. Smirks to himself as he flexes his new fingers before reaching over to the nightstand– it's actually a really sturdy cardboard box, but it works just as good– for his phone. The screen responds with a bright 3:02AM overlayed on a photo of him and Vanessa.

There's a pang in his heart for a moment. The same type of twist and pull he felt when Logan got up to leave after their big adventure (AKA saving their universe.)

“See you around?”

Wade tried to swallow the hard lump of desperate hope that had been bubbling inside of him the entire time they ate their shawarma. Hopes it wasn't obvious in his voice. Not a total cry for help, but definitely more of a solemn whimper and puppy dog eyes.

No matter how many times he was used to it– the people he loved leaving or dying or what have you– it still stung like a bitch.

“Probably not.”

And Logan didn't mean for it to come out so harshly, but that's what happened when– and if– he got too close. To anyone. To everyone.

With that, Logan rose from the bench, gathering his cowl and TVA jacket up from the place on the bench separating him and Wade and started walking. Dogpool whined and scratched at Wade's arms to chase after him.

Wade had to do something. Anything. He couldn't let this one– this Logan. His Logan– walk off into the sunset.

No.

Not without him.

“Logan!”

And then he turned around.

And now they're here.

He feels a similar yank and tear elsewhere in his body– lower belly, groin area– whenever thoughts wander back to that glorious time in the Honda Odyssey; Adamantium stabbing in and out of his chest cavity, puncturing his lungs and literally taking his breath away. The tight feeling of multiple seat belts holding him down to the second row passenger seat and the sickeningly happy grin adorning Logan's face when he tied the last knot. Wade remembers smiling just as bright under his mask.

That one definitely got filed into ye ole spank bank for safe keeping.

Sighing, Wade remembers he's sweating like a hog and drops his legs over the edge, planting two clammy feet onto the creaky floorboards. He throws on his previously discarded pair of boxers just in case Logan has a case of insomnia. Gotta take a man out to dinner before you show him your dick, like a gentleman.

Wade peaks his head out into the living room, TV glow assaulting his pupils like a flash bang. The door creaks open wider and Wade steps further out. He doesn't want to wake either furball– you'd be surprised how grumpy Dogpool gets when she doesn't get her beauty sleep– as he tiptoes out in front of the couch.

His breath catches in his chest.

Logan lies propped up on the couch, head resting on the arm with a throw pillow behind for support, arms crossed over a bare, hairy chest rising and falling slowly. A sheen of sweat coats his skin that reflects the changing colors of the TV. Half a snuffed cigar smolders on the coffee table ashtray. The semi-permanent crease between his brows is softer, perfect pink lips parted as he snores quietly.

And to top it all off, he's in his fucking boxers; his jeans are discarded on the opposite end of the couch, kicked off in his sleep to beat the heat.

Wade can't breathe. He can't help but stare, committing the heavenly scene to memory. A knowing smile slowly spreads across his chapped lips.

He's happy. Happy at how peaceful his roommate looks. Happy that Logan is finally feeling safe enough to sleep here. Genuinely. Wade knows first hand what it can be like to be constantly on the run, chasing peace and release, rest and safety.

Tip toes make way to the thermostat, Wade presses the 'on' button to the AC when there's stirring behind him. Head turning slowly, he catches the tail end of Logan mumbling something in his sleep.

“...Wade, please.”

Wade freezes like a carjacker caught in an impound lot. Surely he didn't hear Logan, his roommate Logan– The X-Man, The Wolverine– fucking whining Wade's name in his sleep.

What were the symptoms of heat stroke, again?

Wade shuffles back over to the couch. Feels like a creep watching his fucking roommate sleep, waiting another moment to see if he needs to take a power drill and give himself a DIY lobotomy or not.

“Mm… No, Wade…No, please, don't–” Logan murmurs softly. Struggling, brow furrowing, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Ngh… Don't hurt ‘im… please.”

Logan begins to shake. His head whips from side to side against the pillow, hands dig into the couch cushions, grunting, fists clenching as his claws itch to defend from the phantom threat. Muscles tensing and chest heaving, his breathing grows harder, faster, more frantic.

He's having a nightmare.

Wade recognizes the signs immediately. He knows where Logan's at: some distant memory with talons and sharp teeth assaulting his brain without him knowing. Hell on earth on the worst nights, a light ego beating and insomnia on the better ones.

Wade knows– his stopped two months ago. When Logan came home.

Without another thought– one in which he probably should’ve given– Wade climbs onto the couch to straddle Logan’s hips in the most non-horny way he can make it. Hands press into the center of Logan's chest. He gently calls his name, preparing for the sharp stab of Adamantium through an appendage and/or organ. Nothing he isn't used to at this point, but he secretly prays it isn't something totally major.

“Logan. Peanut, hey,” Wade whispers. He presses further into Logan, heat radiating off rough, hairy skin into Wade's tingling fingers. “Logan, it's me, Wade. You're having a nightmare, you’re scaring the kids–”

SHNK. Intestines. Ten or fifteen points, depending on if it's big or small. Wade's thankful it wasn't a kidney or his stomach– those are a bitch and a half to grow back.

“Okay– that was maybe warranted,” Wade grunts. Both sets of claws penetrate straight through his lower abdomen as Logan jolts awake, sitting up as much as he can while pinned under Wade. A gnarled scream catches in his throat. White-hot knuckles graze the skin of Wade's stomach, who is really, really trying his hardest not to get a boner right now.

“Th’fuck's goin’ on?” Logan slurs, face inches from Wade's bare chest. He blinks. Once. Twice. His brow returns to its permanent crease as he adjusts to the scene before him: bright TV glow contrasts with dark shadows Wade casts over him.

Wade is on top of him and his claws are inside of Wade.

Face scrunching– not inherently in disgust, Wade hopes– claws retract with a muted grunt. Wade can breathe again while his body begins repairing itself. His hands are stuck to Logan's heaving chest, fingers fanning out over each delicious pec. Thick arms rest on either side of him, elbows bent and resting on Wade's thighs.

Wade swallows, praying the man currently underneath him either A. doesn't know where his hands are at the moment or B. this is going exactly the way he wet-dreamt it a few weeks ago. Completely unprompted too, by the way– he's no stranger to the sick side effects of PTSD, he wouldn't knowingly exploit that in order to get into his roommate's pants. He's got more class than that.

Well, most of the time, that is. Again, completely unintentional. Coincidence, if you will.

Maybe he does need that DIY lobotomy.

"Where th'hell am I?" Logan asks, voice less threatening and more alert. His eyes flick from the TV and travel up Wade to meet sympathetic chocolate eyes already on him. Wade peels each finger off Logan's chest and sits back on his knees. Gaze softening, hands fall into his lap inches above the chiseled V pointing to down under Logan's boxers. He doesn't dare move a fucking muscle.

His pinky finger twitches.

"You're okay. You're here, in my world, Peanut. Twenty-first century. New York. We use fifty-cals now, not muskets. You were having a nightmare–"

Wade's throat hitches. He's not gonna cry, no– he's not that much of a fucking empath, for chrissake– but what he wants to say versus what he probably should say get lodged together on the way down to his mouth from his brain.

"I– I did the pressure thing Dogpool does with me, sometimes. Except I thought you'd wanna wake up to this pretty face 'nd not one with drool."

Logan looks skeptical, searches Wade to see if he's actually telling the truth for once, features relaxing once he mulls it over in his head. Wade's gnawing at the inside of his cheek when Logan's thumbs subconsciously start rubbing slow circles over the toughened skin of his upper thigh. Upper-outer, to be exact, but right now Wade doesn't really want to dwell on the minute details.

"So," Logan starts, "you woke me up… 'cause I was havin' a nightmare…?"

"Well, not exactly because you were having a nightmare, no." Wade runs a hand over the top of the couch, distracting himself. "Al really likes this couch. Antique, actually. Vintage find. Be a shame if some man with claws–"

Logan's palms press into Wade's thighs. A warning.

"Mouth."

Wade sighs. Hands fall into his lap once more and he is absolutely not fighting to gawk at Logan's V that lights up like a road work sign pointing to a detour. The semi-hard abs just above definitely do not make him want to run his fucking tongue across them like a cheese grater.

He looks back to Logan, clears his throat. "Look I– I've been there. Am there, honestly. Didn't want you t'be alone whenever you woke up, but I also know how hard it is to wake up. So," he shrugs, voice lowering, "thought I'd help. Help you come down from it, I mean."

Logan stares back in response, eyes trained on Wade like a hunting dog and a downed fox. Wade swears the corner of his lip twitches along with the meaty hands on his legs.

He's gotta get the fuck out of here.

"So!" Wade starts, "Seems everything's in working order. The doctor will be in soon–" Wade starts to scramble off before realizing Logan's holding him down. Sharp claw stubs poke into scarred skin and a deep growl rumbles out of Logan's chest. Not necessarily threatening, no, more of a 'you're not goin' anywhere.' Wade gulps, hands raise up jokingly, forcing his racing mind to think of a naked, cross-country skiing Al to stave off the blood violently rushing to his stubborn cock.

Logan sits up, closing the space between him and Wade. Hazel eyes study wide brown ones. Logan takes a breath, shaky but sure.

"Don't want y't'go. Not– not yet."

It's hesitant. Unsure but curious, quiet enough Wade thinks he's hallucinating again. Wade mulls it over, leans forward with hands back on Logan's chest, skin and muscles taught underneath with tactile tension.

Wade sucks in a breath, moves his hands higher to Logan's collarbone and it's grossly apparent how tense Logan is. Hostile to any sudden movement, untrusting of touch to the point his fists shake against Wade's legs. A slow, tender hand inches up Logan's throat and onto his cheek. Wade feels through the rough facial hair and unkempt stubble, a thumb finds the shaved spot at the point of Logan's chin and strokes gently. Fists start to unclench, but there's a hesitancy still lingering in the air, under Logan's skin. Wade thinks it smells like fear. Inches away, face to face, breaths fan eachother's faces.

There's a shift in the air and Wade leans forward.

Logan doesn't stop Wade from connecting them together, lips touching lips in the softest manner possible. Almost feels like there's nothing there, Wade's too gentle. Nobody moves, breathes, at first; they're each trying to make sense of what the fuck exactly is happening. Logan isn't saying no, isn't sawing through Wade's skull and Wade isn't pushing himself on Logan.

Okay, maybe leaning in to kiss his roommate might be pushing himself on Logan to the logical bystander, but in the moment it just felt right.

To Wade's surprise, Logan's the first to move.

His lips start molding into Wade's. There's pressure, a little pushing, chapped skin and the remnants of tobacco on his breath when his lips part and his tongue pokes ever-so-slightly through. Wade pushes back, hoping his breath isn't as abhorrently delicious as leftover cigar. He tilts his head, nose poking into Logan's cheek as his does Wade's, and lets his tongue explore a little more. Logan allows him in, meeting him at the tip and hungrily welcoming him. Breaths turn heavy, panting, while hands begin to roam, more comfortable now that they've crossed the line into 'spit swapping' territory.

Wade drinks him in. Greedily swallows the choked-back groans Logan keeps holding in his throat that come out as muted mewls. Fingernails wantonly dig into one another and leave temporary marks that disappear under rapid replacement cells.

It feels like forever when Wade finally comes up for air, unable to focus with the growing hardness digging into his thigh.

"I–fuckin' shit– I think I have an idea." Wade pants like a dog in heat– and fuck, he might as well be at this point. Logan pulls back with lidded eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

"'s that?" He's hesitant. Hands tense slightly over Wade's back, his whole body stiffens.

"Do you– do you trust me?"

Wade holds his breath.

Logan only nods. Adam's apple bobbing, lips part in anticipation and curiosity.

Wade strokes Logan's cheek in reassurance, shoots him a wink before shimmying down his body to the other end of the couch, keeping Logan's legs in between his thighs. Fingers hook around Logan's boxers, in turn causing Logan to jolt up immediately. A set of claws unsheathe an inch away from Wade's throat.

"Th'fuck are you doin'?"

Wade only smiles, taking a hand away and kissing the tip of the middle claw, gently pushing it back into Logan's fist and coaxing him to lay back down. What he's about to do would be easier with an in-tact esophagus.

"Relax, Peanut," Wade coos, "'m not gonna hurtcha."

Logan stares at Wade. Eyes pinch, still suspicious.

"…Promise?"

A sharp pang ripples through Wade's heart.

"Promise."

Logan hesitates, relaxes, gives another go-ahead. Wade's fingers curl once again around the waistband of his boxers and slowly, but surely, pull them down and off him. He can't help the immediate salivatory reflex upon seeing Logan in all his glory; the deep V lights up like a fucking Vegas sign pointing straight to the jackpot.

Logan's big– like, big big. Biggest Wade's ever seen (and Wade's seen a LOT.) An automatic response, Wade's asshole clenches, mistakenly preparing to take Logan. Wade forces himself to relax– that's not happening tonight. He promised Logan he'd go slow, no surprises, no whipped cream or leather cuffs.

Not yet, at least.

His own cock weeps happy tears through his briefs. He cannot believe how perfect– how beautiful– how fucking huge Logan is.

"What're you gonna do?" Logan whispers, hesitant eyes hooking on Wade and every little movement he makes.

"If it's alright with you, 1972 Burt Reynolds, 'm gonna suck every ounce of tension out of your perfect, hairy body and make you feel the best you've felt in a looong time."

Logan scoffs a laugh, brow furrowing as he shakes his head slightly. "Don't know who–"

Wade shushes him. "Don't worry, baby girl. I'll be your Sally Field."

Wade smirks at Logan's confusion and mentally makes a note to his future-self to show Logan the glory that is Smokey and the Bandit.

A gentle hand steadies the base of Logan's cock while another slowly wraps around his stiffness, standing at attention and beginning to cry, begging for Wade's touch. Heavy breathing and bitten-back grunts fill Wade's ears. It's a heavenly symphony he's lucky enough to have a front and center seat for. Free ticket, too.

"Ngh– Red, whatever you're gonna do– ah–!"

Wade presses his lips to the base, bush of hair tickling his nose and lips while he kisses his way up to the head, tongue poking out to lap up the precum. Before siccing his lips around Logan, Wade looks up once more, mostly searching for permission to help him feel pleasure for once instead of pain.

Logan reads Wade's mind and sends a small nod in response.

With a shit-eating smirk, Wade welcomes Logan into his mouth, flattening his tongue and curving his lips over his teeth so as not to scratch the sensitive, velvety skin. Drool spills out the corners of Wade's mouth and swallows a gag when Logan jams into the back of his throat, digging into his uvula. Squeezing the base and cupping the balls, Wade begins to bob his head to the rhythm of Logan's mess of 'fuck's, 'shit's, and–

"Mmm–Oh–oh, my god," Logan moans. A calloused hand runs over Wade's bald head, scars and grafts rippling under his touch while another hand grips tightly onto the side of the couch. Wade slurps up every drop of precum, relishing in the sweet musk of Logan's scent, head bobbing and tongue swirling in tandem. Logan's hips buck up into Wade, fucking his throat without meaning to. No amount of lozenges or peppermint tea will be able to cure the sore throat Wade knows he'll have come morning.

"F–fuck, Wade, baby– shit– that feels so–!"

Another lengthy dive down onto Logan hits the very back of Wade's throat, pulling a long, strenuous 'fuck' from the deepest part of Logan. He bucks harder into Wade who stalls, choking on Logan's cock while his own strains against his briefs. Another swipe of tongue, another gag and seeping drool, and Logan is officially done for.

"F–fuck! Motherfucker! Oh my, god, Wade–!"

Curses and chants and shaky breaths fill the living room as Logan spills into Wade with an 'O' on his lips and a hand on the back of Wade's head. There's a sharp shngk and a sting at the tip of Wade's ear as red warmth drips down onto Logan's thigh; his claws unsheathe into the couch this time, not Wade, who slurps and sucks every last drop of mutant cum from Logan's softening cock like it's the Fountain of fucking Eden.

He comes up for air, finally, lungs gasping against a swollen, fucked throat. He sits back panting on his thighs and Logan's legs underneath, a mix of cum and drool and the slightest bit of blood running down his cheeks and neck. Wiping away the mess with the back of a hand, blurry vision focuses back into reality and onto his roommate.

His roommate. Logan. Wolverine. Who's dick he just sucked the ever-living hell out of.

Well this is awkward.

Wade swallows, offers a crooked half-smile to the man who he just sucked, fucked, and milked dry.

"How 'bout them Yankees?"

Logan barks a laugh. A real, genuine laugh, one with teeth and spread lips and legitimate amusement. Wade preens.

"That was–" Logan wipes beads of sweat off his brow, "Fuck it. That was fuckin' amazing, Wade." He stuffs a hand behind his head, blinks a couple of times to recalibrate. "Didn't know that mouth did anything else 'sides talk."

Wade shrugs cutesily. "It impresses me sometimes, too. Helps when I have a willing participant. Just hope you signed the paperwork."

Logan shakes his head. Arms reach up to grab onto Wade, pulling an ear to Logan's lips.

"Now how 'bout we take care of you next, baby? Hm?"

\|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/

Morning sun and a weight on his chests wakes Logan from probably the most peaceful sleep he's had in… well, ever, honestly.

There's a wetness and mix of smells wafting into his nostrils that make him stir next; combination of what feels like a tongue on his cheek making way towards his lips, dog breath, and the sweet smell of something cooking in the kitchen. Eyes fly open when a whine vibrates on his chest, finding himself greeted by Dogpool wagging her rat-tail with eyes bugging out of her little head.

"Gah– get off me, mutt," Logan scolds, sitting up and gently shoving Dogpool onto the couch cushion next to him. He runs a hand over his face and into his hair, the crick in his neck a little less noticeable this morning.

"Gooooood morning, sunshine!"

Logan looks up with tired eyes still adjusting to the morning light to find Wade in his robe covered in flour with a mixing bowl cradled in his arm as he stirs. Last night comes screeching back to Logan as soon as he locks eyes with his roommate, mouth going dry and dick twitching in his boxers.

Wade only smiles, not at all hiding his obvious glance at Logan's crotch. "You want chocolate chips or blueberries in yours?"

Logan shakes his head. "In my what?"

"Pancakes, Peanut. In your pancakes."

"Oh. Yeah." Logan blinks, then scoffs a laugh to himself. "Yeah, Mouth. I'd, ah– blueberries. I'd like blueberries."

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Mission Control 17

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

When you come too, the pain is dull. Yet, the pulsing in your foot and leg is near excruciating. You whimper and clutch the blankets. The smell of your sweat clings to you and the bed.

The bed shifts subtly and you look down to the end. He sits with his back to you. He raises his head and turns it as he hears you. He brings his hands up to rub his eyes then rises. He struts up to peer down at you.

You groan as your head lolls to the side. You don’t have the strength left to do anything but languish in the agony. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut. You just want to keep sleeping.

His weight creaks in the floor and his steps scuff around the room. He returns and looms over you as you flatten yourself to the mattress. He pokes your shoulder and grunts. You open your eyes as he holds up the notebook.

‘You need?’

You would be annoyed if you weren’t in so much pain. What you need is for him to take you home and leave you alone. That’s not going to happen. As it is, you’re certain you’ll be dead of infection soon enough.

He taps the page impatiently.

You sigh and let out a shaky breath. “Hurts...” you murmur. “Something to... make it less.”

His eyes search you and his blond lashes flutter. He turns and grabs a bottle from the side of the bed. He shows you the label. You squint at the small letters.

“That’s an antibiotic,” you mutter. “Still...” you suck in air sharply, “pain.”

He tilts the bottle to examine then puts it back. He shakes the notebook at you again. You sniff and cross your arms over the top of the blanket. You can’t really ignore him or tell him to go away. You could die without him and you hate that you have to live with him, but you’re scared.

“Anything.” You say. “Just... something to do. There’s nothing here.”

He makes another noise. Almost like a hum. You bring your hands up and rub your temples.

“Why don’t you talk?” You hiss.

He dips his chin down and turns the notebook around. He slides out the pen and scratches onto the paper. He shows you.

‘No.’

“No? You won’t, or you can’t?” You huff.

His brow furrow, he holds up two fingers.

“You can’t,” you say.

He nods.

You don’t know if that makes it better. You thought it was a game. That he wanted to terrify you with his silence. He could be lying but what’s the point in that?

He flips the notebook again. He writes slowly. You read his scrawl; ‘food’.

You look at the ceiling and swallow, “yeah, I should eat.”

He’s already moving as finish your first syllable. He puts the notebook down and marches out. You stare after him, slightly agitated and just as much perplexed. He set the trap, he can’t be surprised that it went off.

You put your arms straight and as you try to sit up, the tug in the muscles of your leg throttles you. You have to smother a scream as you stop yourself. You press your hands to the bed and force your leg limp. You drag yourself up to sit with your upper body alone.

Your tears leak out and you mop them away. You look down at the white nightgown, much like the one you wore the first night there. You reach behind you and move the pillow then lean back. Your foot is on fire.

You can hear him through the open door. You look over at the notebook and reach for it. You drag it off the night stand and examine his jagged writing. You flip the page back. It’s a list of all the things he brought back before. It’s crooked and all over the page.

You shuffle back through the pages and stop at the cross hatching of ink. Your likeness stares back at you. It’s you on the bus, watching through the window, looking almost peaceful. You frown. There’s a word sliced through the scene; ALONE.

You don’t understand it but you’re starting to wonder if he does. There’s something not connected in him. He’s fractured. You should feel bad for him but you can’t. Not after all the pain he’s caused you.

You close the notebook and drop it back on the night table. You slump and your vision hazes. You gaze endlessly at the wall.

He returns, his shadow breaking through the blur. He has a plate in hand. He stops beside the bed and offers it. You take it and without thinking, you thank him. You could cringe. Thank you... for what?

The sandwich is in one piece, meat and cheese juts out from beneath the crusts, and the bread isn’t aligned. You guess it’s the effort that counts. You rest the plate on your lap and brace yourself to sit up higher. He’s quick to bend over you and help pull you upright.

