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marleyybluu · 1 year ago

Text

Another Man's Treasure

Oscar Diaz x f!reader

Word count: 6.8k (I am so sorry lmao)

Warnings: 18+, shitty husband, smut, p in v, unprotected (but pls don't be this stupid), creampie, dirty talk, cheating (but is it really if your husband is an ass), flirting, fluff, love at first sight type shit, Spanish/English pet names (pretty lady, hermosa, cariño), limited use of y/n(I literally used it once) idk lmk if I missed any.

(I only mention the first song but the other two are more for the… spicy scene😏)

——

The only escape from reality you had was the small moments of disassociation you had between the screaming of your children and the-

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

The shouting of your overgrown child of a husband playing his stupid games on his stupid PS5 that you wanted to set on fucking fire. This is not the life you pictured as a stay-at-home mom, yes the piles of dirty laundry were expected, and the mountainous dishes in the sink but you never predicted you'd be doing this alone. Your own mother stayed at home with you and your two brothers but your dad would still help her around the house so that she got the time to kick her feet up and relax.

You never got that.

You were living with this dark cloud over your head and deep regrets in your mind, why did you marry this man? You did think he was the love of your life, three years together before you got married proved your theory but never did you think it was going to end up like this. The amount of work you did was overwhelming, just one look at the number of toys on the floor made tears sting your eyes. You were tired, exhausted, drained and absolutely depleted.

If this was a job, you'd quit, you would take your children and quit. You wanted to so badly but the small hope of him changing clung to you like a piece of lint. You sighed holding your eleven-month-old on your hip while you made him a bottle, anything to keep him from wailing in your ears-- Jesus, half the time you couldn't hear.

"Babe!"

Your eyes rolled, you loathed his voice at this point. "What?"

"Can you pass me a water bottle?"

"Get up and get it, I'm making Malakai a bottle."

He groaned. "For fuck sake, you're in the kitchen already."

Your nostrils flared, and your eye twitched. You wanted to cuss at him, shout at him until your voice box shattered but you kept whatever calm you had left and ignored him. A small hand landed on your nose and you smiled kissing the tiny palm. "I love you too bubba."

He flashed a little smile and your heart sobbed at the fact that your last baby was growing so fast, teeth already emerging from his gums when just months ago he didn't have any. You could never regret your three little creatures, you loved them dearly, so much so you were willing to put up with the man that helped you create them just so they could have a two-parent household but you didn't know how much longer you could take this.

Heavy footsteps trailed inside the kitchen, you could tell he was angry at the fact that he had to pause his little game just to grab some water. He looked over the sink, utterly disgusted by the site in front of him and instead of just keeping his mouth shut or for once volunteering to do them he decided to spit out a sentence that made you want to knock his head off with the glass bottle you were holding; "You need to wash the dishes."

Your blood was boiling, if life was a cartoon you'd have steam coming out of your ears. "Why don't you get off of the game and do them?" You bit.

He cracked open the bottle cap. "Hey, I'm the one that works all week, you just stay home and do nothing."

Nothing? NOTHING!?

That was it.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

Your shoulders dropped and he left the kitchen, there was that ringing in your ears again that came and went every time you zoned out. Ever since you got married you'd felt nothing but unappreciated by him, you quit your job to stay home with your children and not even a thank you, you made sure he had a good meal when he went to work and all you got in return was an "it was okay." And the disgustingly dirty dish tossed right in the sink you'd just emptied. You were at the end of your rope.

You held back your tears and lightly kissed your son on his head handing him his bottle and putting him on a beam bag so he could lay down and drink. You trotted upstairs to check in on your oldest twins who were in their room colouring and getting along for once. Then you headed to the bathroom locking the door behind you, your body sliding down to the floor, you curled up in a ball burying your head between your knees you let out a long and heavy sigh before your river of tears took over.

A cry session your body and mind were so used to. You wailed into the void, muffling your weeps so that your children wouldn't hear you and come asking what was wrong, a question you couldn't answer without them turning on their father and you didn't want to ruin that relationship they had with him.

You were just so tired.

As night fell you remained mute when it came to your husband, whatever he had to say you didn't respond to, you were just happy that it was Sunday and soon he'd be out of your face for a few hours.

With the kids all asleep you were in the kitchen on FaceTime with your older brother. "The kids are great, they're sleeping." You conversed.

"And how have you been?"

There was no hiding how you felt when it came to your siblings, you were the baby and the only girl so when you were hurt they knew and they'd do whatever they could to fix it. "I'm okay... I'll be okay." You reassured. He was the only one who knew some small details about what you were going through and you begged him not to say anything not even to your mother until you figured out how to deal with everything yourself.

"Hey, listen, Jordyn is going on vacation next week, she's hitting Fiji, and I think you should go with her."

You squinched up your face, you didn't have a problem with your brother's wife, always so thankful for the sister you never got but what about your kids? Could you even trust that man to take over your duties even for a day?

As if he read your mind he continued. "I mean it'll be summer break next week, and they can stay by me if you want. I just, I really think you need time away from life. I want to see my little sister happy."

You pouted, it really touched your heart how concerned he was. A vacation would be wonderful, it was all you could dream of after the kids were born, you loved them but you just wanted to be by yourself.

"I'll think about it."

"Well, don't think too hard." He joked. "Whatever. I gotta get their lunches together, I'll call you when I make my decision."

"Sounds good, night."

"Night."

The call ended and you finished packing the twins' lunch placing the bags on the only empty spot on the counter. You huffed at the dishes and your husband's words replayed in your head. Nothing. You do absolutely nothing.

The longer you stared a vengeful plan began to brew. You were about to show him what doing nothing meant.

You decided you were going on that trip, Jordyn was excited and your brother was happy with your choice. The week flew by quickly, you kept up your normal appearance of keeping the house clean and to your husband's liking and by each day you grew more distant from him not like he cared in the first place.

On the last day of school you explained to the twins that you were taking a trip with Aunty Jordyn and they, unfortunately, couldn't come but they'd be staying with their uncle and they'd loved that man to death so they were excited either way. Your house was a mess and for once you smiled at it, you'd been letting everything pile up for the last two days, packing the clean clothes they did have in advance. The only explanation you gave your husband was that they were all staying by your brother for the week but you didn't mention that you weren't coming back.

You were leaving tonight and there would be no stopping you. You loaded the van with their stuff and yours and hollered for them to get their little butts in the car. "Last one in the car has stinky feet!" You laughed at the building volume of stomping feet coming across the hall and down the stairs, your twins were out and your youngest sat on your hip giggling at their antics. You happily wrote a short note.

Bye.

That's it.

You showered your baby in kisses and grabbed your keys before heading out the door, you locked it and made your way to the car, buckling in your baby and making sure the other two were in securely. You closed the door and first time in a long time you felt a weight off your shoulders, you smiled in satisfaction at how you left the house knowing you were not going to answer a single phone call from that man.

Jordyn squealed. "Ugh! I am so excited I don't even know what to do with myself!" You laughed at her enthusiasm as you put your hair up in a ponytail. It was day 2 of your trip and you were living life, you couldn't remember the last time you felt this relaxed. Now, of course, you missed your children it'd been the longest you'd ever been apart from them so you were a bit clingy with the calls but it was all understandable.

You two were hitting the beach today and you were a bit nervous, nobody had seen your body in almost a year not even your husband but Jordyn had persuaded you to find your behind in a two-piece bikini and you argued that you'd wear it as long as you could wear a cover-up so it was a deal. You looked yourself over in the mirror, you felt oddly confident. You looked fucking good. Three kids did your body right.

"You sure you want that cover-up?" She teased watching you admire yourself. "Hmm," You angled your lower half so you could check out your bum, how plump it had become over the years. "Maybe not."

She winked. "That's my girl."

You two grabbed what you needed and headed down to the beach which was right in front of the hotel you were staying at. The slight wind brushed against the water sending a cool and comforting breeze your way, your ears wiggled at the sound of the waves, and the giggles of other vacationers enjoying their time like you were.

The cushiony sand had greeted your toes after overflowing onto your sandals. You two travelled until you found a decent spot, it was close to the bar and the body of water. You set up your area as best as you could but you were in a battle with the beach umbrella Jordyn insisted on bringing. She watched with her hand covering her mouth to camouflage her laughter. "Okay, you know what, I'll handle this and you go handle us some drinks."

You childishly stuck out your tongue and strutted your way over to the bar, you hopped on an available stool. The bartender noticed you asking for you to just give him a minute. "No worries." You responded. You went on your phone and checked the many pictures your brother sent of your children, you smiled and a bit of sadness tugged at your heart. You missed your babies dearly.

The number of messages went up and it could only be one person. You promised you wouldn't look but you just had to, you swiped and tapped on your husband's name.

Where the fuck are you!?

The house is a fucking mess!

I'm not cleaning up, I hope you know that.

Baby, come on, we can work this out. Please.

You scoffed at the last message and put your phone down casually being greeted by the bartender who watched your various emotions while you went through your phone. "Everything's okay?"

Oh. Wow.

He presented a sweet smile, your eyes slightly widening at the sight in front of you. He was handsome, scratch that, he was fine as fuck. The shaved head didn't usually work on a lot of men but it did him justice, the scattered tattoos on his pretty and tanned skin, his broad shoulders that looked like they were made for legs to be hooked on and not to mention his big arms that looked like they could hold you snug and tight all through the night.

"Uh, yeah, everything's... everything is good." You stammered, a queasy feeling crept through you as it settled in your lower stomach. Butterflies? But you couldn't even remember what that felt like in order to come to that conclusion.

"Good to know. What can I get you, ma?"

You shuddered at his voice. He could talk to you all day.

"One Long Island, and one Piña Colada please."

He nodded. "Starting off slow I see." He chuckled. "Eh, we're on vacation, gotta soak it all up before we go back."

"I see," He multitasked making your drinks and conversing. "And when does the pretty lady go back?"

You blushed, should you even tell this literal stranger when you're actually leaving? But he felt... comfortable, easy to talk to and it's not like you'd ever see him again. "End of the week."

"Oh, you have plenty of time to get shit-faced." He encouraged. He'd finished your order and placed the liquored-down drinks in front of you. "Don't worry about paying yeah? It's on the house. Enjoy your vacation pretty lady."

"Y/n... you could just call me Y/n."

Not like you wanted him to, pretty lady was working just fine

"Nice to meet you. Oscar... Diaz." He winked. "Thanks, for the drinks."

"Anytime, pretty lady."

Your legs felt wonky as you walked away, and your breathing quickened. You did your best to walk back to Jordyn without looking back, if you did you were pretty sure you'd fall, just clumsy as fuck. "Girl, that man was watching you walk away." She whispered. "Stop." You poked, shoving her drink toward her. "Oh please, his eyes were on you." Jordyn gazed over to the bar, "He's still staring."

You casually whipped your head around and sucked your teeth when you noticed he wasn't. You glared at her. She snickered taking a sip from her Long Island. "Makes good drinks too."

You sighed, "Shut up."

The topic was silenced, you downed a few more drinks but sent Jordyn to get them instead while you swam around in the cooling water, floating around enjoying the peace the water brought you. But you couldn't help but occasionally look over to the bar. Oscar Diaz... nice name. Nice face. Cute little moustache that sat above his lips and a goatee that sat below. Pretty rosy pink lips...

Your eyes darted away. You're married.

Are you though?

You swam back up to the beach, it was beginning to get dark and the patrons on the beach became scarce. You wrapped yourself in a towel and collected anything Jordyn hadn't packed up yet. "You want one more drink before they close up? Maybe your new friend will allow it." She teased. You took off your flip-flop and threw it at her but your reaction only made her laugh.

A familiar voice was heard behind you. "So she's beautiful and she's got good aim, better watch out."

You quietly gasped. "Hi... Oscar."

"Hey, uhm, listen I own a club not too far from here and you know it's a decent hangout for the locals... and the visitors." He winked. "Wanted to know if you two would like to come check it out?"

You fought back a smile. "We could try." You answer without even thinking. "I'll take that," He reached into his pocket handing you a folded piece of paper, you assumed had the address of the place he owned. Your fingers brushed against his, prickles felt like they were forming on your skin and those weird feelings returned in your lower stomach.

He sent you another wink and headed back off to the bar to close up.

Of course, Jordyn was down to go. You groaned internally as you two pulled up to a crowded place, looking up at the illuminated sign reading Cloud 9. Hmm, cute. You pulled down your dress as it rose up with each step, your heels clicking against the cold ground, the music booming so loud you could feel your body vibrating the closer you got to the entrance, flashing lights of different colours beamed through the door every time it opened blinding whoever entered. "Where's your friend?" Jordyn asked. "Have patience, I just told him we got here."

"Mhm." She sassed. Your heart thumped in your ears, it pounded against your chest. What were you doing? It was a question you asked yourself from the moment you got back to your room and began to get ready for tonight. You shook off your thoughts and shifted your eyes over to a black door that slowly began to open. "Hey, over here." Oscar waved you two over and you followed. "What's going on, pretty lady?... And pretty lady's friend."

Jordyn nodded at him as a silent greeting, she was just here to observe your anxious behaviour for her entertainment. "Come on," You followed him through a dimly lit hallway and up a flight of stairs, your nerves building and sudden regret forming in your bones until you entered a brighter atmosphere, the loud music returning to your eardrums. He had led you two to a section that only had a few people, you could assume it was the VIP section.

"Anything you two want to drink just let me know and I got you."

Jordyn raised her eyebrows at the tempting bottle of unopened champagne sitting in a bucket of ice. Oscar chuckled granting her permission to open it, she shimmied her shoulders in excitement and got to work. You shook your head at her, you travelled over to the balcony and looks down at all the patrons having the time of their lives, a few familiar faces from the resort and others that weren't recognizable which you could only assume were locals.

Oscar found his place beside you and nudged your shoulder with his. "You want anything to drink?"

"No, not yet, I'm good."

He slowly nodded. "So, what are you doing in Fiji? Besides vacationing."

You huffed, "I just needed time to myself... to get away from shit."

"I hear that." You could just feel those sweet and curious brown eyes boring into the side of your head, you poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue and looked down at your shoes, just anything to not make eye contact with him. You were shy, you were never shy not even with your husband when you first met him. It's like this was a new feeling, you were queasy and nervous and it honestly felt good in a weird way-- it felt good to not be comfortable, to get all flustered over someone like a schoolgirl crush.

"You really own this place?"

He scrunched up his face. "Half own, I guess. My brother and I came here for an escape just like you and we ended up staying. Now, we own Cloud Nine and I work down at the resort once in a while."

"Oh, you're a busy man."

"I try to be." Oscar chuckled. He was so easy to talk to, why was he so easy to talk to?

You found yourself moving a bit closer. "What were you trying to escape from?"

"Life. I wasn't happy where I was living and I wanted better but... given the circumstances, we just couldn't get it. So I threw a dart on a map, so to speak, it landed on Fiji and we've been here ever since."

"Where are you from then?"

"Originally born in Mexico, we moved to LA, and then out here."

"Would you ever go back to the States?" You asked finally looking up at him knowing he hadn't taken his eyes off you all night. He leaned forward, officially entering your bubble. "If I had a good enough reason... yeah."

You looked up at him through your lashes and softly smiled, meanwhile, Jordyn sat on the couch sipping and shaking her head at the sight in front of her. She would playfully scold you in the morning but tonight she'd let you have your harmless fun.

As the party went on you were getting a bit bored being upstairs so you grabbed your girl and headed downstairs to where the crowd was and of course Oscar was right behind you, he felt a sense of protection over you two tonight given this was your first time out here and inside his establishment. You had found enough confidence to start dancing around, a little two-step from left to right to get you going, but soon the constant flow of drinks Jordyn handed you helped you loosen out of that as well.

The DJ was beginning to play all the oldies, and that was your specialty. Oscar watched in adornment as you killed every lyric, every adlib and every beat to whichever song came on. It had transitioned from a bit of Hip-hop to something a lot slower.

"Right now, we're gonna slow it down a bit, so grab your lovers and take your time."

The lights changed to blue and a recognizable first note had you close your eyes.

Mmm ooooh, my my my my my my my babyyy ouuuuuu

Jordyn had already found herself dancing with a random woman. She looked widened her eyes at you and quickly flicked them over to Oscar, trying her best to encourage you to make your move. But he was faster. You felt yourself being pulled into his warm embrace, his strong chest against your exposed back, his hands carefully snaking around your waist as if he was worried about you rejecting his touch but you gladly welcomed it.

Melting into his hold you two swayed side to side, he leaned down comfortably nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. You were lost in the vibes of Keith Sweat's Right and a Wrong Way. You reached back hooking your arm around his neck lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. "You smell so good, mamita." He whispered, it was a miracle that you heard him. Your lips parted slightly as you felt his warm breath tickle your skin. His swift hands ran up your sides resting right under your breasts and gliding back down to your hips.

A thumping began between your thighs, now that was something you hadn't felt in a long time. You put that feeling to the side no matter how hard it was to do so. The rest of the night it felt like all the songs were targeted for just you two, you hadn't eased up on him once-- always in close proximity to him. He touched you in simple ways, ways you hadn't been touched in almost a year.

It was getting super late, almost three in the morning and you couldn't recall the last time you were out like this, it'd give you hell when you woke up but it was worth it. You and Jordyn rode back to the resort with Oscar, she exited the car first thanking him for the night out and wobbling her way inside. You giggled watching her walk away, "I should get in there before she tries the key on the wrong room."

But you didn't want to leave him.

And he didn't want to leave you.

"Thanks for tonight, I had a lot of fun."

"No problem, anything to help a pretty lady escape." He bit his lip. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"Recovering," You laughed, "But other than that nothing."

"Can I see you again?"

You gulped and nodded. "Mhm."

He laid out his palm your eyebrows furrowed as you rested yours on top of his, he brought the back of your hand to his lips and placed such a gentle kiss on your skin. "Goodnight, mamita."

You wanted to scream. You left the car putting a little swing in your hips as you walked away, you looked over your shoulder and sent him a cute little wave before disappearing behind the doors.

— —

And that's how you spent the rest of your trip, shamelessly flirting with Oscar. You got to know each other a lot more, when you weren't spending time with Jordyn you were with him. Giggling like an airhead and blushing red like Rudolph's nose.

Jordyn constantly teases you about the crush you'd seem to quickly develop.

"Is this stupid?" You ask shoving your face in the pillow. This all felt too good to be fucking true, a guy that you met only four days ago was treating you so much better than the man you married four years ago. Oscar had flowers for you at the front desk of the resort every morning and sent you the sweetest messages throughout the day about how he was thinking of you, how he caught a glimpse of you today and you looked stunning, calling you the prettiest woman he'd ever seen step on this island.

You convinced yourself they were all lies, sugarcoating you like he probably did every woman but who were you fooling? Certainly not yourself and certainly not Jordyn.

"It's not."

"I'm married." You argued tiredly to which she fake yawned. "I don't see a ring on that finger and I don't see that man treating you any better than Oscar has. Just saying."

The fingers on your right hand brushed your vacant ring finger, you'd taken it off the minute you got on the plane, you didn't want to be reminded of him on this trip at all and yet there was that piece in the back of your mind that reached out to him. Checking his messages once in a while but never responding, he was giving you the attention you wanted but it didn't feel right.

The fact that you had to spontaneously leave to get even a fraction of what you were asking for was bullshit. Downright bullshit.

You groaned sitting up the pads of your fingers now rubbing your temples, tired and stressed. The trip was almost over and you dreaded going back to that house that was no longer a home. He'd sent you pictures that he'd finally cleaned up but you had a feeling once you returned home things would go back to the way they were and you did not want that.

"I think your brother would agree with me, you've smiled more in these past few days than I've seen back home, I mean you two are always so distant when you come over. And don't think I don't hear your rants when you and your brother are on the phone. Now I don't condone cheating but, hey, I didn't see shit."

You sighed checking your phone for any recent texts from your husband but Jordyn caught wind of what you were doing and snatched your device. "Enough with him. Flirt and have fun before you have to go back to normalcy."

You heard your phone buzz in her hand, she looked at the message for you. "Speaking of, someone is downstairs."

You felt nauseous. "Where are you two going anyway?"

"Down to the beach, said he has to restock the bar... and I wanted to spend time with him so I offered to help."

"Mhm." She winked. You grabbed your phone back from her grasp and told her you'd be back soon. You left your room, entered the elevator and headed downstairs where Oscar was happily waiting for you. "Hola querida." He become more comfortable speaking Spanish around you, especially when he noticed how the little nicknames got a reaction out of you.

"Hi," Oscar noticed the shaky tone in your response and made note of it You had comfortably slipped your hand inside his, he immediately hooked his fingers in the spaces of yours. Like he was your puzzle piece.

You two headed down to the decent-sized Hut, your eyes widened at the number of boxes sitting on the sand. "Don't worry, I got the heavy bottles, you just get the small ones." He reassured pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You loved those, so innocent and sweet, although you wish sometimes he'd kiss you on your lips or you had to courage to kiss his. "Think I can't handle the big boxes?" You scoffed walking inside after him.

"I think you can, I just don't think my pretty lady needs to."

My pretty lady.

ugh!

With music playing in the background you two got to work, "Do you still think about running your own restaurant?" You asked sparking a conversation, you squatted down to the lower shelves and propped the glass bottles in an organized fashion, eyes tearing through the material of your sundress and you could feel them. "I do, yeah. Why?"

You bit your lip. "Would it still be down here?"

There was a beat of silence. "Most likely."

Another pause in the moment aside from your soft humming to the music. "You excited to see your kids?" He asked. You smiled at the mere thought of them. "I am. My three little headaches." Oscar found himself next to you, leaning against the counter, you stopped your movements and looked up-- he had one arm folded over the other and a bit of a scowl on his face.

"What?" You innocently question standing up to match his eye line, well more-like chest line. "Nothing, just trying to take my time to remember this face." He reached for your cheek, his fingers ghosting your flesh. "You flirt like this with all the girls here?"

A question that was supposed to come out jokingly but you were a bit serious. "Nah," You squinted at him watching his lips press together, his chest stuttering as he held back a laugh. "You asshole, I knew it." A dramatic hand to your heart as you playfully pouted at him and fake cried. Oscar's arms enveloped you in their warmth, you attempted to push him off but it was no use, your feet suddenly off the ground, you squealed and giggled as he switched positions with you plopping you on top of the counter.

He placed his palms flat on the side of your thighs while he was positioned comfortably between them. "To be fair, hermosa, it is kind of my job. But believe me when I say I've never spent any time with them. And I've definitely never brought them back here after hours." His thumb and pointer finger pinching your chin. "Just you, princesa."

You melted, your whole body could be seen physically slumping in his hold. His eyes sparkled while he looked at you, the crinkles in his eyes appearing as he smirked. Before you could comprehend anything his lips brushed yours, your head suddenly becoming foggy with the inappropriate images of him that you'd conjured up these past few days.

His nimble fingers danced along the hem of your dress, a rush of heat passing over you as he hiked it up further exposing more of your flesh.

This was no longer a want... it was a need.

Your hands landed right under his jaw as you pulled him in crashing your lips onto his and he happily reciprocated your energy, his hands wandered up to your hips tugging you closer to him as if it were possible. Your lips moved as one, tongues passing by in the heat of the moment, the only thing on your mind was him and you wanted it to remain so for as long as possible.

Tingles scattered around your body, both of you flushed with lust and arousal. Your hands travelled to the bottom of his shirt quietly begging for him to take it off, you needed to feel his skin, thankfully he got the message-- pulling away for a brief moment to remove his top. Your eyes glazed over his lightly tanned skin, little scars here and there you can only presume he earned before he got here.

You smiled at the strewed ink on his torso, chest and ribs. "What are you thinking about?" He inquired. You looked back up into his brown iris'. "I wish I had met you first." You mumbled drawing him back down, this kiss was a lot more passionate and slow unlike the first.

Oscar's hands gently tugged at the neckline of your dress, your breasts spilling over and his calloused hands finding them. You softly moaned against his lips, your nipples hardening from the cool breeze and his fondling. He pinched and rolled them between his fingers, your head tipped back and his teeth nipped at the column of your neck.

You were forming a small pool in your panties at his teasing. His tongue grazed your neck continuously licking and sucking a specific spot that was getting a squirming reaction out of you. You felt his devilish smile, he knew what he was doing to you and he liked it.

