#the fuckin carpet pit

[blueinsunlight]

no bond is stronger than the friendships forged in the once upon a child toddler bin

[darkromanceenthusiast]

hi, darling! id like to request fem!reader giving bo a blowjob. hope youre doing well, take care of yourself!! <3

Pairing: Bo Sinclair x reader

Smut blurb

Contains: oral (m receiving), cock worship, praise, surprisingly fluffy, I hope this is good I just saw the request and started writing.

“What’re you doin’ down there?” Bo asks, his eyes glinting in the light as you settled between his legs on the carpet. He had a beer in his right hand and had been watching some rerun of something you didn't care about on the tv. Vincent was down in his basement and Lester was off probably doing god knows what to that pit of his, so you had Bo to yourself for the moment.

“Just thought since we had a moment alone, maybe I could show you some appreciation.” you mumbled as your fingers moved to the button of his jeans, he smirked widely and instantly sat his beer to the side, moving to help you. He was already starting to get hard from the thought of your pretty lips around his dick, those pretty eyes of yours staring up at him as he makes you gag on it.

“Fuckin’ hell, babe, you already got my mind wanderin’” he groans out as he lifts his hips and helps you slip his jeans down, his hand instinctively comes to stroke his length, staring you down as he did.

“You gonna beg me like the slut you are?” that shit-eating grin on his face tells you he’s more than just enjoying it.

“Please, Bo, let me suck your dick?” you try and he shakes his head, cocking a brow.

“Pretty, pretty, please Bo? I really, really wanna suck you off… make you feel good… please?” you try and he tilts his head as if considering it.

“I reckon you're far too clothed to deserve it.” he says, his eyes trained on the swell of your breasts under your shirt, you feel your face flush with heat and you hook your fingers under the hem, tugging it over your head, freeing your breasts.

“Please?” you whisper and he nods leaning forward, his hand comes out and grips the hair at the base of your neck, pulling your head back as he presses a passionate kiss against your lips.

“Go on, Baby… you've earned it.” he says, pressing another chaste peck to your lips before sitting back, his arms come to rest on the back of the couch, his legs spread, and dick standing proudly erect. Its a fucking erotic sight. He looks so effortlessly, so simply attractive.

You lean forward on your knees and press soft kisses up his length, admiring the way it twitches and pulses from your attention, before you take him in your mouth causing him to let out a small hiss.

You swirled your tongue around the swollen tip of his dick, before you bob your head to take more of him with your tongue flat against the prominent vein on the underside. His hand finds your hair, tangling in it as his head falls back against the couch, his hat falling off and landing on the floor behind the couch.

“Fuck, you're so good at that.” he groans out, his hand gently gripping your hair and attempting to guide you at a slightly faster pace, you allow your jaw to go slack and focus on breathing through your nose as you allow him to use your mouth, you occasionally wiggle your tongue around him or hum.

After a while you can feel his thighs tensing and you bring a hand up to gently fondle his balls, to which he lets out deep groan.

“Keep that up and I'm gonna cum in this pretty mouth of yours.” Bo practically whines, your eyes meet his and he sucks a sharp breath through his teeth and closes his eyes.

“You look too pretty like that, fuck, I can't look at you or I’ll bust.” he says, you push yourself further up and try to relax your throat, you carefully bob your head a few more times before youre able to deep throat him.

“Jesus, I’m cumming.” he moans, pressing your head down, your nose touches his happy trail and you feel the salty, thick liquid coat your tongue. You pull back coughing and gagging and he sits dazed for a moment. When you're both finally composed he smirks at you.

“I’m gonna eat you out so good tonight, princess.” he says, leaning forward and pulling you into another kiss.

[burr-ell]

A Not-Necessarily-Exhaustive List of Good Moments from C1 1-27:

"I have an intelligence of 6, I know what I'm doing"

"We're here to right wrongs, and right lefts—" "And write comment cards"

Tiberius Kraghammer

Clarota

"We'll explain later. You're on the roof of Osama bin Laden's house"

"We'll be taking your weapons, your armor, and I believe your pride"

Percy making the first trick arrows for Vex after a shopkeep was a dick to her about arrows, which is canonically when she began to fall for him

Keyleth killing that one duergar from the TLOVM flashback

"I encourage violence"

Lady Kima being freed and then pulverizing the corpse of the duergar who'd been torturing her

Matt's fucked up body horror monsters

Scanlan taking a dump on a bed for the first time

Pike's crisis of faith when she slits a duergar's throat with her mace and her holy symbol breaks

When the limited T-shirt run went live and then sold out before Marisha could finish reading the announcement

Vax getting his foot burned off in lava

Scanlan the Kingslayer

"Can I use my Luck feat for this?" "You don't have any feet left"

Kima and Keyleth's argument (it was good, haters eat my shorts)

The origin of The Cube

"I'm Vax that's Vex ->" "I'm Vex that's Vax <-"

"Screw you, I want my final words with you to be indignant and irritated!"