You groan and let out a whine. He retracts and stands over you, watching. You try to ignore his ominous presence and focus on the food. You’re hungry even if it doesn’t look the most appetizing.

You take the sandwich and bite into the crust. The rye is rich and the filling isn’t too bad. He even added mayo. A small thing but you can’t help but be relieved it isn’t just dry bread and meat. You chew and look up at him. You hover your hands over the plate.

“What about you?” You ask.

His eyes round and he blinks. He looks down at his chest then lifts his chin again. He doesn’t offer any response.

“Right,” you nod and take another bite.

His fingers twiddle at his side and he moves his weight back and forth on his feet. You eat in silence, hunched over the plate. When you finish, he scoops up the plate. Before you can react, he’s stomping out.

Jesus. He’s so damn abrupt. He returns. He had a glass of water. You accept it and drink deeply. The coolness is a relief.

He grabs the notebook and opens it. He angles the tip of the pen then writes again. He shows you as you sip from the glass.

‘Not for you.’

You shake your head, “not... the food?” You asked confused.

His mouth slants and he turns the book up. He puts the pen to the paper but doesn’t move it. Not right away. He finally scratches into the paper then turns it back to you. He’s drawn the spike. Your foot thrums at the memory of flailing on the cold ground.

“The trap isn’t for me,” you say. His eyes cling to yours. “But you didn’t tell me.”

His gaze drops and his cheeks tauten. He scribbles another word. ‘Stay’.

You puff out and nod. “I’m supposed to stay. Got it. My fault.”

He clucks and frowns. He points to himself. He hits his chest hard then wags his finger at you. He thumps his chest again. You stare and he stretches his hand wide, staring at it. You gasp as he smacks himself hard across the face. He brings up his other hand and lays another strike across his other cheek. He starts to beat himself frantically.

“Stop! Stop!” You squeal, horrified. He doesn’t seem to hear you. You don’t know what to do. You grip the glass and splash what’s left of the water onto him and holler again, “stop!”

He stills and drops his arms. He looks at you, his cheeks red and scratches, a cut around his eye socket. You shudder up at him.

“I can’t do anything. Not like this,” you gesture to your foot. “So I need you... to do it which means you can’t beat yourself up.”

You sigh and suck your teeth. It’s exactly what he wants. You are stuck with him. You need him.

#captain hydra #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #au #captain america #mcu #marvel #avengers #mission control

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weirdfangirly · 2 years ago

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—No Pure Blood

(Part 1)

Dark-Fiction Central ©️

Dark!Dad!Joel / Dark!Uncle!Tommy x Reader

Summery: You don’t want your dad to find out, so you let your uncle fuck you from behind.

⚠️ : Age-Gap (Joel is 53, Tommy 45, Reader 20), Rape, Dub-con, blackmailing, Dark!Joel, father/daughter relationship dynamics (everyone knows Reader to be Joel’s “adoptive daughter”), Reader calls Joel dad, confused Reader (Stockholm-Syndrom), father-figure Joel but messed up, manhandling, Daddy-issues, overprotective/obsessive Joel, manipulation, degradation-kink, throat-fuck/face-fuck, blow-jobs, breeding-kink, cum-eating, misogynistic-views/behaviour, name-calling, Uncle!Tommy (yes, it’s a warning from now on)

A/n: I had trouble giving Joel a title for this fic since he’s readers father-figure, kidnapper, rapist, pseudo-boyfriend—so I decided to just call him dad!joel and move on.

There will definitely be a part 2 because I’m not satisfied with the ending. Please like and reblog and leave me a comment—it will definitely motivate me to ACTUALLY write part 2 down instead of just thinking about it…

————

Joel needed you today.

He needed your juicy little mouth that was always so eager to do and say whatever he wanted.

His heavy balls were resting on your chin, his throbbing cock was sticking out over your face. The mascara ran down your cheeks along with tears, sweat and spit.

Just five seconds ago you were suffocating on his cock, not daring to pull away. Not daring to fight back.

He might as well have killed you then and there, and you still wouldn't have objected.

You respected him too much…or maybe you were confusing respect with fear? After all, he still wore the face of the murderer of your father. Your real father. But that felt like a lifetime ago…

Whenever you tired to think about your beloved father, his face morphed into Joel’s.

“Good girl.”, he praised you for your obedience and you couldn’t help yourself but find comfort in his words.

Joel couldn't decide whether to cum on your pretty face or make you swallow his load. He liked to know you full of his cum.

One day he would get you pregnant, just to see you round and full of him. He wanted to watch you raise his children. After all, your place was right next to him—and a life in Jackson wouldn’t change that. He would make sure of that.

This damn place was full of soft little boys who all grew up in the comfort of a thick fence that kept danger far away from them. They wouldn’t know how to protect you. They were trying to get your attention, running after you like a bunch of dogs. Joel was sick of witnessing it and not being able to do anything about it but to play “overprotective-father”.

He was sick of pretending that you weren’t his bitch.

He would knock you up soon enough. He would make a little mommy out of you and ruin your pretty body for every men out there. He would tell Tommy and the others that a random boy got you pregnant, so that nobody would get suspicious of it.

Poor girl got herself pregnant and dumbed by a random boy at a party while drunk—sounded believable enough. Joel couldn’t let anyone find out that he was fucking his “adoptive daughter“—that would be a fucking scandal.

His brother’s bitch would definitely try to kick his ass out of Jackson and this time she would actually have a good reason to do so...

He tapped your flushed cheek, signalling you to open up for him. You did. You opened your mouth widely, bracing yourself on his thick hairy thighs. He put his cock back in your mouth, it belonged there. You closed your plump lips around him.

“Ya‘gonna take what I give you, alright?”, he mumbled and grabbed a fistful of your hair. You closed your eyes and nodded, knowing what that would mean; its going to be rough and unforgiving.

He pushed his cock deeper and deeper in your mouth, before hitting the barrier of your throat.

You felt so good to him. He let his head fall back, relishing the moment.

You gagged, your eyes sprung open. You looked up at the tall man with big painted eyes that only made him want to fuck you even harder.

He wore nothing but a white undershirt. His broad shoulders and strong arms looked even more intimidating from this perspective. He was so handsome.

You wanted to make him proud.

So you braved yourself mentally, dedicated to not give him a hard time. He started to fuck your throat like it was your cunt, picking up on speed and force. Pushing himself down your throat making you gag and spasm under his hold.

All you could focus on was to not bite him even though every cell in your body was screaming at you to do exactly that. You couldn’t though. Your punishment would be way, way worse than getting used by him like this and he would most certainly not let you go to your friends birthday party tonight…

“Such a pretty fucking slut.”, he hissed, searching after his release that was seemingly hidden somewhere deep down your throat. Thankfully, it didn’t took him a lot of digging to find what he was looking for…

He exploded inside you mouth in such an absurd intensity that his cum leaked down from your nostrils, making you cough and choke around him. He was holding you in place tightly, watching your struggles intensely. Breathing heavy, strong chest falling up and down.

For what felt like minutes to you, there was absolutely no way for you to get fresh air into your system. His cum was blocking your airwaves. This had never happened before.

You were panicking. He wasn’t letting you go.

You just looked too pretty like this.

Eventually though, he let go of you with an animalistic growl, pushing you away from him. Your head hit the wall and you started to cry from what just had happened. Totally overwhelmed.

Like so often, you felt like a used napkin. Trash.

You crawled over to his legs and hugged him, trying to comfort yourself. “I-I c-couldn’t b-breathe.”, you hiccuped and looked up at him.

He was still trying to come down from his high.

„Walking around all day long in that skimpy little skirt, what did you expect would happen?“, he panted. “Told you many times not to dress like a whore.”

“M’sorry.”, you sniffed and whipped your tears away.

He made you let go of him and you immediately felt lost. „M’gonna take a shower now, girl. Wanna join?”

You wished. Joel wasn’t a softy, little things like asking you if you want to take a shower with him were the most he could do.

You shook your head. „I can’t…I’ll be running late to Anna’s birthday party.“

Joel was about to walk upstairs but stopped in his tracks. „Birthday party.“, he repeated like it was a curse-word.

„I-I told you last week.“, you reminded him. „You said yes, dad.“

How many fucking friends do you fucking have? Being invited to some kind of party every other night…

Joel was sick of it. Sick of Jackson. Your place was wherever he was and not at some random parties, or hangouts.

„Did I?“

„Yes.“, you said, truthfully.

„Mh.“, he looked over at you. You were still sitting on the floor in your tight little skirt. Spit and cum drooling down your face. Mascara running down your cheeks and half of your cherry lipstick—that he had gotten for you on his last hunt for supplies—smeared on his cock.

You did good—and good girls get rewards. His own rule. That was their system. That was how Joel got you where you were; confused, obedient and submissive.

He couldn’t let a life in Jackson ruin that. But you did a good job today and therefore you deserved a reward.

Good girls get rewards. Bad girls get punished.

„You remember the rules, girl?, he asked sternly.

„I’ll be home at 9. No entertaining boys. No drugs.“, you repeated like a mantra.

„Which one of them sluts was Anna again?“, he frowned. He could never put a face to the names of your friends, even though a lot of them would spend a lot of time over at their house throwing heart eyes at Joel.

„The one with the black hair and nose piercing.“, you said. “She’s not a slut, dad.”

“Mh.”, he just made and started to walk up the stairs. “If ya ass ain’t home at 9, me and my gun are coming to pick you up.”

“I won’t be late.”, you said, smiling. “Big promise.”

————

You whipped your face clean from Joel’s mess and tried your best to make yourself look presentable again. This was a special night after all…

You changed into a new shirt and applied another cover of lipgloss onto your lips.

You wanted to look your best for him…

It was a dangerous game you were playing—a deadly game even—but it was all too exciting.

Dean Winchester liked you. Really liked you.

He liked you so much that he wasn’t afraid to secretly meet up with Joel fucking Millers girl, risking to be caught. Risking to basically die.

Joel had a reputation in Jackson. Everyone knew about him and what he was capable of.

You had told Dean many times that if he wants to see you, it has to be discreet. Nobody could know about him and you, ever. You had told him that their relationship—no matter what kind of relationship—would mean danger.

For both of you.

Joel would kill Dean in a heartbeat, not even give it a second thought. However the things he would do to you would be much worse, because you had to deal with his outrage and anger for the rest of your life. He would probably start to tie you up again—he used to do that at the beginning, where he couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t try to run away from him.

You didn’t want to go back to that stage of your relationship with Joel. You didn’t want to be tied up to trees, heaters or posts again. You didn’t want him to walk you around on a tight leash again.

“I don’t know if we should see each other again, Dean...”, you whispered.

You weren’t sure if Dean was worth the risk. You didn’t even like Dean that much…You just liked to have the attention that Joel didn’t give you.

It wouldn’t be fair for Dean to get killed just because you were bored…

“Your old man won’t find out, babe.”, Dean said, knowing what you where getting at. He kept on kissing your neck and kneading your tit from under your shirt.

You were at the stables. It was your little hideout. Nobody would be able to find you here.

“But what if he does?”, you asked, voice full of worry. “What then?”

You already knew the answer.

Dean sighed and let go of you.

“He’s not the only one who had to survive out there for a long period of time.”, Dean said, now sounding annoyed. “He thinks of himself as tough, but guess what? So am I. I was part of a Raider-gang. Clickers and runners were the least of my problems. I had to showcase strength and dominance every day in order to not get fucked with. It was like living in a cage full of starving dogs. I know people like Joel and I know how to deal with them-“

Dean saw your big fearful eyes, hanging onto every word that left his mouth. He decided to better shut the fuck up before drying you out too much.

“Babe, don’t worry.”, he softened his voice again. “You are too pretty for that.”

He started to stroke your bare leg, making your skin prickle.

“C’mon let me make you feel real good, ya?”, he whispered in your ear before placing kisses all over your neck. He let his hand vanish under your top again, playing with your nipples. He was a good kisser and as you found out, you really liked being kissed on the neck. He made your eyes roll back.

Joel never kissed you like this. He never kissed you ever.

Dean’s lips eventually found yours, his tongue immediately entering your mouth, dominating your tongue. His hand wandered downside, finding his way between your legs. You jumped a little at the contact.

“You are not wearing panties.”, he realised and couldn’t believe his luck. He smirked into your mouth.

You blushed. Joel always liked it more when you didn’t wear any underwear around the house, so you figured Dean would like it, too. You could find a lot of similarities between them actually. Dean wasn’t like the other boys in Jackson, he was older and more experienced. Maybe you picked him because he was so much like Joel?

Dean was good with guns, good in killing clickers and a survivor. That’s why he got a position as a hunter—just like Joel.

“God, you are such a little tease, babe.”, he said and carefully slipped his finger inside you. You were wet since Joel had face-fucked you and you got nothing in return. Maybe Dean would give you the sweet-release you so desperately wanted. His hands were as skilled has his tongue. He fingered you in such a manner that you were surprised to actually feel your orgasm forming.

“Can you…can you keep kissing my neck, dean?”, you managed to get out without sounding too pathetic. It just felt soo good and it would help you cum.

He liked his name on your tongue like that.

“‘Course, babe.”, he whispered and started to kiss your neck again.

“And-and can you…can you call me…a slut?”, you whispered.

He stopped doing what he was doing.

Was that weird to ask?

You didn’t know. It was certainly normal for Joel to call you that.

You opened your eyes and blushed.

“What?”, he asked, confusion written all over his face.

“Never mind.”, you murmured in shame. You closed your legs and straightened your skirt.

You felt dumb.

“Wait, wait, wait.“ Dean said, not liking what you were doing. “You want me to call you…a slut?”

You nodded, face turning red. There was no point in denying it. Although you thought about acting like that was not what you said.

“That’s whatcha like to hear? You like being degraded like that?”

Joel always called you mean names like that when he was fucking you. At the beginning you didn’t really like it. It was hurtful to be called such nasty names all the time when you already felt bad about what was going on. It made you cry and you asked him to not call you that. You didn’t know what shifted inside you, but at one point you started to like it. It felt like a compliment to you. The only kind of compliments Joel was willing to dish out to you. You liked to be Joel’s slut and you wanted to be Deans too.

“Yes, it’s…it’s hot.”, you simply said.

Dean smiled at you in awe. “Damn, you really are a bombshell trough and through...”

Of course he would call you a slut. Dean was holding back anyways. This whole „boyfriend-act“ was knew to him too. He figured that the rules in Jackson were different than what he was used to outside. The only rule he knew was „take what you want, or someone else will“

However he was not with the raiders anymore. He couldn’t just take you from your father. He needed to make you fall in love with him first and soon he would’ve a cunt to warm his cock again. Dean liked a challenge anyways.

And you definitely were the biggest challenge in town.

“You should work on your compliments, son.”, a voice suddenly appeared from behind.

You jumped up from your spot and turned around. All colour left your face when you came face to face with…

“Uncle Tommy…”, you gulped, nearly choking on your own words. “What-what are you doing here?”

Tommy was standing there, hands casually tucked inside his jacket. A cigarette hanging from his lips.

How long was he standing there?

How much of your conversation did he witnessed?

Oh how embarrassing.

“Hi, sweetheart.”, he said to you and smiled, cigarette dangling between his lips. “Oh, well you know, I like to watch the horses while I smoke.”

He pointed at the stables behind him with his thump.

Oh this was the beginning of the end of your life.

Dean who was still casually sitting on the bench, one foot dangling over his leg and arms outstretched, looked over his shoulder to Tommy and greeted: “Mr Miller. Nice to meet you.”

Judging Deans very relaxed body language and the lack of horror in his face, you couldn’t tell if he realised how bad the situation was for him—and you.

“Nice to see’ya too.”, Tommy replied.

There was a tension building pause between all of you. Tommy was the one breaking the silence.

“You should go home now, son. I put’ya on patrol together with Joel tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the protocols.”, Dean nodded and rose up from the bench to his full height.

“You will definitely need to be well-rested, is what I’m sayin.“, the threat in Tommys sentence was hidden but there.

Dean nodded, in amusement and understanding.

Your worried eyes wandered back and forth between the men. You were close to hyperventilating.

“Yes, it’s late.”, you awkwardly said in hopes to debunk the situation. “I’m tired too.”

Another heavy pause placed itself onto everyone. You looked up at Dean, non-verbally telling him to please play along and just go home. That it wasn’t worth it. He looked down at you and winked, before tuning his attention back to Tommy.

“Good night, babe.”, he said while looking at the older man, provocatively.

Tommy kept his cool. He wasn’t impressed by Dean at all and he most certainly wouldn’t let him ruin this promising night.

“Mr Miller.”, he eventually said and walked away, leaving you alone with Tommy.

Tommy watched Dean wander away. He scoffed and shook his head in amusement. He took one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground. “What a charmer.”, he murmured more to himself than to you.

He walked around the bench and took a seat, grunting. “If it was up to me,”, he started, “I wouldn’t let that prick anywhere near a gun, but you know, Joel was quite pleased with the way the boy handled himself out there. Skilled. The kid has experience, many people in Jackson don’t.”

You didn’t hear a thing Tommy just said. You heart was beating too loud and too fast, you feared to suffer a heart attack.

“Uncle Tommy, I-I’m…please don’t tell Joel.”, you begged. There was nothing but worry in your eyes.

“Sweetheart, relax.”, he laughed. “I was young once too. You don’t even wanna know what bullshit I pulled behind my parents backs…”

You cracked a little smile at that.

“And, believe me, ya don’t want me to tell you about Joel’s business when he was your age…”

That made you giggle. You couldn’t even picture Joel as a young man.

“Ah, you’re smiling again.”, Tommy pointed at your face proudly. “I like to see that. C’mon sit down next to me.”

“I should go home, uncle Tommy. I have to be home at 9 or else…”

He looked at his wristwatch. “Got planty of time then.”

He was right. You still got half an hour. You nodded and placed yourself next to Tommy.

You met Tommy for the first time here in Jackson. Joel had told you a lot about him during your journey. You warmed up to Tommy almost immediately. At first you were a little sceptical about the man, he looked a lot like Joel. However he was nothing like him—Well, maybe only a tiny-little bit. According to Joel’s many stories, Tommy was pretty badass too. „We used to be a duo“, Joel had told you.

Tommy was definitely more charismatic though. Everyone in Jackson liked him. He was warm and welcoming towards you, immediately accepting you as part of their family.

“You will not tell Joel?”, you asked again, just to make sure.

“Nah.”, Tommy shook his head. “M’sorry for ruining your little date, sweetheart.”

You smiled. “It’s ok, uncle Tommy. I’m not mad at you.”

He smiled. “That’s nice to hear.”

He paused for a second before speaking again:

“As your uncle though…I feel like I have to give you the speech.”

“The speech?”, you repeated, not knowing what ‘the speech’ was.

“Yea, the speech.”, Tommy sighed. “He’s your first boyfriend, right?”

You looked at Tommy, unsure what to answer. Dean wasn’t your boyfriend yet—and he probably never would be. Joel was. Was he? No he was your dad.

“Guys like Dean…they mean trouble for girls like you. Gonna take a bite out of your heart before spitting it back out. Ya understand?”

“I…I don’t think so, uncle Tommy…”, you truthfully said.

Tommy leaned back and looked up at the night-sky, thinking of the right words. He turned his attention back at you. “M’tryin to say is, you are a pretty girl. That’s all guys like Dean care about. You give him a bit of yourself and he will expect more and more, until you’re left with nothin more to give. That’s when he gets bored of you and leaves.”

Your eyes widened at Tommys cryptic message. What he was trying to say is “if you let him fuck you, he will not be interested in you any more”—but that would be to harsh for you to hear.

You couldn’t help yourself but think…Will Joel get bored of me too?

You kept quiet, biting your lip. Not sure what to say.

“Maybe I should tell my brother about this, about Dean...”, he suddenly said and making every alarm bell inside your head ring. “That Dean kid is bad blood. Joel should scare him a little, make him understand that he shouldn’t break ya heart.”

You grabbed his arm and frantically shook your head. “No, no, no! Uncle Tommy, please don’t! Joel will kill him.”

“Sounds just about right to me .”, he chuckled.

“No, you don’t understand. He will also punish me. I’m not allowed to see boys. He thinks I’m at Anna’s birthday party. He will be very, very angry with me. I don’t want him to be angry with me. Please you don’t understand, uncle Tommy.”

Tommy was studying your reaction closely. Oh he did understand.

“You really don’t want me to tell him?”, he asked, playing dumb.

“Yes, please don’t. I’ll do anything.”, you nodded. “I’ll bake you the carrot cake you like so much!”

“What if I want something else?”, he asked voice suddenly lower, his eyes darker.

He sounded much more like Joel now.

You frowned, not understanding. “You want me to bake you another cake?”

“Close. I do want something sweet from you.”

“Something sweet?”, you repeated still confused about what exactly he wanted “Like…chocolate?”

“Ya can’t be this dumb, sweetheart...”, Tommy chuckled.

You opened your mouth, but closed it immediately.

Dumb?

Tommy never called you dumb before.

“…Or should I say ‘slut’?”

That answered the question you had earlier; he did indeed heard everything you said to Dean…

You wished to drop dead on the spot, feeling utterly embarrassed.

You seriously didn’t know what to say. You just looked down and swallowed the wave of emotions down that were otherwise going to burst out of you in form of a mental breakdown.

“I’ll go home now.”, you whispered, when you found your strength to speak again. You stayed seated though, not making the move to stand up and go, as if you were waiting for Tommys permission—Something told you that he wouldn’t let you off the hook this easy.

He nodded and made a clicking sound with his tongue.

“I’ll bring you home…after you’ve convinced me not to tell Joel about the fact that his girl begs strange guys to treat her like a common whore. Wonder how he will take that...”

Tommys soft tone didn’t fit his vile words.

You could feel yourself shutting down—this happened a lot at the early stages of being with Joel, after he had brutally killed your father in front of your eyes and forced you to be with him, to act like everything was totally fine. You stared into the void, not willing to acknowledge the level of betrayal you were experiencing right now. He was blackmailing you.