His hands moved from torturing your swollen breasts back down to your thighs shoving your dress up until your little black panties were on display. You sat on the edge of the counter making it a bit easier for him to remove them, the cool air hitting your soaking slit.

"Touch me, please, touch me." You whined not caring about how desperate and needy you sounded. Oscar listened to your pleas and dipped one hand between your legs, his fingers quickly finding your slick folds. You shuddered as he glided two fingers up and down, dipping them inside you once in a while.

You were soaking, you were throbbing, and you just wanted him inside you where he fucking belonged. He slowly plunged his fingers inside, you clench around them happy to have something pleasuring you. Your eyes are closed and your legs spread further for him, nails digging into his shoulder blade hopefully leaving little indents.

He pumped them in and out of you with the squidgy noise of your wetness to follow. "Yes... oh yes, like that."

Oscar felt himself twitch under his boxers using his other hand to undo his belt and pulled down his materials. His dick is hard and his tip a rosy pink turning cherry red oozing with a bit of cream, his hips buckled once his hand brushed over it-- equally as desperate as you were. Your erotic moans were like music to his ears, so much sexier than he could've pictured. You whined once he removed them your hole flexing around nothing as you caught your breath.

Oscar hooked your legs over his arms spreading you to his desire, you reached between your bodies firmly (but not too tight) grasping his length and guiding it to your entrance, his swollen head prodding inside you as the rest of him followed.

Your jaw slacked at the feeling of him deliciously stretching you out, he was so thick and it felt so nice. Oscar croaked out a moan while burying himself deep inside your warmth-- coating his dick with your sticky walls, so slick and welcoming that he didn't want to move.

You caressed the back of his neck as he pressed another kiss on yours, trailing it up the side and finally landing on your mouth. You giggled into the kiss, Oscar pulled back with a questioning look. "I can't tell the last time I felt like this." You mumbled under your breath but he heard you. He didn't want you to leave, hell if you didn't have kids he'd probably try to convince you to move out here with him.

He didn't say anything in response just pulled out and pushed back in. "Fuck." You both moaned.

His head dipped back down, nibbling on your sweet skin.

You whimpered through every tantalizing stroke he gave you, his tip poking right at your hot spot and you knew you wouldn't last. "You feel so good!" A sentence broken by little gasps. Oscar grunted, violently gripping your thighs as he pounded you, pulling the filthiest sounds from your pretty little throat. So loud and erotic he was sure they could hear you back at the resort.

Your eyes squeeze in absolute bliss, your head hazy from the constant pleasure you received, quickly feeling a sensation in your lower belly a wave of heat threatening to take over. Your palm lay flat on his back while the other gripped the edge of the counter.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oscar!"

He lifted you off the counter a bit, relentlessly slamming into you now. Your high getting closer and closer. "I can, shit, I can feel you mamita. So fucking tight."

Your toes curled and your eyes rolled. "Baby, ohhh, I need to..."

Oscar smiled. "You wanna cum for me, baby? Come, mi amor, all of it."

His words tipped you off the edge, your back arched and your body trembled from the shockwaves of your orgasm, he held you closely revelling in your pulsating pussy dripping down his shaft.

He quickly brought you off the countertop, your wobbly legs barely holding your support. He turned you around, you barely recovered from the first position.

You were sensitive and extra wet just how he wanted you. You flinched when he pressed himself against your entrance once again, pushing in ever so carefully. "Fuck... you."

He laughed menacingly, his hands squeezing your hips. "That's what I'm doin' pretty lady."

You wanted to give him a smart-ass answer but it was cut short when he began to move. Your nipples were hard against the surface, you rested your head down and whined. "So fucking good."

"Yeah?" He chuckled spanking you. He was enjoying the pornographic sounds that you provided, all going straight to his dick.

He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you up against him, back pressed on his chest, his warm breath in your ear. "Can't get enough of you I swear." He admitted.

He poked and prodded against that familiar spot, tears of overwhelming pleasure threatening to spill when he pinched your nipple. "Fuck! I'm gonna miss you, so fucking much."

"You gonna think about me?"

"Yes! Oh!"

You felt him twitch inside you, you smiled egging him on. "I won't stop thinking about you, when I touch myself I'll picture it's you-"

"Fuck, cariño,"

"Ou, you're the only one I want inside me."

You convulsed around him feeling another orgasm quickly building and getting ready to fall apart. A few more thrusts and Oscar held himself still inside you, your body shivering at the warm cream he just spilled inside you. His high triggering yours. You reached behind hooking your arm around his now sweaty neck.

The sound of the wind against the water and the waves crashing describe exactly how you felt right now.

"Oh... my god." You said breathlessly.

"You're okay?" He asked with a laugh. You giggled tipping your head back on to his shoulder. "Better than okay."

He sighed kissing your back. "I meant it..." You said.

"What?"

"I'm gonna miss you."

He smiled sheepishly. "I'll miss you too."

Those moments replayed in your head constantly, it was the only thing getting you by once you came back home. You two still talked every day, called and FaceTimed but it wasn't enough. You would stare at the prices of tickets and sigh, you couldn't afford to go back right now.

Your life was the same, unloved and unappreciated, despite the embarrassingly desperate messages your husband had sent when you were on your trip. You stared at another pile of dishes, your shoulder sinking with exhaustion. With your two older ones at school and your son almost an hour into his nap you decided to just relax. You clicked on Netflix and attempted to finish Bridgerton's, Queen Charlotte.

Your eyelids felt heavy, sleep threatened to take over but the doorbell had them shoot open. It wasn't just one ring it was multiple and it was annoying so you assumed it was your brother. You groaned trudging to the door. You swung it open aggressively, ready to give him a piece of your mind. "You're going to wake-"

There he was. Standing in front of you, on your doorstep... at your house. "O-Oscar..." You poked his chest to see if he was really there. "Said I'd come back when I have a good reason." Your eyes softened, your arms reaching for him. His lips immediately find yours. "I," kiss, "fucking," kiss "missed you."

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he stepped inside closing the door. He carried you over to the couch and plopped you on the cushions. You laughed, your mood immediately changing with him around. "Jordyn told you where I lived didn't she?"

He nodded. You rolled your eyes. "Of course."

"Not happy to see me?"

You pulled him down for another kiss.

"Beyond happy."

I was going to wait until the weekend to post this but I am a little too excited to get this out.

Shoutout to my girl @darqchilddaydreamz for her input on a few things and her encouragement. Holdin it down ✊🏾

if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Alsooooo thank you for 800 followers, yall cool as fuck thanks for fucking with me and my antics.

Peace and love see you in the next one✌🏾

🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @skyesthebomb @realhotgurlshit

#Spotify #oscar diaz #spooky #spooky x reader #oscar diaz x fem!reader #spooky fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfic #on my block #on my block fanfiction #smut #oscar diaz smut #marleywrites #marleysfanfictions

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nulfaga · 7 months ago

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got tagged for a 20 questions for writers meme by @jiubilant! tagging @bloodofthepen who i suspect would very much enjoy this meme

How many works do you have on AO3?

17 according to my dashboard. 28 to the connoisseur (various orphaned nonsenses over the years). 29 if you're nasty

What's your total AO3 word count?

second verse, same as the first: dashboard says 227k. the real figure is ~450k. gog save me

What fandoms do you write for?

by volume (apparently), mostly tes: oblivion and mass effect. highlights from the full list include dragon's dogma, pillars of eternity and pentiment

What are your top five fics by kudos?

this, this, this, this; and in tragic 5th place true gold. my oopy schmoopy apple of my eye

Do you respond to comments?

[almost] always, even if it's just "thank you" or a heart! makes me happy that people took the time out to drop me a line so i always feel like it's the least i can do

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

eeeeehhhh i think i almost always go with an open ending. and happy and sad are subjective. lol. probably this one; dead brothers go back, after a brief reprieve, to being dead

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

THIS ONE. teeth rot out of your damn head. i wouldn't make it quite so cloying if i wrote it today

Do you get hate on fics?

not to my knowledge <3

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

often and w/ gusto i'm afraid. i need it to be character-focused ie if it doesn't further the characters' relationship in the eyes of the reader then it's basically dead weight. i have stretched this rule exactly once (for "once", read: with exactly one work. of a modest 170k. i get one bodice-ripper as a treat.)

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

n/a baby. unless you count my dragonfable fic vampirizing the narrative structure of season 2 of russian doll but that's not strictly a crossover is it

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge. i have had people gank certain bits of worldbuilding or plot beats, but not maliciously (i think). so i just look on with. how you say. benevolent mirth

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not to my knowledge!

Have you ever co-written a fic?

as a tween. about anime. but i will part with that story only after being bought dinner

What's your all-time favorite ship?

aww man. ask me tomorrow and get a different answer but i really like andreas and werner in the pentiment longfic i'm plugging away at. what if it was that deep yknow.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

not touching this one with a 39-and-a-half foot pole. the evil eye is out there. (real answer: writing is a long con. i have to start every project believing i'm going to finish it to the last dotted i and crossed t)

What are your writing strengths?

no one can be objective abt their own shit but what i enjoy reading back in my writing (in the brief beautiful period before the Cringe encroaches) is the subtext in character interactions. no one EVER says wtf they mean due to shame or pride or the demands of diplomacy or emotional stuntedness or what have you. that old saw about your readers see the tip of the iceberg but you've got to have the whole ehm.. glacier... fjord.. stalagmite... in your head

What are your writing weaknesses?

pacing!! at least in my own view. esp with the [REDACTED] i'm working on now it's like...fuck me i'm trying to cover a long time period without embroidering every single day that passes, but when and where and how often do i switch from brisk narration to blow-by-blow dialogue. only when i want to? only when it's necessary in order for the plot to make sense? are those two criteria different in practice? aughghgh

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

absolutely fucking love it. it has to be a language i feel reasonably confident about (unless it's a fictional conlang, but even then i have a constant fear of getting strung up by lorebeards for conjugating a dunmeris verb the wrong way lol)... that being the case i love love love it. because you get to do subtext 2: electric boogaloo. and what languages do the characters share? and what languages can they use to dissimulate or to speak freely w/o the risk of being heard and understood??? and what does each character's command of a given language say about their social status????? and do they think differently from one language to the other??????? LOVE it. love it to pieces.

First fandom you wrote for?

minecraft i think. i am a child of my era

Favorite fic you've written?

to date... posted it up a day or 2 ago. the canny observer will be able to sniff it out. but i'm not prepared to own it just yet god bless <3

runner-up goes to this one, 'the bridge of details'. i think it strikes the right balance of "warm & hopeful w/o being cloying"

#gog save me.#my writing #not strictly but yk

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sillystrawberryhologram · 11 months ago

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Tw vent

I feel like there isn’t a word for when my blood boils because I’m a woman. I thought that female rage would be it but I find it lacking. What I define as female rage is when I want to let go of what society thinks appropriate of me. When I want to hate Hate HATE until I can no longer. When I want to be the monster. I don’t want to be saved or be reasoned with I just want to be angry at the world, at society, and people. I want to bite and strangle and hurt and rip and tear and scratch and bruise. To scream myself myself hoarse cursing them out. To rip their eyes out, bite their face off, break their bones and bruise their skin. I want to be the thing they fear the most. I want to sew their mouth and Make Them LISTEN. I want them to feel my hurt how I feel it. Not just say I am being dramatic because of some bullshit they heard an influencer say. I want them to think it over in their senile fucking brains that only now the tip of the iceberg and yet boast of being experts on it. I want to gnaw at their bones until they turn into dust. I want to go feral, to be venomous, horrible, unsightly, horrendous. I want to grow sharp teeth and claws just so I can bite their hands off and tear at their arms if they tried to touch. I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them. I hate the way they talk and the way they don’t admit to their mistakes but expect me to do it for them. I hate that I could explain it in all the ways there are and they would still find a way to twist my words or brush it off as the words not being my own. I hate that they demand all sorts of proof just to prove that something was created by a woman and yet they wouldn’t even bat an eye if they said it was a man. I hate the way that to be a victim in their eyes you have to be defenseless and not fight back, not be angry at all lest you be a fake looking for attention. I hate that I have to worry if I look provocative because apparently men are impulsive horney monkeys that think you owe them your attention. I hate that I have to look pretty and cute and hot and beautiful and men can just look however they want. I hate how they think themselves above the law, judgement, morals and motherfucking god. I hate how they treat their families like shit and then say I love you like that absolves them of everything they have ever fucking done. I hate that I could talk about my trauma and “women ☕️” is all I’d get as a reply.

Well that was all. I hope this makes me feel better somehow.

#rant post #vent

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nonotnolan · 3 years ago

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Setting Boundaries

I knew from the moment I felt the silk bedsheets against my skin that my roommate had swapped our bodies again. The first time, I was freaked out about the whole situation. The next several times, it was still a surreal experience. But by now? Now it felt routine enough that the whole thing just pissed me off.

"Really, Conrad?" I asked, looking over at my body on the other side of the room. "I just want to spend an entire weekend in my body. Is that so much to ask?" I didn't think my body was particularly amazing, but compared to Conrad's scrawny frame, my body was stacked.

Conrad scoffed in response. "You should be thanking me for this," he added, refusing to make eye contact as he ran his hands across his bare chest. "You can use my wallet to buy whatever you want while Alyssa and I spend the day together."

"I don't want to buy anything," I said, speaking through gritted teeth. "I want my body back." I've never encountered someone so spoiled and arrogant before. It started when Conrad would take my drinks without asking, and here he was not even two weeks later, taking my body without asking. Typical Conrad, taking whatever he wanted and assuming he could just throw money at a complaint until it went away.

"Oh please, you were just going to spend the day watching TV," he said, rolling his eyes. "It hardly matters what body you use for that."

I crossed my arms in response. "If it doesn't matter what body I use, then why can't I use my own?"

Conrad smiled, and grabbed at his crotch. My crotch. "Because this body has seven inches of thick cock that drives Alyssa wild."

I swear my vision flashed red. "You're fucking other people in my body!?"

"You're such a prude," he said, laughing at my anger. "Look, I'm going to go and get ready for my date. Terrible personality, but she's hot and she's great in bed. Not that you would know what that's like. Take my wallet and... go buy yourself a playstation or whatever."

----------------------------------

Conrad's eyes narrowed when he saw me sitting on one of the outdoor benches outside of the Marina. "How did you even get here?" he hissed.

I couldn't help but flash a shit-eating grin back at him. "I used your wallet, like you said I could. I have a membership card now, after all. You entered as Alyssa and Guest. I just entered as Conrad."

This time, it was his turn to cross his arms in anger. "What's your angle?" he finally asked. "This isn't your scene. You hate being out in public on a good day, let alone a busy event like Founder's Day."

"Well, you're right about that," I said. "And I certainly feel like a massive twat, wearing a woolen vest on a day like this. But I have to play my part as Conrad Mooreland, heir to the Mooreland family. As you like to remind me so often." I shrugged my shoulders, delighting in the opportunity to make Conrad even more upset. We both knew I had something up my sleeve, but only I could reveal my hand.

I made a point to examine my fingernails before proceeding. "You know, it would be a shame if someone were to accidentally leak photos of their oldest son in a compromising position." I pulled up a picture on my phone and showed it to him.

"Is that... latex?" he asked, an expression of horror on his face.

"Technically it's rubber," I said. "Unless you're talking about the product in your hair-- that's lube." Watching Conrad sputter in response to my blackmail felt extremely satisfying. It felt good to have the upper hand for once. "This is only the tip of the iceberg," I added. "The photos only gets worse from here. And in case you think you can just destroy my phone, I've already downloaded backups. But hey, on the plus side, you were able to hold your own against a twelve inch dildo. So... you know. Good job."

"You've made your point," he said, handing back my phone. "I'll let Alyssa know that tomorrow's date is cancelled."

I shook my head. "Right now, or I send the video to your parents. I'm sure they'd love to see their son getting face-fucked by a hairy leather daddy who's thirty years his senior."

He clenched his fists in anger, but said nothing. "...Fine. The crystal's back in our dorm room. Give me a few minutes to break up with Alyssa and I'll meet you there."

The scowl on his face said everything. Hopefully this would be the last time Conrad swapped our bodies. And if not, well... it's not like this blackmail material would ever expire. I couldn't help but to smile. It felt good to win for once.

#male body swap #male body theft #gay body swap #body swap revenge #preppy #spoiled

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booppooo · 3 years ago

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Body Guard: Chapter Four

Abby Anderson x Fem! Reader Series

AN: heyyy, how y'all doin... anyhoo I hope this chapter meets ur expectations, enjoyyyy

Warnings: blood and injury, murder, infected, lethal weapons, swearing

Word Count: 2632

June 12th, 20 hours remaining

Abby was quick as she traveled through the buildings and down alleys. Y/n found herself struggling to keep up and it didn't help that Abby didn't mind to check on her. Not even a simple look over her shoulder. Y/n knew Abby had every reason to ignore her, and the thought made her slump over and slow down (this and the fatigue from little sleep and food).

The soldier was driven now not by fear of her leader dying, but by the irritation of Y/n's poor choices. Now her primary goal was to get this mission over with to be rid of the doctor lagging behind her, as selfish as that was. Her shoulder burn and stung from the hack-job that was her stitches and the growing infection. However, her pain was an after thought and surely would never come up in conversation with Y/n; she could see the physician now.

"Not much farther." Abby informed with the first words that had been spoken in hours. Y/n stayed silent.

They had gotten to the roof of an old building and were able to gage a portion of Seattle. Though it may never return to the hustle and bustle it harbored decades ago, mother nature's makeover was far more encapsulating. The way vines and leaves seemed to swallow structures, and how streams and rivers flowed through the destruction done by FEDRA, it was something of a beautiful disaster. Abby had seen it a hundred times and still she couldn't help but watch it for a moment, just a moment.

"We don't have much time."

Y/n's voice was quiet and cautious, afraid if she said the wrong thing in the wrong tone she'd be thrown from the roof. Abby's faint grin scrunched back into a scowl as she watched Y/n climb down the latter. She was right, time was running out, but hearing it come from Y/n made it more aggravating.

The hospital was just out of reach. The soldier knew they'd be back at the base by now if they had been given a truck and a few more men. If Isaac made it through this surgery, Abby hoped she'd be getting a little more than 'top soldier' treatment. From Y/n's perspective, she just hoped Isaac would make it, no need for the gold star. The doctor seemed to gain some confidence by taking the lead. Much like Abby, she didn't bother to glance back, not when the hospital was this close. She almost hoped Abby would speak up about it and say how she needed to keep behind her just to strike up some banter. But the blonde kept quiet and jogged behind her, it wasn't like she'd take a wrong turn now.

Months ago the hospital had been swept to gather supplies. The stadium, as well as other outposts, were running low on just about everything and needed just a quick pick me up. At that time, there wasn't a reason to venture into the lower floors that had been lost to the infected, there wasn't a reason to risk losing men.

Abby held the second set of keys to all the outposts and kept them stashed in the bottom of her pack. She unlocked the chain keeping the hospital secure and readied her pistol for any unwelcome intruders. Again, Y/n was on her heels every step of the way - feeling as if they had gone too long without some excitement.

She fumbled with the list in her pack, "Okay, we need-"

"It's going to be either in the ER, ICU, or trauma, that's all that's left."

Y/n frowned at Abby, though she couldn't see it, and stuffed the list in her pocket. It was becoming more and more clear how hopeless their friendship was.

With their masks on they began rummaging through the abandoned waiting rooms and hallways leading to the three units. Y/n searched for anything remotely medical while Abby searched for straggling bullets and supplies to make pipe bombs. Though Y/n was under the impression she had seen the worst of it on her date with the stalker, Abby knew that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Y/n watched as Abby stuffed a single bullet into her pocket, "Seriously? One bullet?"

The blonde remained silent.

"How do you know it's still any good?" Y/n pressed.

Abby shot a look at the doctor, but all that could be seen were threatening eyes piercing through her mask. So, Y/n took the hint and they carried on into what was left of the emergency room.

15 hours remaining

The gas masks were already hazy from heavy use and old age, this mixed with the spore filled air, visibility was low. Once again, Abby turned to Y/n with her stern eyes and instructed her to stay close.

As they traveled from room to room they stripped them of what they had left. In the process they came across some med kits that they were both hopeful had the desired supplies, but were only met with an empty box. In the process a few clickers and stalkers were put to rest, nothing out of the ordinary for Abby, except for Y/n essentially clinging to her.

They crouched behind a bed and listened closely to the clicker stumbling and, well, clicking. Abby held a bloodied finger to her mask and Y/n nodded, it was the last clicker and would be easy to dispose of if they were silent. With her shiv in hand, the soldier silently glided across the floor getting closer and closer...

Crash!

Y/n gasped and scrambled, her face draining of color. The clicker screeched and whipped around with its flailing arms, landing on Abby. It's mutated mouth closed in on her neck as she did all she could to push it back. Her shiv did little now that she was using both her hands to shove and smack away it's clawing fingers.

I'm not dying here! Abby thought.

With a mighty shove and a grunt, Abby managed to buy herself just enough time to re-grasp her shiv. Her jaw clenched and her teeth bared as she prepared herself for the next attack, all she could hear was her heart thumping in her ears.

Therefore, she failed to hear Y/n sprinting around the room for a weapon. She nearly came up empty until she remembered the pistol that had been snuggly tucked in her jeans. Without a second though the doctor fled for Abby, and within the window in which Abby managed to create space between her and the clicker, Y/n fired her shot.

Then another. And another.

Then her gun stopped firing bullets and clicked every time she pulled the trigger with a trembling finger. She was like a broken record, tugging and clicking.

As her heart steadied, senses such as hearing and touch returned. Abby heard the clicking and finally gripped reality as she looked up from the deceased clicker. Droplets of blood had splattered onto Abby's mask but she could still clearly see a shaking Y/n amidst the darkness and spores. She reached over and snatched the emptied pistol from her loose grip.

"The hell is wrong with you!?" Abby hissed at the surgeon.

Y/n hadn't even noticed her vision was blurred from the tears in her eyes. Abby's voice was distant and fuzzy.

"I told you to stay put so shit like this doesn't happen."

The blood pooled around the clicker and seeped over to Y/n's boots. It ran slow and thick from the dead body. She was fighting for a full breath.

"Are you even listening?"

Abby's boots stepped into the dense puddle and obstructed the view of the body. Her voice was clearing up.

"You..." Y/n choked out, "You almost..."

Abby furrowed her brows and tilted her head to meet Y/n's eyes. They were dark yet wide.

"I could've lost you."

Abby could see the agony in her eyes, the absolute terror. She would scoff any other time seeing as their dynamic was nothing but snarky comments and eye rolls, but Y/n was shaking like a leaf and her words just barely made it past her lips.

"Uhm.." Abby was unsure, "Let's keep going."

A quick look over Y/n's shoulder and Abby could see where the commotion had come from, the ceiling had collapsed some right where Y/n sat. Even more reason for them to kick it into high gear.

Abby guided Y/n from the room by her shoulders. She was much smaller than Abby, most people were, but she never got to feel how much smaller people were than her. Most of the time she was lugging another soldier packed with muscle, but this time she had her arm wrapped around a frail surgeon, something she hoped she wouldn't have to do again.

Once they returned to the hall, a long, streaky trail of blood lead straight toward the exit. Surely it wasn't them, they had spent their time fighting their battles in designated rooms. Whatever it was that did this was nothing but trouble. However, all that was left to sift through were ambulances just beyond the blood ridden exit - just their luck.

The building vibrated and more ceiling crumbled at the sound of a booming, guttural roar. Not a click, not a screech or even a scream from a bloater or shambler - a threatening, dangerous roar.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader

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bluecookies02 · 4 years ago

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Dabi x Reader- cûm soaked silk

Summary: You're the league's relatively new addition, during a fight Dabi saves you, immediately catching your attention and clouding your mind. Eventually after a row of success the league organizes a party and Dabi comes over so the two of you can prepare.

Warnings: cum play, creampies ,throatfucking, light alcohol consumption, pinning, panties theft.

/masterlist/

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Here you are once again waking up at 2 in the afternoon. With a quick stretch and desperate grasp for consciousness, you feel the familiar pain of a long night spent gathering supplies and fighting the trash that calls themselves heroes.