"He has three-quarters cover" "I ignore three-quarters cover :)" "...then fuckin' fire!"

"Some people have no sense of fucking honor!"

Travis's notes that just say "I don't trust Clarota I don't trust Clarota I don't trust Clarota"

Percy reacting to the Briarwoods being namedropped during a council meeting

Meeting Gilmore on-stream for the first time

The Belt of Dwarvenkind and Grog's obsessive attempts to grow a beard

Scanlan's blue-shit-scrying potion

Grog "Philip" Strongjaw vs Kern

Vax giving Minxie!Keyleth a belly rub

The hydra fight and the beef with the Slayer's Take

Episodes 18 and 19, in their entirety, but specifically:

Zahra and Vex's initial rivalry-turned-friendship-turned-"I have a crush on Zahra"

Lyra. She's just. so much. idk of what but she is it

"I'm wearing the pajamas with the buttflap and the buttflap is down. The buttflap is DOWN"

Scanlan introducing himself to Rimefang as Burt Reynolds and then Matt, in his scary dragon voice, calling him "Burt"

"I'm sorry, I'm a genius, I'm sorry! Oh, god I'm clever!"

Zahra killing Rimefang

Percy and Vex working together on a history check (it's important To Me)

Wil Wheaton rolling five Nat 1s. In one session

Keyleth and Vax posing as a married couple to get information

Kash insight-checking Thorbir, believing he has to be actively sabotaging them because no one could possibly be that bad at their job (he's not, he really is just that unlucky)

Wil, playing a dwarven fighter, finally rolling a nat 20...for an insight check

The magic carpet losing its enchantment in a pit of acid and Laura's scream of horror from offscreen

"Rakshasaaaaaaa!" -jazz hands-

Kashaw and Keyleth, which was thankfully reworked in TLOVM but was also hilarious

Vex exasperatedly kissing Grog, portrayed by Laura kissing a bewildered Travis

Tyriok the cartographer

Grog, the Vasselheim merchant, and the first and only time Vex started beef with a retailer

Keyleth recounting a vision she had of her own death

The Aramente trial in Pyrah and a cameo from Thordak

Travis getting a medal from a fan for losing to Kern and Matt making it canon

Grog fighting Kern again and winning

Keyleth getting arrested. For the second time in Vasselheim alone

The first appearance of the man. The myth. The Viktor

Kynan's first appearance and Vax's idea of "tough love"

Percy telling his backstory to the party and them immediately affirming their support for him ("You don't have to get involved in this" "Oh, we are SO involved" "You said you wanted 'em dead!") and Taliesin himself being moved to tears over this

Percy creating Diplomacy

Vax and Keyleth bear-sitting Trinket and braiding pink ribbons into his fur

Gilmore finding out Vax wants to see him and teleporting in from half a continent away

Vax shaving half of Grog's beard and Travis breaking a mechanical pencil with one hand

The feast, where Percy actually threatens the Briarwoods to their faces while disguised as Vax

Vax and the Briarwoods. "Gosh you guys are good-looking"

Vax nearly dying and having a vision of the two people he cares about most: Vex and Keyleth

Sylas jumping out the window and doing a perfect 3-point landing...while Delilah blows the athletics check and faceplants in the dirt

"SYLAS"

Vex scoring two crits on Delilah

Tiberius getting Feebleminded

Percy's attack on Desmond. My horrid little skrunkly <3

"YOUR SOUL IS FORFEIT! DIE! DIE!" and Keyleth skipping her turn to just stare at Percy

Vox Moochina

Keyleth taking charge to save the ember roc

Keyleth conjuring a water elemental and Taliesin gargling water to translate her commands to it

And finally, the conversation between Keyleth and Percy where he privately confesses his own worries that he's going dark and that he's afraid of himself, and she expresses her concern for him and promises to be there for him

anyway c1 good

[icyharrington]

would there be any way for you to write a scenario where //plus size reader// is tutoring eddie in algebra and he asks you what you want out of it, so you ask him to tutor you in giving blowjobs because you’ve never done it and he’s taken aback,,, nsfw, lots of praise, gentle eddie pls 🥺💛

haiii okay so! i have another plus size request in my inbox rn so i decided to just make this one for anybody! so yea im sorry about that also eddie's a SMIDDGEEEE rough in this (not super rough tho, like just a tiny bit of hair pulling and pushing ur head down to deepthroat) cuz i forgot that you asked for gentle eddie but he's still pretty soft in this. so yea this took me ridiculously long to write for no reason so i hope y'all like it lmfaooo

contains: blowjobs, deepthroating, inexperienced reader, praise kink, soft dom eddie, dirty talk, hair pulling

wc: 3.3k

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see the point in any of this,” Eddie says, after a several-minute-long period of silent staring at the math textbook that sits in between you. You’re sitting on the cluttered carpeting of his bedroom, with both of your backs propped up against the side of his bed. “Where the hell are all these letters coming from? It’s like they’re purposely trying to make this as confusing as possible.”