You liked Tommy.

He was one of the good guys.

Tommy looked at you intensely, analysing your soft features. There was a war going on inside your confused little head, he could see.

He had always wondered how you still look this stunning during the end of times while everyone else’s looked like they been through the gutter. Even on the day you and Joel arrived at Jackson for the first time after a year of living in the wilderness that was now the whole country—you still looked like an angel. Joel did a good job of taking care of you, Tommy had to admit.

Tommy admired your devotion towards his older brother. The way you would look up at him, as if he was your god. Always searching for his approval, his affection, his permission. Joel was a cold bastard, leaving you empty and starved.

Or maybe he was just smart really, since you couldn’t get enough of him no matter what.

And when Joel introduced you to him that day, your pretty eyes lit up with excitement. Uncle Tommy, you called him, even though you were not the same blood. You called him that out of respect for Joel.

Tommy wasn’t stupid. He could see right through Joel’s facade of protective-father. Tommy was his brother after all. He could tell that Joel’s liking in you wasn’t of…innocent nature. Quite the opposite. It was much, much darker. He always knew. Your dynamics always seemed a little off to him. Joel hadn’t even looked at another women since he was in Jackson—he had no need to. He had you.

Tommys suspicion was confirmed when one day he saw Joel touching your ass. It was a few month ago at Christmas dinner. You were standing in front of the sink—washing dishes like the little slave you were for Joel—when suddenly he walked up to you, seemingly to bring you more plates to wash, when his hand grabbed a fistful of your soft ass, so tight his knuckles turned white—and you didn’t objected.

At first Tommy was angry. Disgusted even. Joel was like your fucking father. You called him “dad”, for fucks sake. It was disgusting, vile and wrong.

But then Tommy felt stupid for not putting one and one together much earlier. Why else would a guy like Joel take care of a girl that wasn’t even his own blood? What did he get out from feeding another mouth? What was his merit? What could a girl like you possibly give to a man like him that he wasn’t able to get for himself?

The answer was so obvious.

Tommy heaved himself up from the bench and let his eyes wander over the era, looking out for potential witnesses…

“Ya’got two options, sweetheart.”, he started. “First option; we go home and I tell my brother what just happened between you and Mr Bombshell. The kid will die most likely tomorrow on patrol and Joel will not let you out if his eyesight for the rest of your life. Second option…”

He looked down at your bare legs and licked his lips.

“You stand up, turn around and bend over…”

He paused for a second. “S’up to you.”

„Second.“, you whispered, you didn’t even need time to think about your answer—not that you where thinking anything at all right now. Your mind was blank.

There was nothing that Tommy could do to you, that Joel hadn’t already done. You feared Joel more. The answer was easy. Second option.

You hadn’t even realised that you got up, turned around and bend over. Holding onto the back of the bench tightly.

It was only when you felt Tommy lift your skirt up and your bottom was exposed to the cold night and Tommys hungry stare that you realised that there was no turning back.

You couldn’t see what Tommy was doing behind you, and a part of you was thankful for that; at least you didn’t have to look him in the eyes.

Tommy pulled his cock out. He was hard the second he heard you beg Dean to call you a slut. He gave himself a few pumps and then lined his cock up with your entrance. He wasted no time, immediately ramming all of him inside your juicy cunt.

Dean had worked you up good for him.

The invasion was sudden and forceful. You whined and your knees buckled. You clenched your teeth together.

Tommy started to fuck you the second he was in, leaving your body no time to adjust to his length. He was fucking your hard and fast. He was holding onto your petite shoulders tightly, hurting your flesh and bringing your body down to his in a forceful manner.

The sound of clapping skin was loud and sinful. It sounded so wrong in your ears. And it only got worse when Tommy started to grunt like an animal.

„Shit, girl. Never fucked a cunt as tight as yours.“, he hissed. „Fuck.“

You started to cry. Not because you were in pain, but because you were about to cum…

„Stop please.“, you cried. You didn’t want to cum. Not for Tommy. You didn’t want him to think you enjoyed his assault.

“Your body is betraying you. You like it.”, you remember Joel say to you the first time he took you against your will.

This isn’t normal. I’m not normal. I’m sick. I’m a sick girl.

You started to cry even harder, or were you moaning?It was a mixture of both and it was pathetic. Your were so close. You cunt got even tighter around Tommy. He could feel it.

“You wanna cum little slut?”, he laughed, a nasty dirty laugh. He gave your ass a hard slap.

“No!”, you cried out. “Please stop!”

It wasn’t your fault. You were wet since Joel had fucked your throat earlier today and left you on the ground sexually frustrated. Then there was Dean who had spend minutes fingering you while kissing your neck. It wasn’t because of Tommy.

It’s not because of Tommy.

The more you tried to work against it, the pressure inside you only intensified. You couldn’t hold it out any longer.

You came.

You came around his cock.

First your legs started to shake—it was like a wave—then your whole body. Your thoughts were completely flushed away. Your were biting your lip so hard that you could taste blood on your tongue.

“That’s my girl.”, Tommy praised and kept fucking you hard. “God, you are so hot, sweetheart. I see why Joel keeps you around.”

After you came down from your orgasm you were basically jelly. Without Tommy holding you in place you would be panting on the ground by now. He kept ramming his cock inside you a few more times before pulling out.

He turned you around and manhandled you on your knees.

“Hold your palms out, bitch. C’mon.”, he barked and grabbed your wrist and yanked them up.

You put your palms together and held them up.

He frantically stroked his cock while grunting and growling like a wolf before finally releasing himself inside your hands.

A poodle of your uncles warm, sticky, hot cum could now be found inside your shaking hands. You didn’t dare to drop it. You didn’t move, holding your palms up as if his cum was holy.

The tears had dried on your face. You looked up at Tommy, waiting for him to finally end your suffering.

You wanted to run home.

He put his cock back inside his jeans and pulled out a cigarette. Exhausted.

“Eat it.”, he said and pointed his cigarette at his cum.

He wanted to see how far he could go with you. He wanted to know how well his brother had trained you.

“C’mon, eat it up.”, he repeated when he saw your confused face.

You hesitantly brought your shaking hands closer to your lips. If you had anything in your stomach right now, you would’ve puked it all out. You carefully took a small lick from his cum and cringed a little. It was salty. But soon you found the taste to be familiar. It tasted like Joel’s.

“Be careful not to drop anythin. We don’t want Joel to find cum on you, do we? He might think it belongs to Dean…”

You shook your head and carefully licked your palms clean. Eating your uncles cum.

Tommy watched you intensely. You looked like a little kitten drinking her milk. He was already hard again. He would definitely think about this image of you when he would fuck his wife later tonight.

“Good job, sweetheart.”, he praised you. “Now C’mon. Let’s get’ya home. And you better thing about an excuse why you look like someone had fucked you silly��we don’t want Joel to get suspicious.”

He pointed at you puffy red eyes and ran down mascara.

He helped you up from the ground and you silently followed him home.

————

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harringtonstilinski · 9 months ago

Text

I Didn't Run Away This Time, Right? - Steve Harrington

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Steve Harrington x Munson!Reader Word Count: 5,584 Warnings: aaannngggsssttt, fluff, major character death, tried not to use y/n or y/n/n, hallucinations (reader sees someone 👀) Requested: no | yes; i hope it meets your expectations, anon friend!! Smut: no | yes; A/N: Hi, friends! Reader is 18 in this fic, Steve is his canon age (which I think is 19..?) If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

You couldn’t get there fast enough as your feet pounded the pavement below you. There was one person you had to get to; your older brother, Eddie. It was stupid as shit of him to drop from the tied up sheets that led your group from Hawkins to the Upside Down before cutting them.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you spotted a body on the ground. “Eddie!” you yelled, running faster than you thought possible to get to him. Sliding on your legs, you were careful to not kick him in the head like you used to do accidentally when you two were kids.

“Hey, kid,” he grunted. “Bad, huh?”

“No, no, no, you’re gonna be fine,” you said, checking over his wounds. “We’re gonna get you back home and I’ll patch you up.”

“Okay,” Eddie sputtered.

You went to help him up, but with the amount of pain he was in, he said, “I think I just - I think I just need a second, okay, kid?”

“Okay,” you said, getting at least his head in your lap. The tears were non-stop streaming down your face, the droplets hitting his cheek.

As he started choking on the blood trying to come up his throat, he looked at you before sadly gritting through his teeth, “I didn’t run away this time, right?”

“No,” you sobbed. “No, you didn’t.”

You could hear the tears in his voice as well as see them in his eyes as he said, “You’re gonna have to look after those little sheepies for me, okay?”

Taking a shaky breath, you cupped his cheek, saying, “You’re gonna do that yourself, Ed.”

“Nah, kiddo.”

Your cries started to come out harder, knowing that you were going to lose your big brother. Resting your forehead on his, you let the tears fall from your waterline, Eddie’s eyes closing for a moment before he said, “Repeat it, kid. Say it.”

“I’m-,” you sobbed. “I’m gonna look after ‘em.”

“Good.”

Grabbing his hand in yours, you laced your fingers with his, not caring about the blood, sweat and dirt covering both of your hands.

“ ‘Cause I’m actually gonna graduate this year.”

“You are,” you nodded, sitting back up to look at him. “We are.” He chuckled weakly, his grip on your fingers starting to go slack as you both said, “It’s our year.”

“I think it’s fiiiiinally my year.”

You could feel his life slipping from you as you held him as you whispered, “It is. But you have to hold on. Okay? Just hold on.”

Choking more on his own blood, Eddie looked at you, and he knew his time was coming to an end with you, so he decided to say the one thing you barely said to each other. “I love you, kid.”

The sobs were wracking your body at this point, knowing that his life was slipping away. You sniffled a deep breath, releasing it as you looked away from him, trying to blink the tears away. When you looked back down at him, you cried, “You can’t leave me all alone, Eddie. Don’t leave me here alone. Do you understand me? We have to graduate… together.”

Grunting as he choked, he whispered, “Say it back, kid,” as you gave him sad eyes. The last thing he heard from you before succumbing to his wounds was, “I love you, too, bubba.”

As you watched the life drain from his eyes, you cried harder than you ever had before; harder than when your mom left, harder than when your dad got hauled off to jail, screaming his name as the anguish washed over you. “EDDIE!!”

As you cried over Eddie’s lifeless body, you whispered tearfully, “Please, don’t leave me.” Laying uncomfortably over Eddie’s body, you couldn’t really hear anything over your sobs. Not even Robin, Nancy and Steve’s footfalls. Not even Dustin’s own cries. You didn’t register hands on your arms, pulling you up. It didn’t hit you until Eddie’s body started to get smaller and smaller.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, pushing at the body that was all but covering you.

Steve's arms went tighter around your body as you struggled to get out of his hold. “Babe-,”

“Let me go!” you shouted, realizing that you were now back in the trailer. “I can’t just leave him!”

“Babe, just - what happened to the sheets?”

Resting your forehead on Steve’s chest, you sobbed into him, gripping the sleeves of his jacket tight in your fist. As Steve placed a kiss to the top of your head, he sighed, feeling extremely bad for you in this moment. You just lost your brother and you had to leave his body behind.

When the six of you had figured out a way to get back to Hawkins, you ran straight to yours and Eddie’s room; Wayne having let the two of you have it when he took you both in. Everyone tried to protest about you going in there, but their voices quieted down once they saw what was in your arms; your favorite shirts of Eddie’s, including a Hellfire shirt that he had made for you.

You weren’t a part of Hellfire, but more of an honorary member. You knew about the lore behind D&D because of Eddie, but you had no desire to play the game.

Steve ended up taking you back to his house to shower and change, and to try and get some sleep.

Of course, neither of you got any sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Eddie’s lifeless body in your lap. The morning after Eddie’s death, you’d all learned about the ‘earthquake’ that happened after Max’s death on the news, the reporter having said if you have items to donate, you could take them to the high school’s gym, where they set up a shelter for those who lost their homes.

You didn’t have any items that you wanted to donate, mainly because everything you would want to donate… was Eddie’s.

Two days after Eddie’s death, Steve finally got you out of the house to help volunteer at school’s shelter. You had made a pitstop with Robin and Dustin to the Wheeler’s house to gather the items that they were going to be donating.

After greeting and hugging the Byers boys, Mike and El, as well as meeting their friend Argyle, you left with Steve, Robin and Dustin to head to the school. You didn’t know where to go after the volunteer gave suggestions on where to go, so you stuck with Dustin, passing out cups of water, and giving blankets and pillows to those in need.

Your heart shattered when you saw your uncle standing by the bulletin board, watching as he took down a graffitied missing person’s paper on Eddie, just to put a fresh one up. Walking up to him, you placed a hand on his back. “Wayne?”

He looked down at you, a sad, but relieved smile on his face. “Hey, kid.” Hugging you, he sighed.

“Can we talk?” you asked.

“Can’t imagine we got anything to talk about,” he said.

Pulling back, a small smile formed on your face. “There’s that Munson sarcasm.”

You both sat down, a deep breath escaping your body.

Wayne sighed a deep sigh, putting his arm around you. “Your brother is innocent.”

“I know,” you whispered. “He wouldn’t’ve hurt a fly.”

“He’s still missing.”

Tears formed in your eyes because you knew the full truth as he continued, “I’ll put as many posters as I need until he’s found.”

Wayne went to stand, but you grabbed his shirt, keeping him in place. “I was with him. I was with him when the earthquake hit.”

“And where is he now, kid?”

Taking a shaky breath, you closed your eyes, not ready to break your uncle’s heart. You reached into the top of your shirt, bringing out the guitar pick necklace that was around your neck, the one you had grabbed the night he died. With a tearful voice, you sobbed, “I’m so sorry, Wayne.”

He took a shaky breath, resting his head on top of yours that you had rested against the front of his shoulder.

“I wish everyone knew the real Eddie,” you whispered-cried. “Like, really know him because they would’ve loved him. They would’ve known how much a good big brother he was; like, the best. He always made sure I had something to eat when dad would go off and do… whatever the hell he did. Ed would… would put me first before himself. He’d let me sleep in his bed when I had nightmares.

“Everyone would’ve seen how good of a person he is-was. Even right there at the end, he never stopped being Eddie. Despite everything we went through. I never even saw him when he got mad. He kept that part of his life away from me because of our father. He could’ve run, or even saved himself, but he didn’t. He fought. He fought and died to protect this town; this town that hated him. He fought to protect me. He isn’t just innocent. He’s a hero, Wayne.” You looked up at him, seeing the tears streaming down his cheeks as you said, “A goddamn hero.”

You and Wayne held onto each other as you both wept over the loss of one of your favorite people. Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you looked up at Wayne, seeing him looking over your head.

Turning to look at whatever or whoever was looking at you, you saw Steve standing there, a solemn look on his face. You stood and wrapped your arms around his neck, sobbing into him. “I miss him so much.”

Wrapping his own arms around your middle, he sighed pressing a kiss to your neck. “I know,” he whispered.

You and Steve had started dating right after you turned 18. Since Dustin was in Hellfire and the two of you became friends, he’d introduced you to Steve. The two of you hit it off like fireworks, feeling those sparks the first time you and he laid eyes on each other; you thought he was cute, he thought you were beautiful. Steve, of course, waited until you were 18 before he made any sort of move on you, respectfully.

You knew of Steve from school, but the Steve you knew of was King Steve, not… Steve. Having known about him and Nancy when you were a freshman, you tried not to make the same mistakes that were made during their relationship, so when you told Steve that you loved him, you meant it. When Steve said it back to you, he meant it.

Being with Steve meant the world to you, but losing your brother put you in a state of depression that you weren’t sure if you could bring yourself out of. You wanted to try for him and for everyone else, but you built up walls that no one could tear down.

If Robin asked you how your day was going, you’d give a short “Fine,” and stick your nose back in your book. If Nancy asked if you wanted to go shopping, you’d make up some excuse to not go. The same with Steve; he’d ask you on countless dates in the weeks since your brother passed away, but again, you’d give some excuse to not go.

Dustin took over creating campaigns with Mike, Eddie having asked him to before he ran off to save the world. You’d be at Hellfire, but were distant, giving spaced out looks while sitting in your brother’s chair.

You’d still sit with Hellfire at lunch and walk with them to the classes you’d have together, but even they couldn’t break your shell, Dustin being the main one.

“Come on,” he would half-whine. “You gotta talk to us. We lost him, too.” All you would do was give him an upset look before grabbing your things and walking off school grounds, where Steve would find you walking on his way to Family Video.

Eddie had asked Dustin to look after you, something he was trying to do, but since you had built up your walls, the young teen couldn’t get you to talk about your grief, but he kept trying… for Eddie.

Since your trailer was basically destroyed because of it being the home of Chrissy’s Gate, you didn’t have anywhere else to go but to Steve’s. His parents weren’t home half the time, so it’s not like they would care or not if you were there. Wayne was fine with it, as long as you kept him updated.

He didn’t want to leave you by yourself, considering the state of mind you were in, but you’d promised him you wouldn’t do anything stupid to yourself, and he’d believe you. Steve would be worried sick about you while on his shift, all but fumbling with his work.

When he’d come home, the smell of food would hit his senses as he locked the front door. Walking into the kitchen, he’d find dinner prepared; a plate being left out for him with the utensils he’d need. A note would always be left on the plate in your handwriting.

Sorry for not waiting up for you. Also, sorry if it’s not good. I don’t really know how to cook that well. Eddie always did the cooking. Anyway, I hope it’s good. I love you. -Babe

It was three weeks after Eddie’s death when you all decided to have a service for him. It was beautiful, something he would’ve wanted. When you snuck back over to retrieve more of his stuff, as well as some of your own, you’d listened to all of his tapes that you took to find the saddest metal song for his funeral service.

At the reception afterward, Jeff suggested that Eddie’s favorite song be played, which happened to be the same song he played for Chrissy in the Upside Down; Master of Puppets by Metallica. You cried and Steve took you home.

Since Steve was still at work a few days later, you’d decided that looking out of the window was cutting it anymore for the moment, so you were now sitting on the floor of Steve’s room, back pressing againsting the mattress. Legs bent at the knee with your schoolbook resting on your thighs, your walkman laying beside you with the headphones pressed to your ears, having decided that homework would be a good distraction.

You didn’t register when Steve had walked into his room, hearing your voice sing Def Leppard’s Rock of Ages. Even with your walls up, he could see the real you shining through.

What Steve didn’t know was that when you weren’t around anyone and you were alone, you let your mind wander. Today’s daydream, Eddie sitting on the bed behind you, strumming on his guitar as you did your homework.

Feeling tapping your shoulder, you swatted at the hand, saying, “Stop.” When it happened again, you sighed. “Eddie.” Shoes were now in your line of sight, seeing that it was Steve’s shoes, not Eddie’s.

As Steve squatted, you crawled back into your shell, hiding yourself from him. “Baby,” he whispered. When you didn’t respond, he sat facing you, his arm resting on his bent knee. “Baby, talk to me.”

You looked at him, seeing a figure standing behind him. Looking behind Steve, your eyes went wide, seeing Eddie standing there, hands in his pockets, giving you a small smile that you instantly recognized.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked back down at Steve, who was looking at you confused. “Uhm,” you whispered, seeing movement. Looking back up, you watched as Eddie moved from directly behind Steve to stand to the side of him. Eddie pointed to his ears, signaling you to take off the headphones.

Quickly taking off the headphones, you reached down to your walkman, pausing the cassette tape and looking back up as a tear fell from your waterline, Eddie suddenly gone. Your eyes danced around the room, Steve looking more worried.

“Babe?” he voiced. He looked behind him, not seeing anything but his posters on his wall. When he looked back at you, you had more streams covering your cheeks. Sighing, he whispered, “Oh, baby,” before moving to sit beside you, his back resting against his mattress with an arm around your shoulders.

Steve pressed a kiss to your temple, resting his chin on the top of your head when you dropped your head to his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said softly.

“I’m so tired of crying,” you whispered. “He’s such a dumbass, basically sacrificing himself like that.”

Releasing a deep breath, Steve moved his head to rest his cheek where his chin just was. “I know, baby. He did what he thought was right.” When he moved his again to look down at you the best he could, he noticed your notebook, seeing your homework written along the lines of the pages. “What’cha working on?”

Looking down at your papers with a deep sigh, you sniffled before picking your head up. “Math. Eddie and I had the class together. Teacher’s a real bitch. Always has been.”

“Wait, who’s your math teacher again?”

“Mrs. Martin.”

Chuckling, Steve nodded his head. “Yeah, I had her last year. Barely passed.”

“You barely came to school,” you said, chuckling.

Steve smiled at hearing your chuckle. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and it was music to his ears. “Hey,” he whispered, gaining your attention. “What do you say we go downstairs, order some takeout and have a movie night? Just us.”

Softly groaning, you tilted your head back. “As much as I would love to do that with you, I have about a week’s worth of homework to catch up on.” You didn’t really have that much homework, you just needed an excuse to not spend time with him, even though that’s all you wanted to do.

Placing his lips on your temple once more, Steve gently squeezed your shoulder. “Okay. Well, I’ll get you something. I’ll bring it up when I get back, okay?”

Nodding your head, you looked at him. “Okay.”

Since Eddie’s passing, you’ve only kissed Steve a total of two times. Those two times that you placed your lips on Steve’s, you were taken back to that night in the Upside Down, the two of you having shared a kiss before he went off to flambe Vecna.

Steve understood when you expressed your concerns to him about it. He said he’d wait until you were comfortable with kissing him again.

You thought it was stupid that you couldn’t kiss your own boyfriend, but your mind kept taking you back to that night over and over again when you did. In this moment, as you looked at Steve, you wanted to kiss him, but couldn’t bring yourself to.

So, you closed your eyes as he placed his lips on your forehead, your eyes closing at the feel of his lips on your skin. When his lips disappeared, you opened your eyes, seeing his already on you.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, voice shaky.