Thankfully, it was a night full of victories for the LOV so the pride you feel is stronger than the strain on your tired body. In everything you remember from last night, one moment sticks out so clear that you can't help but blush and let a smile escape the corner of your lips.

"A little danger looks good on you."

That was the most Dabi had said to you since you joined the League. A small-time hero aimed their quirk at you and your heavily scarred teammate was quick to throw you against the nearest wall, his body covering yours. There was nothing but anger in your heart and a lust for blood painted on your face until your eyes met his stunning blues.

All it took was those few words from his all too calm voice and that lazy, lustful look from his heavy-lidded eyes...you were hooked. With a final stretch, you tried to shake him from your mind.

Freshly showered and with coffee in hand, you grabbed your phone off of the nightstand. You skimmed your missed messages to get an idea of the day ahead of you. Nothing unusual. Some blood-soaked selfies from Toga, early morning ramblings from Twice, a short but thoughtful message from Kurogiri thanking you for your efforts last night, and a lackluster message from your boss inviting you to attend a gathering at the LOV hideout for a few drinks and to officially welcome you into the fold.

Well, at least you had something besides a mission to look forward to. You'd been wound so tight for months doing everything you could to help the league and uphold Stain's ideals. You needed tonight. Besides, he might be there. Before you had the chance to shame yourself for letting him back into your thoughts, your phone rang. An unknown number.

You got out a sleepy, half-hearted, "Hello," before you heard it. That honey-coated voice that caused a chill to run the length of your spine before his warmth washed over you.

"I see our crusty leader is throwing you a party. That's quite a surprise. So when are we going?"

Like always, he was so matter of fact. So sure of himself and set in his intentions. As much as his words made you want to melt into the floor, he said a little danger looked good on you, right? Fine. Then you would live dangerously.

You caught your breath before meeting his cool tone with your own subtlely beckoning statement. "Why don't you come over and we'll discuss it over a drink? If you've got my number, I'm sure getting my address should be just as easy for you." He let out a chuckle, wicked and low.

"See you in an hour dollface."

With that, you both hung up. Your heart was going to implode. What had you gotten yourself into? You bit your lip and smiled. It took no time for you to pick out the perfect outfit. No worn-out villain clothes tonight. No. This called for something exceptional.

A little black dress, some thigh high stockings, and the perfect lace lined lingerie would get you more than just a passing glance from the stapled stud you had set your sights on. As you laid the outfit neatly on the edge of your bed, it hit you. "Shit." Your alcohol-fueled stress relief had left your house completely dry. Whatever.

Fashionably late with a bottle in hand seemed better than facing this man without a little liquid courage. A quick text and you were out the door. "Heading out for a bit. Give me 30. Let yourself in and get comfortable."

Getting your address was simple. He was a man on a mission and after last night, he had a hunger. Saving you was the first thing on his mind during yesterday's battle. You were reckless and he could relate to you. A woman with convictions was his weakness. In a world full of fake meaning, your passion was as fiery as his quirk and he wanted more. Needed more of you.

The thoughts that crossed his mind after pinning you to that wall were less than noble. He wanted to feel you, to sink his teeth into your soft flesh. God he hoped you were a fighter behind closed doors too. Maybe he could overpower you.

He wondered if you knew how much you had him worked up and if you were just as desperate for a release as he was. Before he knew it, he was at your front door. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

"Get comfortable? Alright, doll. Let's see what you're all about."

He was surprised upon entering your apartment.

"Pretty classy place for such a reckless fighter. What are you hiding in here, little miss?"

He was eager to get to know you better. He couldn't simply flop onto the couch and kick his feet up. He knew you were more than a simple yet dedicated member of the league. You had dirty little secrets somewhere and he was out to find them. A few unlabeled pill bottles in the bathroom, empty champagne bottles in the kitchen...nothing too out of the normal considering your line of work.

When he finally made his way into your room, it was as well put together as the rest of your flat. He sifted through your nightstands and found...nothing. He let out a little sigh of defeat and sat next to a small pile of clothes on the bed. Running his hands under your pillows in a last ditch effort, he finally found something.

"So you are a naughty girl. You don't disappoint after all."

His wicked smirk was a sight to see as he held your toy in his hand. He had seen these before in a questionable marketplace. So he knew two things for sure; you had taste and he wanted you even more now. He'll make you forget you even own that little toy.

He was praying that this was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to your kinks. He made a mental note and tucked the vibrator back under your pillow.

He moved his attention to the outfit you had delicately placed across the mattress. If that was what you were planning to wear tonight then you knew exactly what you were doing to him. He could imagine the way that tiny dress would hug your curves and tease him with glimpses of all the places of your body he wanted to devour.

The fishnets were a filthy addition and he might let you keep those on while he had his way with you someday. His thoughts continued to spiral and he could feel his growing erection pressing uncomfortably against his jeans.

That's when he saw them. There they were. Those perfect, lacey little panties. His hunger for you hit primal levels as he grabbed your panties off the bed and tugged at the hem with his teeth. His free hand was already rubbing his aching cock through his pants as he imagined sliding those panties over and letting himself inside you.

Oh, the sweet moans you would make. How would his name sound when it rolled off your tongue as you begged for him to wreck you? He knew you wouldn't be back for another 20 minutes and he couldn't hold out any longer.

He made quick work of laying back on your bed and freeing his now rock hard cock from its clothed cage. He grabbed the black silk panties and wrapped them firmly around his base as he began pumping and stroking.

He bit his lower lip at the electric feeling taking him over. He was a man possessed and he would get his release by any means necessary. The veins along his shaft were throbbing as he thought of you all dolled up and desperate for him. He wanted to know how you would look on your knees ready and waiting for him. He could almost feel your hips gripped tightly in his hands as he imagined ruthlessly hammering every inch into you. His deviant thoughts and the feeling of your panties sliding sweetly along his length was an intoxicating combination. His other hand reached for his heavy balls, massaging them, trying his best to spoil himself for the remaining time he had.

All it took was the thought of your pussy gripping and welcoming him inside you with that black lace causing the perfect amount of friction between your swollen lips, clinging desperately for that pathetic amount of friction-... He couldn't help himself. Thick, hot ropes of cum were coating the cotton lining of your panties, his release overflowing and pulling all the way to the base of his cock.

He milked out the last few drops and watched as they soaked into the thin fabric.

Well, this would either get him kicked out of your flat or he would get the confirmation he needed that this overwhelming lust was mutual. All he knew was that he needed a drink.

With perfect timing, you returned home with a bottle in each hand just as he had placed the underwear back onto the bed and got himself situated on the couch as though nothing had happened.

Your heart almost skipped a beat. You assumed he would show up so that was no surprise. What you hadn't planned for was just how good he would look; the track lighting of your apartment showcasing him like a work of art. He looked so comfortable, so natural sprawled out on your furniture. Like he had always belonged there. This was your home but his presence filled the place. Fuck, what you would give for him to fill you instead. Before you could fall even deeper down that rabbit hole of attraction, he greeted you as only he would.

"So are you gonna pour us a drink or are those just for show?"

You felt the heat rise in your face and you could only imagine the color of your cheeks as he let his eyes work their way from the whiskey in your hands to the rest of your body. "Sure thing. Gimme a sec. And I said to get comfortable, not scuff up my table with your big dirty boots, ass." His little laugh was warm and kind despite your attitude. A few drinks, some light conversation, a couple of shared nervous laughs and glances...before you knew it, it was getting late. A nice buzz enveloped you as you excused yourself.

"Not so fast, doll. Where do you think you're going?"

The look in his eyes made you weak. You couldn't tell if it was the slow burn of the whiskey or the equally smoldering quality in his tone that made you blush. "Sorry, blue eyes. I gotta go get ready. You don't want me missing my own welcome party, do you? Behave while I go get dressed," you giggled. That laugh, innocent and a clear give away to your inebriation, was enough to cause his desire to come bubbling over.

He was one sip of whiskey past the point of being calm and he needed you. He quickly made his way behind you, grabbing your hips and leaning in to whisper in your ear...

"You should know by now, behaving is not something I do, hopefully, you can behave like a pretty little thing you are. Now let's get into that cute little room of yours and you're going to get changed. Slip out of those clothes and give me a nice show."

With those words, he gave your neck a few light kisses making sure to let his lips trail your skin before pushing you lightly towards the room. You were a warm mix of goosebumps and giggles. You were going to give this man anything he asked for, do everything that left his mouth before even finishing his sentences.

This was happening and you wondered why it hadn't happened sooner. The look in his eyes was ravenous and you were ready and willing to let him feast. The second you both made your way into the bedroom, your body was against the wall; his own body covering yours once more. This time, however, there was no battle, no rush, and the only dangerous thing in the room was the man staring you down with lust in his eyes and whiskey on his tongue.

You began unbuttoning your blouse and it was as if he couldn't pepper your skin with kisses fast enough. His lips worked every inch that was exposed as you tilted your head back and practically ripped your shirt the rest of the way off. The blouse fell behind you as Dabi's teeth lightly grazed your neck.

His left hand made its way up to the clasp on the front of your bra. He looked down unhooking it with ease as your breath hitched in your lungs. He let his lips and tongue playfully work down from your neck to your now exposed breasts. His bottom lip was about to glide over your nipple when he suddenly stopped and looked at you with that wicked half-smile.

He grabbed your chin and pulled you in for a passionate kiss. His original intention was to make it quick but the two of you were swept away in the burning taste of cheap whiskey and overwhelming desire. His arms wrapped around your waist as your hands softly glided through his hair and over his scarred cheek.

With a final soft bite to your bottom lip, he pulled away. "Is everything okay?" The aura about him had changed to something far more dominant and primal.

"I said put on a show, babe. So let's see it."

He sat back on the bed as he looked over your figure. You couldn't tell if his stare was more anticipatory or predatory but either way, you were soaked and dying for his skin against yours. You turned around and looked back at him with a dark and coy smirk before facing away.

You slid your hands down your body until they made their way to the zipper on the back of your skirt. As the small metal tab fell, Dabi bit his lip and felt something else rise up. You placed your hands on the wall above your head and spread your legs lightly.

You gave your hips a little shake and the skirt fell to the floor. Turning around to face him, you ran your thumbs across your hips and into the waistband of your panties. You teasingly lowered them barely an inch. His eyes lit up. That's when you snapped the band and let the panties back up. Slinking towards him, you placed yourself between his legs with your arms around his neck. "I think you should take these off...Don't want to have all the fun to myself."

"I thought you'd never ask, babe. But you'd look better in these. Why don't we change things up a bit?"

With that, he picked up the little black panties from the outfit laid out on your bed. You blushed. Now you were wondering what else he had seen. As you took them from his hand, you noticed something felt off about them. Your fingers slid across the slick and sticky substance that was still warm. Suddenly it hit you and felt your own temperature rise. "Dabi did you..."

"I said...put them on....go on."

His voice was deceptively calm but inside he was on a one-way track and there was no stopping him tonight. His cock was literally aching to be inside and the thrill of seeing you slide those panties on, getting you nice and coated with his cum before he had even entered you; It drove him right over the edge.You shyly slipped off your panties and began to put the others on. You stopped with them about halfway up. "Babe, I dunno. Is this really...."

"Looks like you need a little help."

Before you could blink, he had come right up to you and pulled the cum soaked panties the rest of the way up. You barely had time to catch your breath and enjoy the feeling of his lips so close to you when he began to run his fingers over your clothed slit and press his still warm fluids closer inside you. When he heard a small moan escape your lips and felt the silk against his fingers go from dampened by his own doing to soaked with your juices, he knew he had you.

He let his fingers slide past the fabric and past your folds trailing his sticky cum along them. He dipped two fingers into your cunt, pushing his cum into you, picking up the gushing out liquid each time it dared to drip out of you.

With just two minutes of that, he was throbbing and you were crying out, begging to feel him inside you, begging to get a fresh coat of cum in your greedy pussy.

"All fours, on the bed...Now."

With a firm slap to your ass, you did just as you were told. Only, he didn't get behind you like you were expecting. No. After quickly undressing himself, he stood before you hard and ready. Your jaw dropped and you were about to tell him how bad you needed it but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eyes.

"You're gonna be a good girl and get me nice and wet before I let you feel this cock filling you up and stretching that pretty pink pussy of yours. Do you understand?''

You nodded as he moved his hand to the back of your head and the other to the base of his cock. He guided you forward and you let your tongue gingerly trace the veins of his shaft before wrapping your lips around. With every pulse of his hips, you would play with his tip and graze it with your soft tongue before taking him all the way into the back of your throat.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. A few expletives left his lips as you let out soft moans and began to drool, his length becoming a bit too much to handle. Your mouth became a sloppy mess, his cock twitching each time your throat tightened around him. He could feel himself getting warmer and dizzier, the sight of you splattering around his length, your eyes watery and your hands struggling to keep you up made it unbearable for him to hold for much longer.

You can feel the mess dripping onto the sheets as you rub your thighs together.

He slides out of your mouth with a small pop and runs his thumb across your lips glistening with spit. The look you gave each other said enough as you arched your back and he made his way behind you.

His earlier fantasy was becoming a reality as he put one hand firmly on your hip and used the other to slide his tip up and down your warm and aching lips. He let go of both just long enough to grip the sides of your panties and burn them clean off. He yanked away the remaining fabric and lined himself up with your quivering entrance.

"Is this what you want, gorgeous? Hm? Do you need it?"

"Yes! Please Dabi! Fuck! I need it.C'mon.Please." And with your final desperate cries...he did just that. His every inch slid into you just right. His cock twitched as soon as he bottomed out, his hips jerking into you out of instinct.

He was the only man you knew who could pound your pussy so ruthlessly while his hands still explored your body so sweetly. it was intoxicating, addictive. You needed more. You needed him. Despite him holding your hips down, you managed to sway your hips just right, meeting his thrusts one by one.

He watched you gasp and loose balance, dropping on your forearms as you buried your head into the cushion. He admired the way your pussy took him so well, his cock disappearing all the way in and then coming back out. He was hazed, forgetting how much time passed as he plowed in and out of you, the intoxicating rhythm putting a strain on his muscles as he couldn't have it in him to slow down.

You were a teary mess, whines and cries coming from your sore throat as you begged for him to make you cum.

With another hard slap across your ass and more praise for the way you took him so well...that was it. You couldn't take it anymore. He was pounding that spongey spot just right and his hands were sending shivers through you. You couldn't hold back anymore and he could tell. You were clenching down on him as he continued to slide in and out. He grabbed you by the waist, towering over your back as he held your body flush to his.

His pace deep and more meaningful, his cock dragging along your velvety walls that were squeezing him of every drop he had left. The feeling of him throbbing as his warm cum painted your insides white threw you over the edge, your legs shaking as he continued with small ruts into your shivering cunt.

You were breathless, smiling, and spent. To your surprise, so was he. His blue eyes half lidded and his breathing ragged.

He carefully slid out of you and you both fell back into the mattress. After taking a moment to appreciate his sweat sheened body you sheepily asked, "Soooo...about the party...?"

"Yeah, yeah. It was great, wasn't it? Now shut up and come here," he said teasingly, welcoming you into his arms.

You're not sure when you fell asleep with your head on his chest or how you ended up with this man in your bed but you were happy to sleep in that day, your body already hooked on the warmth of his embrace, begging for it to not be just for this one night.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

So that was a wild ride, the backstory about this one is kinda long but i'll keep it as short as possible.

One day this lady jumped into my dm's (a few moths ago) requesting a Dabi x Reader x Overhaul fic.

Hovewer I didn't exactly get to it yet, but we continued talking throughout the months, her mentioning how she would love to start writing but was too scared of messing something up.

So we came up with a rough idea about dabi jerking off in the reader's panties and it went uphill from there!! Drafts and drafts, massages and thirsts we collabed on this and ended up with this little 4k word thing. So taking all of this into consideration, if you liked this spicy fic go give a follow to @issamomma the mentioned lady and a wonderful woman and now my dear friend.

Like,comment and reblog with ideas you might want the two us to collab on again. Hope you loved it and enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

___________

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commissions:open

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#dabi x reader #dabi x reader lemon #dabi #dabi lemon #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #villan x reader #bakugou x reader #shigaraki x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #bakugou #my hero academia #mhafanart #myheroacademia

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heli0s-writes · 4 years ago

Text

It Is Knowing*

HI THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. It’s been a wonderful ride. Here’s the last part of Bag of Tricks. It’s tender and smutty and stupid. All mistakes are my own.

Please stop reading if you are not over 18!

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

He’s terrified.

Suddenly he’s looking at you one way, and then in a flash, the same dumb grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of an ill joke— turns bright white.

It goes brilliant like star fire and during a storm inside a standard-issued cabin hideout, Bucky thinks he must be losing his mind.

And maybe he’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.

He hazards another glimpse.

“Help?” You ask from the table, angrily scratching out blocks of an attempted crossword puzzle.

Do it in pencil, he tried to warn earlier, but you only called him chickenshit because you’re—yep—annoying.

“Foudre,” Bucky says carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. “It’s a… six-letter French word for thunder.” He clears his throat, gesturing toward the window splattered with rain.

“Oh-ho-ho,” you snort, “Smart boy, aren’t ya? FOO-DRUH.” An incredible bastardization of the term, and you sing around a chewed-up pen cap between your teeth. “My name’s Smart-Boy-Bucky and I know French, Russian, and Updog.”

“What the hell is Updog?”

Your face steels.

“Nothing much, how ‘bout you?”

And instead of going over there to kick your ass, all he can do is stare wordlessly as you break into a laugh—his entire body electric like a live wire.

He keeps telling himself there are only a few days before someone drops in to collect. He just needs a little bit of distance, some time alone to clear his head and get over this—thing.

But his brain feels like it’s melting while he waits, his stomach is probably developing an ulcer, and his heart is so fast and fierce that he can almost see the pulse in his sternum throbbing errantly.

Too many things are wrong. You’re his friend— and Bucky wants to throttle himself a little bit for ever letting you be his friend. You’re an unfiltered, oblivious dumbass and he doesn’t like that at all. You cry over animals and when he gets hurt because you’re an insufferable drama queen, too. He hates that. He does.

The sound of something enormous slamming on the ground makes him dash into the shared bedroom and—oh god, Bucky thinks he’s going to throw up.

First, the mattresses are on the floor.

Second, you’re. wearing. that. stupid. shirt.

The blue one. The one he used to love, hated for a bit, came back around to wearing, and now—yep, he officially hates it again.

“I think you’re too tall for the bunk.” You’re pushing the beds together, unaware of his clenched fists. “So if we sleep diagonally your feet won’t hang off—and can you believe it—” you point to the hem of cerulean brushing against your skin, “I packed three raincoats and no pajamas.”

At the sight of your creeping smile, Bucky loses it.

“Why are you going through my stuff?!” He shouts, gripping the doorframe with enough force to take the molding clear off. “Why are you touching my shit!?” And he probably sounds insane, flying off the handle like this, but he’s got a million grievances against you and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

“Mind your own fucking business!” He’s still unloading, unreasonably frantic at the sight of that terrible color hanging from your shoulders.

Bewildered, you plop down clumsily on your knees, gawking like a deer in the headlights.

Your bare legs, your fingertips on your thighs, the thin sleeves oversized and loose on your forearms, that smear of toothpaste on the collar, the hollow of your throat taut from holding your breath—it makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you dizzy.

It makes him want to touch you. It makes him want you.

He’s sick. He’s dying. He’s so, so fucked.

“What…” Bucky quietly trails off, gasping helplessly as realization sinks in, “…what the hell is wrong with you...”

“Me?!” You shriek back, “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m over here worried about your crusty feet hanging off at night and you just swing in and take a dump on me?”

Bucky groans, miserable and guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “Shit. I’m—I don’t know.”

“Eat my ass, dude!” you sneer, already tucked under the blankets. “I’m going to sleep. Turn off the fucking light you’re going to stand there looking like a dumbass.”

A feeble sigh as Bucky pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s glaring at the ceiling, listening to the patter on the roof.

“You’re the dumbass,” he whispers.

You’re the dumbass with the emotional regulation problem. The idiot with the temper. The head full of sawdust. But, if it only took three careless words from your blundering mouth to make Bucky fall entirely apart, you must be right after all. He is the dumbass.

He feels split open like the sky—torn up completely, unable to make out anything in his own turbulence.

Fuck.

The sheets shift until he hears them slide off. Then, a pattern of bare feet across hardwood. He must look disastrous in the doorway, bent out of shape in uncharacteristic disarray.

“What is going on with you?” You find his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrists, tugging until they peel off his wretched face. “Why are you so upset? I wear your clothes all the time; I’m always in your stuff.”

He chuckles defeatedly because you really are always in his space. Throwing yourself into in his room. Eating chips in his bed. Squirreling away in his brain. Everywhere. Always.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line, grimacing as he looks at you. Wordless and vulnerable, he can feel his brow sinking lower, throat narrowing around a swallow as he attempts to fix himself. A stutter falls out, then another, crackling syllables like surfacing thunder but never quite forming a sentence.

The earth groans, shaking the cabin and his precarious soul.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like—”

And then, under a streak of lightning, recognition splits across your face.

“Don’t,” he pleads to the silence, “Don’t say it.”

The seconds stretch into horrible eons of slow passing time. You tilt your head this way and that, eyes going from his face to his hands, limp at his side with your own fingers still grasping on.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you say gently, “You’re—my best friend.”

Bucky shuts his eyes. “I know. I’m not trying—"

“Bucky,” you interrupt, faster now. “Bucky,” suddenly elated and laughing. “Bucky—shut up.”

And then the entire room bursts into flames. Your lips are searing hot against his— plump and eager, leaving scorching trails everywhere they touch, and Bucky burns up like a solar flare trying to catch his breath.

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh, kissing him again. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin. “A real idiot.”

He’s terrified and dizzy, fumbling with a million possible outcomes and failing painfully each time. Relationships never quite work out for him; he’s dated a few girls and liked them a lot, too, but they’ve never turned out how he wanted them to. And this one—this one, he really can’t fuck up.

He’s got a bad track record, and with you, never knowing is much better than losing.

“Hey, you’re going crazy in there. I can hear it.” A sweet smile as your lips hover over his. The sweetest your face as ever looked. “Stop thinking, Bucky. Kiss me.”

Your lashes are so long and pretty. The dip of your cupid’s bow, a shape he adores. Even the tiny scar on your neck and the way your hair moves— wispy strands framing your face. Sounds of happiness tumbling out, hand firmly inside of his.

“It’s just me.” Joyful. Comfortable. “You know me.”

Your eyes glimmer—a familiar color calling him home.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Yeah, I do.”

Steve was the more competent linguist in their old days. Rolling French r’s, dropping ending consonants, silky smooth in pronunciation. Bucky’s tongue had always been more supplant to the Eastern European languages but, he knows enough of French—remembers enough from the war to recognize this:

Coup de foudre.

It’s the thing romantics exalt, the thing that half-strikes him now. The thunderbolt.

Love at first sight, even though it’s not quite first sight at all.

It’s not infatuated or starry-eyed. Not blind. Not feeling.

It is knowing.

And yeah, Bucky watches the way you pull him to the floor, euphoric and aglow, Jesus H. Christ, he knows.

This is it for him: your chaos, your entropy, your impulse. Your lack of personal space and foresight and good fucking sense. But—your kindness, too. Your care. Your heart.

Calm and patient as you settle down into his lap, the warm weight of you seems to be the only thing keeping him on earth.

“Can I touch you?” You ask shyly.

His voice is barely audible, hands unsure of where to rest, heart swollen in his throat.

Bucky flushes, and in the split second of your tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, he tells himself do it, you coward, just fucking do it—and god help him, he does.

He presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collar and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs and instinctively pulling everything off.

You’re both surprised and excited, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too.

His shirt gets flung behind your back. Both pants disappear somewhere else. One hand goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

Bucky stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

He feels perfect in your hands. A silly grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and glide yourself over his length, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Bucky begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s unquestionably powerless.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Buck.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Bucky holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second--"

Using the position you’re already in, he lifts you up and brings you back down, a bit at a time until you’re landing on his hand with a gasp. He uses his fist as a stopper, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Thor?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a hook up. One time—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Bucky wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking on top, tipping him backward into the cushions, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Bucky, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck.

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Bucky could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

It’s rougher in the morning. In the shower, soaking together. Faster.

On the couch, next. With him asking you to put your hand here, move your leg there.