You shake your head, leaning over to take a closer look at the text. “The letters are just placeholders for other numbers. You have to solve the equation to find out what they are.” 

“What am I, Sherlock Holmes?!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated show of defeat. Eddie’s a smart guy, but math is certainly not one of his strong suits, which is why you’re here in the first place to tutor him. You’re not exactly a math genius yourself, but you’ve been managing to pull B’s and A’s all semester in algebra, and with Eddie assigned to the seat right next to yours, it didn’t take very long for him to catch on. 

He’d started out copying your answers during tests, attempting to come off as inconspicuous despite him breathing down your neck to get a glimpse at your work. When you finally called him out for it, he’d been apologetic and somewhat embarrassed, which made you feel sorry for him; wanting to help, it was then that you offered to give him a few free tutoring sessions. 

Eddie brings his knees up and settles his elbows against them, the heels of his palms pressing into his forehead in exasperation. “Honestly, (y/n), thank you for offering to tutor me, but I think I’m a lost cause.” 

“You’re not a lost cause, Eddie. You just need to study more,” you say, reaching out to place a hand on his denim-clad shoulder. “I bet if we do a couple more sessions you’ll be able to land a C on next week’s test.” 

Eddie peeks at you from between his hands, the yellow overhead light reflecting brightly in the dark roundness of his eyes. “No way. You’re not giving me any more free tutoring sessions.” 

“I don’t mind helping you, Eddie,” you say, patting him where your hand still lays. And it’s true- while he might be difficult to teach, he’s still a good-natured, funny guy, and you’ve grown to enjoy his company. In fact, you’ve even began to detect the faintest hint of a crush in the pit of your stomach, having been charmed by his smile and laugh and general mischievous demeanor. With Eddie being Eddie, though, it’s almost impossible to tell if he feels the same way, since he’s always putting on a show, never allowing his true emotions to show through his theatrical exterior. “I like hanging out with you.”

“Really? I kind of just assumed you found me annoying,” he grins, dropping his large hands to settle them atop his slender thighs. “But still- I’m not going to milk your generosity any more than I already have. I might be poor, but I’m not a fuckin’ bum.” 

“Well, maybe you can just do me a favor or something?” You scratch your chin pensively, racking your brain for something you could ask Eddie to do for you. What could a guy like Eddie Munson do for you, anyway? 

“What kind of a favor?” Eddie questions, apparently just as perplexed as you are, his head cocking to one side. “Man, I wish there was something I could tutor you in, but, uh, I’m kind of failing most of my classes.” 

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, his statement jumping out to you for a reason you’re unsure of. You glance at Eddie’s sheepish face as he tucks a strand of dark hair behind one ear, drumming the fingers of his opposite hand against his thigh; you can’t help but find him ridiculously handsome when he’s like this, all shy and indecisive, and you ignore the sudden urge to lean in and kiss him. 

You try to imagine how Eddie would react if you were to make a pass at him; you’re fairly inexperienced, so you haven’t gotten much practice in the department of flirting, which makes you worry you might say something idiotic if you try. 

Licking your lips, you shrug noncommittally, praying that your face doesn’t reveal your current topic of thought. “Maybe you could tutor me in something, like, not school-related.”

“Such as?” Eddie surveys you with his big eyes, blinking rapidly to communicate his impatience with you. “Listen, (y/n). I’m really not good enough at anything to be a tutor.”

Shifting, you toy with an idea that’s begun to form in the back of your mind, inflicting a sudden sense of urgency in your gut. It’s risky, but so tempting, with him this close to you. 

“There’s still things that you know more about than I do,” you start, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater as a means of avoiding his eyes. You’re easing your way in now, testing the waters, and holy fuck, are you scared. “Y’know, like music, dungeons and dragons… and other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” Eddie says skeptically, crossing his tattooed arms across the front of his beloved Hellfire tee. “Those are the only two things I even do. I’m a simple guy.” 

“Well…” you mutter, hugging your legs closely to your chest in an act of self-soothing. You’re running purely on adrenaline now, numb to the doubtful thoughts that nag at you incessantly. “Do you remember yesterday, when we were talking about that rumor that went around about you?”

He furrows his brows, obviously caught off guard by your seemingly random change in subject. “The one about Cheryl giving me a blowjob in the prop closet? I already told you, (y/n), that wasn’t a rumor.” 