Steve stood and walked out of his room, wiping a tear that had fallen from his waterline as he stepped into the hallway. When he closed the door behind him, you put your walkman back on and got back to your homework.

When he got back to his house around 30 minutes later, he went upstairs after calling your name and getting no response. Opening the door, he sighed at the sight before him; you curled up on his bed in one of Eddie’s t-shirts. Your face looked the softest it’s ever looked in the last three weeks.

He walked over to you, placing the bag on the floor before kneeling beside the bed, watching as you slept. Leaning forward to press his lips on your forehead for the second time that night, he stood as he grabbed the takeout bag before heading back downstairs to take off his shoes and place his keys in the bowl on the entryway table.

Sitting down on the couch with this plate of food, he let out a groan before turning on the tv to watch his favorite sitcom, Family Ties. The newest episode was to air the next night, so the network was playing reruns of the past episodes.

He wasn’t that far into the episode before he heard you screaming Eddie’s name. Placing his plate onto the coffee table, he stood and quickly made his way to his room, seeing you gripping the sheets tightly in your fist.

It wasn’t until you screamed again that he jumped into action, laying behind you on the bed, putting his arm around your own to keep you grounded. “Baby!” he exclaimed. “Sweetheart, wake up!”

When you let out a whimpered cry, he rested his forehead on your shoulder, kissing the skin he could reach. “You gotta wake up, beautiful,” he said, voice soft as ever.

Feeling arms around you, grabbed onto them, breathing shakily before turning onto your back, opening your eyes as you cried. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, voice filled with tears. “I hate that I’m putting you through this shit, Steve.”

Sitting up to rest on his arm, Steve looked at you with nothing but love and adoration. Shaking his head as he cupped your cheek, he whispered, “Don’t be. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll help you through your grief and trauma.”

That only made you want to cry harder, but you willed the tears away before taking a deep breath, smelling the food on his breath. “Go eat, please. I’m sorry I took you from your food and sitcom.”

“It’s fine, baby. Do you wanna come and eat with me?”

Placing your hand on his wrist that was by your face, you tightened your lips, looking down at a random spot before shaking your head. It was killing you not spending time with him. The main thought that ran through your head was the fact that Steve would leave you, too, if you kept this charade up.