He wants to learn everything you like, too.

You eagerly change positions, giggling when your knee slips and you pitch forward onto his chest. The two of you take a moment to compose yourselves, pinching each other, kissing in-between. He commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you. The way everything moves easy and wonderful, sometimes lazy, sometimes harried, but always fun.

Yelping when you bite too hard. Biting you back even harder. Positions neither of you have surprisingly tried before, but why not start?

Cursing. So much cursing. A lot of it good—fuck me, yes, more, don’t stop—but truthfully, most of it stays about the same.

Barnes, you got a juicy ass.

Will you shut up!

And he never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or if maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Bucky’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the front door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Sam swings it open and Bucky is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” Sam hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Sam!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a sweater, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Bucky is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Sam whispers again, “Oh… my god.” He sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” he hisses, before screaming, “Oh hell no! I’m here picking y’all asses up. Landed the damn jet like two miles away, walked my happy ass through the rain— you butt-ass-naked in here—” He stands ram-rod straight, hands on his hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on y’all.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Sam!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m wet! And well— you wet too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

Sam snickers, high-fiving himself before crossing his arms, “Really though, believe me when I say this for everybody who’s ever met you two: finally. Now get y’all freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Barnes’ dick.”

You pat him on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Sam dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Bucky locks the door to a now silent cabin, damp with sweat and the smell of earth. It’s torrential still, two days bucketing and the ground is so wet mud goes up to his ankles. Luckily, and he wants to laugh at that, you packed two extra raincoats.

Thunderclaps shake the very ground he stands on. Bucky turns to look at you, marveling when electricity bounces off your eyes, lighting up your face. He reaches over.

A squeeze to your hand that says I’m yours.

One more, tighter. I love you.

You slot your fingers between his. I know.

You smile at the next streak in the sky. Me too.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction #mcu

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quillify-tries-to-talk · 3 years ago

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I think I figured out the problems in Roshani Chokshi and Sandhya Menon's books (as much as I love them, their Indian rep doesn't resonate with me as much as I'd hoped).

DISCLAIMER: not hating. There are valid issues that PoC face in foreign countries and I'm not trying to invalidate them. This is just an opinion

A little background first. Contrary to what you're shown in Hollywood movies, south asian countries are not a wasteland of forests and slums, but the situation isn't great, either.

Majority of the population is somewhere in the middle class rungs that often comes with a plethora of issues starting from academic pressure to feelings of guilt and anxiety over spending money on yourself. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. (Colonial trauma is a bitchy, vicious cycle).

It is a privilege to leave the country, to have enough money to live an entire ocean away. Not all of us will ever be able to do that so we'll have to deal with whatever shit is thrown in our faces by the society and government (the CAA/NRC act, privatization of govt institutions, the farmer bills that aren't actually pro-farmer, covering up atrocities in the most outlandish ways, controlling media houses so actual news never reaches common people, catering to billionaires, mismanaging the pandemic and opening your eyes only when you see the ashes).

Not to mention a lot of Non-Resident Indians (NRIs) are wealthy, upper caste people, absolutely cloistered from the atrocities that occur everyday against marginalized communities.

So when I read books by Indian-American authors, my feelings are mixed. If they're set in historical times my anger is through the roof. Let's take an example.

Laila from The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi gave me immense joy at first for being beautiful, bold brown girl. But as I read further, my feelings started to grow more negative.

It's because of the way Chokshi did zero research on South Asian colonization of the British while waxing poetic about the tragic fates of her male characters. Laila is from Pondicherry, and the French colonized that place (we only get mentions of forests and magicians because apparently that's all there was in the 1800s, huh :))). We have no idea how she ended up in Paris, or how as an 18 year old brown girl she took up a job as a courtesan/sex worker (I don't have a problem with sex work, but I would like to know how she got that job and I would like to see her childhood and trauma explored. Okay, Severin gets pages of backstories about his fathers but his love interest doesn't?). She didn't have a surname first while everyone else did. And now, in the second book we move with the fact that we have zero ideas for her real name too. For a book that's about colonization, desi history gets ignored by the author, and instead Laila is sexualized af. I'd like to ask what's her role in the story beyond causing Severin angst, baking, reading objects for him, and being a generally sweet person? Chokshi keeps *telling* me that she isn't there for Severin and is her own person, but where's the proof? She has no backstory, no name, and no role beyond romance and smexy courtesan.

Like Wikipedia has a whole ass page. Wouldn't have taken much to just Google it all. And for an author of south asian ethnicity to ignore this, the way white historians do? Reeks of privilege.

Her MG series, The Pandava Quartet, is also set in America. A story.... about Hindu mythological legends... in America.... it was jarring to read, honestly. For once in my life I'd like to see something *not* being set in America. America is not the center of the world for crying out loud.

Same with Sandhya Menon's books. We'll leave out her twisted idea of feminism: gurls ruleeesss!! Boys droolzz. It was very obvious in When Dimple Met Rishi, with the way Dimple kept hitting and punching Rishi, and it was deemed as badass. All her boys have the same archetype: Love Interest Cameras.

Y'know, romance works with *two* characters, right? Two of them, each bringing something to the table for a healthy, balanced relationship that progresses slowly through various stages (because real life often isn't a Bollywood movie). Boys need to have good role models and a role beyond "hot, sexy love interest." Y'all have become the very thing you swore to destroy.

Wait, I derailed. Sorry.

Ahem. Back to the topic.

I shouldn't have been shocked, but I truly was while reading Menon's books. It just made me realize the privilege a lot of NRIs have and they don't even realize it.

Case in point: most of Menon's characters are all wealthy and loaded af, and that makes them extremely hard to relate to. They are disconnected from their culture, they don't speak any of the native languages, not even a little bit. The little mentions we got were so inaccurate, they made me grit my teeth and make a whole post about it. It feels as though she just slapped a south asian name on a white—I'm not even gonna call them characters—they're basically puppets for her romances (who tf kisses right into 3-4 chapters of a book, c'mon!).

I'd have expected such disconnect from a white author *side-eyes Cassandra Clare*, but not from someone of my own ethnicity. It was heartbreaking. I'm sorry if you don't agree but I had to get this off my chest

Again, BIPOC in foreign countries have issues that need to be examined, but we keep forgetting that most of them aren't in America. We're living in our countries, and there are a host of marginalized communities whose stories need to be heard, now more than ever.

#ya critical #roshani chokshi #sandhya menon #bad writing #poc representation #long post #div rambles about shit #representation in fiction #representation in literature #again this is an opinion #it's fine if you don't agree but don't pick up your pitchforks over it #anti tgw #sorta?#lailaseverin #plss just give me a proper ethnic character #i beg of you #tw: swearing #tw: mentions of colonization

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darkeninganon · 3 years ago

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This may be a bit of a confusing chapter, but I was like... not functioning during this whole thing. Still not really functioning. Anyways, Trigger warning: Gream acting like Dream (He gets angry, yells, and throws stuff).

This was an absolute nightmare. Tubbo and Ranboo had returned home, stopped by Puffy's to pick up Gream, only to discover that Gream was gone. Missing! Not in the mansion or the house. He was free to leave...

That was a lie. What with the prison so close to Snowchester, it wasn't safe for Gream to leave. That wasn't even taking into account that no one on the server liked him and would likely try to kill him on sight. This was such a nightmare. Tommy did a sort of groan-scream in an effort to vent his frustrations, but with everyone looking in different directions to find the tiny green ghost, the teen was left alone with his own thoughts. Well, then again, it wasn't just for Gream's safety. It was sort of a revenge for what he did when he sent Tommy to exile.

Tommy recognized how twisted it was, to get revenge on a ghost with no memory, and that was why he wasn't destroying anything Gream built or being stupidly cruel. Still, he would have to confront the ghost about leaving Snowchester. Especially if he had a shrinking episode while out and about.

"Oi! Pay the toll you-"

"Aw, fuck off man! This is still my hotel!" And just when his day couldn't get any worse, Jack Manifold had spotted Tommy searching the hotel grounds for the tiny ghost. At least Jack didn't know about what happened, hopefully it would stay that way.

"This isn't your hotel! Don't you see the name-"

"Fuck off you-"

And the two descended into arguing, finger pointing and cursing filling the little lobby of the hotel. If Sam Nook was here, Tommy wouldn't have to worry. A thought came to Tommy. He had built this hotel on top of...

"Oh, Jack, you brilliant bastard! See you later!" Tommy ran to the edge of the path, looking down to see a grouping of iron doors. Useless iron doors, but iron doors that lead to the one place none of them had thought about checking. Tommy ignored Jack gloating about how he was smart, or some other nonsense; it didn't matter right now. What did matter was the little green person running into the house.

Tommy jumped down, letting out a squawk as he hit the ground hard, ankle tweaking in protest. Jack was yelling something at him from above, probably to get lost or pay the toll. Tommy ignored him, ducking into the little hole that lead to the most dangerous place on the server: Dream's house.

Gream jumped as he spun to leave, greeted by Tommy's face in the entry tunnel. "Jeeze! Tommy! What the hell?!" Anger flooded Gream. Why was Tommy here? Gream finally felt somewhat safe and Tommy dared to just-

"Well, good to see you too mate. Puffy was right worried about you." Tommy pulled himself into the house, sitting cross-legged in front of the door as he smiled down at Gream. "Tubbo, Ranboo, and I were also pretty spooked. I mean, fuck, just imagine if Sam found you. God that would suck." Tommy rambled to himself, running his hand through his hair. Sure, some of it was a lie, but it was true enough that Tommy didn't want Gream to go back to the prison, that would just break the ghost and then he might return to being like Dream.

Gream stared at Tommy. Did the teen... know? "Wait..." No, Tommy had to know. Puffy once worked with and believed the man with the gold tooth. But to just ask that was... No, Gream would be punished for asking such a question. But surely there was some way to get an answer... "Uh, Tommy, we're friends, right?"

Tommy stiffened, staring at Gream in surprise. "Uh, yeah, I guess... It's a little awkward because, well... I was... was... friends with you... from before." Tommy fidgeted, pulling on the cuff of his sleeve. "It's uh... stirring up some old memories, you know?" Tommy looked at his hands, picking at his cuticles. Why now was Gream doubting him?

"Um, what do you know about... Puffy?"

"Gream." The ghost jolted, looking up at Tommy, who was clearly nervous about something. With a sigh, Tommy continued. "If you have a specific question in mind, just... just ask me, alright mate? I'm not going to blow a fucking... gasket or something. We're cool man, we're cool."

Gream sighed, fiddling with the edge of his mask. "Well, you see, Foolish came by... before."

"Yeah, We were told."

"Let me finish!" Gream watched Tommy flinch slightly, his heart twisting and fluttering at the same time. Weird. "Well, Puffy... She knew where I was and... And... How many people believed him? The man with the gold tooth, he... he spread lies and told people... told them I deserved to be there? Why? What did I do to him? Why was the book so important? How many people... how many people want me dead again?" Gream was bordering on tears now. He didn't want people to hate him, he hadn't done anything wrong. Surely it was just because he shared a mask with the monster Tommy and Tubbo talk about. "Why did my own mom believe him?" Gream curled up on the floor, sniffling and crying. The thought of Puffy, someone he cared about and someonje who cared about him, believing some creepy guy over her own child was twisting his heart too much. He didn't want to think about what he could have even said to get her to believe his lies.

Gream startled as something pet him. Slow and gentle. He uncurled slightly, looking at Tommy who was leaning towards him, hand extended. "Sorry..." Tommy pulled his hand back, looking away from Gream. "I... It's a hard question to answer... Not because I don't know. But because..." Tommy looked back at Gream, cringing. "It's hard to answer because I do know."

"Tell me." Gream stood, rubbing the tears from under his mask.

"Gream, I don't-"

"Tell me Tommy!" The little ghost took a step forward, trying to intimidate Tommy into telling him. Tommy flinched again, raising his hands as if Gream was going to strike him. Gream stopped, taking a step back; "Please, just tell me."

Tommy was silent for several minutes. "Just about... everyone. Including me, Tubbo, and Ranboo." Tommy could just barely see Gream moving back, shock and horror evident in his body language. "That's why... When I saw you as a ghost... I was so shocked. No one was supposed to visit you." Tommy relaxed, going back to messing with the cuff of his sleeve. "We were all turned away... when we tried to visit. I managed to sneak in once. You..." Tommy sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth. "You-"

"Enough. I don't want to hear anymore." Gream turned away from Tommy, covering his ears. Just how powerful was this gold-toothed guy? What did he have over everyone in the server? And what was the damn book-

"You brought Wilbur back to life."

Gream stopped. He... "I did what?" Gream turned to face Tommy, shaking slightly.

Tommy sighed. "The book was... It had the knowledge in it that allowed you to revive people. You never shared it with anyone. Not me, not Tubbo, not Ranboo, not Puffy. The only person you used it on was Wilbur. Possibly because Ghostbur had asked you to, and, well... It may have turned out to be a mistake, but, we'll see what Wilbur is doing eventually." Tommy sighed again, looking at Gream. The little green ghost seemed surprised.

"So... I only used it once?" Gream tilted his head, clearly confused.

"Yeah. And that one time was all the man with the gold tooth needed it seems. God... Had I not used Ghostbur to sneak in-"

"Why were you sneaking in?"

Tommy's mind floundered. What the hell was he going to tell Gream? You know what, fuck it. Tommy might as well tell him the truth. "I... may have been going in there to kill you...?"

"What?!"

"Listen Gream, the guy... he said you did some pretty awful things! Ranboo.. he's got memory problems, and he said you did that. He said you were best friends with the guy who executed Tubbo-"

"Tubbo got executed?!"

"He said you worked with the president of Manburg and were the reason Wilbur blew up Old L'Manburg-"

"Wait, Wilbur blew up-"

"God's sake man, this is just the tip of the iceberg, okay! The- No, you know what, we're done with this. He said you did a lot of really shitty things, and we believed him, because he may or may not have held a position of political power for a long time."

"What?!" Gream began pacing, groaning in agitation. "He had- Oh my GOD that makes so much sense now. FUCK. This sucks so mu-uch. For fuck's sake this sucks!" Gream opened his eyes, moving his hands away from his face. He was normal size now. Well, that was weird, but it helped. With anger, Gream kicked the closest chest he could, knocking it over with the contents spilling out across the floor.

"Gream, shh, you need to be-"

"No, Tommy! I'm not going to be quiet! This sucks! The person who tortured me- who killed me- is running around doing God only knows what, and people will believe him at the drop of a hat because he had political power?! This is bullshit! Manburg isn't even around anymore, neither is L'Manburg, but apparently he's still- ARGH! For fuck's sake!"

Tommy cringed away, hyperventilating as he watched Gream toss a chest across the small space. Tommy felt like he was in exile again, or the cell. Gream was going to...

"The fuck's going on in here?!"

Shit.

Tommy and Gream snapped to see Jack Manifold crawling through the entrance, stopping to stare at the green ghost. The three were silent for what felt like an eternity. And then Jack moved. "SAM!"

"Oh no you don't you fucking-"

"Tommy, let me go, Dream's-"

"Dream's dead! This is Gream! He's nice!"

"Fuck you, let go of my fucking ankle you prick!"

"Jack shut up and listen for once, you can't tell Sam!"

"Fuck you, yes I can!"

"No you fucking can't! Gream hasn't done anything-"

"He's trespassing on my property!"

"It's my hotel, bitch!"

Jack suddenly kicked Tommy, sending the teen sprawling back with a bloody nose. He could faintly hear Gream yelling his name, clearly concerned for what had just happened. A cold hand grabbed Tommy's arm, pulling him to his feet. Jack was gone, and Gream was struggling to keep Tommy upright. Tommy pushed the ghost away. "I'm fine! We need to get you back to Snowchester, now." Tommy grabbed Gream's arm, pulling the ghost towards the little tunnel. Both boys crawled out, climbing up the sheer cliffs to the prime path and running to the tunnel for Snowchester.

Something began following them. No, someone. Tommy looked to see a very angry Sam and Jack using tridents to fly after them. Gream was about to look back, but Tommy grabbed his arm, shoving the ghost in front of him. "Go! Get to Snowchester!"

"Tommy, what's-"

"Don't look, alright?! Just go!" Tommy shoved Gream towards the wall, sending the ghost past it, but Tommy stopped, drawing the sword- Dream's sword- and spinning to face their pursuers. Sam and jack slid to a stop on top of the tunnel, both armed with axes and shields against Tommy.

"Tommy."

"Sam."

The trio stood there in silence, Gream just beyond the walls of Snowchester; just out of reach from people who would put him back in jail.

"I hear Dream was out of Snowchester, Tommy." Sam's voice was dark, heavy. It wasn't the voice of Awesamdude or Sam Nook. It was The Warden.

"Well, you heard wrong. Dream died, Sam. You know that." Tommy pointed the sword towards Sam and Jack, praying that they backed off.

"What the hell do you mean?! He's right behind you!" Jack yelled, pointing incredulously at the ghost.

Tommy's gaze flickered to Jack. He wouldn't win in a fight against both of them. Jack he could maybe win against, but certainly not Sam. "You might want to get your eyes checked out mate. That's my friend Gream. He's a good lad and-" Tommy cut himself off. He almost said it. Almost but not quite.

"And what, Tommy?" Sam tilted his head. Out of the three of them, he seemed the most relaxed. It was more unnerving than if he were on edge.

Tommy took a breath. He had to be calm right now. "And he's not trying to cause problems. But things like that," Tommy tilted his head to the enchanted netherite axes held by the two, "That gets him on edge. He gets scared by those things, you know?"

"Oh, so him yelling and kicking stuff with you cowering was just you two having a bonding moment? Huh? Like exile?"

"Shut up Jack! I may need therapy from that, but I'm sure as hell not going to talk about it with you." Tommy grit his teeth. Of course Jack wouldn't care. No one but Tommy could see how fortunate this was, all anyone else could see was Dream. This was a chance at obtaining true peace, and nobody but Tommy was willing to see that. Well, okay Puffy, Tubbo, and Ranboo probably did see it, at least somewhat. Having your worst enemy be your best friend? What could be a better form of revenge? "Look, Gream is protected by Snowchester, and if you two don't-"

"Knock it off Tommy." Sam stepped forward, swatting the tip of the sword away as he closed the space between him and Tommy. "We all know you wouldn't win. So just hand over the prisoner, and you'll never have to worry about this again. Okay? Dream goes back to prison, you go back to living your normal life, and everyone lives happily, ever, after. Okay?"

A trident slammed into the glass between Sam and Tommy, the teen stumbling back into Snowchester. Ranboo jumped down, pulling the trident from the glass. Snow crunched loudly as more people gathered. Tommy looked around, suddenly surrounded by Technoblade, Philza, and Niki. He caught sight of Puffy and Tubbo climbing up the shore, the sheep woman running to Gream and hugging him. Tubbo's eyes were locked on Ranboo, who, even without a mouth visible, it was easy to tell the half enderman was smiling.

"Sam, you do remember what I said, right?" The little particles buzzed around him, agitation shared. Sam was trying to hurt his family. Sure, Gream wasn't part of that family, but Tommy sure as hell was. A few particles rushed to the other teen, dancing around him, examining him to make sure he was okay.

Sam was silent, eyes locked on Technoblade. Quackity had talked about getting the pig man into the prison, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen any time soon. That sucked.

"You know Sam, generally, when people are as tyrannical as you, it doesn't end well for them. You might want to watch yourself from now on... or, you know, spend some time on that island you have. Heck, you should probably bring Fran with you." Sam snapped his gaze to Ranboo as his only pet came up. "It would be a real shame if something happened to her." Ranboo took a step back as Sam took a step forward, barely controlling his anger. "Or what about Ponk? You still love him right? Or are you two split up after you cut his arm off with shears?"

Murmurs of shock fell through the group, people looking at each other before looking to the creeper hybrid, who was visibly shaking.

"You also took one of his lives. How many does that leave him with? Two? And no totems~. No revive book either. Even if Dream were here, he'd never waste such energy on Ponk. But you already know that~."

"What the hell are you planning?"

Ranboo's smile seemed to widen, face splitting to finally reveal his mouth, like a twisted version of an enderman. "Nothing. Just paying back a favor! Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, tell Quackity that I'd like to talk to him. Maybe he and I can finally work something out with the cookie stand, you know?"

"What? I haven't-"

"Buh-bye now Sam~. Go on, shoo, both of you." Ranboo made a shooing motion with his trident, voice warbling as he spoke. He watched intently as Sam and Jack finally retreated, glaring at him and the group from the safety of the other side of the tunnel.

Gream suddenly smacked him over the head with a stick.

Ranboo opened his eyes to grass beneath his feet and people scolding someone. Scolding Gream. Why were people scolding Gream and asking if he was okay? Why were Jack and Sam glaring at him from across the tunnel? "Uh, guys, what's going on?"

Everyone fell silent, staring at him.

Phil was the first one to speak. "Are you fucking serious mate? Were you sleepwalking that whole time?"

Ranboo nodded. "I guess..."

"Heh? Sleep walking? Hey, wait a second, Ranboo did you call Snowchester your family?"

"Mate, Techno, now is not the time."

"Ranboo, you sleepwalk?" Niki looked between Phil and him, clearly confused. "How long has this been going on?"

Ranboo shook his head. "I'm... Look, I don't want to talk about it- actually I literally can't- but thanks, whoever woke me up?"

"Oh, that was Dream." Phil stated, motioning to the ghost. Gream looked to Puffy, motioning to Ranboo as if that vindicated him somehow. "He whacked you with a stick. Kind of like I did way back when." Phil mused, snickering to himself at the memory. "Wait... how did you know to do that?" The older man asked, turning to Gream.

Gream seemed to straighten up, almost looking proud of himself. "I didn't! I just got the urge to do something and hitting him with a stick made it go away. Well, made it less prominent." Gream turned to Tommy, tilting his head. "Does Ranboo's sleepwalking have to do with his memory issues?"

"Let's not talk about this, okay? Like Phil said, now is not the time. Are you okay Gream?" Ranboo was more than eager to get the attention off of himself. This was like when Dream announced he was traitor all over again.

Gream nodded, pushing Puffy away. "Yeah, sorry for running."

Tommy smiled, walking over to Gream and slapping his hand on the ghost's back. "No worries mate! We just worried about you. What made you run anyways?"

Gream looked at the group, silent. He knew Tommy was hiding things. They all were. It hurt. They were his friends, so why would they lie to him? It didn't make sense! "It's... It's not important." Gream moved away, heading towards the mansion. Maybe Sam would tell him the truth. If only the two could talk without having anyone interrupt.

#Gream #Ghost Dream #mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #Trigger warning #tw abusive behavior #Gream doesn't like seeing Tommy afraid #But he has a VERY hard time controlling his emotions #Again I know this is kind of all over the place #But please forgive me

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cham-chammity · 3 years ago

Text

MORE STRIKER X BLITZ (kind of) FLUFF BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP WRITING IT

It had been an exhausting day at work—more like a week—for the two imps who lay burnt out on the couch. It had been nothing but demanding clients and complex assassinations for the past few days and they just needed a break. Letting out a heavy sigh, Striker turned his head to look towards his boyfriend, who sat rubbing his temples.

"Sometimes when I’ve had a stressful day, a nice trip to the tub is always nice.”

Blitz turned and snorted in response. “No way I have the slightest energy for any dick-wadding playtime after that damn mob family shit we dealt with today.”

"Oh, no no. A legit, calming bubble bath. With candles and soft music playin’. Used to do that a whole lot whenever I was sick or stressed as a kid.” Striker stood up and stretched, letting out a long, dragged-out yawn. “I’m with ya on the no energy for 'dick-wadding playtime’ as you call it either,” he chuckled.

Blitz hummed in response before standing up himself. “Sounds quite nice actually. I think I have some candles in the closet over here I got a while back.” Blitz walked out of the living room, and Striker headed towards their bathroom. He drew a warm bath and poured some soap, making it nice and foamy. The bathroom became steamy from the hot water and faintly smelled of lavender from the soap. Blitz walked in with some rose scented candles.

"Sorry about the scent. Not sure if you’re into florals. I kinda like the smell of flowers, especially from the living world,” Blitz laughed nervously.