Cheryl is Eddie’s acquaintance from his times working backstage for the school plays, and the thought of her flirting with Eddie with her high-pitched voice and bleach-blond hair makes you want to throw up. You hadn’t known she was the type to give blowjobs, and at school, no less; the information had been enough to make your head spin- was everybody at Hawkins getting more action than you?

“I know,” you say slowly, stretching your legs out to recline in front of you. “That’s the ‘other stuff’ I’m talking about. You actually have a sex life, I don’t.” 

Eddie chuckles, looping his fingers into one of the frayed tears on the front of his jeans. “I’m not, like, a sex god or anything like that. I’ve just fooled around a few times, that’s all.” 

“Yeah, but at least you have an idea of what you’re doing.” There’s a gnawing anxiety creeping up within you, and you want to smack Eddie over the head just for being so damn clueless. Peering at him from underneath a veil of dark-painted lashes, you can see the confusion in his face, but to your relief, he doesn’t seem upset by your persistence- maybe this won’t end so horribly, after all. “Sometimes I just get nervous, y’know? ‘Cause what if I meet someone I want to fool around with, but I make a complete idiot out of myself because I don’t know anything?” 

Eddie lifts his gaze to meet with yours, a half-smile making its way across his full lips. Fuck- is he starting to pick up what you’re putting down? You feel your heart skip a beat, palms prickling with sweat as he opens his mouth to speak. “What exactly are you asking me for right now, (y/n)? ‘Cause if I didn’t know any better…”

His words trail off, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he observes you quizzically; he’s unsure of himself, with a visible heat flooding the pale expanse of his cheeks. After a prolonged beat, you say, “maybe you could show me how to do it right? So it feels good?”

For the first time since you’ve met, Eddie Munson is speechless. His skin darkens to an even more conspicuous shade of burgundy, his arm lifting to scratch at the back of his neck, and you begin to wonder if you made a mistake. 

“Do…what right?” he asks you, though the tone of his voice tells you that he’s already well aware of what you mean. “You want me to tutor you in-“

“-blowjobs. Yeah.” You cut him off without really meaning to, but it’s not like your mind is focused on trivial things like manners at a time like this. “I mean- only if you want to, obviously.”

He stares at you blank-faced before breaking out into a wild grin, amused giggles bubbling up from the back of his throat. “You want me to repay you- by letting you give me head? Kinda sounds like more of a benefit for me than you, hon.” 

“Just ‘cause it benefits you doesn’t mean it won’t benefit me, too.” You subtly inch your way closer to Eddie until your hips are side-by-side, encouraged to continue when he doesn’t back away. “I wanna know what it’s like.”

“You sure you’re in your right mind right now?” Eddie says wryly, sizing you up, adorning you with goosebumps at the invisible sensation of his dark eyes dragging up and down your body. “You didn’t get into my stash or something while I was in the bathroom?” 

“I’m very much sober, Eddie,” you assure him, hesitating as you prepare to go even further, your palm finally dropping to rest on his thigh. He stirs ever-so-slightly at your touch, although he manages to keep his excitement contained for the most part. “I really do want you to teach me.”

��I don’t know how helpful I’ll actually be, but…” he gestures down at his crotch, where his erection is starting to press through the front of his pants obscenely. The view is satisfying, knowing that you’re the one responsible for it- if you’d have known it would be this easy to get Eddie Munson in the mood, you probably would’ve tried your luck with him a long time ago. “I’d definitely be willing to give it a try.”

“Really?” you say hopefully, letting your fingers trail in the direction of his hard-on until you’re toying with the front button of his jeans. “You’re sure?”

His eyes shoot down to where your hand is, your thumb and forefinger playing idly with the metal zipper. He nods rapidly, allowing you to proceed in unfastening his pants, your hands shaking as you do. “Are you sure about this? I mean, damn, you really wanna get blowjob lessons from the freak of Hawkins high?” 

You don’t respond, rolling your eyes dismissively at his frantic line of questioning; nudging his bent legs so that he stretches them before him, you start pulling his pants and boxers down to pool around his hips. Eddie lifts himself up to assist you in the task, and in a matter of seconds his thick cock is on full display for you, flushed and thick and leaking. 

“Holy shit…” you murmur, in a daze; it’s the first dick you’ve ever seen this close-up, and it’s so more intimidating than you could’ve ever imagined. You wonder if all dicks are this massive, or if Eddie is just particularly well-endowed, as you extend your arm to feel along his length experimentally. 

“Was that a good holy shit, or a bad holy shit?” Eddie asks bashfully, nodding his head forward so that his long hair can obscure part of his face. 