Releasing a deep breath, Steve nodded and moved to hover over you for a moment before getting off the bed and exiting the room. When his feet had hit the floor, you turned your back to him, letting the tears fall. The last thing he heard before he shut his door was your soft cries.

~~~

“I don’t wanna do this,” you said, panic in your voice. You were standing with Robin and Nancy in your Hawkins High green graduation cap and gown. “I can’t do this without Eddie.”

“Hey,” Robin said, placing her hand on your shoulder. “He’s here with you. He’ll always be with you.”

Your breathing started to pick up slightly, so you reached into your gown and grabbed the guitar pick necklace that you never took off. “It’s not the same, though, Robs. I need him here with me. Physically, not… mentally or emotionally.”

Feeling another hand on your other shoulder, you knew it was Nancy. “He is here. In spirit.”

“Yeah, okay,” you muttered.

Robin and Nancy looked at each other, sympathetic looks on their faces. When Robin looked back at you, she watched as a tear fell from your waterline, knowing that you were trying your hardest to keep the tears at bay.

When it was time to go and take your seats, you couldn’t leave Nancy and Robin, so the administrators of the school let them sit with you, holding each one of your hands, the roses that you all were given sitting in your laps, only… yours had two roses; a red one and a black one.

If Eddie had lived, he’d be holding the black rose that was given to you, muttering how stupid it was that he received a rose because roses were for girls, and you would snicker next to him, trying not to get in trouble with the teacher sitting at the end of the aisle.

When Robin’s name was called, she patted your hand and stood up, walking to the stage to receive her diploma, the same thing with Nancy when she called. It seemed like the entire Class of ‘86 was graduating except for you.

“And now, we’d like to bring to the stage–” When Principal Higgins called your name, you looked up from your lap in shock, Nancy and Robin smiling big at you, happy that your time had come. They helped you to stand, walking with you to the stage so that you wouldn’t fall.

You looked at the sky and you swore you could see Eddie flipping everyone off. Looking at Principal Higgins, you looked him dead in the eye, flipped him the bird before snatching your diploma from his hand.

But before you could run like hell off the stage and off the field, you looked at where your friends and family were sitting, shocked to all hell when you saw Eddie sitting in between Dustin and Wayne, clapping and smiling. You could’ve sworn you saw him mouth the words, “Our year, kid. Good job,” before vanishing.

You broke down in tears right on that stage, falling to your knees in front of your graduating class, not caring that they were witnessing your very public breakdown.

Steve, Dustin, Robin and Nancy all four rushed to the stage, helping you to stand as you sobbed uncontrollably over the loss of your brother. Since you couldn’t walk very well because of the sobs taking over your body, Steve had to bend down and pick you up, carrying you to the car.

He didn't get very far before you took a shaky breath, looking off to the side in front of Steve, saying, “I saw him. I fucking saw Eddie!” Steve stopped his feet from moving any further as he looked down at you.

“What did you just say, kid?”

Resting your head on Steve’s shoulder, your forehead touched the skin of his neck as you stuttered, “I-I saw E-Eddie. He was s-sitting between Wayne and D-Dustin.” As you tried to calm your breathing, you only cried harder.

“Oh, shit,” Dustin breathed.

“Kid, your mind is just playing on you,” Wayne voiced, sighing.

With your tears still ever present on your face, you looked up at Steve, eyes red from crying. “Put me down, please, Steve.”

He looked down at you the best he could, seeing the red in your eyes. Sighing, he nodded and set you on your feet. Feeling bad about keeping his hands on your waist, all he could do was look at you, knowing that you were probably going to run. “Are you gonna run?” he whispered.

You didn’t answer him because you both knew the answer. You would. But where, Steve didn’t know. Only you did. When he sighed and looked down, Steve let go of your waist, and not missing a beat, you turned and ran as fast as your feet could carry you.

With your feet hitting the pavement and your breathing heavy, you had only one goal in mind; getting to Eddie’s grave as fast as humanly possible. You weren’t sure how long you were running for, so when you found yourself sitting on your knees at your brother’s headstone, you were almost on the verge of a panic attack, you were breathing so heavy.

“You’re a liar,” you gritted through your teeth, tears streaming down your face. “You’d said this was our year. Our year, Edward. That makes you a fucking liar. I can’t believe you’d leave me alone, too. Ever since Wayne took us in, you always told me I’d never be alone, that you’d always be there for and with me. But you’re not.”

Hitting the side of your fist on the ground as you bent at the waist, you sobbed. You sobbed for the loss of the little boy you saw through your six year old eyes, for the fifteen year old who held you when your dreams became too much and introduced you to metal music, for the eighteen year old who failed his senior year the first time, for the young man he grew up to be right before your eyes.

Hitting the ground again, you took a deep breath, sitting up. Looking at his headstone, all you could see next to his name was his smiling face. This only made you cry more, the sobs wracking your body

“You lied! You’re a fucking liar! I hate you!” you cried, smacking the front of his headstone where his name sat, repeating those last three words over and over again. “You’re a fucking coward, Edward Munson! You hear me? A fucking coward!”

Placing your forehead at the top of the headstone, you let the tears flow down your cheeks, not hearing tires on the pavement behind you or the steps on the grass from someone’s shoes.

Steve watched as you took a deep, shaky breath sitting back up on your knees, your hand replacing where your forehead just was. He took a couple of steps towards you as he heard you say, “Nothing’s the same without you here. Wayne had to move trailers because of the Gate, I couldn’t donate anything of yours because the thought of getting rid of your things hurts me to my core.”

Kneeling down behind you carefully, Steve was fully prepared to listen to you grieve for your brother.

“You were wrong, Eddie… so terribly wrong about not being a hero. You are a hero. You saved me… a-and you saved Dustin.” Sighing, you closed your eyes and hung your head for a moment before picking it back up to look at Eddie’s name. “I love you, bubba. So much.” You leaned forward on your knees to kiss the top of his headstone before sitting back on your knees.

Steve knew that you were done talking to your brother, but he waited a moment, hearing you sigh in finality before he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, causing you to jump at the feel of someone touching you.

Quickly turning to face him, your features softened when you realized it was just Steve. You looked at him for a moment before smiling softly at him, both of you moving to sit next to each other, his arm around your shoulders as your head rested on his shoulder.

He sighed, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “I know that I’m sorry is the last thing you want to hear right now,” he whispered. “So, I’m not gonna say it. What I will say is that he’s always going to be here with you. Maybe not physically, but in your heart. I know him being in your heart isn’t the same as being here physically, but…” He stopped his words, looking down at you the best he could before bringing his hand to your chin, gently raising your head up to look at him.

“...he’s always going to be with you.” Putting his hand gently on your chest where your heart sat beneath your sternum. “In here.”

Smiling slightly, your eyes danced between Steve’s, asking, “My boobs?” before letting out a small, quiet chuckle at him as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“No, smartass. Your heart.”

Placing your hand over his, you leaned your head back against his shoulder, your eyes still locked on his. “I love you,” you whispered. “And thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, confused.

“For everything. Letting me basically move in with you, for letting me grieve even though we both know I’m gonna be doing that for a while. For loving me even when I put the walls up.” You looked back at your brother’s headstone, tears filling your eyes once again. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

Holding onto you a little tighter, Steve sighed, kissing your forehead when you turned your head into his neck. “I know. I’ll always be here for you, baby, even if you just want to cry, my shoulder is available 24/7.”

You chuckled at his words, looking up at him. “Again, thank you. This time for being supportive, or… at least trying to be.” Smiling softly, you couldn’t help but hear Eddie’s voice in your head, saying, “Kid, if you don’t love up on him, I will resurrect and do it myself.”

Steve didn’t wonder why you chuckled before looking over at the headstone once again. “What’s up?”

Shaking your head, you said, “Just something Eddie would say popped into my head.” Taking a deep breath, you sighed it out, saying, “It’s going to be tough,... but I’ll make it through.” Looking back at your boyfriend, the soft smile never leaving your face as you said, “Especially because I have you by my side.”

Resting his forehead against yours softly, Steve sighed, letting you take the reins on the next set of words that leaves your lips.

“I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

The wind that blew over the two of you was just wind to Steve, but as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, you thought it was a sign from your brother, telling you everything was going to be okay.

Opening your eyes, you gave Steve a small smile before cupping his cheeks, and finally, finally giving him the kiss he oh so deserved.

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A/N 2: hi, friends! let me know what you thought about! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: i'm running out of nicknames to give reader when not using y/n or y/n/n. give me some suggestions?? also, i'm irritated at myself for not finding the gif i wanted.

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Posted on February 22, 2024 *Happy 31st Birthday to me!!*

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x muson!reader #steve harrington #joe keery x reader

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taronegertonthewelshboi · 1 year ago

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On the Road

Rockstar!eddie x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Swearing, allusions to sex. SFW. Use of Y/N

A/N: Please go easy on me for this. It’s been a very long time since i’ve written anything so excuse any poor writing or dodgy use of tense, but i just had this thought one night and said fuck it, lets share it. Enjoy. Feedback is appreciated and so are likes and reblogs 🙂

The squeaking of the brakes and crunching of gravel was enough to slowly bring you out of your slumber. It had been a few hours since you’d passed out on the scratchy sofa of their tour bus, but it had seemed needed after the past week of late nights and long journeys that had robbed you of energy. The heavy hand that had been stroking across your shoulder, squeezed your upper arm, “We’re here sweetheart.” Eddie’s voice sounded, laced with tiredness.

After years of blood, sweat and tears, Eddie had finally managed to make his childhood dreams real. He and the boy’s of corroded Coffin had made it to the big leagues, miles away from dingy bars and drunks that couldn’t care less who they were. They had been talent spotted and offered a small regional tour which, after completing last summer, had proven their name in the industry as one to look out for. Their success led them to now, their first leg of their national tour filled with multiple sold out shows. Eddie could have sworn he’d never felt more alive than he did when he got to perform to thousands of people every night, seeing how their music touched each and every one, much like he’d been affected by his own music heroes growing up. Getting to witness his dreams being fulfilled every night, had been a privilege, seeing new towns and cities that you probably would never have had the chance to before felt like the greatest gift you’d been given. You’d joined him on tour as support at first. He’d spent nights begging for you to join him. ‘Babe, please come! The boys all want you with us, plus i’ll miss you so much that i’ll combust if i have to spend too long away.’ He’d state each time you’d give a reason as to why it wouldn’t be possible. Eventually he’d pestered enough that you broke, agreeing to join him for the first 4 stops on the tour and then head back home, however that soon changed when you joined the guys selling merch and even creating items to sell, leading to your position in the group being upgraded from supportive girlfriend to executive roadie.

Blinking your eyes open, you were faced with Eddie's big brown eyes staring lovingly back into yours. They were now accompanied by dark undereye shadows, telling the story of a man who’d been working his ass off. “Morning sleepy girl.” He smiled. You reached up a hand to rub the sleep out of your eyes. “It’s morning?” You croaked.

“Only just, It’s gone 2am.” Eddie clarified glancing to his watch.

“Ugh, can i not just stay here?” You whined, tucking your face away and attempting to drift back to sleep.

Eddie chuckled softly, sliding his hand down your arm to grasp your hand, “Unfortunately not, we’ve got a nice big bed waiting for us and quite frankly i’d like to be in it right now.”

Just the mention of a bed, had you moving to get up. Despite having spent a good month on the road and being treated to a fairly comfy tour bus with all the amenities the guys could need, stopping at hotels and getting to sleep in a bed that wasn’t continually being rattled by the vibrations of an engine or having disturbances by people shuffling around in the night was a god send. You and Eddie had been lucky when given bunk assignments, seeing as you were the only couple in the group, you had been designated the only actual bed on the bus, whilst the rest of the guys had to make do with a single bunk bed that could just about house a small grown adult. ‘You guys can have the bed but just don’t make too much noise if you’re gonna fuck. Don’t really need to hear ‘how eddie is rocking your world’ or ‘how good my princess takes me’ is.’ Gareth had warned you two on the first night on the road, very much to the embarrassment of you but the humor of Eddie.

“Where are the guys?” You asked as you stretched out your muscles, hearing a satisfying click in your bones.

“They’ve already headed in. Jeff barely waited for the bus to come to a stop before he’d leapt off claiming he needed to pee.”

You smiled in response watching as Eddie gathered up both his and your overnight bags to bring into the hotel. He took your hand in his free one, leading you out the bus and towards the hotel reception. You were met with the rest of the tour party standing with bleary eyes and no energy, all ready to finally get some rest. Eddie nudged you in the direction of Gareth and Jeff who were standing resting against the wall, struggling to stay awake, whilst he went to source your room key.

“My eyes feel like they have papercuts.” Gareth grumbled.

“I could sleep right here.” Jeff responded. You gave both the boys sympathetic smiles.

Throughout the tour you’d grown closer to them, becoming almost like a sister to them. They’d come to you with all sorts of issues, from wardrobe help to romantic advice. Like any man that had an entire world of women at their feet, Gareth and Jeff made the most of being single and having their pick, resulting in plenty of one night stands and the occasional double hit.

“You seemed to have slept ok y/n, you were totally out.” Gareth remarked.

You sighed softly, “God I must have been shattered, I don't actually remember laying down.”

“You didn’t, I laid you down in my lap cause your head was hanging off your neck.” Eddie responded as he walked back over to you, this time with keys in hand. He handed Jeff and Gareth their keys each before swinging his arm to rest over your shoulders. “Couldn’t have my love waking up in pain.” he said as he pressed a kiss to your hairline.

Your heart swelled in your chest. Eddie had many ways of showing his affection for you, but his physical touch and care is the category he really shone in. From the gentle touches on the base of your back as he guided you through crowds of fans, to the all enclosing, full of love and affection, cuddles he’d provide whenever you wanted, the love eddie had for you couldn’t hide from his physical touch. The gesture of him adjusting your sleeping position on the bus purely to help you, was just another example of his love.

Eddie slid his arm down from your shoulders to connect your hands as he gently led you towards your bedroom for the night. Stepping into the elevator, he reached over to press the floor number, he didn’t even wait for the doors to fully close before he was encasing you in an embrace and guiding your lips up to meet his. Although gentle, his kiss was full of love, speaking all the words he could ever say.

He pulled back slightly, keeping your noses touching. “Thank you baby for coming with me. I know it isn’t easy, jesus, its fucking exhausting.”

You smiled in agreement, “It is. But it’s worth it.” You pushed back into him to connect your lips again. “I get to see my gorgeous rockstar boyfriend, singing and playing his heart out in front of screaming fans every night and know that at the end of the night, he’ll be in my bed, kissing my lips, giving his whole being to me.”

Eddie brings his hands to hold your cheeks as he kisses you again, however just before he can deepen it, the elevator doors re-open. Quickly he takes your hand again and pulls you along as he heads towards your room. He swiftly slips the key into the door, and pushes it open, gesturing for you to enter before him, ever the gentleman. As you take in the room, which is a mark sight better than the cramped bedroom on the tour bus, the door behind you shuts as two thick arms slide around your waist, and the warm breath of your lover fans down your neck.

“You are right.” He whispered as you tilted your neck to the side granting him space to pepper your skin with kisses. “Having a stunning woman, watching from the wings of the stage as I sing for her, knowing that I also get to be in her bed, kissing her and showing her pleasure that has her screaming my name every night is what makes this all worth it.”

His words send shivers down your spine, making you turn to face him. All feelings of tiredness fade from your body and are replaced with desire. Looking up into his eyes, you see that he is sharing the feeling. “Then come and show me.” You whisper just as you reconnect with his lips and walk him towards the bed.

He was right, touring is exhausting, but so were you. It’s all worth it for nights like these.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x femalereader #rockstar eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #rockstar!eddie munson

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fairy-writes · 1 day ago

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MERCY

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Trigun Stampede

Pairing(s): Vash the Stampede x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Pre-Canon, Established Relationships, Possible OOCness with Vash but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head

Notes: I HAVEN’T DONE THIS IN A WHILE

BUT CATCH MY DOCTOR WHO QUOTES

__________________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t often that you saw Vash angry.

In fact, in all the time you’d known him, you never remembered him actually getting angry. Irritated? Sure, but never like… this.

Three days was enough to wear down the Humanoid Typhoon.

It should have been simple: just keep your heads down and let the bandits currently hunting for Vash’s bounty pass on through the little town.

It seemed easy enough. You’d done this a million times. You were practically pros! What would change now?

Oh, how you wished you could take those words back.

“Vash, stop!” You plead and cry and tug at Vash’s coat as you try to keep him from shooting the man in front of him. He grits his teeth, but that doesn’t stop his finger from curling around the trigger.

“I’m done negotiating.” He snaps, and you flinch back as if struck across the face.

“We can talk this out! Just like you do every time! Vash, please!”

He rounds on you, keeping the gun pointed at the bandit.

“Every time I negotiate, every time I try to understand. Well, not today. No. Today, I honor the victims first. His, Nai’s, the humans, all the people who died because of MY mercy!”

Right…

The people who died.

You can still hear a mother wailing for her dead child behind you, cradling his limp corpse in her arms as she begged whoever was listening to bring her baby back to her.

You could tell Vash heard it too, because he ground his teeth together even more. His thumb pulled the hammer back on his gun, and he stepped closer to press the barrel to the bandit’s forehead.

The aforementioned bandit was shaking in his boots. His knees knocked together, and sweat dripped down his brow. His own gun had been batted away after shooting at Vash and you. Luckily, the bullets had lodged in Vash’s prosthetic arm instead of flesh. The arm itself was fine, if not sparking a little.

But that didn’t matter.

“Vash,” You began, slowly, calmly, like trying to calm a spooked animal. Vash turned to look at you, and you weren’t surprised to see tears starting to prick his eyes.

He had always been the emotional one.

“Please, put the gun down. Have some mercy, and we can talk this out.” You tried, and his following words made your blood run cold.

“I’m so old now. I used to have so much mercy. But not anymore.” He snarled, and you flinched back.

This wasn’t the Vash you knew and loved

What had happened to him?

One of the townsfolk stepped forward,

“Mr. Typhoon… Please. Put the gun down. We will arrest the bandit and hold him until the police can arrive. you’re scaring your love.” She said, and those words snapped Vash out of his violent stupor. He looked at you with new eyes, heartbroken and horrified.

You couldn’t stop him as he stepped away and fled,

You found him in the desert of No Man’s Land two days later.

Two days. Two days of relentless searching. Two days of worrying. Two days of Vash obviously beating himself up over everything. The bandit was apprehended, as was his little posse of criminals. So you were able to search for Vash safely.

You found him in a cave, bits of his arm strewn about as he tried to get the bullets unstuck. He was muttering and cursing under his breath, eventually throwing the tool in his hand toward the mouth of the cave where you stood.

You picked up the tool and approached him, kneeling by where he sat cross-legged and offering the tool.

“How’d you find me?” He said bitterly, and you offered a small smile,

“I know you.” You mumbled, and he scoffed,

“Apparently not. I’m turning into Nai. Merciless. Cold. And—”

“You aren’t. Your reign of terror would end at the sight of the first crying child, and you know it.” You cut him off gently, and he looked up at you, something glimmering in his eyes. You took that as an invitation to scoot closer, crossing your legs as you went. Your knee brushed his, and you could practically feel him shudder at the contact.

But you didn't comment on it.

You just used the tool to dislodge the bullets smashed into his arm and palm of his hand. You were gentle, not at all like he was moments ago. Soon enough, his arm was pieced back together, and he gripped your hand as you went to stand.

“Where are you going?” He asked, practically pleading with you to stay.

“Just getting my pack. I left it outside.” You said, and he sagged in relief.

He must’ve been lonely in those two days he was apart from you.

That night, you sat by the fire you built and tossed branches from debris into the fire. Vash sat next to you, his flesh hand on your thigh and his head on your shoulder. You let him have this. This sense of normalcy. This sense of love that you tried to build around him.

Because he deserved that much.

It wasn’t long before he turned to nose your neck, pressing a fleeting kiss there. You shivered and felt him smile against your skin.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” He whispered eventually. You hummed,

“I forgive you… Just… Try not to do it again, okay?” You replied, and he pecked your cheek before squeezing your thigh.

“I promise.”

#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash x reader #vash x you #trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun x you #fairy writes

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ladyimaginarium · 1 year ago

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Okay so I'm& revitalizing this again.

Hi, my& name's Arcana& / Angel&, and I& am the core / host / singletsona of The Imaginarians Galaxy. If you want to help support a local queer, trans, nonbinary, genderfluid, intersex, mspec, aspec, autistic, disabled, neurodivergent, hoh, chronically ill, psychotic spoonie witch two spirited mixed native and ashkenazi jewish bodied multigenic DID system who's an aspiring activist, fashion model, voice & film actrex, ASMRtist, youtuber/vtuber, polyglot & writer, it'd be greatly appreciated.

This month is Pride Month & Indigenous History Month so please support our indigenous turtle island communities, know who's land you're on and support queer indigenous turtle islander creators, & on top of that, July 13th is also my& birthday & July is also Disability Pride Month & Queer Wrath Month !! I& just find it's funny how white queers get all this support & clout, but the minute a queer Native Jew asks for any kind of mutual assistance, it's like cricket noises, but anyway, here I& go again, I'm& putting out these links just in case someone actually does wanna help out because it's only right to do so being an indigenous queer two spirited bodied system, after all.

If you're white, you can think of this as paying reparations for us& for dealing with antinative racism, antisemitism, ableism, sanism, pluralphobia, psyism, audism, homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, multitransphobia, aphobia, exorsexism, intersexism and the ongoing colonization of my& people and fighting on the behalf of the indigenous, queer and plural communities on here while for any POC reading this, you can think of this as extending your solidarity with us&, so after I& spent a lot of blood sweats and tears into what i& do, I'm& finally asking something that would benefit me& for a change, even like 10$ could help, but even if you still can't for whatever reason, please spread the word out to help us& live easier as a disabled, neurodivergent mixed native system in this ableist & racist world.

Donate To Our& P*yP*l

Multipurpose Psychiatric Service Dog Donations

Throne Wishlist

So far these are the best ways to support us&. Information on commissions, booking tarot readings with me& as well as sensitivity reader information will be available in a reblog eventually.

We& didn't have a great childhood growing up as we& were abused for a decade & we& weren't taught many lifeskills so we're& still learning from the gate. Even though we aren't in a life threatening emergency, I'm& generally not in the right financial space to spend a lot & buying my& own shit because I'm& Saving Up™ for a lot of things, including the possibility of me& moving to my& first ever apartment next year & my& future service dog & I& cannot work due to my& multiple disabilities, & I& can't stand up for long periods of time without feeling exhausted & just being an overall madcripple, so whatever you do, it'd be greatly appreciated, especially if you like our& content.

Remember, reblogs > likes!

#arcana.txt #mutual aid.#** post; signal boost.#hennywayz please consider helping us& out !#our& p.osts for our& t.arot readings & c.ommishes'll be open soon hopefully bc we& got Good Reviews !! TM #also our& s.ervice d.og GFM is still a wip in the sense the description needs to be updated our& bad but you generally get the gist lmao #but keep in mind that this is only for those who're mentally & physically able to give who have energy & spoons to care & those who have $#if you don't have any of that that's fine too !! n e wayz yt settlers yall owe us& apology gift reparations lmao #tagging for visibility purposes:#indigenous history month #pride month #pride #** post; okay to reblog.#!!!!!

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raine-blxssxm · 1 year ago

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Now for the moment you guys have been waiting for.. Amelia’s backstory/ family life 😈

(I know probably no one has been actively waiting for this, just lemme have my moment with this story I worked hard on writing 🥹)

TW: Death of a family member, child neglect, and the slightest mention of blood!

If you are triggered by any of this, please read at your own risk!

Amelia’s family history isn’t very significant besides her great grandmother formerly being a well known actress in South Park who almost made it to broadway, but died in an accident before she could do so.

At a young age, Amelia strived to do what her great grandmother couldn’t, which was to reach Broadway. Amelia’s parents neglected her a lot growing up, typically leaving the maids and butlers to care for her. They often were on business trips, not leaving a lot of bonding time to develop their relationship with their daughter. Whenever her parents were around, she’d put blood, sweat, and tears into gaining their praise through her acting roles. Due to none of her attempts being successful, Amelia grew an obsession with making her performances absolutely flawless.

As you can probably assume, this is where her phobia of messing up developed. Throughout the years she did theater, Amelia developed into a triple threat (which is someone who can act, dance, and sing). While she wanted to reach her grandmother’s level of fame and to be in Broadway, Amelia had a deeper reason for loving theater. She loved entertaining people and making them smile. There’s also a part of Amelia that hopes her parents would praise her and give her attention again if she gave them a flawless performance while doing something she loved. Whenever she tried, her parents were always the only ones not smiling in the crowd, that’s even if they came to watch her. It drove Amelia crazy. All she could ever think to herself is “What did I do wrong?”. The sad reality is that- her parents will never truly care for her. No matter the amount of acting roles she receives and performs in, her parents will never care because the little amount of care they DID have went into their famous business.

Part of her is aware of this, due to the reasoning behind why she constantly steals money from them for the benefit of herself and people who actually need it (such as Kenny). She steals their money to spite them, as a way to say “You’ve never cared for me so I’ll gradually take more and more away of the only thing you love, money.” This may seem out of character for such a bubbly character such as Amelia, but that’s because she’s in denial. She’s aware that her parents will never love her yet she still can’t help but try to earn their praise whenever they’re in town, she still feels that there’s a chance for them to care about her and for them to be a happy family.

The drawing I made reflects this story because Amelia is reaching out to a light and when you look at the ground of the drawing you can see the silhouette of two people (her parents) kind of towering over some parts of her Ariel costume that will be crucial to another part of Amelia’s story. As for the costumes laid around Amelia, those are to represent the characters she’s acted for in some musicals (you can see the previously stated Ariel costume and the dress in the bottom left corner is Glinda’s party dress in “Wicked”). The reason why I made some of her costumes covered by the shadows of her parents is because I really wanted to emphasize the fact that her parents really don’t care about how talented of an actress she is. Not to mention the light Amelia’s reaching out to is supposed to symbolize the possibility she has fabricated in her mind that her parents can care about her and not treat her like she doesn’t exist.