"Oh, no way, I do too,” Striker smiled in response. “Screw them girly-girl stereotypes, as my aunt always told me. It’s alright to like the smell of flowers.” Both imps (unaware they were thinking the same thing) took a mental note of that for future date and gift ideas.

Striker walked out of the bathroom and came back with his phone, searching for some music to play. “Any music suggestions, Blitz?”

"Hmm… calming, but romantic,” he smiled, while starting to strip down. Striker did likewise after making up a new playlist (which took no time considering he was a music freak, and knew way too many good artists of the like; being the hopeless romantic he is.)

Blitz lit the candles after he finished undressing himself. Afterwards he dipped his foot in the tub before cursing at the temperature of the water. “Ah, fuck! The water is way too damn hot, you said warm, not scalding.”

Striker lightly laughed at his reaction. “Guess I like ‘em hot,” he winked at the crimson imp.

Blitz jokingly rolled his eyes in response. “Enough of the foreplay, you flirt.” Blitz slowly edged himself into the water anyways, eventually finding himself getting used to the temperature. Striker eased himself in next to his mate, sitting just in front of where Blitz now sat.

"You mind washin’ my hair for me, partner?” Striker asked, passing Blitz a bottle of shampoo.

"I thought you’d never ask.” Blitz proceeded to wet down his hair and poured the shampoo in a clawed hand, and started lathering and massaging Striker’s scalp. Striker closed his eyes and took in the senses around him. The smells, the music playing, Blitz gently massaging his head. A smile spread across his face as he was finally able to relax.

"Quite the dorky smile you got there.”

Striker took a moment to respond but kept his eyes closed. “You can’t see my face, I ain’t facin’ you.”

"I can’t see it but I can sense it,” Blitz teased. He then washed the rest of the shampoo out of Striker’s hair.

When Blitz finished Striker turned himself around to face Blitz, catching the crimson imp off guard as he planted a soft, gentle kiss on his lips. Blitz sat in surprise for not even a moment before melting into the kiss, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. Striker cupped Blitz’s face with one hand, slightly deepening the kiss, making Blitz hum in response. After a few moments he positioned himself to lay on top of the crimson imp. They continued to exchange long, soft kisses, melting into each other's arms, the warm water and bubbles making the moment feel even more intimate.

Soon enough their tongues started to explore each other’s mouths, running along teeth and lightly nibbling on each other’s lips. Blitz ran one of his clawed hands through the paler imp’s hair, and Striker lightly caressed the crimson imp’s face with a thumb. Their tails intertwined as they continued their soft, passionate makeout.

Every once in a while they parted for a breath of air, only to lock lips again in need of each other’s touch. They occasionally kissed and licked down each other’s necks, leaving little love marks on one another, claiming their significant other as their own. Blitz let out soft purring noises and hums in response, as Striker did likewise.

The two imps savored the moment, never speeding up, never going further; just expressing their love with one another through long, soft kisses and light nibbles. Blitz certainly enjoyed this himself. He was always kinky, rough and fast in previous relationships. But he had to admit, he definitely liked the slow vanilla stuff Striker had to offer.

Eventually, the two imps parted, gazing into each other’s hooded eyes. Their faces were lightly tinted from the physical and intimate heat, and were lightly panting from their lack of air.

"God, I love you.” Both imp’s eyes widened in surprise. Oh shit, they both said it. At the same time. For the first time. Striker softly smiled and planted a soft kiss on Blitz’s forehead.

"I love you,” Striker said again.

Blitz smiled back and responded. “I love you too.”

They once again exchanged a few soft kisses before getting out of the tub and draining the water. After drying off they went to put on their pajamas and layed in bed to cuddle in each other’s arms.

"You know," Blitz started, "my mind is always racing. Going a million miles and hour thinking about satan knows what. But when I'm with you, I feel calm. Safe."

Striker softly smiled, rubbing small circles at the base of Blitz's spines. "Aw, that makes me happy." Striker paused for a moment. "I make ya feel safe?"

"Yeah, but not like the traditional 'I'll beat any ass up who will lay a finger on you' safe. More like... I know I won't be pushed around or mocked at. I can be myself without secretly hoping deep down inside you won't snap at me and reject me, or worse..." Blitz trailed off, letting out a heavy sigh. "I've never felt pressured or judged when I'm with you. For once, someone actually.. cares about me."

A deep pang hit Striker in his chest as he silently listened. It shattered him knowing Blitz was used and belittled most of his life. With the circus, past relationships, Stolas... Nothing made Striker's blood boil more than how Blitz had been treated in his past, and even now with the muddled mess of the rich-ass owl overlord.

"Well, darlin', anyone who has or does disrespect you certainly don't see past the surface. They tend to look at the tip of the iceberg. Graze the surface n' form an image of their own. But as for me, I look deeper. For strengths, weaknesses, traumas. There's a whole lot more than the present and future. Everyone has a past, everyone has something frozen under the surface. We just havta.. look for it. Accept and acknowledge it's there."

Blitz sat in silence at a loss of words. "I--" he paused and bit his lip. "I don't know what to say. But, thank you. I needed to hear that."

Striker intertwined his tail with Blitz's. "You don't have to say anything, Blitz. Now it's getting late. You should probably get some shut-eye. Sleep well, partner,” Striker whispered, planting another kiss on Blitz’s forehead.

"You too cowboy.” Blitz’s words were hardly audible as he snuggled closer, falling asleep with his face buried in Striker’s chest.

Thankfully, they had no work tomorrow, and both imps got a good night’s rest for the first time in a long time; accompanied and safe in each other’s arms.

#striker x blitzo #helluva boss #helluva blitzo #blitzo helluva boss #blitzo x striker #helluva striker #striker helluva boss #blitzo #helluva boss blitzo #helluvabossstriker #blitzker #helluvabossblitzo #helluva boss fanfiction #vivziepop

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 35

💖first time reader click here💖

Reader and Eddie going on their mission. They're all morons, okay? Some canon-typical violence, bad guys being bad guys. You guys can see that I treat the fighting plot points as total crack, right?

Eddie Brock was pissed, at the Avengers mostly - for not telling him of my accident - but also at me, for the fact that I didn't call him sooner. Venom had taken over at some point, eager to participate in my plan - and it I was being honest, my uncle's space boo was the one I had relied on to participate in the mayhem that was to be caused to finally let my family breathe in peace.

The Avengers wore various expressions of guilt when an angry Eddie stormed the tower, berating them for not getting into contact with him when I was in danger. Venom growled at them, too, just the right amount of teeth and drool for Tony to quickly usher me out to 'take a walk, have some fun, build a snowman' with uncle Eddie and Venom. It was almost too easy, too predictable. The guilt that reared it's ugly head was stomped down by me and two glasses of whiskey in Eddie's rented Airbnb as I went into the fine details of my plan.

Both I and Eddie were equally surprised when Venom dropped their sarcastic, angsty teenager attitude and approached the topic with maturity, giving valuable input. The goth space goo was much, much smarter than their first impressions showed. I belatedly remembered their remark about being an apex predator species... Scary.

The plan was pretty simple.

Eddie was a professional investigative reporter and an unregistered mutant, his files being hidden so deeply due to the alien nature of the symbiote that it was unlikely that underground gangs would have any idea as to who he truly was. His involvement with SHIELD was buried under so much red tape, even Coulson himself had very little idea about Eddie's body-mate.

My uncle would sniff around the mutant underworld, just enough to catch a whiff of the mercenary's whereabouts. It should be enough if he was as famous as Natasha claimed him to be. And if it wasn't enough... I'd be bait. I doubt that the merc knew the box has been retrieved and secured; every now and then, I still caught chatter about the SHIELD agents trailing me catching a person sent to monitor me. They weren't even trying to hide that hard.

I had my suspicions SHIELD was indirectly using me as bait, too, and both Eddie and Venom were inclined to agree with the notion. Over beers and ridiculous amount of chocolate cake, a third side of the operation Baby Thief had been formed. SHIELD played their own game, the Avengers and SI threw a ridiculous amount of resources on their own and then there was me and Eddie, two halves of a whole idiot.

For once, the plan didn't go south immediately off the bat. Eddie and Venom got the information - there was a lot of uproar in the mutant community, rumours about an artifact that would let them assume their rightful place in the world, pushing the pesky humans off their pedestal. I definitely supported mutant rights - but the common notion that violence was necessary to achieve the recognition of said rights didn't sit well with me at all. Eddie agreed with me, his own curiousity pushing him to dig deeper into the situation.

My uncle could be a brilliant investigative reporter with the proper motivation and his significant other at the side. I could never tire of Venom's stories: each and every time they saved Eddie from making a clown out of himself was remembered, documented and brought up at the quickest available opportunity. I haven't laughed so hard in months.

The positives of our plan? We got a hot trail and enough information to know about the mercenary's whereabouts. We possessed the manpower needed to off him in record time, Venom eagerly offering his digestive system for our convenience.

The negatives? We'd need to bring me. Apparently there was a hefty bounty on my pretty little head and the merc himself had given up trying to chase me, hiring a bunch of muscle to do the legwork for him instead. The mercenary, a man who went by the nickname Cadre, was an ex-shield agent, who knew enough to successfully avoid the organisation following hot on his heels.

And neither SHIELD, nor Tony nor Eddie knew who had ordered the retrieval of the artifact. The mysterious person had deep pockets: all of the men were supplied with high grade weaponry and the mutants participating in the missions had equipment specifically tailored to their powers.

Perhaps, I wasn't as clever as I wanted myself to be. There was something big and ugly brewing and the bounty on my head was just the tip of the iceberg. But what was done, was done, and Venom was looking forward to a hefty meal and we set the date of Eddie "kidnapping" me in a few days time.

I hoped I'd make it home for Christmas.

The biggest surprise was that nobody suspected anything. Not even Natasha's watchful eye and inherent knowledge of shit about to be stirred - somehow, Nat always just knew those things - had revealed itself and that's how I knew it was absolutely necessary for me to be successful. There was no room for failure. In the day before my planned trip to Cadre's lair, I forced the team into a movie night and took extra time with everybody, seeing as even the most cheerful people - Thor and Wanda - walked around with sullen faces for most of the time. Perhaps, deep down, I knew that chances of my plan going awry were pretty damn high.

It felt like I was leaving for war. And perhaps, I was. The nervous, anxious energy increased as the hour X drew closer and I couldn't hide it anymore. My insomnia wore Tony's face: I could see his disappointment as clear as day, but I figured he'd forgive me for the betrayal eventually. Every single thing I hid from my newfound family made me feel a traitor. Unfortunately, there was simply no other option.

That afternoon, Eddie picked me up from the tower and drove me to one of the hideouts that belonged to Cabre. He'd tied my hands together and blindfolded me, all for show of course, whilst Venom briefly connected with my body to induce a drowsy state of mind. I didn't actually mind to be drugged and was way more wary of the symbiote's effects on my body but the space pudding extended his tentacles so quickly, I barely had the time to even swear at them.

To my (and their) surprise, it wasn't as bad as we thought it would be. In my hazy state, I briefly head Venom growl that I could be a decent short-term host if something would to happen with Eddie; I did not know how that information made me feel but did not disregard it completely. I was out of my depth on this one yet marched on towards the danger with grim determination.

"Here's the girl," Eddie's voice penetrated through the curtain of chemicals that Venom had dosed me with; I was tossed none too gently on what felt like a mattress, the landing haphazard but not painful. Venom must've dulled my pain receptors, too. "Where's our money?"

I was unceremoniously groped, my face examined by a man with ice-cold hands. Whatever he found, he deemed it satisfactory. "I'm impressed," He whistled. "We've been trying to get her for months. Care to share how you achieved this?" The strange man sounded suspicious.

"WE HAVE OUR OWN TRICKS," Venom's deep voice filled out the room like thick smoke and I just knew that the man who had been groping me was twitching in discomfort. "SO?"

"Alright, alright," The man mumbled, voice unsteady. My drowsiness slowly began to recede and I finally could focus my eyes somewhat; Eddie was partially obscured by the writhing, onyx mass of his symbiote and the man was dialing up the phone, speaking in a rapid-fire dialect I did not know. "Cabre will be here in an hour. Care for a beer?" Just like that, the man was obviously attempting to placate Eddie.

"HOT CHOCOLATE," Venom announced flatly and I had to struggle to hold back my laughter at the image of a seven feet tall tentacle monster sipping hot cocoa from a tiny porcelain cup. My nerves had me feeling ten types of way, as usual, and props to Ven making me unable to speak. I would have already killed myself by running my mouth ten times over.

The hour passed by with me floating in my mindsphere, Eddie loudly playing Candy Crush on his phone and Venom consuming ridiculous amounts of hot chocolate. It was absurd and the eerie calm was beginning to make me suspicious; I had expected... More. Threatening thugs with guns, experiments, blood tests and physical violence. Instead, the man who met with Eddie was sitting with a vacant, bored expression as he practiced card tricks in the corner furthest away from Venom.

Finally, a knock on the door forced all of us to pay attention to the newcomer. It was a tall, massively built man in his early forties. His face was covered in scars, narrow red lines that looked like small cuts; one of his eyes was completely black while the other was blue. He looked like the man at the coffee shop but at the same time, nothing like him at all.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," His voice was low and quiet. If not for the heavyweight weapon hanging over his shoulder, I would have considered him to be one of those men who only look threatening but actually are gentle giants. With steps too quiet for a man his size, he approached me, crouching down to look me in the face. "Hello, child. I've been looking for you for a long time. It's a shame we had to meet this way," He removed the strands of hair sticking to my face. For all purposes, his touch could have been considered fatherly. "Richard, bring the money." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the man who was babysitting me and Eddie and he promptly disappeared behind the steel door.

"Hello," Eddie briefly shook his hands with Cabre after the merc left me alone. I noted Venom had disappeared into the reporter's body completely. "We are Venom," Eddie introduced himself (they introduced themselves?).

"Cabre," The Merc watched my honorary uncle with a sharp eye, taking note of Eddie's lack of weapons, his worn clothes and the shaggy hair, the bags under his eyes. "Tell me, Venom, what do you know of this child?"

"Not much," Eddie shrugged, convincingly. "Just that the Avengers picked her up for some reason and locked her up in Stark's tower. We're guessing she didn't like it much 'cuz she kept sneaking out and trying to shake off the tail. Had to go through quite a few SHIELD agents to get to her," Just like we agreed, Eddie spoke with slight disdain towards Tony and SHIELD, making sure to let Cabre believe he was on the mutants' side. "We just need the money, man. Not many people will hire us," To top it up, Eddie spread his arms, showing his skin ripple and move on it's own prominently under his ratty t-shirt. Atta boy!

Cabre appeared to have bought the lie, chuffing sympathetically, before pulling out a tablet and typing on it. "Well, not for long. My superiors have found an artifact that, if unlocked properly, will render most of the technology suppressing mutant powers useless. They won't be able to get rid of us that easily anymore."

Eddie nodded eagerly, for all purposes appearing to be ecstatic about the news. "Yeah, heard some rumors here and there. Well, you and your superiors know where to find me. I could always go with some extra cash," He scratched his head, carefully watching Cabre's fingers dance on the keyboard. "What's the kid got to do with it anyway? Seems like an ordinary spoiled brat to me," Eddie threw me a look, blinking twice. The fatigue and wariness, courtesy of Venom, had begun to recede quite some time ago; with Eddie's signal, I knew the shitshow was about to start very soon.

Eddie was smart, however, finding out the bits of information SHIELD hadn't bothered to disclose to me. The residue that the cursed box had left in me was removed, so I could not understand why SHIELD was still guarding me. There had to have been another reason, a reason that neither of us knew for sure.

Cabre paused his typing. "We've been watching her for years. She's a genius. We were hoping she could help us solve a few problems..." The merc paused to rub the bridge of his nose. "We tried to get her to come willingly but her parents forbade her from it. My superiors suggested to use the artifact but something malfunctioned." For all purposes, Cabre was looking apologetic. "I am not overly fond of kidnapping children but some things just need to be done." With that, the man turned around, landing his eyes on me. "Glad to see you're up and about." Something about his smile was unnatural, forced, malicious.

"Charmed to meet you," I sat up, dazed and confused about the turn of events. The things he was saying, they didn't add up. I hadn't received any requests for my participation in ANY kind of project, illlegal or not. No scholarships, no internship offers. Something was very, very wrong.

As soon as Cabre's back was turned, Venom enveloped Eddie, turning themselves into the seven feet tall outer space monstrosity I had seen on the first day. Their combined form was terrifying - but Cabre's fingers merely twitched at the rapid change of the situation as he took slow steps towards me. "Hmm," His voice still quiet, he once again crouched in front of me. "You fought us off once but we are many. There is nowhere to run, child," Cabre's eyes began to darken, his speech turning flat.

I recognized the speech pattern, recalled the expressionless, vacant face that stared at me. Cabre was infected with the Legion from the cursed box; I hadn't prepared for that, hadn't even regarded that, thinking the little epic speech the demon had given me was a mere intimidation tactic. Fear bloomed within me, opening it's jaws like a hungry Venus flytrap but I refused to succumb to it, clenching my fists against the waves of paralyzing terror.

Venom made a confused growling noise behind me, extending a tentacle to push Cabre away; with a sickeningly wet splat, their whole form collided with the opposite wall, sliding down it like a puddle of misshapen goop. "MORSEL, GET OUT." The symbiote growled, reforming itself back.

"Silence, beast!" Cabre shrieked, unstrapping his weapon and aiming it at Venom. No bullets came out as he pressed the trigger but my ear started ringing, eyes watering as the whole form of the symbiote began to morph and ripple. Pained groans and whines came from them. A sonic gun?

"Screw you, man," I attempted to draw Cabre's attention to myself by kicking out a leg towards the gun, disrupting his arm briefly. Things were going to shit faster than a party full of teenagers and alcohol. "Fuck you, listen, FUCK YOU!" I knew antagonizing people was my best skill and that's what I did, figuring the time needed for Venom to reassemble themself could be acquired if Cabre was pissed off enough at me.

The backhand hurt, not going to lie. I saw stars from that one sloppy hit the possessed merc delivered to my face. The adrenaline rush allowed me to stay somewhat coherent and just like that time when I was trapped in my nightmares, I dove for Cabre, winding myself around him as both of us landed on the floor in a heap of limbs.

Despite my best hopes, Venom remained a puddle of black on the floor. I saw something shiny attach itself to Eddie's chest; apparently that something prevented them from combining into one again. My smaller size proved to be a great advantage; I remembered Venom's words about being a suitable short-term host and with a shriek, I placed my palm into the nearest piece of symbiote I could reach, my vision being obscured by blackness a second later.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @warrior1-19 @toomanyrobins @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #Stephen Strange x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you

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hiswhiteknight · 4 years ago

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Fighting with Fire – Part 3

Summary: The Reader is friends with Erin Reagan, but absolutely hates one of her brother’s. After meeting Erin for a case, Reader meets Erin’s youngest brother. But due to her hatred of a certain Reagan, the Reader isn’t necessarily warm towards the youngest Reagan.

Pairing: Jamie Reagan X Fire Fighter Reader

Words: 1700

Warning: This chapter focuses around learning attack strategy, please be cautious if this can be difficult. I recommend watching Chelsea Kyann tutorials about self-defense. Also some cursing, eventual angst, eventual fluff

As much as it displeased you, it was nice to have a male volunteer. It was usually one of your brothers or one of the guys from the station. Usually they are pretty distracting for the ladies at first, but it was able to show them potential real-life scenarios. However, it did feel strange bossing a Reagan around. Eddie, Jamie, and a friend who was a fighting instructor for jujitsu named Chloe.

Chloe walked up to you, leaning in, “Well this is new, what a snack.”

You and her watched Eddie and Jamie chatted with a few regulars. You could tell it meant a lot to them both to build rapport with the community. It felt strange to not see a Reagan male not take up so much space and give off an ego, testosterone driven vibe. If his brother were in this space, he would show the woman he is a strong powerful male, who will protect and avenge their justice. Jamie vibe was a bit different and you couldn’t necessarily map it, which bothered the shit of you. Acknowledging Chloe’s statement, you made a vomiting sound in your mouth, “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

She looked at you strangely, straightening up and turning to look directly at you, “Something weird is going on.” She looked at you closer, Chloe had a psychology degree and loves to add her own analyses to things. Usually she only uses it to counselor some women after a bad trigger or if they want to open about a past trauma. Before she can pick your brain or poke you, you clap your hands heading towards the crew.

This caught Jamie’s reaction, as you ignored the mischievous look your friend is giving from behind you. He turned his body to face you, “What do you need boss?”

You shook you head, “Don’t call me that,” you point at him. You spend the time to give the group of women a greeting before directing instructions towards the pair, “So Eddie, I’d love for you to help pair women up and volunteer to be someone’s partner. Chloe usually floats because she is the true expert when it comes to fighting techniques.”

“Sounds great,” Eddie nodded.

Clearing your throat, you look at Jamie, “I don’t think I have to tell you, but most women in these classes had some bad experience with a man.” He nodded his head slightly, still listening, “I don’t let men come to this particular class to learn for a reason. Though usually a guy plays an especially important role in this class.”

Jamie looked excited, rubbing his hands together, “What is it?”

“My dummy,” you smirk. Eddie chuckled into her hand, trying to make it sound like a cough. You took a second to think about your feelings, a glow of satisfaction to be able to kick the crap of a Reagan and nervousness, though you couldn’t pin point why, “That’s not a problem is it?”

He shook his head, “Use me any way you need,” he tried not to smirk.

You look him up and down, looking unamused by his comment, “Stay hydrated, I don’t need you passing out,” you said walking away to prep your resources and workspace.

Eddie tapped him on the chest, “Real smooth Romeo.”

He looked down at her, before glancing back towards you, “I think I got a chance.”

Straightening up to look at him directly, she wore an amused look at her face, “That woman is going to eat you alive.”

You had all the women pair up and explained the boundaries and expectations of the class, like not pushing themselves and taking a break if they feel overwhelmed or exhausted. It’s a rousing speech about the realities of being a woman and how to be a community. You introduced your volunteers before instructing each of them to discuss their comfortability level with their partners, as well a little about themselves. This gave you time to look at Jamie to explain some of the movies and what he should do, “You got to make it real,” you say to him. “Don’t be gentle, don’t hold back, the best these women can learn is if they see what it’ll possibly look like in real life if it happens.”

“If I were to hold back, it would be because I know you can kick my ass,” he whispered down to you, “But I get your point.” He looked around to the women talking, “You did quite a thing here, I wish we had a program like this.”

You blinked a few times, looking taken back. You never anticipated hearing something nice from a Reagan, well at least a young Reagan, “Thank you.” You instructed the women to wrap it up to start the officially lesson.

Jamie noticed how you got flustered after his compliment. He decided to break whatever tension you were feeling, “Should we have like a safe word?”

You smirk, not looking at him, “Just tap out Reagan, give me a few taps.”

You hated to say it, but Jamie was a great asset. As you taught the class about getting attacked in different scenarios, from the front, the back, with a weapon, etc, he was patient with you tossing him around and hurting him in various ways. He and Eddie were able to add some insight from the police perspective. And he was extremely good at complimenting and empowering the woman. Honestly, outside of enjoying beating up on a Reagan, he was a great member of the team.

This was the last exercise of the day, where the attack gets them on the ground. This was the first time Jamie seemed hesitant, “Well let’s go dummy,” a few woman chuckle.

Taking a deep breath, Jamie gets on top of you and you start your instructions, like how to use your legs, how to protect your body, different ways to use your own weight as your weapon. Your favorite instruction dealt with using the attacker’s shirt as your weapon. It didn’t have to do with as much strength as it was strategy. Jamie rapidly tap at your waist, you let go and bounced up before instructing the pairs to try. Jamie finally caught his breath stepping up to you, “I wish Danny knew who scary you were.”

You let a laugh leave your mouth while watching some pairs. You give him one more smile before walking away to give some individual tips.

After some talking with some of the students and cleaning up, Chloe and Eddie were talking about the next lesson when Jamie approached you, “This was really great, I hope you keep me in mind to help even if I’m a Reagan.”

You look away from the brochures in your hands, “The jury is still out on you, but I’m getting a vibe you are different from your brothers.” You put rest of the stuff in your resource box, “Thank you for your help, you are always welcomed.” Jamie was about to say something, “But don’t think for a second I’m letting my guard down, this might be a ploy from Danny about getting in my head. I’ve got my eyes on you and him.”