“Eddie, your dick is huge,” is all you say to shut him up, and he’s unable to resist the cocky smirk that teases at the corners of his lips. 

He dips back against his bed so that his head is nearly flush with the mattress, pushing his hips out to elongate his body. He groans and stretches, his t-shirt hiking up around his midsection to reveal his soft belly, your gaze lingering there for far longer than it probably should. “Ah, c’mon. I’m not that big.”

The smugness is palpable within his protests, and you narrow your eyes as you position yourself on all fours next to him. “Just tell me what I should do first.”

“Well…” he looks at your face for awhile, before switching his attention to your cleavage, which is completely visible now that your baggy sweater is hanging off your body. Pretending not to notice, he says, “Usually you’d, um. Want to get it wet. Maybe stroke it a little with your hand before you put it in your mouth.” 

“Like this?” You shift your weight onto your knees so you can sit upright, holding your hand out in front of your mouth and spitting into it crudely. Eddie inhales sharply, closely examining your every motion as you draw your arm away from yourself, a string of spit connecting your palm and bitten lips. 

His cock is warm and silky to the touch as you wrap your fingers around it, and you take note of the way he hisses when you begin to move your hand up and down his generous length. “Y-yeah. Like that. That’s- fuck- good.” 

You quicken your pace, a triumphant feeling washing over you as his head lolls back towards the ceiling, his stomach clenching and releasing in direct response to your manipulations. “And then what?” 

Sinking down until your elbows are on the carpet and your back is arched up high, you bring your face closer to his cock, blinking up innocently in wait of his next set of instructions. 

Eddie clears his throat, obviously making an effort to come off as unfazed, although neither of you are strangers to the truth. “You can, uh, put it in your mouth now.” 

You’re perhaps a bit too hasty in your movements, because by the time Eddie’s cock is halfway in your mouth, he eases you back by your hair, stinging your scalp. 

Rather than pissing you off, however, the sensation travels straight from your head to your cunt, and you let out a strangled moan. 

“Shit- sorry,” Eddie says, his big hand stroking your skull where he’d tugged on it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

You take him out of your mouth but remain close by, your spit-slick lips hovering mere centimeters away from the tip of his cock. “You didn’t. I, um, actually liked it.” 

He raises his eyebrows, seeming equal parts surprised and pleased by your declaration. “Oh yeah? Guess I’m helping you learn a little more than just giving head, huh?”

Flicking out your tongue, you administer tiny licks to his slit, lapping up all of the pre-cum that’s gathered there; Eddie really seems to like this, because he fists your hair in one hand, a string of profanities spilling out past his lips. “F-fuck. Yeah, atta girl. Gotta take it slow at the beginning.” 

Greedy for more of him, your tongue begins sweeping up the side of his dick, tracing lazily alongside the veins that travel throughout. When you’re certain you’ve covered every square inch of him with your hot tongue, you return once again to latch your mouth over the tip. 

“Damn. No fuckin’ way you haven’t done this before,” he manages to say through grit teeth, fisting a clump of your hair to give him better control over your actions. “Yeah, that’s a good girl. Nice and easy.” 

It’s undeniable what his praise and guidance does to you- your thighs are clamped together in a desperate attempt to create friction between them, hips rocking back and forth as you try in vain to rid yourself of the hungry feeling that’s taken you over. You bob your head down to usher a couple more inches of him into your gaping mouth, flattening your tongue against the side so as to fully embrace his salty taste. 

“Ahh, shit. Fuck yeah, (y/n). That’s so fuckin’ good,” he urges, applying some pressure to the back of your head so you can swallow another several inches of his length. “Little less teeth. ’S’it. Yeah, see how deep you can take it.”  

He gathers up your hair to keep it from getting in the way as you start to take him into your throat, your nose almost up against his pelvis as you choke and sputter around him. It’s difficult to breathe with your mouth this filled, but Eddie’s raspy words of encouragement serve in keeping you motivated.

“Keep going, sweetheart. Doing such a good fucking job for me,” he groans, his grasp on your hair loosening to that you can do as you please. With tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, you work to take in the entirety of his cock, gagging noisily when you feel it brush the back of your throat. “Your mouth is like fuckin’ heaven, babe.”  

Your lips curve upwards at the compliment, but you’re incapable of thanking him, your mouth overflowing with nothing but him; as an alternative, you focus on bringing Eddie to his orgasm, painfully curious to discover how he’ll look and feel during his moments of release. 

“Put your hand underneath. Yeah, right there,” he sighs approvingly as your fingers cup and massage his balls, bouncing them lightly in your palm as you continue to suck him. You’re on autopilot at this point, your rhythm impeccable and unrelenting; the noises of your wet mouth working at him are vulgar, your head plunging down on him again and again like you’ve been starved for a year. “Good fuckin’ girl. Yeah, you like choking on my big dick?”