I really hope you enjoyed reading Amelia’s backstory and the breakdown of the drawing I made ❤️

PS. Reblogs are welcomed (though aren’t forced) + to those who sent some questions, I promise I’ll write some responses soon, I’ve just been busy with family all weekend 💔

#south park #south park oc #amelia south park #south park fanart #south park fandom #south park original character #sp amelia #sp oc #sp #sp ocs #oc backstory #south park ocs #south park amelia #amelia martinez #amelia sp oc

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sunflowersoldat · 2 years ago

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All is Fair in~ Wounds & Woes

Chapter 20: Wounds & Woes

Previous Chapter

Main Master List

Series Master List

Series Summary: Family is important, but so is the Family business. Everyone has secrets, some are deadly. Your the best in the business, but no one knows who you are. Tensions are high, will you raise the stakes or fold under the pressure?

Series Warning: 18+! Mentions of blood and violence, bad language words, smut, manipulation, gaslighting, death, trauma, please follow the warnings for each chapter.

Chapter warnings: 18+ Only! Emotional trauma, Bad language words, mentions of death and physical trauma, nightmares.

Pairing: Mob!Steve x Assassin!Stark!reader

Word count: 4.2K

A/N: It feels like I haven't posted in years, even though its only been like a week, if even. The Holiday season really fucks me up... as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always welcome! Anyhow, enjoy!💕

You must have been out of your damn mind bringing him into the lion’s den. After everything the two of you had been through, you should have left him with his people. They would surely hunt you down. Especially if Barnes was running things in Steve’s disappearance, and as Steve’s second in command, you knew he would be.

You shouldered your way into a separate part of the casino; a safe house if you will, an entire miniature apartment. You shared a floor with the others, but you knew they weren't home.

You hadn’t used your safe house in over a year when you decided to retire. You hadn’t needed to use it, but most of the time it felt more like home than your actual house near the museum, nonetheless, you slipped your keycard from your pocket, nudged open the door then kicked it shut when you finally stumbled through with Steve.

Making your way into your room, you gently lay him on your bed, wincing when pain shot through your side, your hands stained red, along with Steve’s shirt. Panic threatened to take control, but your instincts went into overdrive, you reached for your side, a bullet had grazed you, but not deep enough to cause this amount of blood. The realization had you tearing open his shirt, a deep bullet wound sat right above his hip, pouring blood. You tore through the rest of his shirt, using the fabric to apply pressure and stop the blood flow, you needed the med kit you kept in the other room. You dared a glance at his face, the color had drained, leaving him unnaturally pale, his skin sticky with sweat.

A sudden knock on the door ripped you from your panic.

“Death?” Wade’s voice pierced through your skull.

“Wade! In here, hurry!”

You heard the door unlock and slam open, followed by Wade’s swift footsteps, you turned to him as he slid to a stop in the doorway, his face falling as he took in the room.

He doesn’t think, he just moves, gently taking your place on the bed and applying pressure to Steve’s wound.

“Focus kid. Get the medkit, we need to stop the bleeding.”

You stare wide-eyed at the man bleeding on your bed, dread seeping into your bones; this couldn’t be it, after everything you had been through—

When you don’t move Wade turns to you quickly, his hand meeting your cheek with a loud crack. Snapping out of your trance you glare at him, “Do you want to die?!”

“No, but he will if you don’t focus. Medkit. Now!”

His words crash over you sending you into motion, you hurry from the room, slamming into the bathroom door, scrambling to find your medkit. When your fingers finally wrap around the thick military-grade box, a wave of relief crashes through you but is crushed when you enter your room again to see Steve even paler than before.

You take a deep breath and focus, he needs you. You shut your emotions down, letting Wraith/Death take over. You move like a machine, going through the motions of cleaning the wound, a sliver of the weight lifts from your shoulders as you and Wade realize, it was a clean shot. When the two of you are satisfied with ensuring the wound won't get infected, you help Wade stitch the wound closed.

Steve is still deathly pale, the pit in your stomach gapes open as the wall you threw up breaks back down, what if he lost too much blood and this was all for nothing? What if you lose him anyway? What if you never get to properly apologize and tell him you—

“Death.” Wade's firm voice rips you out of your thoughts, his tone tells you this isn’t the first time he has spoken your name, “Do you know his blood type? He needs a transfusion.”

You numbly shake your head, “A hospital, we should take him to…” you swallow thickly, your eyes darting back to Steve’s unconscious form on the bed.

“There’s no time for that…” Wade breaks off, scowling, “I’ll be right back, watch him.”

You reach after him, but he is too quick, there one second then gone the next. Before you can move he is back, a bag of blood tucked under his arm to warm it. He pulls it out, nailing it to the wall, before placing a needle into Steve’s arm.

You cock your head, eyes flickering from the door Wade came through to the blood, to Wade, then back to the blood, “Where did you get that?”

“My room.” His answer is so calm, and nonchalant like it was normal for them to have bags of blood in their rooms. He continues as if you aren’t staring at him in utter confusion, “We really need to talk to the boss about having a stockpile in case of emergencies…” he turns back to you, raising his brows, “What?”

You scrunch your face, “What do you mean what? You just pulled a bag of O-negative blood from under your couch cushion? And you expect me to not be dumbfounded?”

He purses his lips, “Like that is the most absurd thing I’ve brought out of there…”

Frowning you raise your brow, before nodding, he isn’t wrong, Wade’s apartment is off limits, solely because no one knows what is in there. One time you were walking by as he closed the door, and you could swear he had a rainbow unicorn onesie on a mannequin, riding a rocket. And you're ninety-nine percent sure there was a full-grown alligator chilling on his couch two weeks later.

Wade sighed as he stood, stretching, “Well, my work here is done, consider that my apology for having to bossnap him…” he grimaced, “Think he’ll forgive me?”

You stifled a laugh as if he really cared… Wade left the room heading for your apartment door, “Put in a good word for me dearie…” your door clicked shut, leaving you alone with an unconscious Steve, who was still quite pale.

You looked back at Steve lying on your bed, before plopping into the chair next to him, you will get up in a couple of minutes to shower and fix your wound, the medkit lay discarded on the bed, within reach, but for now, you just want to watch over him. The color is slowly creeping back into his cheeks, his chest rising and falling in a more steady rhythm. His face and body were covered in wounds and bruises, your brother had done a number on him before you arrived; it was nothing compared to what Steve’s men had done to you, but it was enough. Leaning over him, you brush the hair from his forehead, placing a soft kiss there, before settling back in the chair, your eyes drifting shut, despite your efforts to stay awake, sleep yanked you under.

—

A few hours earlier—

Bucky’s mind was reeling, he didn’t understand how you were alive, but at this point, he didn’t care. There were too many coincidences where you were involved. You show back up in town the same night Peggy Carter dies, then you miraculously don’t die after he leaves you in the upper bay? That is a big red flag, a normal person wouldn’t have been able to survive half the shit he did to you that night, yet you were standing in Steve’s office mere minutes ago. That was a major red flag, they had just been attacked by Tony’s men at the penthouse, you want Steve dead, and Tony wants Steve dead, why? Bucky couldn’t understand. All he knew was you were dangerous, and his best friend was blind to that danger, Bucky wouldn’t let Steve make the mistake of trusting you and losing his life because of it.

You had almost outed him in front of Steve earlier, lapdog, who did you think you were, calling him such a thing. He had half a mind to go back into Steve’s office and talk some sense into the man, but he thought better of it, he knew Steve needed his space, needed to blow off steam. Hell, the minute the door closed he could hear glass shattering and all of the furniture clattering on the floor. If Steve hadn’t put a hole in the wall he would have been surprised.

Bucky descended the stairs into the main foyer, Sam and Peter were already making their way in from the kitchen, Peter’s mouth full from whatever dish Wanda had prepared for them. Bucky ran his hand through his hair as they approached,

“What the fuck was all the commotion? Was that gunfire?” Sam questioned as he took in Bucky’s agitated state.

He shook his head, “It was a misfire, don't worry about it.”

Peter piped up, raising a brow, “We heard yelling, a female’s voice…”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed on the two of them, “Listen, do the two of you have a problem or something you would like to ask? Because both of you have been on my ass for days now!” taking a deep breath, Bucky lowered his voice, “As I said, it was a misunderstanding between Steve and me, and a gun misfired. Period.” he gave them both a pointed look, before walking back towards his room.

“You killed Ace.” Peter’s voice was a knife’s edge slicing through the air. A pin-drop silence followed. It wasn't a question, but a statement, but Bucky could hear it in Peter’s voice, he wanted it to be false. He stiffened, not wanting to turn around, but not wanting to take another step away,

“That is quite the accusation, Queens.”

“Yet you don’t deny it. You killed her, even after Steve spared her life. You killed her. Why?! What gave you the right to take her from him?!”

Bucky turned to face Peter, his movements agonizingly slow, his face a hard mask of emotion, “She had all of you fooled.” his eyes flicked between Peter and Sam, his voice rising with each word, “She didn’t care about you! This was a job to her, another fucking hit, nothing more!”

The crowd in the foyer began to grow as Scott, Wanda and Barton joined to see what was happening. Sam stepped between the two of them, his hands raised, “Easy Buck, just calm down, and tell us what happened…”

“I don’t owe any of you an explanation! I did what I had to do to keep Steve safe, as his second in command! He trusts me to keep him safe! —”

The lights in the mansion flickered out, leaving them all in pitch darkness, the front doors exploded open, the ground shaking as gunfire broke through the air, followed by the cacophony of men yelling orders.

Instantly Bucky bolted for the stairs, he had to make it to Steve…

He was cut short when a hand grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around, “Hello Barnesy…” Bucky knew that voice, but he couldn’t place it, “Hey! Don’t you dare touch the kid, tie him up, and put him to the side, if a single hair on his head is misplaced, I’ll kill you myself!” The figure turned back to Bucky, his hot breath puffing in his face, “Sorry Buckaroo, where were we? Oh yes, Death isn’t one for revenge, but I am…”

All Bucky feels is pain, his consciousness slips from him, as his assailant laughs.

Later–

There you were again, outside of Stark tower with Steve, broken and bloody from whatever you and your brother had done to him. You were probably taking him with you to finish him off and get paid for finishing the job. His blood boiled, and he ignored Sam and Peter next to him screaming as he aimed for your head. Peter slammed into him as he pulled the trigger, Bucky watched it hit its mark on your vest instead, momentarily knocking you off balance. Then you were on your bike and gone from their reach.

He turned to Peter, seething, but the little shit stood tall against him, he wasn't afraid of Bucky…

Bucky furrowed his brow, taking a deep breath, Queens didn’t need to be afraid of him, he was his brother, not his enemy. Shaking his head he threw the pistol into the passenger seat as he settled behind the wheel, “Get back in the car, we need to regroup…”

—

The two of you were on the roof, your gaze meeting his, so much pain swam in those beautiful eyes, and his heart stuttered in his chest. “Do you trust me?”

He couldn’t help the reply that drunkenly left his lips, “I used to…”

He watched your heart shatter at that moment, but your reply was swift, full of conviction, “It’s time I earned it back…”

The next moments were a blur, you shoving him backward, the air rushing from his lungs as he began to freefall, then your warmth surrounding him. He felt the hard asphalt under his feet, and the screeching of tires pierced his ears. Followed by yelling—

Bang

The memory has Steve jolting awake, his body involuntarily convulsing, a fire erupting in his abdomen searing through the rest of his body. Grimacing, he stifled a groan, his eyes peeled open, the room he’s in isn't one he recognizes, but the sleeping form in the chair next to him he does. You had fallen asleep next to him, the medkit he assumes you used to patch him lay discarded on the bed at his feet, your head hanging uncomfortably on the back of the chair. You hadn’t even taken off your uniform, his eyes began to droop again, sleep slowly pulling him back under as his eyes landed on the blood that coats your hands, from the stitched wound on his abdomen, he knew it was his own.

—

Blood. There was so much blood, you couldn’t find the wound it was coming from. It coated your hands, it was covering the floor, thick pools of crimson blood. It rained down onto your skin, dying your hair and mask, it seeped from the walls.

And in the middle of it, all laying in a pile were the ones you couldn’t bear to lose, eyes glazed over, all the color drained from their faces. You dropped to your knees in front of them, your tears mixing with the thick liquid as you reached for them with a trembling hand.

A hand shot out of the pile with breakneck speed, wrapping around your wrist, their vacant eyes pleading, their mouths agape with words unsaid—

You jerked awake, eyes flying open, limbs stiff, neck aching from the unnatural position you had fallen asleep in.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you straighten in the chair, your gaze finding Steve still lying in your bed, the color is mostly back in his cheeks, the bag of blood no longer nailed to the wall, Wade must’ve come in to check on him after you passed out.

You rise from the chair for only a moment, heading into the kitchen you grab a glass, and one of your bottles of vodka. The wound on your side is still biting at you, an annoying reminder to stitch and clean it before infection sets in.

As you entered the room again, your eyes locked on his, he was tense against the headboard, eyes fixed on you. Not on you, no they were glued to the weapons strapped to your body, and the obvious bullet hole in the middle of your kevlar vest.

He had seen you like this before, in your uniform, but you could tell it still stunned him.

“Do you usually sleep in that?” his voice wrapped around you like a brisk autumn breeze, as you discarded your gloves, pouring yourself a drink, your brow creasing. When you didn't respond he continued, “Or is it only when you need to make a clean break?”

Oh…oh. Shit, you reached up to your eyes and face, gently removing the contacts, and mask, you give him a small shrug, “Sometimes I forget I have it on…” your eyes traveled his body, and though he was no longer restrained, he kept himself still, until your mask and contacts were discarded, you noticed his body finally relax.

“Steve… Listen I–”

“I didn’t kill Howard and Maria.” the words left his mouth in a whisper so soft you almost missed it.

Your shoulders sagged, dropping his gaze, “I…I know…” you leaned forward, gathering the antiseptic and towels from the bed, “Tony didn’t hire me to kill you…”

“I know… he told me.”

You paused, but he continued, “I mean not blatantly. We had met at a restaurant, and threatened each other, I told him he shouldn't have sent you to kill me if he didn't want you hurt…” you locked gazes again, his beautiful ocean eyes so full of sorrow and pain, “He didn’t even know you were an Ace?” his voice wavered on the last part.

You shook your head, your gaze again dropping to your hands, where you mindlessly pulled at one of the loose strings. “No. No one knew… well except you… and your men.”

Swinging his legs off the bed he scooted closer, a grimace pulling his face tight as he pointed to the hole in your vest, where your heart would be, “I never thought your brother would actually shoot at you…”

You batted his hand away, huffing, “Neither did I, but that isn't from Tony…” you gesture to the bullet hole, “it’s your men’s third attempt at killing me.”

His face pales further, the only color on his beautiful face is the full brown beard that now adorns it, “Third? What were the first and second?” His voice was raspy and strained as if he were trying to force the words to the surface, like the thought of you dying pained him.

You couldn't help the laugh that clawed its way out of your throat as you searched his face, but when he stares at you full of confusion you elaborate, “Steve, the basement? You tortured me, I was this–” you gesture with your fingers only millimeters away from each other, ��close to bleeding out. Then, you send Bucky to strap cement boots to my feet and throw me in…” you trail off, the rest of the sentence no longer important because he is looking at you like he did that night in the warehouse; heartbroken and full of disbelief.

Your face falls, the anger you held toward him slowly melting away, “You didn’t know…”

He shakes his head numbly, tears lining his eyes, the color finally rising to his cheeks, “I heard the jab about him being my lapdog at the mansion, but I hadn’t realized…” his jaw clenches, “Believe me, Angel,” the use of your pet name stirs something in your chest, “I never sent him to kill you…” his fingers trace up your vest and you hold your breath, “Did he do this too?”

You look at his hand, gently tracing the spot on your chest, then slowly raise your eyes to his, letting out the breath you were holding. The nod you give him is barely discernible, but he sees it.

“There will be consequences for his actions.”

One corner of your lips tilts upwards, “It’s not entirely his fault… I may have threatened to kill you–”

“It doesn't matter, he almost succeeded in killing you. He disobeyed my wishes, he will be dealt with.”

A lump began to form in your throat, “According to the world, he succeeded. Besides, if it hadn’t been him, it would have been another one of your men. Like Ronin, he would kill me on sight—”

Steve shook his head, “No, Barton follows orders, he is good at his job, and efficient at retrieving information, but he knows his place. If he would have seen you, he would have known I kept you alive for a reason…”

Your brows shot up, “Oh? There was a method to the madness? A reason for my suffering?”

“Angel,” Steve's voice lowered, “you attempted to kill me, I had to find out why… Taking you to your brother’s was the only way to keep you safe—”

Your lip trembled, “From who?! You? Did you really think it mattered?!”

His jaw clenched tightly, “I spared your life.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, couldn’t stop the scoff that left your mouth, “You condemned me! You tortured me within an inch of my life! Then sentenced me to live in a gilded cage!” you shoved up from the chair, the force causing it to clatter onto the ground behind you.

“Don’t act like you have no blame for how this turned out.”

“Excuse me?! I was doing my job! Not all of us have the luxury of choice! You chose to do all those things to me, chose to keep me alive as punishment.”

He rose to his feet, his hulking frame towering over you, even injured he was the embodiment of power.

“Punishment?! I didn’t keep you alive for punishment! I could have done worse things. After what you did…” his face fell, his eyes clouding as his hand raked through his hair, “You lied to me Angel, played me for a fool.”

He stepped closer to you, crowding you against the wall, your blood roaring in your ears, your body felt too hot, his breath puffing in your face, “You betrayed me, Angel. In the worst way possible.”

“Then why not kill me.” you spat the words, like bile on your tongue.

He growls “Because I fucking love you!” his hand slams against the wall next to your head, the impact reverberating in the room, his chest is heaving now, “I know I shouldn’t. I can’t, but I do.”

His shoulders sag as he pulls away from you. Turning he walks towards the bed, shaking his head, “I can’t get you out of my head… I kept you alive because I couldn’t bear killing you. I know it doesn’t make what I did better, what I allowed Barton and Bucky to do to you is unforgivable…” he pauses, his voice now barely above a whisper, “I have hated myself every day for even letting them lay a finger on you. I was angry. It isn’t an excuse, I know that.”

You swallowed thickly, his back was toward you, but you could see the light tremble in his shoulders, the sharp intake of breath.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Your apology was genuine, you hadn’t meant to hurt him in that way, everything had gotten so out of hand…

Steve sighs loudly, “I wish I could believe that, I really do, but I don’t. After all the lies, I can’t trust a word you say. I can’t trust you.”

His words sting, but you understand, if you were in his position, you wouldn’t trust you either, but you won’t accept defeat, you can’t. You’ve come this far, you’ve been beaten, shot at, and lost everything you ever worked for. Because you thought he was worth it. Pushing off the wall you stalk around him, you are toe-to-toe with him now, your hands trembling as you reach up to caress his cheek.

He stiffened at your initial touch, before closing his eyes and relaxing into your palm. Thumb lightly brushing his plump lips, “I don’t think you understand,” you whispered, your other hand sliding around his neck as you rose onto your toes, “I would never kill you…” you brushed your nose against his, “if I had to choose my life or yours, I’d give mine in a heartbeat.” You breathed against his lips before crushing your lips to his, as he stumbled backward, his back colliding with the wall. His mouth melded with yours, you could feel the fight within him, he wanted to pull away, but couldn’t. The familiar taste of bourbon and mint filled your senses. Breaking the kiss, you scrunch your brows, and tears begin to stream slowly down your cheeks, “Steve, I would burn the whole world down to keep you safe.”

He only allowed you a moment of control before he had you flipped, your back hitting the wall, breath leaving your lungs. The two of your hands held in only one of his, his other hand lightly brushing the tears from your face. His voice was low and menacing, sending a shiver up your spine and your stomach doing flips, “Such beautiful promises mean nothing when they fall from a forked tongue that has told more lies than truth.”

Your eyes searched his sapphire ones, he was trying and failing to hide behind his anger and hurt, you could read him like an open book. He wanted to crumble to give you his heart and soul until there was nothing left of him, and so did you, you wanted it so badly you couldn’t breathe. His name left your mouth in a broken plea, no violence would break you, no amount of torture or broken bones, but him.

This beautifully broken man in front of you would be your undoing, “Tell me one,” he took a shaky breath, “tell me one truth.”

You released a breath you weren’t aware you were holding, “I love you.”

@dontbescaredtosingalong @texan-tazzy @tianamontag @daiseychaindisaster @silently-killing-you @buckyfan12 @leyannrae @justlovelifeblog @austynparksandpizza @captainson-of-coul @betareader7 @vicmc624 @bigphattygyal @calwitch @buckysteveloki-me @curlyladylazarus111 @talesofadragon

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evelhak · 2 years ago

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Hey, let's make a manga rec list of underrated works

or maybe not generally underrated, but stuff you don't come across in your orbit, and think people might be missing out on.

Here's my top 5

1. Dance! Subaru/ Moon: Subaru Solitude Standing

If ever a masterpiece there was. The psychological intensity of this makes me drool. I think every sports manga fan should read it. Or maybe not if you're in it for fluff and idealism only. But if you're in it for the blood, sweat and tears, and love yourself some tortured genius, then this is definitely your cup of tea. If you ever thought ballet was cute, think again.

2. Majin Tantei Nougami Neuro

The anime is meh, but the manga is so thrilling and interesting. If you like your detective stories spiced up with supernatural elements in a meaningful way that adds depth instead of just being there, you are missing a lot not having read this. Unless you're averse to a very complex dynamic between an old demon and a high school girl. But if you're into opposites complementing each other, growing together and being mutually influencial, check this out.

3. Double Arts

Unfortunately this was so underrated it was cancelled before the story even really started... It could have been so much, it's a great start of a fantasy/martial arts story that was going to do something different. Just a gal and a guy combining their powers in a way that was apparently too equal and humanizing of the female lead for shonen audience. *heavy eye roll* (I love how their dynamic is based upon working together. It would have been as shippable as the two male leads tend to be in these stories if it had had a chance to go on.)

4. Emma

This might be the most well known out of these but if you haven't read it, and have any taste for romance that is actually romantic, please do. I can't think of any series with more gorgeous art that is so detailed and thought out it really pulls you into the scenes.

5. Warau Kanoko-sama/Koi Dano Ai Dano

If you're a nerd who doesn't usually relate to basic high school shoujo manga but kind of wish you could sometimes, read this. Hands down the most delightful shoujo manga heroine I've ever come across. Keen observer and completely oblivious at the same time. This is such a subversive take on the whole genre.

Reblog with your recs! ✨

#manga recs

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klancecuredmydepression · 4 months ago

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Unpopular opinion: I look back at this fanfic with fond memories. (I know that this is just meant to be a silly little joke, but I’m in the mood to write a whole paragraph lol ;) forgive meeee) It brought back a lot of nostalgia when I reread this piece of art. It got me through Covid. It helped me learn to find myself during a dark time of my life, so I thank Gibsly for this. This fic gets a lot of hate imo is coz of the drama it received. People legit claimed that it was being “racist” towards Latinos, when the haters saying this were most likely not even familiar with Latino culture/customs or Latino themselves. A friend of mine was Latino, and she had no problem at all with Dirty Laundry. She said it was a beautifully written fanfic actually, so you can imagine her confusion on why Dirty Laundry was despised. And the fact that Gibsly was a TEENAGER at this time must have been pretty tough for her too. It disgusts and disappoints me that people were harassing someone that young because of a stupid fanfic. This just proves how immature and ignorant people in the fandom were. Like dislike and move on. No need to start drama in the internet :/. The sad thing is is that Gibsly had to apologize, TWICE, if I may add, for these people. The second time they even got a person who was Latino to even read the fic themselves to reassure the readers. And as usual, people continued to shame Dirty Laundry. It had a lot of heartfelt moments in them. For example, look at the images below please:)

There was so much drama and hate to the point that Gibsly wanted too, and eventually removed Dirty Laundry off of Ao3, and instead created Dirty Laundbee. This fic didn’t deserve any of the hate it got. The metaphors, the breathtaking scenes, the heartbreaking ending, and it was all written by a minor. It should be recognized as something the fandom should’ve cherished, not destroyed. We never deserved Dirty Laundry. And we never will. Gibsly, if you see this reblog, thank you for creating this fanfic. Thank you for all the blood, sweat, and tears you poured into it. Thank you for dealing with our fandom’s bullshit. I wish you well, and Dirty Laundry was a life-changing piece of work for me when I was younger. Thank you <3

Guys I am about to go do some

DIRTY LAUNDRY

does that REMIND you of ANYTHING

Does that perchance bring back memories????

#vld #dirty laundry #dirty laundress #lance mcclain #vld keith kogane #klance #gibslythe

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eirian-houpe · 2 years ago

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Monday Mmmm

Fair warning: This post is not all sweetness and light - though I wish it were different - I'm going to be calling out a few folks; and a specific fandom (and branch thereof). I'm saddened by it all to be honest, but... I've given it well over 24 hours and I still feel just the same as I did when the antecedent occurred, and so, I feel like I have the right to speak my mind.

The TL;DR version of this post is here: If you're going to be hyper-precious about responses and/or reblogs to and of your posts on a site that was created for discussion and sharing, you might want to reconsider your participation on Tumblr and get the fuck out of dodge!

If I was 'rude', as was asserted by the person throwing shade in the poorly disguised guise of objection and subsequently supported by many of their followers, then I will apologize for troubling myself to provide them with an example of the very content of which they were lamenting a lack. I made a very tongue-in-cheek comment after providing the example about "shameless self promotion" - “...just a quip... not serious,” (Espenson). But the sheer ageist venom that followed... nope. Unacceptable.

If you want to know where I'm coming from, it's under the cut.

The Tolkien fandom on the internet - and Tumblr especially - has become beset by younger members of fandom who are - sadly - prejudiced, pretentious and privileged. I've got news for you.: to demand respect while giving none yourself is the height of hypocrisy, and to call older Tumblr users, "mummies," and claiming that you're having "trouble with the breathing mummies with too much treasure" (Melkors-Defence-Attorney et al). THAT, my friends, is disrespect of the highest order.

I can't help but wonder what kind of "trouble" you, as a younger member of the fandom, could possibly be having with your elders, (and note, I said 'elders' and not 'betters' because, hell, nobody's perfect, and even elders make mistakes).

To turn around and try to school someone at least twice your age on proper internet (and/or Tumblr) etiquette? Please - someone hold my beer - I've got more news for you, Snowflakes, we were there when the internet was little more than a twinkle in your daddies' eyes, and we were the ones that spent our blood, sweat and many, many tears to create the tenants of online etiquette which you now wield as a club with which to beat us.