He put up his hands defensively, “If that was ever a plan, I would never start something with you after what I learned today.”

You jabbed at him, “And that is just the tip of the iceberg there sparky, spread the word don’t mess with Y/N Y/L/N.”

Shaking his head, fighting this feeling on intrigue he has about you, “I will definitely spread the word of your power to all who can hear, mainly Danny.” You smirk holding your box, waving to Chloe as she headed out, “Look Eddie and I are grabbing a beer, would you want to join us?”

Eddie was casually looking at you both from the stairs. You were taken back for a second, “Oh, I’m sorry. I just got done working a 48-hour shift, I’m dead on my feet. But thank you, like for everything.”

“My pleasure, really and maybe next time,” he started to walk you towards the entrance, meeting up with Eddie, “You wouldn’t want to walk us to our car, would you,” he joked at you.

You genuinely laughed, shaking your head. You plopped your box in you back seat before looking at him. Eddie tried to stop her scoff of his response. He surprised you differently from any other Reagan including his sister and father, “I don’t believe that in necessary, I felt all that muscle you got underneath there,” you point towards his clothing. “Plus, you’ve got Eddie I know she saves you all the time from humiliation, attackers, etc.”

“She’s got that right,” she pointed at you, “Bye Y/N.”

Jamie started to walk backwards in the direction of Eddie, “I’ll see you later Y/N.”

“Take your time,” you smile back at him, “I’ve had my monthly fill of Reagan males.”

You got in your car, starting it up, and driving off. Something was different and you didn’t take the time to acknowledge your physical attraction to the younger Reagan. It was easy to distract your thoughts when teaching self-defense, but now all you could think about was Jamie’s body and how it felt around you.

Eddie teased Jamie some more about the interaction between the two of you, “Hey man, you’re making waves. This time she didn’t show her teeth and she acknowledged your assets,” she gestured to his body.

He rolled his eyes, “Shut up.” He drank some of his beer, “I’m not crazy right, you see the chemistry?”

“Oh no, you’re crazy,” she commented. “But I do like to watch you try to be charming and epically get torn apart by her,” she added.

He shook his head thinking about you, you had a good feeling and it had nothing to do with hate, “Whatever, I am charming.”

Eddie scoffed before getting distracted by a game on a tv.

Taglist: @screeching-student-unknown

#Jamie Reagan #jamie reagan imagine #jamie reagan x reader #Blue Bloods #blue bloods fanfiction #blue blood imagines #fanfiction

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oingos-bitch · 4 years ago

Note

The ABCD ask game for devo? He needs more love imo (I don't even know if you write got him)

This man is so underrated it’s criminal. With that being said, hell yeah I’ll write for him! He definitely needs more love

Also kudos to a discord server I’m a part of for

Based on this post

TW: child abuse, light gore

Headcanon A: what I think realistically

Loud and vulgar, but to a lesser degree than Rubber Soul.

He’s had Ebony Devil since he was about 7 years old.

7′0″ tall.

He likes to enjoy a good cup of coffee or tea on his time alone.

His favourite song to have a smoke to is “Don’t dream It’s Over” by Crowded House.

Used to have a zeal for learning languages. He hasn’t practiced enough to speak fluently, but well enough to surprise people.

He’s probably gotten some pretty interesting piercings at some point.

Speaking of Soul, he’s more quiet/on-edge around him, but loud everywhere else.

Tends to clash with others, namely Soul and Nukesaku.

Likes to prank others and laugh at their misfortune.

Once he scared Boingo by sneaking Ebony Devil into his room and he nearly avoided getting beaten to a bloody pulp by Oingo.

Devo just laughed and dared him to go on with it, even making a few requests as to how he wanted to be hurt. Oingo just sneered at him, disgusted.

The “crazy ass” of the group (like in that one meme).

Gets too cocky about his abilities.

The fact that he’s got an impressive body count boosts his ego even more.

Whenever he and Steely Dan see each other it’s more or less like “that moment when you wear the same dress 😬.”

Of course, Devo thinks his stand’s ability is superior.

Devo’s really careful about his hair and he’ll cut your hand off if you even try to touch it.

If you’re very special to him then maybe he’ll consider letting you braid his hair -- just the fact that he considered letting you braid it means that he holds you in high regard.

Respects his elders. . . mostly.

Quite nervous about letting his guard down; his keen sense of alertness is what caught DIO’s eye.

Headcanon B: what I think is fucking hilarious.

He always hits his head on every doorway because he always forgets to duck.

He hates wearing stuffy/formal clothing and rips it off as soon as he gets the chance.

For his orientation at DIO’s mansion he had to wear a suit and tie and he visibly struggled to stay in it.

He used DIO’s announcement for “Funtime!” as an excuse to rip off the suit and he walked throughout the mansion that way, he didn’t give a fuck.

When he laughs too hard, he drools.

He has trouble pronouncing “Sassafras.” Any other word is fine, it’s just that one word.

Hates Speedos with a burning passion.

He would show up to his victims’ funerals sometimes just to see how much damage he caused.

He’s bragged about this to his co-workers numerous times.

He would definitely try to one-up anyone else’s body count/gory stories.

Hence the clashing with Soul.

Headcanon C: what is heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends.

His first victim was his father.

It wasn’t his fault.

He knew his father was a strict man, more so now that his mother wasn’t around, but he didn’t feel as if he deserved to have his milk teeth forced out of his mouth by the impact of a brick just for the tiniest of errors.

Over time, however, he began to accept his father’s view that he was indeed deserving of such treatment.

His father had said it was all for his good, after all.

No matter how he’d begun to find comfort in his father’s logic, there was always something in the back of his mind nudging its way to the forefront.

And it would all come to a peak.

He was only 16, barely starting to make sense of the world and his mind was racing and he knew he had to get away but he couldn’t, he couldn’t but he knew he had to push him away, to kick him, spit at him, scream, anything but he had to get away and he just couldn’t decide what to do and it all just happened so fast.

He didn’t know that Ebony Devil would react like that.

He just knew that he felt the tiniest glint of resentment for his father and the next second the man’s face lay at his feet, his faceless stump of a head smacking against Devo’s forehead on it’s way to the ground.

Devo didn’t know what would follow after, all he knew was that he couldn’t stay there.

DIO was the only “family” he’s had in a while, even if his words were just an illusion.

Devo preferred to play dumb, but he knew about the flesh buds, he had seen countless recruits slaughtered before his very eyes, and yet. . .

It’s not like he hasn’t been in that situation before.

At least DIO’s lies were more convincing.

Headcanon D: what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway.

Anything to do with Those Three™ -- a.k.a Rubber Soul, Devo, and Steely Dan.

You can separate them, but it’s not recommended. They each bring about pandemonium in their own way, but they’re surprisingly more calm together??

Probably because Devo is their voice of reason (and that’s saying something. . .).

When they’re not committing crimes against humanity, they fulfill their roles as public nuisances in much calmer ways, some of which include:

Devo writing diss tracks for Rubber’s SoundCloud account.

Him participating in said SoundCloud account (or rather, Soul’s YouTube channel) by appearing in his music videos.

They record these god-awful homemade videos in front of random buildings and he and Dan stand around and throw up awkward hand signs while Rubber raps.

Speaking of Rubber’s YouTube channel, he also does those prank videos quite often.

Devo’s the cameraman.

He likes to piss Rubber off by zooming in on random stuff while he’s talking.

Sometimes he feels a bit sorry for the victims of the pranks (like Chaka, poor baby’s on the verge of tears!) and occasionally comforts them with a pat on the shoulder, or his signature, a sympathetic shrug.

Devo’s the designated driver whenever they go to a bar.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t drink, though.

Should they get pulled over he’d just kill the cop and head on his merry way.

(This is just the tip of the iceberg; feel free to ask for anymore hc’s about him! :D)

#devo jjba #devo the cursed #devo headcanons #stardust crusaders #jjba #agents of dio #dio's minions #tw: light gore #tw: child abuse

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barnesandco · 4 years ago

Text

White Feathers and Melting Wax

Bucky’s trigger words are redefined with Sam’s help.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2020. Word count: 7029. Square filled: “Mutual Pining”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood, questionable food preferences (blame Hasan Minhaj), slight language, nightmares, slow burn, fluff that will make your teeth ache, cliche ending.

A/N: This one is dedicated to @searchingforbucky because I saw her post something about how much she loves SamBucky, which gave me an idea for my SSB, and one thing led to another, so long story short, this story is for you, Meg. Thank you for providing an invaluable and unimaginably difficult service to our fanfic community - you’re a real gem.

It’s Armageddon. Hell on Earth, as if its crust has been made to split open, and all that fury and heat and horror, alongside creatures that nobody could conjure in their worst nightmares, is pouring out. Taking revenging for millenium upon millenium of imprisonment, it is biting and scratching and clawing its way through the best of humanity, bringing out the worst of humanity – the murder, the anger, the rage – in the process. Wakandan skies, once bluer than the surface of Lake Tiorati on a July day, are raining ash and smolder.

Sam’s arm is bleeding. A particularly agile alien caught the bared portion of his bicep – stupid, stupid, uniform design – and blood drips as he tries to increase his altitude, and find a better angle. Steve notices him from over the shoulder of his own opponent – of course he does, Steve never misses anything – and frowns in a moment of concern that the enemy recuperates in, because Sam is now a more visible target, but he is also good at math. The risk-benefit calculations are telling him that it’s worth it, and the glint of gun-metal fingers he sees in the distance, the owner of which is struggling to cope with half a dozen demons, confirms that.

Barnes is doing the best he can, teeth bared as he attempts to fend them off with a very impressive, but near-empty machine gun and a dagger that’s doing more harm than good. Moments away from defeat, and from an unholy death. His hair is nothing but a second skin sticking to his face and scalp with sweat and monster slobber. Should’ve tied it back, Rapunzel, Sam has time to think before landing in the thick of it. Growls and roars and snarls mix as he manages to join backs with Barnes, both at each other’s six, until nobody can tell which battle cries are animal and which are human. He must be longing for a fight like the one at Leipzig now.

Within minutes, the horde has thinned, but not ended, seemingly infinite in magnitude and strength, and they’re still fighting. The pain from his arm has dulled to an aching throb, lulled into faint numbness by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and has joined the other innumerable wounds that litter his body. He can hear Barnes’ gun behind him, like bass-boosted fireworks. It’s a square dance – an intuitive one rather than practiced, because he knows his partner as well as he knows what else the cosmos might hold for them - his back against Barnes’ as they parry and spar with each of their individual opponents. A twist and a turn, a lucky, peripheral glimpse at someone trying to blindside the other resulting in as short a tight-lipped nod as they can afford to convey their gratitude.

Sam’s stomach is sinking, he wants to throw up in the face of the evil creature he’s fighting; the scent of ozone an impending warning. They seem to have understood that the winged man and his metal-armed companion are a threat, and a ring of them has coordinated to close in around them. Sam finds a gap in which to press the for emergencies only button on his control panel at the same time as Barnes’ unleashes a series of small grenades in his arm.

The wings leave Sam’s back and turn to lethal blades, spinning like a deadly boomerang around them, and his ears ring when the grenades detonate. In the eye of the storm, Sam and Barnes are safe, but shooting adrenaline-deaf and fear-blind, the battle overcoming their every sense and soul. When the smoke clears, there is a moment of quiet amidst the terror, where sparrow brown meets ice blue, framed by blood spatter, and they quirk the sort of intrinsic, basic, smile at each other that can only emerge from overcoming something inexplicably tremendous as one unit. But then the moment ends.

Barnes shouts – an unintelligible sound of shock - and the sky cracks like an egg.

---

Bucky wakes up in an open field, the sky the color of egg yolks, golden, glistening, nourishing. For a moment, he thinks he’s still in Wakanda, the threat miraculously eliminated, but then he gathers enough strength to sit up and note the absence of obsidian skyscrapers in the distance. He can’t evaluate any other landmarks before his eyes lower to the ground he’s lying on and realize that he’s not alone. Scores of bodies litter the grass; his stomach flips and writhes, and he turns onto his hands and knees and heaves up the contents of today’s – is it still today? – breakfast. Closes his eyes to shut in the water that elicits. When he opens his eyes, the vomit is gone.

Moreover, his hands are clean. Not a trace of blood, dirt, and death on the metal or the accents that run across it like tributaries of a golden river, nor on the white skin of his human limbs. In fact, it looks like it’s been scrubbed pink, his epithelium infused with roses. There is no risk of tears now, the surprise so visceral he knows not how to treat it. It doesn’t lessen when something stirs, in the corner of his eye, and he stills the scream in his larynx just long enough to recognize the shape of Sam Wilson, his dark-brown skin shimmering topaz in the sunlight they seem to be laying in. A sigh of relief – intuitive, subconscious - loosens Bucky’s shoulders. He’s not as alone as he might have thought. Sam is confused, too, and he stands up quickly, reaching for a gun that isn’t there.

Bucky waits, knowing better than to scare him as he reorients himself, and watches as Sam grapples with the black trousers and shirt he finds himself wearing instead of the weapons he’s seeking. Others move, and Bucky – not knowing where this cold peace that fills his lungs is coming from – finds it prudent to speak up now.

“Wilson,” is still all he can say, but it’s enough. That one word, two syllables, six letters – sufficient to erase the taste of rusted blood from his mouth. Sam turns to him as others call for their loved ones, the amber gold of his irises meeting his icy ones. Bucky doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know how he got here, he’s so tired dammit, but if this man – this man who has defied law and land for the people he trusts and the values he holds, this man who he knows nothing about besides the fact that he has a moral compass like the North Star – if this man has his six, they can fight their way out. Sam’s eyes and Bucky’s brain tell him that this isn’t heaven or hell or purgatory. They’ve both seen too many prison walls to not recognize more, be they grey concrete, the insides of their own skulls, or a vaulted arch of sunshine above their heads.

---

Clouds have built and gone grey-black, iron heavy, and are preparing to mourn the loss of a good man, but not a single tear escapes Sam’s eyes the day they bury Steve. Old, feeble, fulfilled Steve, that is, who passed on to wherever noble souls go. Bucky couldn’t make himself give the eulogy, so it was, like the mantle of Captain America, passed on to Sam. Sam, who has spent every other day of the past year on the porch of his house with Steve’s wisdom and wit, and knew him better than Bucky who forced himself to make a trip every week.

Bucky, who now stands in front of his tombstone, head bowed and brow furrowed, couldn’t make himself reconcile this Steve with the one he knew. Sam doesn’t fault him that, would never give himself any right to. They’ve all seen some shit, but he can’t bring himself to even touch the tip of the iceberg that weighs on his companion’s shoulders. He’s tied his hair back into a bun at the nape of his neck, chestnut waves tamed to an orderly presentation. Domestic, even. Sam looks behind him and through the graveyard gate at the sound of a car door shutting, as Sharon gets behind the wheel and smiles at him, her own tears long gone, before making her departure.

Intentions to give Bucky his silent farewell are also interrupted by that background sound, and he turns to look at Sam, whose heart leaps to his throat at the sight of him. He’s been seeing him all day, but the veil of public appearance has fallen, and Bucky – Sam reprimands himself for the morbid comparison – now looks like as much of a skeleton above the ground as those under it. He’s pale, eyes not hollow but sad. His hands clench and unclench, reflexively, protectively, drawing Sam’s gaze. Those knuckles must be sore with how tightly the ghost-white skin over them is stretched. Sam’s own hands are in his pockets, and he looks back at Bucky with the warmth of seventeen bonfires.

A desperate attempt, futile in result and heavy in empathy, to ease some of the hurt, the hurricane that Sam is certain is throwing Bucky’s insides around like a rag doll. Bucky’s recovering, he’s better now, he’s working to be alright, and it’s working, but climbing the glaciers of his trauma is a Herculean task. Which, now that Sam thinks about it, can only be accomplished one step at a time, like any other. Ice melts a drop at a time.

“Hey, man, how are you feeling?” He says, approaching him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. To anyone else, the question might seem insensitive – his best friend, or this new version of him – has just been buried, of course he’s not feeling good, but their language is like that. Straightforward. Blunt and no-nonsense, but layered with understanding that has come to be through shared experiences and an emotional connection that speaks more between them than any words they exchange. Bucky turns back towards the tombstone, and Sam, too, looks at the epithet of Steven Grant Rogers, beloved husband, father, and friend. Human, not superhuman, in the end, the way they all want to be. They way they long to be acknowledged as.

“I’ll be alright, Sam. Just a little confused,” he answers eventually, after a long-suffering sigh. Sam is relieved, because the hope in Bucky’s voice is the best he could want to hear. And the fact that even now, when articulating what he feels must be the hardest thing in the world, he still manages to, as honestly as he can. Honesty is the beacon Sam’s heart searches for, and he’s found it here. It’s incomplete sometimes, and offered in brief words because Bucky isn’t always fond of sharing, but it’s always the truth.

“Me, too. Me. Too.” Sam nods in agreement, thinking of the muddle of thoughts and prayers and desires in his mind, as the first drop of rain falls from a steely sky, washing away old wounds, cleansing their skins for new ones.

---

The mass of blue-black ink that is the night sky is the first witness when Bucky starts writhing under his sheets.

He’s stuck in the cold. Not the glass walls of the cryochamber he knows so intimately, no, he’s buried in snow up to his neck. The unending scene of the icy mountainside stretches out before him, like a postcard from a nightmare, and he can’t move. Tries to wiggle his toes, and the snow bites and nips at his feet. Hands are frozen to his sides, and the panic starts to claw at his chest. Icicles seem to have wedged their way between his ribs, and pain sears through his abdomen.

He screams. An echo. He screams louder, hot tears turning to ice halfway down his cheeks. He screa-

Eyes the color of the first hour of daybreak appear inches from his sweat-stained and misery-sodden face, and he sits up, almost hitting Sam’s head with his own. His breathing is broken, every inhale cuts at the inside of his lungs, and every exhale tears at his trachea. Sam, trying to fix that, takes Bucky’s clammy hand in his calloused, safe one, places it over his chest.

“Breathe with me, c’mon,” he urges in a midnight rasp, exaggerates his breaths, and Bucky follows the movements he is making. Follows the way Sam’s bare chest, dusted silver by moonlight, rises to accommodate the air he takes in. Follows Sam’s eyes, the silent plea they convey to do as he does, holding that breath. Follows the release, pretends that he can hear the breath traverse his trachea, and exit his lips as his mouth parts to release it. Bucky’s calmer now, eyes fixated on how Sam’s tongue peeks out to lick his lips, the lush pillows of light brown now shining wet. It’s only when they start moving that Bucky’s gaze returns to Sam’s eyes, and his words reach his ears.

“You haven’t had one that bad in ages.” It’s a fact. A statement, an accurate observation, but because few serious words ever go wasted between them, it is also an open assertion. An invitation for Bucky to say more, with the option to nod and agree left on the table.

“Yeah, it was. I’ll be alright, though, Sammy. Thanks,” he responds, and Sam nods warily. Sits back on his haunches, knees digging into the mattress.

“Good. Do you, uh…” He scratches the back of his head. “Do you want me to stay?” He asks, and Bucky is suddenly, keenly aware of how close they are. He swings his legs over the edge and stands on shaky knees, hiding the blush that originated from fear and adrenaline and has been maintained by something he can’t name or explain. A nervous laugh as he makes his way to his dresser and pulls out a fresh pair of sweats.

“No, no, I’m going running. There’s no way I’ll fall asleep right now, and it’s almost dawn anyway.” Bucky waits in front of his bathroom door. Hears Sam get up and make for the door.

“Alright, Bucky. I’d go with you-“

“You pulled that muscle yesterday, yeah. It’s okay, don’t worry about me,” Bucky says, and when the door shuts behind Sam, rushes to the bathroom to wash off the watercolor that interaction painted across his cheeks. Gripping the granite vanity with both hands, he watches it drip off, eyes radiating a bewildering plethora of emotions. Hears the nightingale depart from his bedroom windowsill, and fly off into the night.

---

It’s a beautiful morning, punctuated by the dot of the golden, glowing Sun in the distance, but Sam doesn’t have it in him to appreciate the first sunshine after a spell of rain. Sam is disgusted. Horrified, mortified, petrified by this new development. He didn’t think the former Winter Soldier could get any scarier when he wanted to be, but he has grossly underestimated the cruel ways of his best friend. Anyone without a direct line of sight into the cereal bowl in front of Bucky would not know what he’s so upset about. But Sam, standing at the stove on the kitchen island across from Bucky, watches in horror as the latter lifts a spoonful of dry-as-the-Sahara-desert Froot Loops to his mouth, chews, and then takes a sip from a glass of milk.

To say that Sam regrets introducing Bucky to sweet breakfast cereals in an effort to sate his incurable sweet tooth is a severe understatement. When Bucky had disapprovingly forced down soggy, sweet Froot Loops the morning before, and grumbled about the disgusting experience for the rest of the day, Sam did not think that this would be the solution. He thought he’d be forced to finish off the rest of the box, and dreaded the toothache that would follow.

“I’m eating it like this, or not at all.” Bucky finally addresses the outrage written all over Sam.

“I think I prefer not at all,” he says gravely, his tone out of sync with the cheery scent of sunny-side-up eggs that his words waft across to reach Bucky.

“Too late, I love these,” Bucky says through another mouthful of dry cereal. He’s intentionally pushing as many buttons as he can at one time, a master at multitasking his way to maximum irritation. Sam shudders. Puts his eggs on a plate and goes to sit down next to Bucky at the island, one stool between them. Saturday mornings after a good night and a better workout are a good look on Bucky, as much as he hates to admit it.

Aureate beams of bubbling sunlight illuminate his side profile, his cheekbones glowing rose-gold and light dispersing through a bead of water that slides down his temple. All of a sudden, Sam isn’t hungry anymore. The last bite of his first egg feels like clay in his mouth, and he empties his glass of water in one go. Bucky looks up from his almost-empty bowl – thank God it’s almost over - and looks at Sam with concern. It takes all of Sam’s power, and then some, to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s teeth biting into his pink lower lip, and up to his blue eyes.

“You okay, man?” He asks, and Sam nods.

“It’s nothing, just got lost in thought,” he answers, and he’s being truthful. Doesn’t know what came over him, just that the slow surveillance of Bucky’s features led him down a different path than it usually does. They’ve always watched each other cautiously, know each other’s movements with the kind of precision that makes you wonder if the haven’t known each other for centuries rather than years, a couple of which were spent in animosity. Bucky’s eyes flit between his again, and they find nothing to prod at further, so he returns to his cereal.

Sam hurries to finish his breakfast and clean up after himself, before heading back to his room with a half-coherent excuse and a heat in his cheeks too hot to be caused by morning sunshine. Thanks God for melanin and for intimate knowledge of the super-soldier hearing range on his way down to the garage.

The rumble of the car’s engine is a relief, and the first breath he takes off the premises of the compound even more so. A little guilt nibbles at him, but it would’ve eaten him alive if he didn’t know that Bucky intended to work on the plans for the library today, and so he keeps driving.

Sam isn’t stupid. That furnace warmth, the magnetic way Bucky’s being drew his gaze, it’s unmistakable. In his sound head and solid heart, he knows what it is. And that’s why his heart is beating so fast, why it won’t take a goddamn break around those blue eyes and sunny smile. Sam is too self aware to be too stupid, too blind to his feelings. He’s just nervous. A cup of coffee from his favorite place downtown won’t do much to settle, but it will give him room. And he needs room.

Because Sam has never done this before. Never acted on feelings for someone who he can’t afford to lose. Maybe, the risk-benefit balance is not tipping in his favor. However, he can’t say for sure, if he knows what result is in his favor anymore. Is the torment of this schoolboy crush worth not risking his friendship?

Sam exhales through his teeth, and looks out the window. Decides to go flying when he gets back in order to clear his head. Maybe that canopy made from blue satin holds the answers.

---

Birds are chirping on the balcony railing, their silky brown bodies picturesquely contrasting against the cottony blue sky behind them. Pretty enough to frame, and Bucky commits another scene to memory that he might want to paint some day. Closes his belt buckle and then picks up the brush but does a double take at the reflection that looks back at him from the dressing table mirror.