You whimper at this, the vibrations from your throat transferring straight to his cock. Eddie’s grip on your hair tightens as he bucks his hips up underneath you, causing you to drool uncontrollably all over his thick length. 

“Mhm. Take it nice and deep for me,” he mutters lowly, his head tilting upwards so that you're only able to see his parted lips and sculpted jaw. “Gonna cum in your mouth now. Think you can handle that, babe?” 

You nod weakly, speeding up until his breathing becomes choppy and irregular. Your jaw is aching with exhaust, but you don’t dare stop- you’re too close to the finish line to start showing any slack now. 

“Fuck, (y/n)-“ he gasps, and then his cock twitches, a spray of hot liquid coating the inside of your mouth as his veined hand keeps you securely in place. You find yourself struggling against his tight grip as the bittersweet taste of his cum paints your tongue, but you steady yourself enough to swallow it all. 

Eddie takes in a shaky breath as he combs his fingers through your hair affectionately, giving you the opportunity to sit up and recover. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, (y/n). Now I really feel like I owe you something.” 

He shimmies his clothes back up so that he’s covered again, his tongue sticking out thoughtfully from the corner of his mouth. His face is flushed and rosy, forehead kissed with the soft glow of sweat, and for the second time today, all you want is to kiss him. 

“So… I did okay?” You wipe your slick face with the back of your sleeve, running the fingers of your opposite hand through your unkempt mess of hair. Sure, it’s pretty clear that he’d enjoyed himself, but there’s still a part of you that craves his verbal confirmation. 

“Are you kidding? That was some A-plus head in my book. You didn’t even really need me to help you,” Eddie smiles, casually looping his arm around your shoulders, the basic act of which fills your abdomen with butterflies. “But y’know what? I realized that I kinda like being a teacher.” 

You poise an eyebrow, a suggestive glint in your big doe eyes. You've got him. “Yeah? Why don't you show me what else you can teach me?”

[slavemoron]

The carpet part 4

When I entered the house I found Scott lounging like the king he was. On the same couch as ever, naked, and with three mouths worshiping him. On his right foot, propped up on the edge of the couch was his first fag, the fully brain dead one, mindlessly worshiping his foot. After all this time it was a beautiful sight, stripped and denuded with its pussy up and out licking and kissing its Masters foot in total love. I might even fuck it for old time sake.

Scott’s left foot was propped on the table and at the end of that was his new slave, a beautiful specimen. Also totally stripped and shaved, it was muscular and thickly built, unlike the scrawny bitch it had tried to defend. It’s pussy was pushed out and up as well, a product of weeks of beatings no doubt, and it’s ass was plump and round. It’s nose was pushed up into its Master feet, breathing in and tonguing every surface of the God who broke it.

But it was the center sight that caught my eye, the hot little number choking on Scott’s cock. He was naked but not hairless, Scott’s hand rubbing through his black curly hair. And He was a “he” not an “it,” our mutual friend Raul. Raul was one of the best cocksuckers I’d ever enjoyed, so eager and desperate. He was so desperate that I was always surprised Scott didn’t just break him too, Raul seemed to desperately want it. He did everything Scott wanted and many things he wasn’t asked to. Raul caged his own cock, a quite meaty package locked away in a cage slightly to small. He knelt in Scott's presence unless Scott said otherwise. Even if the slave were present, you had to choke Raul to stop him from fetching drinks for you. I always wanted to just take the step and seal the deal but Scott insisted nothing happen. Watching Scott stare down at the hungry little fag choking itself on his cock, I almost saw a hint of real affection.

“You gonna come in?” The voice penetrated my admiration and I gave Scott a wolfish grin,

“sorry Scott, was just enjoying the view.” Scott nodded and gestured for me to come in, Raul faithfully ignoring me and choking himself deeper on Scott’s cock. I walked closer and Scott said, “I invited you Ajmal so you could check out the new merchandise.” He nodded to the muscle fag, worshiping it’s Master.

“It’s fuckin hot,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief, “I can’t wake to introduce myself to it’s pussy.” Scott nodded, and said, “inspect it, all of it.” He then retracted his left foot and kicked the muscle fag in the face, saying, “Listen faggot!! present yourself.”

The muscle fag did not say anything, it just mechanically leaned up on to it’s knees and put it’s hands on it’s head. I walked over to the faggot and gently rubbed hardening bulge on the back of it’s shaved head. This was such a good feeling, Scott had the magic touch with faggots and now I could enjoy it too. I squatted behind the kneeling fag rubbed my bulge against it’s ass and whispered in it’s ears, “I’m going to enjoy breaking you all over fag..”