See, here's the thing: a Tumblr reblog is like a single point in a multiverse. It's like IDIC ("IDIC”). One person with ten followers reblogs, and say three of those followers also reblog, and their followers do likewise and so on and all of a sudden you have an extremely diverse discussion in which ANYONE can participate. So if you don't like something someone posts in their reblog of something you're a part of, don't read it. Someone else further down the chain might, and it might lead to an interesting discussion among an extended group of people, of which you don't have to be a part. Where the threat in that? Or if this is not about feeling threatened, then why make such a fuss?

I also can't help but wonder, as you post such 'scholarly' discourses on your blog posts (without citing references, I might add), how many of you have actually sat down to read multiple versions and revisions of the same source material in order to truly analyze Tolkien's intent for any given passage before being programmed with the 'received' interpretation in the form of the many indices and commentaries provided by Christopher Tolkien on his father's work. How many of you have read, let alone studied the many volumes of The History of Middle Earth (Tolkien), and who among you, writing Elvish fiction would know LaCE (Tolkien 207) if it leaped up and bit your arse? From the discourse I've read among the posts, not many, I'd wager, and those that have simply... what? Discard it as 'inconvenient'?

Is this harsh? Yes, probably, but at this point my lines have been well and truly crossed, and my rope is frayed, and beyond the edge. If you're going to stick around on Tumblr and participate in interesting and meaningful discussions with other users, then please, grow the fuck up!

----

Espenson, Jane. “Skin Deep.” Once Upon A Time, season 1, episode 12, ABC/Disney, 12 Feb. 2012.

“IDIC.” Memory Alpha, Fandom TV Community, 27 Mar. 2022, https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/IDIC#References.

Melkors-Defense-Attorney, et al. “Untitled.” I Make Tolkien Roll in His Grave on Tumblr, Tumblr, 3 May 2023, https://www.tumblr.com/melkors-defense-attorney/716333000833515520/my-last-post-wasnt-an-invitation-to-promote-your?source=share.

Tolkien, Christopher, and Tolkien J R R. The History of Middle-Earth. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2020.

Tolkien, J R R. “Laws and Customs Among the Eldar.” The History of Middle Earth, edited by Christopher Tolkien, vol. 3, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, Boston, NY, 2020, pp. 207–253.

#Monday Mmmm #salty #age is not a disability #ageism #prejudice #privilege #respect and disrespect #tumblr discourse #internet etiquette #rebog purpose #tags #MLA9 citations

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the-wlw-cafe · 4 years ago

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Supercorptober - Day 5: Family

Read it on ao3 here!

CW: Implied alcohol abuse

Lena knew Jess was worried about her. Granted, she did little else, especially after the whole Eve situation that had Jess coming back from her deserved sabbatical without Lena even doing so much as lifting a finger. She still felt guilty about the palpable sense of relief that had accompanied signing Jess back into her old position – she’d desperately needed someone in her corner she knew she could trust. She would never have presumed to ask her for it, but still, Jess had come, just a little bit of comfort in a world that had spun on its axis so substantially Lena wasn’t sure she’d ever recover her balance. But Jess had come back, and she’d stayed.

And now, with the holidays fast approaching, her fretting over Lena had increased exponentially. For the impartial observer, the signs would be almost imperceptible, but after years of working together Lena was keyed in to all of Jess’ tells. Her worry was clear in the way she’d space out Lena’s meetings a little wider, affording her some breaks she definitely didn’t need, and subtly hinting that it was getting quite late whenever Lena tried to pull another all-nighter at the office. And Lena ought to be thankful, really, to have someone keep an eye on her since Kara and Alex were visiting their mother in Midvale. But the holidays were a difficult time for Lena, they had been back when Lillian would still try to coax her to come visit the LuthorCorp Holiday gala and Lex would write her a single card filled with as much backhanded compliments and disguised mockery as the limited space would allow, and they were even more so now when they’d…stopped. She hated it, and she hated the part of herself that, for whatever misguided reason, missed it. Truth be told, Lena was tense, a swirling vortex of negative emotions barely held down by a cocktail of whisky, antidepressants and ibuprofen. All of that didn’t excuse the way she snapped at Jess when she suggested that Lena take some time off for the holidays.

“What for, Jess, to spend some time with my family?” she’d hissed, an apology already on her tongue the second she realizes what she’d said. Jess however stood her ground, unperturbed.

“Yes, that actually was what I was thinking of.”

For a second, Lena was too stunned even to answer, before she managed to gather herself. “Miss Huang, you surely must be joking.” Her voice was low, carefully controlled.

Jess didn’t even flinch.

“I’m not talking about your blood relatives, Miss Luthor. Everyone can see that you’re basically a part of the Danvers clan already.”

Lena had already opened her mouth to refute whatever claim left her assistant’s mouth, but now found herself lost for words. She closed it again. Never once in her life had she found herself so utterly disarmed, because, as much as the ugly part of her, the one that spoke to her in the voices of Lillian and Lex, tried to convince her of the opposite the truth still remained: Jess was right.

The first time she’d ever felt that way was a good year ago, and it came as a surprise so shocking and abrupt it felt like she’d missed a step when walking down the stairs, and it went something like this:

Lena found herself chanting “please don’t pick up, please don’t pick up” under her breath. She’d lie about this detail if anyone would later ask her about it, since she’d never been one to avoid conflict; a necessary trait in her line of work. And yet, she couldn’t help but silently hope against hope that Kara, who usually picked up the phone in a matter of seconds when she was calling, presumably dropping anything and everything she was currently doing (and sprinting to the phone, considering how out of breath she sometimes sounded) just to answer her on time, would make an exception to this rule just this once.

She really didn’t want to disappoint her by cancelling on game night.

She couldn’t bear to make her sad.

And she really, really wasn’t in the right headspace to get into the why.

“You’re speaking with Kara Danvers, hi!”

God, there she went again, answering her mobile phone with both her first and last name like the dork she was and now she had to sit down due to a bout of dizziness that was definitely not caused by the amounts of whiskey she'd consumed beforehand.

"Hey, Kara."

Her voice sounded hoarse from crying. The anniversary of the Luthor’s taking her in had always been rough on her, and yet she’d never come unravelled like this. It was as if the sudden and unplanned arrival of Kara Danvers in her life had wrenched something free inside of her, some blockade she’d built when she was young, and now she couldn’t help but cry over things she’d long since ought to move past. Then again, she also never entertained childish crushes like this. It seemed as if Kara Danvers had been engineered for the sole purpose of throwing Lena off her game.

“Lena! I was just talking to Alex about ordering from that new Ethiopian place you recommended for game night! What’s the point in having a cultured friend if I don’t get to show off their amazing palate, am I right?”

“Yes, Kara, about that”, Lena interjected before her friend could get herself too amped up. Before she could do something immensely stupid, such as let Kara talk her into coming to game night anyway, dragging everyone down with her and ruining everything.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can make it to game night after all. Busy life of a CEO and all that.”

Funny, how lies that used to pass her lips effortlessly now felt like they were suffocating her, leaving behind a foul taste in her mouth. It’s because you are an awful friend. It’s because Kara deserves better.

“Oh.”

The disappointment in Kara’s voice was palpable, and Lena hated herself for being the cause.

“But there’ll be a bunch of other game nights, and I’m sure the others appreciate the chance when the Danvers-Luthor dream team can no longer dominate them!”

Lena let out a choked sound, a pathetic excuse for a laugh.

“Lena, are you okay? Because it sounds like you’re crying – are you crying? Did something happen?”

Lena dug her nails into her forearm, leaving angry red crescent shapes in the flesh. Selfish, so selfish, making Kara worry on a day that was supposed to be reserved for her friends.

“Don’t worry about me”, she said, not being able to bear the enormous lie that would be an I’m fine. “It’s just…”, she floundered, trying to find a way to put her feelings into words that wouldn’t make them seem as laughable as they were to Kara.

“It’s stupid”, she sighed, but Kara intercepted before she had even reached the end of her sigh.

“It’s not! If it makes you upset, it’s never stupid. Your feelings are valid, Lena.”

“But it all happened decades ago! I should be over it by now!”

“Oh, Lena…”

She used that tone. Lena hated that tone. She hated that Kara always used just before pointing out that something about Lena’s upbringing, or something about the strategies she’d developed to cope, was inherently wrong. It was so much easier to pretend like it was justified, that some inherent quality she had or lacked had was the root cause of all she experienced. But there went Kara, taking a sledgehammer to all the things she’d considered immutable truth before. There went Kara, telling her that what they did wasn’t fair and what happened to you was not your fault and there are things whiskey and tiny boxes can’t fix.

It was painful, it made her feel wretched, and she couldn’t take it, not today.

“I told you not to worry about me, I’ll be fine tomorrow”, she insisted.

“But I do worry about you”, Kara replied, “constantly. Because you’re my best friend, and I love you, and when I told you I’d always protect you I meant it. So please answer me honestly, and don’t listen to the voice in your head that tells you you’re selfish, cause it’s a liar: Do you need me to come over?”

Kara hadn’t even finished her sentence and Lena was already crying. She was a pathetic, slobbering mess, not worthy of the Luthor name, but she hoped desperately that somehow, she could be worthy of Kara. (It was clear as day she wasn’t.)

She tried to do the selfless thing, tried to tell Kara to just enjoy the evening with her loved ones, and that they could schedule dinner the next day if she really insisted. But Kara, beautiful, stubborn Kara, was having none of it.

“Lena, I won’t just abandon you when you’re obviously not in a good place. You’re family! And family means nobody gets left behind.”

“You’re a plagiarist, we watched Lilo and Stitch just two weeks ago”, Lena chuckled wetly.

“Don’t distract from the question!”

“I…”, she gathered her courage. She needed this, she needed Kara. “Can you come over?”, she asked, her voice the smallest it had ever been.

“Of course”, Kara said, her voice warm as the sun.

And Lena still cried, so much, but it was okay, because she got to cry in Kara’s arms and listen to Kara tell her that it’s okay to cry, that she wasn’t pathetic, that she’d feel better after a good long sob session, and maybe, just maybe, Lena was inclined to believe her.

Realizing that Alex saw her as family too was more of a gradual process, like leaning back in your chair too far and only realizing your mistake after it’s far too late.

They hadn’t started out on the best of terms. Alex had never be openly hostile to her face, which wasn’t something she could easily say about many people in her life. Still, the distrust with which she’d viewed Lena had been palpable, so much so that Kara saw it necessary to take her aside and told her in no uncertain terms that she had to respect the choice in friends she made. It was the first time anyone had ever defended Lena so ardently, and as much as she wished she could have seen it as the moment of vindication she deserved, in the moment she had overhead their fight Lena had just felt so guilty for driving a wedge between the two sisters she’d had to call her driver to take her home immediately.

Kara, bless her, had apologised profusely on behalf of her sister the next day no matter how much Lena tried to convince her that it was no big deal, really, Kara didn’t have to.

Because here was the truth: Lena understood. Truly, she did. If she had a sister, she wouldn’t have wanted her to keep pace with the likes of herself as well. But she was selfish, utterly selfish, and she didn’t have the power of will to protect Kara from herself.

Of course, now she knew this had been a rather reductive and self-centred view of the world. Because Kara was Supergirl, had always been Supergirl, and wasn’t some shrinking violet to be protected.

And the fallout had been grim. Weeks of silence punctuated by shouting matches with her former best friend, and it was so, so painful because she’d still loved her so, so much.

And after the dust had settled, even after Kara had forgiven her, she certainly hadn’t expected Alex to forgive her as well. The agent was fiercely protective of her little sister after all, and was known to carry grudges.

She’d been prepared for many things when she showed up at game night for the first time after everything had happened, she’d expected Alex to throw her out, yell at her to leave and never talk to her sister again, or just up and go herself. What she didn’t expect was Alex fixing her with a long look, before putting a hand on her shoulder with the words “It’s good to have you back. Kara was so busy being mopey we didn’t win a single game while you were gone.”

At that moment, Kara’s joyous call of her name rang through the air, and she looked so excited just because Lena had decided to join them again, both Lena and Alex couldn’t help but smile. They both loved Kara, and Kara loved both of them, and maybe they’d become something like accomplices.

Then, Alex had invited her to National City pride with her since Kara was making an appearance as Supergirl and seeing her arrive with the both of them would have been to conspicuous, and Lena had wondered if maybe she’d misjudged. Maybe they’d somehow, miraculously become friends.

And now, well, now she’d been dating Kara for two heavenly weeks and she was still working up the courage to tell Alex – liquid courage, as it were, because she was already on the second whiskey on rocks in the bar they’d chosen as their venue for breaking the news to Alex. They were both comfortable here, more comfortable than was healthy, probably, and if it went pear shaped she was already in the right place to drown her sorrows. Kara had left for a moment to say hello to a patron she recognized, a former employee at CatCo back when Cat Grant had still been around, and the cruel fates aligned that Alex chose that exact second to slide onto the barstool next to her.

“Hi, little Luthor”, she said, while motioning the to the barkeeper for her drink.

“Hey Alex. Kara literally just went to meet an old colleague-”

“Yeah, I saw her.”

Lena downed her glass in order to fill the awkward silence that arose, a mistake she bitterly regretted as the next words out of Alex’ mouth were: “So you and Kara, huh?”. She sputtered so hard some of the whiskey came up through her nose, the burning sensation forcing tears to her eyes.

“How did you know?” she coughed.

Alex gave her a somewhat pained smile. “Found your panties in the crease of her couch – satin, looked more expensive than anything she could afford – so I kind of put two and two together.”

Lena could feel the blood rush to her cheeks and prayed that Alex couldn’t see it as she kept her eyes to the floor, as if it might take pity and swallow her up if she just stared hard enough.

“I am so, so sorry that you had to find out this way”, Lena began, but Alex just waved her off.

“Eh, it could have been worse. I’m just glad I didn’t walk in on you.”

Lena kept her mouth shut, preferring not to let Alex know about how close she’d come that one time during a risqué tryst in the DEO.

“So I suppose this is the part where you give me the shovel talk? Tell me that you’ll have me executed for treason if I ever hurt her?” she asked.

Alex regarded her with an unreadable look as she finished her drink in one swig, grimaced, and shook her head.

“No. I don’t think I need to. Just – ugh, I’m bad at this. Listen, I know the concept is antiquated and means nothing, but you make Kara very happy – like, accidentally-starting-to-float-while-telling-me-about-your-first-kiss happy – and for what it’s worth, you have my blessing.”

Lena didn’t tell her that she disagreed, it meant everything, but she held her tongue for now as it was too early to start crying. It definitely would happen over the course of the night, she’d always been a weepy drunk, but there was no need to purposefully induce a sobbing breakdown.

“Lena! Lena, I forgot! It’s karaoke night!” Kara’s voice pierced the constant hum of chatter and ambient music.

“Oh no, I don’t dance”, Lena immediately objected. But, embarrassingly, Alex had slid off her barstool and taken her into a headlock before she could even begin to put up a fight.

“Yes you do”, she grinned, looking entirely too happy with herself. “You’re one of us now, and karaoke night is a mandatory experience for every Danvers.”

Lena didn’t even protest too much as she was dragged away, and she definitely had to apologize personally to Celine Dione after the way she bastardised My Heart Will Go On, cry-singing and occasionally hiccuping.

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up”, Lena muttered into her phone. It was a long shot, With Kara probably already being surrounded by family in Midvale, eating the contents of Eliza’s pantry in one day. She’d almost resigned herself to failure when she heard Kara’s voice from the other end of the line, and it still made her heart skip a beat like the first time Kara had called her baby.

“You’re speaking with Kara Danvers, hi!”

“Never change, darling.”

“Lena, hi! It’s so good to hear your voice, baby, I know you’re busy but I miss you so much!”

Lena could hear her girlfriend pout.

“Actually, Kara...I was wondering if I might join you over the holidays – not right now, of course! I’m sure you’ve already made plans, and you deserve some time with your family alone, but maybe we could -”

“Lena, oh Rao, hang on a second, I’m putting you on speaker”, Kara gushed, sounding uncontainably excited about something.

“Alex – hey Alex!”, Kara shouted, and Lena had to hold the phone a good 10 inches away from her ear.

“Whoops, sorry baby. Alex, guess who it is!”

“Lena? You’re kidding me, right, you have to be!”, Alex replied, and the remark stung a bit. Confusion swirled in Lena’s head and her anxiety climbed higher.

“You betcha! I hope you have eight dollars to pay Eliza because I forgot my wallet at home!”

“You bet on me?” Lena asked, unsure whether she wanted to know the answer.

“Yeah, we did – it’s nothing bad, I promise. Eliza was just so sure you’d come, she made you a sweater and everything, and I told that the holidays are a difficult time for you and you usually prefer to spend them alone, but she was so sure you’d come, and I – well, I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Mom is going to be so smug”, Alex groaned from somewhere farther away.

Lena’s chest seemed to fill with something warm and lighter than air at the thought of her attendance at the holidays was something to hope for.

“She made me a sweater?” Lena asked, not in the least bit surprised at how choked up she’d become, and too happy to care.

“You betcha! It’s really ugly, you’re going to love it.”

As she put the photo of Kara and her, both clad in the most garish sweaters known to mankind, Lena laughing with abandon because she thought Kara’d gone in for a cheek kiss in the photo, but instead had blown a wet raspberry on her skin, up on the Midvale mantelpiece she mused that being welcomed into the Danvers family by Eliza felt much like returning to a home she’d never known existed.

#supercorp #supercorptober2020 #lena luthor #kara danvers #supergirl fanfic #wlw fanfic #alex danvers #danvers family #5 for 5 and i cranked this bad boi out late at night in 5 hours on the day it was posted cause i lost 89 % in a computer crash #so please reblog if you like there's blood sweat and actual tears in this

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luxeavenger · 3 years ago

Text

We Can't Go To Hell If We're Already There

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!super soldier!reader

Words: 7939

WARNINGS: PTSD, BRIEF DESCRIPTIONS OF TORTURE (in section TWO), nightmares, insomnia, angst, emotionsl hurt/comfort, idiots in love, porn with plot, nsfw, oral sex (f receiving), piv sex

Summary: Bucky and the reader offer each other comfort when PTSD and nightmares make it impossible to sleep.

Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

Please reblog/comment if you enjoy it!

——-

ONE

The first nightmare burrows through the walls, and straight into your head.

The shout wakes you from a dark dream of blood and death and pain burning through your synapses like a forest fire. A vivid and torturous nightmare; the scream blending seamlessly with the horrors that play behind your eyelids. You don’t even realize you’ve woken until you hear the slam of a door close by. It’s too benign a sound to be part of the miasma of images haunting your sleep. The screams you hear outside your room are a primal sound that makes you think of nothing but unending, unendurable agony. It’s the noise of someone who longs for the blissful silence of death, but is deprived the luxury of making the decision to end their own suffering.

Beyond your door, the Avengers compound lies silent and still, save for the mournful noises from the neighboring room. Steve Rogers is on the floor outside of the room from which the wounded cries issue. Lamely seated, with knees to chest, and forehead to knees, he starts when your door clicks shut. His blue eyes are wide and brimming with unshed tears. A purple bruise the color of an eggplant blossoms around his right eye, the eyeball itself blooms red with burst blood vessels.

“What’s going on?” you whisper.

“Bucky,” Steve answers. He doesn’t go on, so you assume he’s got the situation under control, almost turn to leave, but a blood-curdling scream sounds from behind the door.

You move to enter the room, but Steve grabs your leg. “Don’t,” he urgently demands.

“Someone has to help him, Steve.”

As a super soldier who was rescued from the Winter Soldier program, you had an idea of what nightmares haunted Bucky on any given night, maybe even better than Steve did. You’d heard the stories of what Bucky had endured, and they were enough to turn your stomach. Bucky had actually lived them. You couldn’t bear to leave him to wrestle with his own mind alone.

“It’s bad though. He hit me, y/n. We fought. I couldn’t even get him to wake up. It’s never been this bad. I tried to wake him up. He wants to kill me. Kept repeating it over and over again in Russain.” Finally his tears break loose, and dash down his face only to stick in his stubble. “It’s never been this bad. Don’t know what to do. He usually wakes up. I can’t get him to wake up.”

Steve is heartbreaking in a wholly different way. A man who loves Bucky with every cell in his body—who’d give his own life to spare Bucky even a single moment of suffering. A capable man who isn’t used to being ill-equipped to handle any given situation. You want to comfort him, but Bucky is more in need of aid right now.

“I’m going in there, Steve. He needs someone. I’ll be fine.” And you would. You were a super soldier too, so even if he broke you, you’d heal. You’d been broken before. Hell, Steve’s eye, a fresh injury when you’d stepped into the hallway, was already starting to fade, the purple dulling to a sickly yellow-green color, the blood spots in his eye already diffusing back into the aqueous humor. A week worth of healing time-lapsed into a five minute conversation.

“I’ll stay out here, maybe he’ll be less upset if I do. Just… be careful. Don’t touch him. It all went to hell when I touched him.” Steve sighs around the weight in his heart.

You slip soundlessly into the room. The air is suffused with the salty bite of sweat, and the coppery tang of blood. Signs of a struggle are everywhere: the dresser canting crazily to the side, desk chair smashed to kindling, bathroom door pulled off its frame, its hinges twisted and mangled.

Bucky keeps his television on at night, the static of white noise is supposed to help him sleep. But falling asleep has never been his problem. What happens in his sleep is the rub. The blue light from the TV makes the blood smudged down the side of Bucky’s face look purple. You can see the cut on his scalp from across the room.

Bucky is curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, bloody handprints drying tacky on his ash grey sheets. His cheeks glisten in the dim light, the sheen of tears make him look fragile, broken. He’s whimpering, making small pleading noises, begging no, no, not again, please don’t, please stop, please no.

You crouch at the foot of the bed, and softly say Bucky’s name a few times. He doesn’t react. You try soldat—if he’s stuck in the Winter Soldier’s memories it might work—but it just makes him flinch and sob no.

Okay. Something different then. “James,” you cheerfully singsong, “James Buchanan Barnes. It’s time to get up. Come on, James. You need to get up.”

Something about the casual way you speak to him cuts through his nightmare, shredding the diaphanous dreams with a machete. Bucky’s eyes snap open, and he bolts upright, scuttling away from you, retreating into the pile of pillows at his headboard.

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s all okay, Bucky. You’re awake now. Shh.” You adopt a soothing tone, hold up your empty hands, trying to quell his breathless fear. “I’m here, Bucky. It’s Y/N, you know me. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to wake up.”

He blinks at you owlishly. The tension in his body lets go in increments. Legs uncurl, shoulders climb back down his neck, jaw relaxes, breathing slows to normal. He nods, parrots your words back to you, “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m awake now. You’re here, I know you, and I’m awake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He vehemently shakes his head. Squeezes his legs to his chest to armor himself against whatever memories still swim like sharks near the surface of his mind.

“That’s okay.” Maybe someone more familiar would help him feel safe. “Do you want me to get Steve?”

He shakes his head again, hanks of sweaty hair falling in his face. “I just… I don’t wanna-I-I can’t go back to sleep.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

“Can you stay for awhile?”

“Sure. I was having nightmares too, so I think I’m done sleeping for the night. If you want, I can make some popcorn and we can find a movie to watch?” He nods.

You come back from the kitchen, and Bucky has washed the blood off his face. You help him make a nest for himself on the floor using his blankets and pillows. Not wanting to invade his space, you make yourself comfortable on the floor just outside of his nest. You greet the dawn from your spot on the floor, Bucky curled up in his blankets beside you. He’s finally calmed down enough so tension no longer sings through his body like vibrations through a tuning fork. You’re discussing Return of the Jedi, which is playing on the television, while Steve snores softly just outside the door.

———

TWO

The next nightmare comes three days later. This time—it’s yours.

Hands are on you. All over you. They’re wielding needles and blades, cutting and digging into your soft parts, arms covered in hot, slick red up to their elbows, rooting around inside of you until the pain carries your mind away on a dark, salty ocean of blood. You regain consciousness days later, healed again, and the torture begins anew.

Your body is nothing more than meat, rocking violently when they saw through your tendons, scrape your muscles away from the bone, dissecting you with their too-dull blades. You’re muzzled, but you scream into it anyway, helpless to stem the hysterical outpouring of sound. You try to lash out. You always do. Swinging your arms, the restraints only allow you the barest inch of movement. You scream again, anger and pain bubbling up your vocal cords.

A shout in the dark startles you out of your sleep like a slap to the face. You dart upright, unrestrained arms held up for protection, unrestrained mouth pleading for mercy.

“Y/N, it’s me! It’s Bucky! Y/N it’s okay. You’re awake. Hey, it’s okay. You’re awake. I’m not gonna hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll. It’s me. I’m here.”

“I-I can’t see you…”

Your bedside lamp switches on, illuminating Bucky’s worried face by the edge of your bed. By the door Steve stands, wringing his hands nervously. You see him there and flinch, hiding your face in the pillow. His stature is too reminiscent of the shadows invading your dreams.

“That’s just Steve,” he explains. Then to Steve he whispers, “I’ve got her, man. You can go back to your room. I’ll let FRIDAY know if we need you.”

You don’t peek out from the pile of pillows until you hear the door to your room click shut. You find Bucky where he was before, but Steve is gone. It lets some of the tension drain from your muscles.

Bucky slowly rises, and you see he’s sporting a vivid bruise over his cheekbone.

“Shit. Did I hit you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

You swallow, “I’m sorry.”

“Hush. It’s okay.” He sits gently on the edge of your bed. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

A hysterical sob bubbles up from your throat.

“Hey, hey. You don’t have to.” He hesitantly reaches for your hand to offer comfort, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

You launch yourself at him, and he catches you with a grunt. Your arms go around his neck, you bury your face in his shoulder, and release the torrent of tears dammed up inside you.

Bucky makes soft soothing sounds, rubs gentle circles in your back until your tears become mournful sniffles. He scoots you off of his lap to retrieve some tissues.

“Bucky, don’t leave me. Please. I don’t want to be alone. I-I can’t-”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You wanna watch a movie?”

You nod, and use the tissues to clean your face. Bucky asks, “You want snacks? I can text Steve, ask him to bring us something.” You shake your head, content to linger with Bucky’s soothing presence.

Bucky searches through the channels until he finds Raiders of the Lost Ark, an Indiana Jones movie you both love. You curl up on your bed, Bucky right next to you on the floor, his back pressed against your nightstand. The dawn finds you both fast asleep. You bundled in blankets, Bucky reclined on the floor, your hand gripped by his, clinging viselike together in the dreamless space between you.

———

THREE

The next nightmare hits and you hear it all the way in the medbay.

You’re fresh off a mission where you’d taken a bullet to the thigh. It tore through your femur, shearing the bone in two. Bruce assured you that being a super soldier meant that months worth of healing would only take a few days. You also needed skin grafts to cover the ragged, fist-sized exit wound on the front of your thigh, so Bruce wanted you to stay in the cradle overnight. The medbay was so quiet you’d fallen asleep in the contraption.

Bucky’s room is nearly on the other side of the compound. The sound of his hysteria reaches into your dreams, balls a fist into your hair, and drags you back into the waking world. Instantly you start trying to climb out of the cradle, causing Dr. Cho to panic. You tell her, in no uncertain terms, that you’re getting up, and she can either help you or get the fuck out of your way.