He looks healthier than he has in years, but that’s not what’s remarkable. No, it’s the length of his hair. The brown waves reach his collarbones, and he runs his hand through it with a huff, putting down the brush and leaving his room. Sam’s in the living room, and he can hear Earth, Wind, and Fire playing from down the hall. He enters the room to see Sam lounging on the sofa with a laptop in his hand.

“Hey, Sammy, you busy?” He asks, walking up to him. Sam looks up, turns the music down.

“No. Why, what’s up?” He says, placing the laptop down next to him, and Bucky sees that he was online shopping for clothes.

“I need you to cut my hair,” he tells him, sitting down on the sofa. Sam blinks. Once, twice, thrice. His face splits in a toothy grin of agreement, and it disarms Bucky so much that he forgets completely to be angry at the smug look on his face.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to ruin your hair, Rapunzel, but are you sure you don’t wanna go to a barber?”

“Yes. You do it.” Bucky nods assuredly, willfully ignoring the nickname, relieved to be rid of it soon, too, but hoping that Sam will know, unspoken, what he is trying to say. He’s gotten better around people, around strangers, but he doesn’t trust them. Not with sharp objects, and especially not with handling sharp objects in such proximity to him. And there’s a part of him, perhaps the old romantic, the one who is just a little on the sentimental side, that prefers for such a change – small though it may seem, it speaks magnitudes to someone who craves stability now – to be made by the person he is closest to. So Bucky is grateful, when that person, Sam, agrees, with a nod back.

Fifteen minutes sees them in Bucky’s bathroom, him sitting on a stool in front of the vanity, a towel over his shoulders, and Sam behind him with scissors. He lifts the spray bottle from the counter with his free hand and spritzes Bucky’s hair. It’s cold, refreshing, and gentle stray drops land on his face. Bucky’s hands are clenching around his knees, red fingerprints growing darker on the skin just below where his shorts end. It took him two summers to feel comfortable enough to wear those. Sam has a matching pair.

He raises the scissors to the side of Bucky’s head, just by his right ear, opens them, and then pauses. Moves to the back instead, raises the scissors, stops again. A heavy sigh ruffles Bucky’s hair, and he looks at Sam’s reflection. He looks back.

“I don’t know where to start, man. I have no clue what to do with this,” Sam says, exasperated already, gesturing towards Bucky’s head with one hand and almost running the other over his own head before remembering the scissors he still holds in it. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but throws him a look up and over his shoulder that seems to say You think I do?

Shaking his head, Sam starts again. Bucky closes his eyes, his body hairs standing on edge as the scissors start clipping. A coarse, large, warm hand rests on the back of his neck to steady his head, the point of contact burning.

“I think it’s short enough to use the machine,” he whispers, as if conveying a holy secret. He turns on the clippers and soon, the buzzing sound fills the room. Bucky doesn’t reopen his eyes, lets Sam trim the edges short on the sides and back, and keep it a little longer on the top, as per their pre-determined plan of action.

He starts running his fingers across Bucky’s scalp as he’s finishing up and making the final touches, and every nerve ending of his lights up. When Sam announces that he’s done, and Bucky’s lungs collapse and then swell like balloons at the sight of his new appearance, and his eyes meet Sam’s, the world stops.

They’re inches apart, once again. Eye to eye, nose to nose. Heart to beating, fluttering heart. Thank you’s are glued to his tongue and his tongue is paralyzed in his mouth, his mouth dry and wanting. He counts nine heartbeats, and begins to lean in on the tenth, but the eleventh brings the obnoxiously loud sound of his phone ringing from the bedroom, and the bubble bursts.

Bucky answers Peter’s call with less concern than he usually does, the affection and mentorship for the teenager overshadowed by the almost-moment. The one that makes him want to scream into the New York skyline.

---

Flaming red hair reaches as far as Sam’s eyes are concerned, accentuated by the backdrop of the setting sun, an unusual hour for sparring, but a crucial one today. Nat is visiting from the European headquarters in Budapest, where she is SHIELD’s head of the region. It’s a calmer job, safer than Avengers duty, but she works herself to the bone and lets out her frustration in the gun range or the sparring mat, with the latter making for better quality time with her teammate today. Not that Sam’s much for competition right now, and she doesn’t mince moves or waste time. He puts up as much of a fight as he can, but she has him on the ground in fifteen minutes. A new record.

She helps him up and he passes her her water bottle in return as the sit on the mat. Her outstretched legs prod at his knees.

“You were off your game, Wilson,” she says, as if he doesn’t already know. As if he doesn’t know he was too busy counting days since Bucky’s haircut to counter her moves. It’s been twelve, and every hour exponentially increases the tangible awkwardness between them.

“Distracted.” Sam shrugs truthfully. Nat’s laugh isn’t cruel or taunting, but teasing and friendly, a lightweight windchime.

“Yeah, I can tell. Want to tell me why?” She asks, with another sip from her bottle.

“Like you don’t already know,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes. Tilting her head, she looks at him like a curious robin. Like she’s trying to pluck out the secrets like wildflowers in his head.

“I just know it has something to do with Barnes. You can hardly look at each other.” She says, giving him her hand to take off the boxing tape, and he picks at the edge it’s bound at. Tries to ignore the piercing stare she’s focusing on his head.

Once the tape is off, he tries to drink from his bottle again. His throat is parched, and he doesn’t think it has much to do with the exercise any longer. Natasha’s stare turns to a glare, but eventually, she seems to relent, trying at another joke.

“What, did you kiss him?” She murmurs, reaching for her bottle. Sam sputters, water going in his windpipe, and Nat’s eyes widen as she watches him cough and cough and cough. “Are you serious? Oh my God, Sam, did you really?”

“No, no, no, shit, no. That’s crazy, Nat,” he says, standing and starting to powerwalk to the showers but Nat follows quickly, light on her feet and heavy with her questions.

“Then what was that for?” Nat asks, pointing towards the mat where he just had that undue coughing fit. Shit. Keep digging your own grave, Wilson, keep digging.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s fine,” he says, and she quirks an eyebrow. Crosses her arms. He’s known Nat for too long and too well to not be entirely aware that talking to her is for his best. And Sam is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. He follows her back to the mat like a lost puppy, and consoles himself with the fact that he’s reduced a master assassin to near-gossip.

“Well?”

So he tells her. Sam picks at the mat with bitten fingernails as he relays the tale of the five years of pragmatic planning and professionalism under imprisonment in the Soul Stone, during which they talked little but shop and pretended not to see the fear in each other.

Sam avoids Nat’s emerald gaze while he tells her about the first year as Captain America, with the weight of the mantle so heavy that Bucky became the crutch he leaned on, a super-soldier it took everything to put back into the world.

Sam closes his eyes when he recalls Steve’s funeral, and the instant he decided that Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a miracle, he was one of the most beautiful people Sam had ever met.

Sam watches the punching bags sway while talking about the warmth that spreads like bushfire whenever Bucky is near, but also about how he is at his coolest and calmest next to him, because he gets him.

Sam sees the sky transition from peach to indigo telling Nat about the moment in the bathroom, where that emotional connection almost manifested itself physically, and how those feelings that he thought were benign became dangerous, boiling under the surface, and how he doesn’t know whether to bury them, or set them free.

---

Icarus. The legend of Icarus and his melting wings, his broken body drowning is the first thing to enter Bucky's mind as the quinjet lands on the helicarrier and Sam is wheeled out on a stretcher and rushed to Dr. Cho's cradle. A trail of blood follows, dripping slowly despite the medics' attentions, and that's what seals Bucky's trance. He doesn't have answers for Hill or Fury - it's a morbid game of Hansel and Gretel, right up to the entrance of the medical wing.

The sterile whites and greys, alongside the vague hum or nurses barring his entry into the trauma bay and Fury's raging demands for answers are secondary sensations. Lost behind the veil. He has to watch through the glass as Sam is put in the cradle, but there’s so much blood. The Director and Assistant Director talk calmly now, suggesting that Bucky get his own wounds checked, but he is blind to their concerns, so they give him the space they see he needs.

It takes an hour to heal Sam. A torturous, unending hour, that has Bucky pacing across the floor, smearing blood and mud across pristine tiles, his mind humming so loud he can’t hear himself think. When it’s over, he has just enough presence to follow Sam’s unconscious body as it’s wheeled to a recovery room, where he sits at his bedside.

However, he doesn’t stay seated for long. Can’t look at his friend’s wounded form, helpless and undoubtedly in screaming pain, although he may not feel it. His body does, and he will feel it when he’s awake. Bucky stands and moves to look out the window. Absently, he scrapes at the clots of blood drying under his nails and in between the panels of his other arm. Part of him recalls the term dissociation, used by his SHIELD appointed psychiatrist, and the consequent recovery techniques. An alert corner of his subconscious is grateful that these episodes aren't as frequent any more. Or as debilitating, most of the time. Just… distracting, with the fog that pierces his ears and diffuses inside his skull until he's numb. Weightless. Recovery techniques. Right. Touch, taste, smell, sound, sight. Glass and metal, blood and sand, jet fuel, whirring engines; open, open, sky.

Bucky likes the sky. Likes to watch clouds form, transform into something new, drift onwards to a better place. A better view than he must present. The infinite stretch of blue. Sometimes, he paints his own clouds on the sky in his mind's eye, but right now that canvas is dripping red - fists clench tight above his thighs - dripping red, white, and blue, Sam is dripping red, white, and blue, and he's falling, Icarus to the ocean.

Falling, falling, falling.

Oh.

Bucky jerks upright. Shakes his head, wipes a blood stained strand of hair back. Forces air into his lungs - it's thinner up here, colder, too, so he has to focus, feel the bite, good - and then: clarity.

He remembers where he is, the smoothness of tiles under his feet, the sweat sodden uniform sticking to his skin, the physicalities of his position return, as does the feel of his beating heart. But there's something new in the way it hammers against his ribs. Something gentler, that prompts a flutter of intrigue, until he realizes what it is, until he can name the newborn emotion screaming to be heard inside his heart.

Hot forehead against cold glass. Hot tears on hotter cheeks. Bucky lets them fall as he tries to face the sky again.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he tells the clouds. Not because he doesn’t want to be in love, or because he is love with a man instead of a woman, or because said man is Sam Wilson, but because it’s just so inconvenient. Because there is no happiness to be found in lives like these, and because it is an impossibility that a man with a heart as pristine a golden could want one with bruises and stains that stretch across every inch of skin. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

And he swears he can hear his Ma answer from the sky: Why of course, you didn’t, my baby boy. No one ever does. Doesn’t mean it isn’t right, or meant to be so. The universe has a way with these things. Knows how to put people together, just like a starling knows to hide her nest from crows. It’s nature, James.

Nobody’s called him James since Winnifred Barnes. Nobody ever will. But “Bucky” doesn’t sound so bad coming from Sam’s voice. Returning to his bedside and slumping into the chair, Bucky hopes he’ll only live long enough to tell him so.

Bucky, post-war, post-Winter Soldier, doesn’t know all that much about fate or the universe, nor does he know a thing about love, but he knows homecoming. And Sam, his eyelashes delicate against skin like gold poured over tourmaline, is home.

All resistance leaves Bucky with a muted sigh. It’s like he can feel the adrenaline, the fight-or-flight, both physical and emotional, evaporate when he takes in the expression of calm that has washed over Sam’s features. He takes half a dozen deep, deep breaths. Allows the oxygen to cleanse him from the inside out, and now, he has enough presence of mind to feel the exhaustion entering his bones. Aside from the scrape on his cheek, none of the blood on his being is his own. He should clean up, he knows that, but he thinks he’ll throw up if he tries to stand up again, so he breathes instead. Breathes in the fact that Sam is alive like he needs that statement to live. So that he doesn’t forget it, and wake up screaming - wouldn’t be the first time - he imprints it into his memory.

Only then do his shoulders stop guarding his neck, relaxing and hitting the back of the chair he’s sat on. The air conditioner whirrs on, and Sam’s breaths are puffs of cotton in the air, that if Bucky focuses enough on, he can envision as clouds. Clouds that turn to sheep, sheep that he counts, and it doesn’t take many of them before he is fast asleep.

---

The day Happy and May get married, Sam almost asks Bucky for a dance, under a starlit sky that twinkles like fairy lights. The months since his injury have been better than those before, contrasting a new smile, and a lighter face, against the tangible sense of will-we-won’t-we. They’re still tense, still have moments where they can’t read each other, still almost talk about it, but their companionship has returned.

This is obvious in the grin Bucky throws him with a roll of his eyes over Nat’s shoulder, as Sam twirls May around like he’s trying to make her nauseous. The poor bride tolerates his hijinks for all of one song before politely excusing herself, as does Nat, pretending that Bucky hasn’t gotten better at dancing again after practicing for months on end. She throws Sam a wink as she leaves the dance floor, and Sam swallows before turning tail and going to get a drink, leaving Bucky to find another dance partner. He quells a bubble of his own nausea as a wonderful girl – Annie something, from May’s work – tries to ask for a dance. To his surprise, Bucky refuses, and then Sam feels guilty for the cheer that goes up in him.

It’s short-lasting, overwhelmed once again by the anxiety that comes with interacting with Bucky. Sometimes, he thinks he sees roses bloom under Bucky’s footstep, the scent of him so alluring. At others, like now, the weight of his gaze is so heavy, he thinks he should drown under it if he doesn’t release the secret in his chest. If he doesn’t tell Bucky that he remembers waking up in that hellicarrier holding an asleep Bucky’s hand, with an asleep Bucky’s lips pressed to the back of his own. And that he liked it.

“It’s a nice party,” he says, tipping back the champagne flute in his hand. He can’t get drunk, and it takes large sips for him to even feel the spark in his throat, the movement exposing a stretch of slender, soft skin. It’s a matter of milliseconds, barely one breath, but Sam’s mouth is dry, useless but for a nod of agreement with a survey of the hall. Nat is wiggling her eyebrows at him from across the dance floor, and Bucky has to repeat his name twice to regain his attention, something that he immediately loses to the color of Bucky’s eyes upon turning towards him. He breaks eye contact and looks away again with another nod.

“Yeah, yeah, it was a great day. I’m really happy for those two,” Sam says honestly, gesturing towards the bride and groom, who are chatting away with Pepper.

“So you’re happy for Happy?” Bucky murmurs and Sam snorts, downing his glass, and shaking his head.

“Ha ha ha, what are you, twelve?”

“You may have to check my birth certificate to find out,” he deadpans, and Sam pinches the bridge of his nose as Bucky cackles. He glares at him, but soon, the corner of Bucky’s eyes crinkling while the sound of his laughter echoes comes into alarming focus against May and Happy swaying in the background, and Sam doesn’t need to wonder what it’s like to feel so much joy and such magnanimous love from someone that you decide to bind yourself to them forever. In fact, Sam decided a long time ago that Bucky was the one person he couldn’t live without any longer. The only difference now is that the emotions that went into that definition have changed. The twinkling sky winks down at him, as if to reaffirm that that realization is correct, and to tell him that he’s on the right path.

---

The city of New York stretches out through the window before them, buildings piercing the dusk that is settling above, and Bucky and Sam sit against the freshly dried paint in the living room of Bucky’s childhood home. It has taken four years after the Blip, four years of newfound stability, of recovery and building up and breaking down and defining his life for his own, to come back to what his life used to be. He thought it only fitting that the man who played the most invaluable part in helping him to his feet be with him at the most magnificent landmark of his progress, of his new life.

The building had, wondrously, been the same one, in that it hadn’t been demolished and rebuilt, only thoroughly renovated. Bucky had bought it several months ago, and Sam had instantly been enraptured by the idea of rebuilding this apartment. Only the furniture remains now, the empty rooms freshly painted and smelling of paint and paper, sawdust and sandalwood and sweat. Bucky looks over at Sam as he closes his eyes, and watches the sunset light his skin like honey on dark silk. Glimmering, glowing.

It hits him like a freight car. The notion that even though his life has been longer than most, it is too short to abandon what you love. Bucky is scared. He’s been scared his whole life. He was scared to go to war that first time, he was scared for his life when he was captured, he was scared for Steve when he went after Hydra, he was scared when he became Hydra, he was scared. And angry. And he doesn’t want to be any longer, even if the alternative is regret and shame. Those would still be new emotions.

That’s what has him turning to Sam, the rustle of his jeans alerting him so he opens his eyes. A question swimming in their content depths. Bucky answers it.

“I love you, Sam,” he says, heart in his throat. Sam gulps, like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to, that there are words lodged in his throat that he longs to set free, and Bucky tells him he knows what they are already. Doesn’t need the words spoken, now or ever, when they’re so visible in how Sam can do nothing but lift his hands and cups his face in them. The I love you, too, is folded like a hidden love note between their lips, passed to Bucky when they meet, and Sam moves his mouth like flower petals over glass. Bucky kisses back. He kisses back harder, tilts his head so they’re like puzzle pieces, his heartbeat taking flight. When they stop, the sky is as pink as roses, the gold accent wall behind them is smoldering, glowering with light. Their foreheads rest against each other’s, Bucky’s hand rests over Sam’s to hold him there, and they fit together like the stars fit in the sky.

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#ayesha writes #SSB2020 #bucky barnes #sam wilson #sam wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sam wilson #sambucky #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #fanfic

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years ago

Text

Core Drive - Clean: 1.04

A/N: Having conquered the tip of the iceberg, Zeke gets Logan to take a deeper dive beneath the surface, forcing him to face the things that he hadn’t even realize were stunting his progress. This one honestly took a lot out of me to write, but it’s nothing compared to the next- and last- two pieces in this first section. Yikes. Hang in there, folks.

Warning: mention of suicide, drug use and addiction, alcohol, depression and language.

Word Count: 7,000

“Did you want to end things that night, Logan?”

Ezekiel’s question cut through the static filling Logan’s ears, and drew his focus away from the wide leaves of the potted plant hanging behind the man’s desk. It’s called a nerve plant, Zeke had told him during one of their first one on one meetings. It had caught Logan’s eye then and had become a default focal point for him anytime he found himself occupying the purple armchair opposite his counselor. For him, it was easier to open up and answer difficult questions if half of his brain was busy following the weblike patterns branching off of the leaves’ sturdy midrib in thin wisps curling and reaching for the edges. It’s got some pretentious scientific name, Zeke had gone on, gesturing behind himself at the plant with the arm of his glasses pinched between thumb and forefinger. But I like “nerve plant”. You know, if I watered it with black water those veins would turn black. Interesting, isn’t it?

Logan blinked, the intricate network of spidery white veins winding through the dark green foliage vanishing with the memory of Zeke’s explanation of the plant. He glanced down at his left forearm where his own web of veins used to be much more visible; purplish blue threads unraveling under the skin. He thought about them turning black like Zeke’s plant and it made him cringe. With a shake of his head he looked back up to answer the question. “No.”

They’d been discussing the events that had sent Logan down his current path, specifically the night of his first overdose- the night of Juliet and William’s wedding. There were things that had proved easier to share in group meetings; the dynamics of his relationship with his father, the debaucherous things he’d gotten up to in the park, the fact that he’d first experimented with painkillers after the death of his mother had left a jagged hole in his heart that grew larger each day until the Vicodin he had leftover from having his wisdom teeth removed showed him a way to close it. Daddy issues. Promiscuity. Addiction via dentistry. All things that he had in common with many of the men and women he sat in group sessions with, and therefore safe and simple to share. But just as he suspected that he’d never know everything about Dawn or Brian or any of them- Not even Miguel- there were parts of his past and his recovery that belonged only to him, that he could share only when he sat where he was sitting now. Especially the parts that included you. He blinked again, the residual phantom wisps of the nerve plant’s veins disappearing behind his closed lids, your tear streaked face filling his memory instead.

I’ve never been that scared, Logan. Never.

Your voice filled his mind and reached down into his chest, just like it did when you spoke those words to him that night, and the corners of his eyes started to sting. I never meant to do that to you. I never meant for you to be hurt by this.

“I never meant to…”

He hadn’t realized that words were coming out of his mouth, and he trailed off as he lifted his face to lock eyes with Zeke. With a sigh he continued. “No, I didn’t want to die that night, I just…” He returned his gaze to the plant with a shake of his head as everything he felt that night surged to the surface. Fuck.

Across from Logan, Zeke uncrossed his long legs and leaned forward to brace his elbows on the desk. There was a near constant covering of handwritten notes, printed pages and drawings that littered Zeke’s workspace. At first Logan turned his nose up to see such clutter in an office- a space that was slated for productivity. In the beginning of his time here, he felt himself judging the man for his disorganized piles and non alphabetized book shelves bursting with more books than they were built to hold, but he quickly realized that he hadn’t a leg to stand on. My office at Delos is...was fucking pristine and it didn’t keep me in line. The pages beneath Zeke’s elbows rustled as he adjusted their position, removing his glasses and folding his arms. “Logan. You know I’m not gonna force you to talk about it. This isn’t some eat your peas or you can’t leave the table bullshit, you know that.”

That got a strangled chuckle from Logan. “Good. I always fuckin’ hated peas.”

Zeke blew air through his nostrils in a laugh and nodded. “Yeah, me too. My old man would always force me to eat every goddamn pea. Only made me hate them more.”

“There a point coming soon here, Zeke?” I know there is, so let’s get to it. Logan shifted his weight, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to the side. “I know I’m not here to talk about vegetables.”

“Not unless vegetables were what tipped the scales that night, no.” Zeke was a professional at walking the thin line between sarcastic and asshole, directly down the narrow avenue to the capital T truth. “Look, Logan.” He pressed his hands together, lacing the fingers of his left with those of his right, pointers steepled and thumbs tucked into his palms. “You’ve been here four and a half months now. And you’re really doing great. I see it, and I know you see it too.”

Logan had to agree. Aside from the fact that he was in the best shape of his life, he was starting to allow himself the time and space and mess it took to heal. He was learning that asking for help wasn’t a weakness, and that feeling things- even the painful things- was part of what it meant to be alive. He learned that burying those things in bullshit only allowed the hurt to fester and spread into every other part of him. It was a short term solution, the relief as fleeting and dangerous as any other poison that he pumped himself full of. “Thanks, Zeke. I-”

Ezekiel pulled his palms apart and held one hand up, cutting Logan off. “You’re doing really great, but…” One eyebrow arched as he tilted his head, and Logan knew what was coming next. “But unless you get into the thick of it? The real thick of it?” He placed both hands back on his desktop, his piercing hazel-green eyes sharply focused on Logan’s. “You’re just spinnin’ your wheels. And I know that’s not you.”

Zeke was right again. Logan had also learned that Ezekiel and Miguel knew him better than almost anyone else in the world. Better than anyone who worked for him, better than his father- even better than Jules. Ache sliced through his chest as he added his sister to the list of strangers in his life. It wasn’t always like that. We used to… we were close once. He knew that there had been more than a few things that had driven wedges into the cracks in his relationship with Juliet, but he also knew that none of them were nearly as detrimental to it as William had been. The familiar stinging in the corner of his eyes and the tight clenching in his chest that always came along with thoughts of the seemingly innocuous blonde haired, blue-eyed shit bag that had destroyed what was left of his happiness threatened to take hold.

But just as quickly as the pain swept through his heart, your name floated through his mind and he closed his eyes. She knows me. He let that thought wash over him like a wave, quelling the smoldering embers that never seemed to cool completely. It had been almost five months since he’d seen or spoken to you. 136 days. He’d kept track of more than his progress since arriving in North Carolina’s Outer Banks, counting the days since the last time he’d felt your palm pressed to his chest or your lips brushing the skin behind his ear as you tried to keep him anchored in the moment with you.

That’s it, that’s what she...why she was… she was my anchor. It wasn’t clear to him in the beginning, because he wasn’t looking for something so solid, so grounding and stable. He wasn’t looking for understanding or acceptance when he met you, but he’d found all of those things just the same. I just didn’t know it then… not like… not like I do now. Not even when he added a photo of you to his pocket before venturing into the park. He closed his eyes, letting out a breath. I just couldn’t see it then.

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

Logan ran the edge of his front teeth over his bottom lip as he stepped closer to where you sat, thumb and forefinger of his left hand slipping beneath the thin gold chain around your right ankle. Goddamn, she’s… He heard you suck in a breath as the rest of his digits bent to wrap around the base of your foot. Watching as the glow of the underwater lights shimmied over the skin of your submerged shins, he felt himself give into the trancelike pull you had on him whenever he touched you. His right palm emerged from the water to slide up your other leg, fingertips pressing lightly into the muscle of your calf before climbing over your knee. Can’t keep my hands off her. Your sigh turned into a hum as he gently squeezed your thigh. And she doesn’t want me to.