The fag responded, with a slight tone of fear, “Thank You Master.” I chuckled and whispered again, “flex for me faggot, and beg me to appraise you.” The faggot flexed it’s arms and said, in that same tone, “Please appraise this worthless faggot Master.” Initially satisfied, I felt down each arm, starting at the wrist. The forearms were strong and contoured, with nice veins running through them. The biceps were luscious and thick, maybe even bigger then mine.

“You got some nice arms fag,” I whispered in it’s ear, “nice and strong. You could fight me if you wanted with these.” the Fag seemed to shudder at the thought and said, “fags do not resist, they only obey. …only obey…only obey.” It’s brain seemed to short-wire as it said those words, weeks of conditioning no doubt. I chuckled and reached under the fags shaved pits and squeezed it’s tits, to that the fag moaned. I stuck around them for a while, rhythmically grinding my bulge into the fags exposed pussy. I loved a fag with real tits on it, Nazim was a scrawny little bitch only fit for choking. My hands glided down it’s torso, through it’s defined abs and strong hips to it’s cock. The fags cock was locked away, as one would expect, but it’s cage was much bigger. In-fact the faggot had one of the meatiest cocks I had ever seen on a fag. It was almost a crime that such a huge cock would go to waste but that didn’t stop me from squeezing it and pulling on it’s balls. The faggot whimpered but it did not try and escape, past beatings on it ‘s mind no doubt. I stood back up and slapped the fag in the back of the head and said, “Go back to Masters feet!!” the fag complied and fell back down to it’s hands and knees, tonguing the feet of the Fagbreaker. I was impressed, the faggot, as it fell back down, aimed it’s pussy at me and presented without being told, Scott really was magic.

“You really outdid yourself,” I said to Scott in admiration, “I’ve seen fags like this at the gym but never thought one could be so pliant.” Scott shrugged lazily and said, “the muscle fag was easy, and was a liability. It’s better this way.” He kicked the fag in the face again and asked, “Isn’t that right faggot!?”

The faggot whimpered and said, “Yes Master, thank You for breaking this fag Master. Please kick this faggot again Master.” I grinned and Scott and I exchanged looks. I kicked the fag in the balls and Scott kicked it in the face at the same time. The fag seemed like it might cry or cum but it just presented it’s face and balls for another kick. I would break the fag in all over again but first there was something I wanted, my eyes on the exposed pussy of the cock-nursing Raul. Looking at it move back and forth rhythmically made me realize how bad I had to fuck him. Scott guarded Raul carefully and Raul always obeyed. Only one time I had successfully brought Raul over and that was on accident. He had a car accident and I was the closest so I took him home. Raul spent the next couple hours bouncing up and down on my cock while he thanked me for rescuing him. Scott had not been happy about that and he….exacted a price, one I payed. But now was different, I would plow that hungry fag hole and then spend the next couple hours torturing the new slave.

“What are you waiting for?” Asked Scott, annoyed, “the slaves hole is there, fuck it up.” I shook my head and approached Raul’s rhythmic pussy, “I’ll break that slave in in a bit Scott, but I’ve missed Raul. Wanna,” I put my hand in my pants and stroked, “say hello again.” He gave me a serious look and said, “Ajmal, the slave needs some training.” I laughed and said, “Scott, I will train it all day and night. I just gotta ride raul for a bit…”

“Ajmal!!” barked Scott and Raul and I froze. He glared and me and said, “Ajmal, what did I say?” I recoiled back and said, more meekly, “you said fuck the slave.” He gave me an expectant look and I continued, “boss……”

He smirked and said, “that’s right, this is my house, my fags, my Raul, and you’re my guest.” I bowed my head a little and said, “yes boss.”

“Pull your cock out,” he commanded and I did, all 7 inches rock hard at 90 degrees. “Take your shirt off, “ he commanded and I did, baring my muscular torso covered in curly dark hair. “Flex for me, ajmal,” he commanded and I did and my cock stood up even harder. I stood there, presenting for ajmal, and he smirked as he forced Raul’s head down to the base of his cock.

“Would be a real shame to lock that cock away,” crooned Scott and I flexed for him and my cock seemed to scream. “please don’t Scott, I’m so sorry,” I said, “anything you need I got you.” He laughed and said, “You can make it up to me later, but first put that cock in that slaves pussy and fuck it up.” I nodded and quickly moved behind the muscle slave. worried about incurring more wrath, I didn’t bother to spit or lube the pussy up, just shoving it in. The fag moaned violently into his Masters foot and I groaned myself, it was so fucking tight.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked a Scott and looked him in the eyes and flexed my muscles, fucking the slave hard and fast. Scott and laughed and pulled up Raul by the hair, gently though, and whispered in his ear. Raul giggled a focused his ass in my direction , wiggling it enticingly. Scott shoved Raul into his pits and Raul jerked and shuddered, pussy still pointing at me. I just fucked, harder and faster harder and faster, as I watched Scott lounge with Raul’s tight pussy in view. This wasn’t the first time he had done this, to any of his friends. Scott was the king and we were loyal to him. We often joked that it was lucky he didn’t break us, cause he could easily. We all knew deep down, as did I as I rutted for him presenting like the slave earlier, that he could. My arms and chest hurt from flexing, my thighs from rutting, but Scott didn’t tell me to stop.