She wraps a quick and dirty bandage around your splint to reinforce it, and helps you into a wheelchair. She starts to push you down the hall, but she’s too slow, and you take off, speeding the chair towards your destination with your powerful arms.

Bucky’s door is open already, and Steve is trying to rouse him, but everytime Steve speaks another scream rips loose from Bucky’s chest. You stop the chair outside of the door, not wanting it in the room in case there’s another tussle. Steve looks relieved when you call him from the hallway. He picks you up and carries you into the room.

“Put me on the bed, Steve.”

“Y/N, if he fights…”

“I’ll be fine. Put me on the bed.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you hold up a hand, “I’m not fucking asking, Rogers. Put me on the goddamned bed.”

He relents, setting you down gently.

You reach a hand out to Bucky, slipping your fingers into his open palm and calling his name. His hand grips yours and he yanks it toward him without waking. You roll over onto your injured leg with a groan.

Bucky’s eyes flutter open at your pained noise. “Wha’…? Shit, Y/N. You’re supposed to be in the medbay. Fuck, I hurt your leg.”

“No. I’m fine. You’re not the one who shot me, so you didn’t hurt anything. Are you okay?”

Steve sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, “You two are a huge pain in my ass.”

“Yes. Yes we are,” Bucky says with a big grin plastered on his face.

“I’ll be in my room. Let FRIDAY know if you need me.” He exits the room with an eye roll.

“It must have been a bad one. I heard you all the way in the medbay. It’s just one of the many perks of this damn super-soldier hearing. Don’t suppose you want to talk about it?”

“It’s bad enough I have to see the shit whenever I close my eyes…”

“You don’t want to poison the air with it when you’re awake?”

“Yeah. Basically.”

“It’s the same for me, Bucky. It never really goes away, so it’s best left behind in the nightmares.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Jesus, Buck. That’s a little heavy handed coming from you. You went through worse than I ever did. I’m sorry about everything they did to you.”

“Okay, okay. Enough of that. Now that the apologies are out of the way, you need to get some rest.” You try to argue, but he stops you, “No. Bruce wanted you to spend the night in the cradle. You had skin grafts, and given how fast you heal, that bone needs to be stabilized so it doesn’t mend wonky. If your stubborn ass won’t sleep in the cradle, you’re going to sleep in here so I can make sure you stay still and stay quiet.”

You give a petulant huff at his lecture, even though you know he’s right. Then you start struggling out of bed. “Well then, I’ll go get my blankets and pillows.”

“No you won't,” Bucky says sternly. “I’ll be dammed if you’re sleeping on the floor with a broken fucking leg. You sleep in the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“Nope. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. That’s a dick move.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to huff. “Fine. But I want you on this side, so your bad leg is away from me. I don’t want to bump it accidentally.”

You nod. “I find these terms acceptable,” you agree.

Bucky helps you scoot over to his side of the bed. He piles pillows up under your head, and props your leg up on another pillow, then piles blankets over both of you.

He turns the light out, and you tense. “Bucky,” you whisper, “can you… It’s too dark. Can you leave the TV on?”

“Of course, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling for awhile, unable to fall asleep. You’re surrounded by Bucky’s scent. Gunpowder, leather, and a spicy musk; it’s crisp and clean, and uniquely Bucky. It’s a heady feeling to be enveloped in his scent like this, and to have his body heating the mattress next to you. Your chest is full of a curious warmth.

“Bucky?” you say softly.

“Yeah?”

“I feel bad.”

“You want me to get Bruce?”

He assumed you meant your leg. It did hurt, because there wasn’t any pain medication that Bruce could give you that worked for very long, but that wasn’t what you meant.

“No. I feel bad about Steve,” you clarify.

“Why?”

“He wants so badly to help. He doesn’t understand though. He doesn’t know what it’s like at HYDRA. No matter how much we explain it, he’ll never get it.”

“He means well.”

“I know.”

Silence falls between you again, and it’s Bucky that breaks it this time.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“How much do you remember?”

“I remember everything.”

“Me too.”

The mutual silence is pregnant with over a century of accumulated pain and sorrow. You both know these memories have teeth, and to tamper too long is to risk destruction.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I promise I won’t let HYDRA take you away.”

“Me too. We can keep each other safe, okay?”

“Yeah,” you pause. “Hey…”

“I’m here.”

“Can you hold my hand?”

When the first threads of dawn spill into the room, you’re both sleeping soundly, dreams unbothered by darkness. Bucky is clasping your soft hands in his, holding them against his strong heartbeat. Bones mend in daybreak’s light, while hearts and minds begin their own journeys as each of you dream of one another.

———

FOUR

The next nightmare doesn’t come.

Steve is taking Bucky, Natasha, and Sam to Belgium on a mission. They’re supposed to be gone for three weeks—if everything goes well.

“Steve, I wanna go.” Steve just told you they were leaving you behind, and you’re already yelling.

“Y/N, I tried to bring you along. I did, I swear I did. I talked to Bruce about it. You were shot less than a week ago, your leg has only just healed, and he’s worried that going back to active duty this soon may reinjure it. I’m sorry. I know you and Bucky need each other, but I need Bucky. He knows his way around these Hydra bases better than any of us. I’m sorry, Y/N, but you can’t go.”

“I told him I’d have his back.”

“I know. And you have my word I won’t let anything happen to him. Our intel says this base has been defunct for twenty-plus years. It’s been sealed shut—no one in or out. No heat signatures. It’ll be completely empty. Sam is going to patrol the woods outside with Redwing, but I need Bucky and Natasha to help inside, there’s a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of computers and tech we need access to. If Bucky doesn’t come it’ll take twice as long. No one will lay so much as a pinkie finger on him. You have my word.”

You get right in Steve’s face, stabbing at his chest with your index finger, “So help me god, Rogers. If a single hair on his head is out of place I will make myself a pair of boots out of your hide.”

Twenty-one days pass about as quickly as a three week long root canal. You’re waiting in the yard thirty minutes before the quinjet is even in Avengers airspace.

When the cargo bay door opens it reveals Steve with Bucky leaning heavily against his side.

“What did I fucking tell you, Rogers?” you yell.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy. He isn’t injured. I didn’t lie to you. The place was empty. He had a bad dream the first night we were there, and after that he refused to sleep,” he lowers his voice, “Y/N, he hasn’t slept in twenty days. I tried to get him to sleep—even just take a goddamned nap—but he wouldn’t do it. I don’t know what he saw, but it scared the shit out of him.”

“Jesus fuck. Gimmie him.”

“How’s your-”

“I’m fine,” you growl. “Gimmie him.”

Steve sighs heavily, but he lets you slip under Bucky’s shoulder, and guide him inside. “I’ll come check on you both after debriefing,” he shouts at your back.

Bucky doesn’t say a word the whole way back to his room, despite you trying to engage him by asking questions about the mission the whole time. You sit his limp body on the edge of his bed and start peeling him out of his tac suit. You’re scared shitless at how quiet he’s being, and your fear turns into anger.

“Goddamnit, Bucky. Eleven days. Eleven days is the longest someone has ever gone without sleep, Buck—I checked! And you nearly doubled it. Are you trying to die? You’re supposed to take care of yourself. You have to take care of yourself,” a sob shudders through your chest, and you finish softly, “I love you, you idiot.”

You’re dangerously close to crying, and Bucky still isn’t responding to you, so you grab his chin and force his eyes up to yours. He looks like a ghost. His skin is translucent, the delicate blue veins that trace over his face are obvious through his paper-white skin. He’s gaunt, as if he hadn’t eaten the whole time he hadn’t slept. His cerulean eyes are dull and empty, and ringed by vibrant purple bruises. It shocks you, and you flinch as if you’ve been struck.

A distraught noise is all you can produce, tears rolling down your face. Bucky blinks at you slowly, eyes still flat and confused, but recognition brings life back to them bit by bit.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Buck. You’ve gotta go to sleep. Now.”

“Can’t sleep. Dreams are red,” his words are slow and slurred.

“I know, babe. That’s why I’m here. I know how to chase the red away.”

“‘way?” His dull eyes search your face, “Yeah. Red go ‘way.”

He sounds like a child, all innocence and trust, and your heart shatters into a million tiny shards. “Okay, I’ll make the red go away, but you have to go to sleep first.”

He obediently scoots back onto the bed. His eyes track you around to the other side of the mattress. You climb under the sheets, and Bucky grabs you roughly and pulls you against him. His head goes to your chest, and he curls around you like you’re a human-sized security blanket.

It takes one inhale for him to register the vital lub dub sound of your heartbeat against his cheek, with the next exhale sleep has taken him. You gently kiss his forehead before sleep carries you away too.

Steve finds you both hours later as sunset casts a pink and purple blanket over the compound. Fast asleep, each clinging to the other like a life raft. He leaves a tray of food on Bucky’s dresser, with a few bottles of water. He watches you both sleep for a moment, his heart overfull, tears pricking at his eyes. Finally, he shuffles across the hall to his room and grabs one of his sketchbooks and a pen. When he slips out of the room again there’s a folded scrap of paper under the tray with a note:

Y/N,

I’m not a man who apologizes easily, unless I'm wrong.

I’m sorry.

I underestimated what you are to each other, and overestimated my ability to mimic that. The truth is, I understand I will never fully grasp what you have both been through. But I promise that I will never stop trying to learn, or listen.

I also promise never to let you both down like I did this time. Bucky means the world to me, and now I trust that he means the same to you too.

-Steve

———

FIVE

“Buck, you have to tell her.”

“I want to, but…”

“But, what? I’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re not watching. It’s the same way you look at her.”

“But, what if you’re wrong, Steve? What if I tell her and she doesn’t feel the same way? What if she hates me? God, what if she thinks I’ve been using her?”

“Using her for what, Buck? To get a decent night’s sleep? You both do that. I’ve never seen someone so efficiently put you at ease—awake or asleep—as she does. When we came back from Belgium last week, I was scared shitless, man. You hadn’t slept in weeks. I didn’t even know it was possible to go that long without sleep and survive, even with the serum. I really thought I was gonna lose you. You slept for three goddamned days straight, and she never once left your side.”

“She’s been through so much.”

“So have you.”

“She deserves someone better.”

“Bucky, there is no one better than you. You’re the kindest, strongest, and most genuine person I’ve ever met in my life. After everything that happened to you, and how hard you fought back against all the shit HYDRA put in you, you are still such a genuinely good man. She deserves someone exactly like you.”

“Fuck. I just love her so much, Stevie. What if I fuck this up?”

“I’m telling you, the only way you’ll fuck it up is if you never tell her how you feel.”

——

SIX

Bucky spends the rest of the day in his own head. He’s vacillating between being brave and confessing his feelings to you, or convincing himself that a little of you is better than none at all. That losing you isn’t a price he’s willing to pay. That this small part of you he has now is enough, and he’d be selfish and greedy to ask for more.

That evening he’s detached from the unmitigated chaos that always takes place at the Avengers dinner table. You watch him carefully from your seat between Wanda and Steve. He’s intently focused on the food on his plate, pushing it around instead of eating it. His hair draped around his face like a curtain, so you can’t even see his eyes to gauge his mood.

Feeling strange and restless, you leave dinner early to walk around the compound for awhile. As the sun draws below the horizon you sit by the lake to watch the brilliant shades of the setting sun shift colorfully over the sky.

You often wished you had the aptitude for art that Steve possesses, especially at times like this. It would be such an incredible gift to be able to capture the way the sky looks as the sun drops behind the horizon, or the way Bucky’s eyes crinkle in the corners when he laughs, or the rapt attention on his face when you tell him a story, or the way his eyes glimmer with happiness when your eyes catch his from across the room. You could draw his face a million times and never grow tired of it, never fail to find some nuance you hadn’t noticed before.

But your hands are blunt instruments—weapons—better suited for cleaning guns, throwing knives, and taking apart HYDRA agents.

By the time dusk has fallen completely there’s a chill in the air, and the grass is damp with dew. You feel no less strange than you had before, so you ask FRIDAY where you can find Bucky. Sergeant Barnes is in the common room, she replies. You find him alone there, relaxing on the long couch, in flannel pajama pants, and a blue henley, reading a Neil Gaiman book he’d swiped off of your bookshelf.

“Hey, doll. Is everything okay?” he asks, looking worried.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just… I don’t know. Restless, I guess.”

“You have to guess?”

You snort. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“Oh-ho-ho, look who’s being a smartass tonight,” his eyes sparkle with laughter. “You wanna watch a movie, doll?”

“Sure. Your room in fifteen? I’m gonna grab some snacks. I didn’t really eat at dinner, and now my stomach is kinda pissed about it.”

“Sounds good, doll. Grab something for me too.”

When you push open his door he’s scrolling through the long list of movies. He’s made a soft and cosy little fort at the foot of his bed out of as many pillows as he could scavenge from the rooms on this floor. He looks comical in the middle of them all.

“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are Steve, Sam, and Clint gonna be when they try to sleep later and find they have no pillows?”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “Oh, that’s going to be a ten, for sure. Well, probably more like a twenty, since I took Nat and Wanda’s pillows too.”

“Yikes. We may not live to see morning,” you laugh.

You drop the snacks on Bucky’s dresser, and open a beer for each of you. Neither of you could get drunk off of human alcoholic beverages because of the serum, so drinking beer was all about the nostalgia.

You flop down next to him, bumping your shoulders together accidentally on purpose. He bumps you back and you giggle.

Midway though the movie Bucky yawns, his arm coming down on the mattress behind you. A few minutes later it drops onto your shoulders.

You pause the movie and turn toward him. “Weaksauce, Barnes,” you tease. “Is that what passes for flirting in the forties? If you wanna kiss, just ask.”

His eyes dart down to your lips, and heat rushes up your neck. “Ooh.”

He licks his lips, “I’d very much like to kiss you now,” he breathes.

“That wasn't a question,” you whisper before you curl your fingers into the front of his shirt and pull your bodies together.

It starts out slow, a gentle press of lips, then Bucky’s tongue dips out to swipe over your lips. Your mouth opens for him and that small spark sets you both alight. You’re both all too aware of the other’s heartbeat kicking into a gallop as you devour each other.

You draw away first, panting. “What is this, Buck?”

He smirks, “Well, doll, I know I may be a little rusty, but I remember this being called kissing...”

“Bucky-”

“Sorry, doll. Look,” he presses a hand over your heart, “I can hear how your heart speeds up when I touch you,” he runs his fingers down your side to squeeze your hip, “and I can smell how wet you are for me right now.” He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, eyes falling shut, he whispers against the shell of your ear, “You smell so. fucking. good.”

“And I can smell you leaking into your boxers right now. Is this… You want me? For real?”

“Jesus, doll. More than anything.”

This time when he kisses you your arms go around his neck. He leans into you, and pulls your hips toward him so you slide down onto the pillows. His vibranium arm pulls you tight against him, and you gasp when his stiff cock presses against your hip.

“This okay?” he asks, lips still grazing yours.

“It’s very-fucking-much okay,” you murmur, smoothing your palm over the soft cotton covering his broad chest, and curl your fingers into the fabric until Bucky ducks his head and lets you pull his henley off, his dog tags falling loose with a jingle. Your hands go to his bare chest, and a growl rumbles just under your fingertips and he seizes your mouth again.

His cool metal fingers move from your hip to dip under the hem of your t-shirt. He leaves a trail of goosebumps along your skin before his hand cups your tit through your bra, making you moan when the nipple quickly stiffens under his cold thumb. You push your chest up into his questing fingers, and he swears softly, urging you up so he can strip off your shirt and bra. His chilly thumb is replaced with his hot mouth, and he hums around the hard peak. Your hips rock, seeking friction, but only finding it between your own thighs as you squeeze them together.

“So fucking eager.” You aren’t sure if he’s talking about him or you, but it doesn't matter because he’s dragging your shorts and panties down your legs. He gently spreads your thighs wide, drawing warm fingers through your slit, dipping into your wet heat.

“Fuck yes, Buck. More.” You push your hips toward his hand, pleading. Demanding.

The slack-jawed adoration on his face ignites a flame in your core. “You smell like heaven. Fuck, wanna taste you, Y/N.”

“Bucky, please,” you whine.

His mouth lowers to your clit, his sky blue eyes on yours. When his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves your head falls back with a groan.

Bucky stops what he’s doing. “No, doll,” he lightly taps your mound, “I’m right here. Eyes on me—wanna see your face while I make you feel good.” When your eyes are on his again he purrs, “There’s my good girl.”

He slips warm fingers inside of you and curls his tongue around your clit. Sucking and licking at the little bud gets you even wetter, slick dribbling out of you with every pump of his fingers.

“Bucky, is it okay—can you… can you use your other hand?”

Quickly, warm fingers withdraw and two chilly fingers press against your entrance to replace them. You gasp as a shudder licks up your spine. “Fuck yes,” you whimper, as the cool digits push into your slick channel, curling inside of you and stroking your g-spot. You keen and let your head fall back again. Bucky smacks the inside of your thigh with his right hand and forks two fingers at his eyes. It’s a stinging reminder: Right here. I told you to watch me. Chastened, you nod.

Bucky gives head with the same energy he has when you spar with him: every movement is quickly and carefully calculated, no effort is wasted. Bucky yanks an orgasm out of you with ruthless efficiency. The heated weight in your core builds, overwhelming one moment, and the next you’re groaning his name, and spilling hot slick over his chin and arm. He laps it up with a hum of gratitude, and continues to slurp at your cunt until your body goes lax and boneless under him.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathes against your mound, “taste so goddamned good. Look so fucking gorgeous when you come. Your pussy is so fucking wet. Want it wrapped around my cock.”

“Fuck,” you moan, “please, Buck. Want you to fuck me. Want you to fill me.”

He quickly strips his pants and boxers and climbs up your body. His dog tags drag lightly over your skin as Bucky stalks slowly up your body. He looks savage like this, an apex predator on the hunt, thick muscles undulating with every move he makes, back rippling when he dips to suck and bite marks your skin as he goes. His fat cock is on display, ruddy, thick, and heavy, trailing sticky precome as it grazes along your sensitive skin as he prowls up your body.

His short beard is shiny with your wetness, and he slips his vibranium fingers past your lips. The earthy flavor of you spreads mellow over your taste buds before he hooks those fingers in your cheek and wrenches your jaw open so he can slide his tongue against yours, his wet beard coating your chin with your juices. He kisses you like he owns you, and fuck if you don’t wish he did.

His hardness slips hot and heavy against your hip, and you roll your pelvis, grinding his cock between your bodies.

His voice is soft and gravelly against your lips when he asks, “You ready?”

“Fuck me, Bucky. Please, just need to feel you.”

“Of course, doll,” he says when he really means anything for you.

He wraps a hand around his dick and drags it through your folds, teasing the head around your clit before easing into your slick channel. He presses his forehead against yours while his thickness stretches you, he wants to stay close so he can devour every little whimper, plea, and breathy moan you make as he fills you.

Finally his hips are flush with yours, and you feel impossibly full.

“Your pussy’s so fucking tight, doll. Squeezing my cock so fucking hard.”

“Jesus, Bucky. You feel so goddamn good, but you gotta move. Fuck me, please.”

He grinds his hips against you, and just the small movement makes you moan. Then he pulls out so just the tip is resting in your entrance and pushes back in with a languid roll of his hips. He fucks you slow and deep, hungry to feel every inch of you, the way your walls quiver around him, to hear you begging for him, moaning for him, the way you whine his name into the space between your bodies.

His dog tags sit coolly between your tits, a stark contrast to the fire his body stokes in you. “Faster, Bucky,” you mewl, “‘m so fuckin’ close.”

“Taking me so fucking good doll,” his rough voice is full of praise. “Feel fucking amazing. Gotta come for me, just once like this, then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He slides a hand between your bodies to circle your clit, and angles his hips in a way that drags his dick against your sweet spot perfectly.

“Bucky, fuck,” you groan.

“Say it again, doll,” he purrs, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Say my name.”

“Bucky, god you feel so good,” you moan, right on the edge of your orgasm is making your voice breathy and needy. “Gonna make me come, Bucky. Gonna come all over your big cock, Bucky. Oh fuck, Bucky.”

He growls and slams into you hard. Electricity sparks through you, and your orgasm rolls over you, assaulting your senses, your cunt clenching a chokehold on Bucky’s dick.

Once you’re able to breathe again, you roll so you’re straddling Bucky. He groans a curse, “Fuck, doll. You’re so goddamn sexy.” You lean back and plant your hands on his thighs, and his thumbs trace intricate patterns over your hips as you start to bounce on his dick.

Bucky feels even bigger like this, and not just his cock, even though he’s filling you so full there’s barely room leftover in your body for breath. His whole body seems larger this way. The way his hips force your legs to spread so wide, the expansive plane of rigid abs, the massive breadth of his shoulders with the beautiful prosthetic arm he wields with such precision, the way his thick thighs expand and contract under your hands as he fucks up into you.

Bucky Barnes is a fucking work of art, and you can’t fathom how you got lucky enough to have him under you, inside of you.

“God, you’re so beautiful, doll,” his hands trace up to your tits, “can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You put your hands over his, hot and cold and a bit overwhelming, and tell him, “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

A smile lights up his face, and damn, the hoops you’d jump through just to have him smile at you like that again. He pulls you down for a kiss that leaves your head spinning.

You twist your hips, and Bucky whimpers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wanna fuck you hard, doll. Want you to still feel me in the morning.”

“Well, fuckin’ do it, Buck. I ain’t gonna break.”

He snarls, one hot hand going possessively to your throat, squeezing hard enough that the world goes fuzzy around the edges. His legs bend, planting his feet on the floor for leverage, and starts fucking into you hard and fast. The room is filled with the rough slap of your bodies colliding, the wet squelches his cock drives out of your cunt, and the breathless pleas and praise you both shower upon each other.

Chilly fingers ghost over your pussy, exploring the apex of your thighs, tracing around the area where his cock splits you open. A cold thumb circles your clit, and two chilled digits force their way into your cunt next to his cock. You’re perfectly, painfully, exquisitely overfilled, and the dam inside you bursts. Liquid heat sizzles through you, lighting up your nerve endings, and whiting out your vision.

It takes a moment for the world to come into focus again, and Bucky chuckles, “Where’d you go?”

You shake your head, “I’m here. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.” Bucky’s lap is soaked, and moisture drips down your thighs onto the pillows under your knees.

“Good, ‘cause I’m close, doll. Gonna fill you up.”

“Please, Bucky. Fuck, I want you to come for me.”

He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you against his broad chest, and pistons his hips into you, chasing his own bliss with a groan. Soon his rhythm falters, and he buries his cock deep inside you and comes with a grunt. Heat floods your tight channel as he paints your insides with his come.

You lie together like that for a bit, but you can feel your juices drying on your thighs. You roll off Bucky, and he jumps up to retrieve a wet washcloth for you to clean yourself up.

He stands above you with a strange look on his face. You’re unable to decipher the meaning of the look, so you ask, “What’s wrong?”

His lips squeeze into a line and he shakes his head, “Doll, I don’t think anyone is gonna want these pillows back.” You laugh as he helps you off the floor and into his bed.

You lie facing each other with the sheets gathered around your waists. Bucky looks at you curiously. “What is it, Bucky?”

“I think it’s probably personal, doll. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay. If it makes me uncomfortable I’ll tell you—no hard feelings. Deal?”

“It’s just,” he reaches out ever so gently to trace some of the scars that criss-cross over your torso, then touches his chest, which bears many of the same marks. “It’s just that we have a lot of the same scars. And, well, I know how I got mine…”

You sigh heavily, and before Bucky can wave away his question you hold up a finger. “I don’t like talking about it, but I’ll tell you, because you deserve to know.” He nods, so you continue.

“Hydra stole me from my parents when I was fifteen. It was during the sixties, and hippies aren’t big on watching their kids apparently. I was the youngest of a group of a dozen others that were given the super-soldier serum. They put me through tons of training, a lot more than the others, because most of the others were already trained soldiers who volunteered for the program.

“Once they decided I was done training, they sent me on missions. Sometimes I was supposed to collect information from important men—I was expected to sleep with them. Some were targets I was supposed to assassinate. I refused to follow a single order Hydra gave me, no matter how many times they tried to scramble my brain, I refused to kill, refused all orders given to me. I was just a general pain in everyone’s ass. I made one escape attempt after another, and at some point it became one too many.

“Rather than just terminate me and waste all the resources they’d already invested in me, they used me. They tortured me, cut me into pieces to test how a super-soldiers body worked, how much damage we could take, how much they could carve us up and still have us recover. I was the ultimate guinea pig. Over and over again in thousands of increasingly creative ways. They were using me to figure out how to… motivate all of the other assets who may be stubborn enough to resist their programming. They used me to figure out all the ways they could hurt the other soldiers—hurt you—but still be assured they’d recover afterwards. That’s why we have so many of the same scars. They used the things they learned from me, on you.”

You don’t look at Bucky’s face while you tell your story. You can’t stand for him to know you were the reason they were able to keep him in line so thoroughly and effectively. You stare just over Bucky’s shoulder, where everything is wet and wavering through the liquid screen of tears you can’t allow to fall.

“You were part of the Winter Soldier program?”

You nod and a traitorous tear breaks loose and dives off the tip of your nose. “The team knew I was a super soldier—that was unavoidable—but I asked Steve not to tell anyone I was one of the Winter Soldiers. He’s the only one who knows. It’s a lot of baggage to carry around and I guess I thought it would be easier if no one else knew. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I should have told you before… before we… I’m so sorry. You must hate me. It’s okay. I understand. I’ll go.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey,” his hand grabs your forearm to keep you from leaving, “Why on earth would you apologize to me? What was done to you wasn’t your fault, any more than the things they made me do were my fault. They used us, they tortured us… Hey, look at me,” he says gently, pinching your chin to lift your eyes up to his, “It is not your fault. Not in any way, and I need you to know that. You’re carrying around guilt that was never yours to begin with, and you’ve gotta lay it down before it crushes you.”

You break down, body shaking with the force of your weeping. Bucky gathers you in his arms and pulls you close to him. He makes soothing sounds, but lets you cry it out, because all that pain and guilt has to go somewhere and it’s a burden he’s happy to help you shoulder. Soon you run out of tears, and Bucky gently cleans your face with a tissue.

He presses a kiss to your lips, soft and tender, he pours all of his feelings into the small gesture. “Y/N, I love you.” He says it in a way that suggests he’d pluck the moon out of the sky if you asked him to. He says it in a way that means unequivocally and unconditionally and forever.

“Bucky, I love you too.”

The smile on his face is so incandescent it puts the sun to shame. With one big hand along your jaw he pulls your mouth against his.

Eventually there’s a knock on his door. He opens it, still naked, and unashamed of his nudity.

Natasha barks, “Damnit, Barnes. Put some pants on before you answer the door! Or a towel. Fucking something!”

He leans against the frame and shrugs. “What do you want, Nat?”

“Did you steal my goddamned pillows?”

He shuts the door, and grabs a couple pillows from off the floor, and shoves them out the door at Nat.

A few moments pass, and Bucky’s door flies open hard enough to bounce off the wall behind it. Natasha yells, “You perverts owe me new pillows! Fucking degenerates!” Two pillows fly into the room, and Bucky snatches them out of the air with a laugh.

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