“What are you doing, Delos?” From your tone he could tell that you were smirking, and before he even looked back up at you, he could see the way you were looking at him.

Logan groaned quietly when he glanced up to find the exact expression on your face that he’d imagined. Eyes lingering on your lips as you pressed them together before letting them slowly part again, he eased his right hand up to your hip, thumb dragging along the elastic of your bathing suit bottoms. “You sure you don’t wanna join me for a swim?” He tightened the grip he had on your ankle and curled his fingers into the crease where your thigh met your hip.

Your lips fell open and one eyebrow arched high as you tilted your head. A breathy sigh slipped out and for a second you were speechless, completely at the mercy of his hands on your body. Fuck, she...when she… It was one of his favorite sounds, and knowing how to pull it from you was one of his favorite skills. He groaned again as you reached forward to sweep the damp hair from his face, and suddenly it was you who had the upper hand, mischief twinkling like stars in your eyes. “Wasn’t planning on getting wet tonight Logan.”

“That so?” You shook your head, biting your bottom lip. Goddamn. “And,” He moved the hand that was at your hip around to the small of your back. “What makes you think staying out of the pool means you’re not gonna get wet, hmm?” He still had your ankle wrapped in his left hand, and he used it to open your legs wider, stepping as far between them as he could as he pushed you closer to the edge of the pool. “You tellin’ me you came here tonight just to sit there’n-” He leaned in, brushing his nose along your throat before dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin there, your hand dropping from the back of his head to squeeze the top of his shoulder. “Tease me?”

You shrugged. “You tellin’ me you had something else in mind?”

Plenty. His answer came in the form of a tug on your ankle, the hand at your back sliding under you as he pulled you into the water and against his chest. Your surprised shout of his name only spurred him on more, and he knew that you actually weren’t surprised at all even as the splash soaked your hair. You laughed, eyes wide as you wound your legs around his waist and draped your arms around his neck, and he pushed away from the side of the pool and out into the middle. He adjusted his hold on you with one hand, bringing the other up to your face. Thumb trailing over your lips, he stared straight at them, speaking your name. “I was thinkin’ we start here and…” Without fully removing his thumb, he brought his lips to yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. He could feel the warmth of your sudden exhale and it caused his smile to grow devilish. “See what happens.” He didn’t wait then, resuming motion and crashing his lips to yours.

You responded immediately, kissing him hard as you gripped a fistful of his hair, twisting the strands around your knuckles. The hand he had on your cheek slid down to your throat, and he felt your moan vibrate against his palm. Jesus, I… Your thighs tightened around his body as you locked your ankles behind him, the water rippling as you rolled your hips into his. Fuck, she’s… this is… Your free hand pressed to the center of his chest, the tip of your middle finger tracing the dip of his clavicle, and he couldn’t hold back a groan. No one makes me feel like this.

In the three and a half months since he’d met you, Logan hadn’t stopped seeing other people. He’d even taken someone to a gallery opening earlier that same night. Being seen out with a different date all over town was what everyone expected of Logan Delos, L.A.s most famous bachelor, and it was what he’d come to expect of himself, so he’d chosen a reliable date for the evening. But he’s not here with me right now, he’s not… He hadn’t stopped seeing other people, but he had stopped sleeping with them, stopped inviting them back to the pool or the guest house. Because they don’t… none of them are… He pulled away then, looking into your eyes as you stared back. What is it about her that I…

“Hey.” You dropped your legs from his waist but kept your body flush to his. Logan kept both hands on you, keeping you close.

He grinned, dipping his chin down to catch your lips in another quick kiss. You gasped against his lips as he answered. “Hey.”

“So,” You reached behind yourself to untie the neck strap of your halter top, the dark material falling forward to expose your chest. Fuck me. He watched as you moved to the second strap, completely removing your bathing suit top and handing it to him. “What else did you have in mind?”

Logan had shown you exactly what else crossed his mind then, tossing your top aside and reaching under the water to remove your bottoms while never breaking eye contact. Within seconds of asking your question he’d given you his answer, covering your mouth with his to devour the sighs that his fingers coaxed out of you.

The two of you had stayed in the pool even after you’d collapsed into his shoulder, neither of you wanting to give up the way that the warm water felt as it lapped against your skin. The conversation had drifted through several topics before landing on his upcoming business trip. He mentioned that he would be taking some investors to the park for their first time. Wish I was takin’ her though...showin’ her around instead of…

“Does it ever scare you?” You straddled his waist, your arms draped over his shoulders as the two of you floated together. The bright silver light of the nearly full moon was muted behind a filmy cluster of clouds, but it reflected off of the cool water, shining on your wet skin and illuminating your eyes.

Logan tilted his head to the side, regripping your thigh and adjusting the arm that he had wrapped around your back to hold you more securely. “Does what scare me?”

You brought one hand up from his shoulder to the back of his head, water dripping from your fingertips as they threaded through his thick hair. He closed his eyes for half a second as your nails scratched lightly over his scalp, a breath escaping his slack smile as he blinked them back open again. Goddamn that’s fucking... “The park. How real it all is I mean.” What? He frowned and drew his eyebrows together questioningly, prompting you to continue. “That’s…” You sighed. “I mean, I know that’s the point, right? That it feels like you’re really…” you twirled your fingers absently in the hair at the base of his neck, your eyes focused somewhere in the sprawling darkness over his shoulder, teeth biting into your plump bottom lip. “That you’re really doing whatever it is you’re…”

Logan leaned back so that he could intercept your eye-line, taking his hand from your back to gently turn your face towards his own. “With the Hosts you mean?” He shook his head, his wet touch trailing down your throat to dip back under the water and find a home on your body. “They’re just dolls, they can’t hurt anyone so there’s nothin’ to be-”

“No, that’s not,” you let one hand slide down to the center of his chest, dropping your eyes down to follow your fingers as they spread out over his skin. “That’s not what I meant, Logan.” You brought your eyes back up and when you did he thought he saw a splash of concern coloring their depths. He squeezed your thigh, grip biting into your flesh with light pressure. “I mean… is it really good for it to feel that real? Does it scare you to think that it might be too realistic? That someone could get lost in it?”

Logan thought back to his first trip to the park; the way that the completely immersive experience blew his mind even knowing everything that he did about the Hosts and the synthetic world that they populated. He could still taste the adrenaline on his tongue, potent and pure like a shot of undiluted absinthe, put there by the click of a pistol hammer locking into place, the barrel aimed point blank at his chest. It felt like the bullet was swimming a slow backstroke through the hot, dusty desert air, and Logan felt his pupils double in size, felt himself tense up and brace for the impact. He swallowed that shot of adrenaline, and it set his teeth buzzing, sped up the tempo of his heartbeat. He knew it wasn’t real, but everything in his body was telling him that he was about to die. In that moment he froze, unable to even flinch as the smirking outlaw delivered some scripted line and pulled the trigger. A loud pop and a small cloud of gunpowder smoke registered with him just milliseconds before a blunt blow to his breastbone made him stumble backwards.

“It’s designed to make you think,” he squeezed the bottoms of your thighs, “make you feel like it’s all... real. But it only works if everyone accepts that it isn’t. It’s,” he licked his lips and squinted his eyes. “Sure, it’s probably not good for everyone. But when the stakes feel… when they seem like they really matter? That’s when people find out who they really are.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

He didn’t tell you then that he safeguarded himself every time he set foot in the park by smuggling in a photo of someone close to him, someone that he could focus on to remind himself of what was actually real. Usually, it was a photo of his sister, the person that Logan felt closest to for most of his life. He didn’t tell you that he planned to bring a second picture on his next trip- one you’d sent him just a week prior, smiling at him from in front of the Golden Gate Bridge.

It was the same photo he continued to take with him on every subsequent trip. It was the photo that he needed out in the desert, the realization that it was still in the pocket of his coat causing hysterical, tearless sobs to rip from his chest. It was the photo that he kept on his bedside table now. She was my…

Hey, asshole, she’s not what we’re here to talk about, is she?

Logan blinked, looking past Zeke’s potted plants to the slender figure leaning against the window sill, jacket unbuttoned, cut crystal tumbler of amber liquid in hand. Shit.

He asked if you wanted to kill yourself that night. The figure pushed away from the window, gesturing with his glass, thumb and three fingers wrapped around it as he pointed at Logan. You know, the night of Juliet’s wedding? The night she fished you outta your damn pool ‘cause you- he took his pointed finger and jabbed it into the crook of his opposite elbow, droplets of dark brown liquor splashing onto his sleeve. And I’m lookin’ forward to this answer, cause I-

“I didn’t want to fucking die, I just… I wanted to forget how I… how everything felt. I wanted to erase it but I couldn’t. I-” Logan didn’t realize he’d gotten to his feet, didn’t realize that the abrupt action cleared the room of his personal phantom, but he was left speaking only to Ezekiel, and speaking only what he knew to be true. Shaking his head, he pushed his hair back and paced around to stand behind the chair he’d been occupying during the session. “That night was… it was one of the worst nights of my life, Zeke.” He gripped the backrest and leaned forward. “My own sister’s fucking wedding night. Do you know, can you… do you know how that made me feel? That the entire time I was there, I wished I was anywhere fucking else, because my skin was crawling at the idea of that...that piece of shit crawling into my family, but I fucked up my chances at getting Jules to listen to me so… Fuck, Zeke, I… it felt how it did after my mom died, like I was alone, like no one would...and I wanted to feel anything other than the… the fucking pain.”

He spat the last word with disdain as his voice wavered. Ezekiel sat quietly, eyes trained on Logan as he went on. “So I found what I needed and I fuckin… I got high, and I got drunk, and I would have died that night, whether it was what I wanted or not. I know that. I know that she…” Fuck. He swallowed a hard lump so he wouldn’t choke when he spoke your name, wanting it to come out clear. “I know she saved my life that night.”

He shuddered as the most vivid moments from that night flashed in his memory- stumbling into a car with you, stripping off his jacket and shoving it over your shoulders as he cycled from deep chills to fiery sweats. He’d forgotten that his pocket held the empty vial, the nearly empty pill bottle. Somehow, you’d gotten him home, into his place, and he recalled tears- yours and his own. He refused to stay inside, that he remembered, too. I wanted to hear the ocean, I think. You had gone inside to get him a glass of water and… an aspirin, maybe?...apparently happy enough that you’d gotten him to lay down on one of the lounge chairs to leave him out of your sight. Dizzy...and slow...everything was slower than it should have been. He recalled the way his heart beat grew lazier. Then he heard a crash from inside, the sound of glass shattering ringing in his ear to jolt him from the nearly hypnotic state he was falling into. You, there you were, in the doorway, but when he tried to get to you his legs gave out and he fell. Your panicked shout of his name, and then the bright lights of the hospital.

There was more, of course, more that he’d been told because there were giant gaps in his memory. A fight with Jim, William’s smug face as his arm wrapped around Juliet’s shoulder to pull her away from the scene her brother and father were causing, Juliet’s disappointed glance as you talked Logan into leaving. He was told, because he didn’t remember, that when he had stood from the lounge chair and fallen, he’d hit his head on the concrete and plunged into the pool, unconscious and bleeding. If you hadn’t been there, he would have drowned and the poison swimming through his bloodstream wouldn’t have mattered.

But the rest of the night was burned into his brain, the details coming to him in cascades. Logan sat back down in the chair he’d paced around, head falling into his hands. “Logan?” Zeke was trying to prompt him to continue, but he didn’t need it, the rest playing out in high definition- you, sitting in a chair beside his bed, the same terrified look on your face that he first saw when you’d flown to the medical facility at the Mesa to be there for him after he’d been extracted from the desert. Jesus, she fuckin’...she...

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

“I…” your breath hitched as your eyes fell closed, and you brought your free hand up to swipe away the tears you could no longer hold back. When you blinked them open again, Logan saw everything he never wanted to put there- fear and hurt, uncertainty, and a sadness that didn’t belong where he was used to seeing such warmth. “I felt something in the pocket so I pulled it out and-” You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath, opening them as you released the air through your nose. “As soon as I realized what it was...and then that it was empty?” You shook your head and winced. “I didn’t think, Logan, I just… I knew I had to get to you. Fast, and…”

That’s when I heard the glass break… She must have dropped it when... He tried to force his focus and recall the rest of the details so you wouldn’t have to go through it again.

“God, Logan, I was sc-“ your voice broke, splintering into a ragged breath and you shook your head swallowing hard. Without unlacing your fingers from his, you brought your linked hands up to wipe at your exhausted, puffy pinkish eyes, dampening his skin with your stray tears. “I was terrified. I thought... I thought I was too late. I thought that you were-“ you took a breath and he saw your chest shake as you let it back out. I know. I know what you thought. At first he didn’t think you were going to finish your sentence, but then your eyes locked on to his and you continued. “I thought you were d-“ you took another brief pause while you shuffled through your vocabulary, looking for a word that presented less of a choking hazard. “Gone, Logan. I’ve never…” You dissolved into tears again, head going back and forth as though you could banish the emotions. When you spoke again your voice was barely a whisper, but the pain in it echoed in his heart. “I’ve never been that scared, Logan. Never.”

Though you’d returned your hand and his to the bed, he felt more of your tears falling fat and wet on his knuckles, rolling over and between his fingers. “Hey.” His throat was raw and dry, the single word burning on its way out. But I have to… she needs to hear this. He rubbed his thumb lightly against the underside of your wrist and as he did, everything you’d been holding together came undone. “Hey,” he said again, this time adding your name. “I know… I know. But you weren’t, okay? You weren’t too late and I’m-“ He glanced at his free hand, the back of it stuck with needles for IVs, a pulse oximeter clamped over one finger, wires and tubes attaching to machines and bags. The nurse had warned him that moving too much would cause the needle to shift under the skin of his bony hand. Fuck it, I don’t care if it hurts. He lifted it and brought that hand up to wipe beneath your eyes so he could keep the other one wrapped in yours. The sharp prick and uncomfortable tug of the tubing attached to the needle vanished as he felt your breath hit his fingertips. He said your name again, fighting to keep his tone as even as possible. “Hey, come here.” I need to… need her to… He rallied against the thick, heavy feeling in his limbs and slid over making room in the small bed.

“What are you… are you sure, Logan? I-“ your forehead creased with worry as he moved but he nodded and squeezed the hand he still held, and it was all you needed. You stood and carefully climbed into the bed with him, both of you turned on your hips and faces only inches apart.

Logan rested the side of his nose against yours as you closed your eyes, his palm laying to the side of your head. A small whine left your throat and he felt a fresh stream of tears starting up. He wanted to tell you that it was alright; that you weren’t too late, that everything was okay and that he would be fine. But it’s not. She never should have had to… He felt his eyes sting as his tears ran to mix with yours, and in lieu of the words he wanted to say, he pressed his lips over your wet cheeks, whispering your name and stroking your hair until you fell asleep.

Once he felt your chest stop shuddering and the strained, painful, torn sound of each exhale had faded into a more rhythmic pattern, Logan looked down at your hand over his heart. She deserves better than this. But even as he had the thought he could hear you telling him that he did too. You had been his lifeline in the weeks since his last trip, and while he knew that you deserved more of him than the broken down version that came back from the desert, he knew that no one deserved the torture he’d been dealt, the lies that had been spun, the damage that had taken a sledgehammer to the things he worked so hard for so long to keep in check. And he knew that you understood. He knew that you seemed to be the only one that did. Could she…

His door opened then, a nurse entering the room to change the bag of fluids attached to his I.V. and he quickly changed his thoughts, shutting them down before they had a chance to cause any more trouble. No.

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

But he knew now that you did. You loved him. There was no other conceivable reason for you to have been there for as much as you had been if you didn’t love him, unconditionally and without expectation. “She… Jesus, Zeke, she loved me and I was too blind to see it, I...I made myself too blind to see it, I…” Fuck. “I missed it and now…” Logan looked back up at the man sitting on the opposite side of the cluttered desk, the long green tendrils of his plant collection hanging behind him like a thin curtain as late afternoon sunlight filtered in. Say something, tell me how to-

“You don’t talk about her much, Logan. Almost five months in, and this is maybe the,” Ezekiel shrugged, scrunching his nose to make his glasses ride up. “Third?” He looked up to the ceiling then back down at Logan nodding. “Yeah, this is only the third time I’ve heard you talk about her. See,” he leaned on the points of his elbows, palms bladed and directed at Logan. “I’ve heard you talk about your father. And I’ve heard you talk about your sister and her husband.” Logan felt his top lip curl and he knew Zeke picked up on it. “You do a real good job, Logan, at talkin about the people who hurt you. And I think that’s part of why you’ve been able to come so far, I really do.” Alright, but what do they have to do with- “But talkin about the people that mean something to you? That seems harder for you. His eyes narrowed and he folded his arms on top of his desk. “I don’t think you missed it, Logan. I think you knew that she...and if you ever gave her just a fraction of what I see when you do talk about her, there’s no way she missed it either.”

Logan’s breath came out in a strangled sigh as he nodded. It was still uncomfortable for him to have to rehash all of the things he’d kept buried for so long, uncomfortable to have someone so able to read and anticipate and guide him through it, but Zeke was right about this just as he was right about most things. “That’s why I didn’t...I wasn’t trying to kill myself, Zeke. I knew I wasn’t alone. I knew I had her even if I wasn’t… even if I didn’t…” he shook his head slowly. “I didn’t let myself think that I deserved her. I didn’t let myself have her, not like she… not like I should have, because I was fucking scared of what would happen when I...when I lost her.” Shit, that’s...I never fucking said that before but it’s…

“It's easier for you to believe what everyone else says about you than it is for you to believe that you can prove them wrong.” What? Logan gripped the arms of the chair he sat in, sweaty palms slipping over the smooth wood. “At least, that’s what I think.” Ezekiel tilted his head and sat back. “What do you think about that?”

Initially Logan wanted to argue, to deny the unflattering truth that Ezekiel had uncovered. But he’s right I… Surprising himself, a hollow laugh slipped from his lips, his shaking hand swiping downward over his bearded chin. “No that’s...that’s right. I… when its a fight I know I can win, I’m fucking relentless. I fight like hell on business deals and shit that ultimately means fuckall. But when it’s something I can lose I just…” He trailed off, thoughts drifting to the point in time when he decided that Juliet had become a losing battle.

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

Logan stood staring at his sister, heart dropping as he watched his words of warning about William, about their father, fall flat on Juliet’s face. Again.

She scoffed, looking away. “Don’t be ridiculous, Logan.” Raising her left hand, she laid her palm to her forehead and scrubbed it harshly backwards over the crown of her head, fingers curling to grip a fistful of hair. Her head shook from side to side, and the cold, white light of the moon struck the many facets of the emerald cut diamond that she wore. He winced as the light bounced off of her ring and into his eyes, burning her engagement to William and everything that it stood for into them. “Dad wouldn’t…” Dad wouldn’t. There’s nothing that man wouldn’t do, Juliet. She dropped her hand from her head, letting it slap against the alabaster railing, the band of her ring clinking when it hit the stone. She shook her head again and turned to face him, leaning back against the banister. “He’s my father, Logan. I know you two have had your problems, but-” What?

“Had our problems?! Jules, come on you know it-”

She cut him right back off, stepping away from the banister and towards him. “Don’t call me Jules, Logan. We're not kids anymore.” The anger and frustration that he’d been hiding behind proved thinner than he thought, her words splintering it like cheap plywood, the hurt he’d tried to tuck away seeping through the cracks. He swallowed and took a staggering step backwards. No. No we’re not.

Juliet sighed and closed her eyes, looking at least half sorry for the biting tone she’d just used. She opened them and when she did he saw sheer exhaustion in them- exhaustion from dealing with him, with the way that things had been going since he’d last been to the park and the relentless way that he kept poking and pulling at her relationship. Not how anyone should look the week before their wedding. “Look. I know that you think Dad is some,” she blinked slowly, twirling her hand- her right this time, no twelve carat rock to catch the icy light. “Some monster. But he’s...he lo-”

Tears had started forming in Logan’s eyes but he hadn’t noticed them until they’d fallen on his curled top lip. ”He doesn’t love anything but his company! He doesn’t love me, he didn’t love mom,” she opened her mouth but he didn’t let her get a word out. “And if you think he loves you, after giving you his blessing to marry him, you’re-”

“What do you mean, he doesn’t love you?” Her voice had quieted, and where she’d been frustrated and frantic before, he watched his sister deflate, the exhaustion spilling from her eyes to wash over her entire face. “Of course he-”

“He told me to get the fuck out of his house, Juliet. Did you know that? When I… after,” he narrowed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. Just say it. “The first time? After mom?” He saw pain flash through his sister’s eyes and he knew it was just as multifaceted as the rock on her hand. She hadn’t been home when their mother silently slipped away, and while Logan had to carry the weight of telling Juliet, she had to carry the guilt of not being there in those final moments. And then when she did get home, she had hardly any time to grieve before she’d found her brother slumped over and barely breathing in the pool house. I know it hurts, Jul. But you have to listen. Please. “I tried to ask him for help. And you know what he said?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. He knew she didn’t know because he knew he never told her. “He said he wouldn’t waste his time on a junkie like me.” He shook his head. “That’s not love. That’s not a father thats-”

The door slid open behind them and Logan stiffened, his back straightening. Fuck. He looked to Juliet, begging her with his eyes to tell the other man to go back inside, to give them more time. To fuck off. But he saw it in her face- saw the moment that she decided that it wasn’t worth the fight, that choosing William and Jim here meant choosing the easiest path through rough terrain. It was the moment he gave up that fight, too.

“Everything okay out here?” Syrupy sweet like condensed milk, the voice that tormented him in the desert hit Logan’s ear and all the fight in him drained out. He chanced one last look at Juliet only to see her staring at her feet as William’s hand curled around her bicep, tugging her to his side. Logan heard the man press a smacking kiss to his sister’s temple and he winced, remembering how maniacally infatuated he had become with a Host in the park, how easily he’d tossed his sister aside then only to use her as a prop now. “Logan, I didn’t know you were here.” He snapped his head up then, eyes locking with the icy blue pair staring back at him. “To what do we owe the-”

“I was just fuckin leaving, Billy.” His eyes moved from William’s to Juliet’s, the slightest bit of satisfaction from the man’s distaste of the nickname not eclipsing the fact that his sister was still choosing the ground instead of him. Ouch, Jules...damn. “You two have a good fuckin night.”

.. .. .. .. .. ..

“When it’s something I can lose… I don’t even fight.” The words felt heavy and hard as he spoke them, a buzzing in his brain that wasn’t there when he’d first sat down in Zeke’s office. Shit. “I give up...I...I gave up on, on myself.” I didn’t want to lose everything- my place at Delos, Juliet… your name swirled through his mind then, right up there with the other things that he cared enough about to be wounded by. So I just...quit. That’s...fuck that’s not… “That’s not who I am.”

The revelation came quietly as he looked down at his forearm. That’s not...that doesn’t define you. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt your fingertips brush over the bruising on the inside of his elbow. That’s not who you are, Logan. When he’d finally told you everything about his ongoing struggle with addiction, all you’d done was try to make him see that he was worth the fight. That he, Logan Delos, was worth saving.

I didn’t see it then. But I… I see it now.

“Well then you better start fighting again, Logan.” Ezekiel called him back to the present, the man calmly removing his glasses to clean the lenses. “You better start fighting for what you know you deserve, because if you do? If you fight the way I know you can, the way that she knows you can...the way you know you can?” He inspected his glasses before perching them back on his nose. “If you fight and you keep fighting? There’s no way you can lose, Logan. No damn way.”

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @malionnes @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices @belladonnarey @ymariejp @obscurilicious @songtoyou @traeumerinwitzhelden @drinix @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @nananananananananananabatman @vetseras @qhostboyyy @pheedraws @alraedesigns @valkblue @dearmarii

#core drive #clean 1.04 #logan delos #logan delos westworld #logan delos x you #logan delos x reader #logan delos law school au #(hang in there we are ALMOST in law school)#law school logan au #we are very close to rolled up sleeves and pencil chewing my friends i promise you #please read the warnings #zeke is the best #william can fuck all the way off #logan delos deserved better #and he finally sees that

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