“Why are you here?” asked Scott imperiously and gasped out between thrusts, “To…help..you…Scott.” He shook his head angrily and said, “No, you dumb-ass. My slaves need to be trained, you have a cock and the right attitude. You are here to help ME train my fags. If Raul wants to get fucked by you then I might allow it. Otherwise you fuck at my disposal. Got I?”

I was vibrating, I wanted to cum so fuckin bad, and I said, “Yes Boss, I’m sorry boss.” and as I said “Boss,” I came like a geyser in the slaves cunt. The ultimate humiliation, at least I thought. I collapsed over the slave and panted, then pulling myself out. He pulled his foot away from the gasping and gaping muscle slave and raised his eye brows at me. I knew what to do. With a cold calm that almost felt like the obedience in the slaves empty eyes, I got on my hands and knees and kissed his foot.

“Good job, ajmal,” soothes the voice of the foot I was kissing, “Keep this up and Ill let you choose, my pits, my cock, or your hole.” I licked the sole of his foot, my cock leaking and throbbing a little, it might help or not either way Scott was the boss.

[theboysfromaustin]

Halloween repost: The Ballad of the Creepy House

----

My paternal grandparents' house was built in the late 1800s, and I believe they acquired it in the 1960s or 70s.  Spent a good deal of time at that house, much as I could, my dad dragging us from Michigan to Indiana (ew) to Texass to Tennessee and back to the garbage state for computer work.  Lot of summers, lots of Thanksgivings, maybe a couple Christmases.  Large chunk of my family, paternal and maternal lives (or lived) around southwestern Michigan.

That house had an air of fucked-upedness.

It was a two story house, kind of Victorian, I guess?  Lot of gingerbread trim.  Very pretty.  It had a basement as well, I don't remember an attic - I never went into one, the basement was bad enough.

The basement was very large, and had a set of stairs (which I have fallen down), and had two distinct sections - the vaguely scary one with the washer and dryer along with The Closet, which is where my father told me a monster named Oscar lived.  He now denies this.  Classy.

The other half of the basement was, when my grandfather was alive (he died in 98 or 99) both awesome and ball-retractingly terrifying.  He had a big, badass electric train setup.  I am a man who can appreciate a fine train landscape and this thing was the tits.

The bad part was, this section was well-lit.  The rest of this godforsaken hole in the ground was pitch goddamn black, and just full of…stuff, looming menacingly in the shadows. I did not go beyond the light down there, because I was terrified.  I was last in this house for Thanksgiving 2014, and I was sent to the basement to look for a pitcher.  No pitchers, but at least 5 coffee makers.  I looked through the door into the doom pit, felt my stomach clench in terror, and fled.

Nobody liked that fuckin' basement.  Redfin photos from when my aunt moved my grandma out due to that fucker Alzheimer's don't even go in the dark half.

Don't blame them, I don't think realtors get paid enough to potentially be dragged to hell.

First floor was fairly normal, except my mom once saw the ghost of an old lady in the kitchen.  Also to note, the door frames in this place were low as shit.  I'm 5 foot 7, and by the time puberty punched me repeatedly in the pituitary gland, I was constantly getting bonk bonk on the head and learned to start ducking.  There was also an office that, after my mom started using oxygen 24/7, had a bed set up in it for our visits.

Also, one time a squirrel got in the house and terrorized my grandmother over the course of a few days.  It was one of those lil' fuckers introduced by John Harvey Kellogg.  You know, that cereal fucker.

Upstairs was a bitch and a half to get to.  I think my grandfather, my delinquent dad and his delinquent brothers installed the Death Stairs.  Did a shit job.  They were steep, they were narrow, and they were covered in the slipperiest carpet the 60s or 70s could barf up.  Everyone hated these stairs.  I've always been stomping around in natural clown shoes, so these were A Special Challenge.  I think most people in the family fell victim to the stairs at some point or another, but I managed to fall from the first step down, Zetsu Tenrou Battouga'd my ass all the way to the hardwood floor below where I slammed onto my back.

Had a goddamn Rorschach test black and blue mark on my whole damn back after that.

Maybe that explains why my spine hurts so bad now at 35.

Huh.

Upstairs, there were 3 bedrooms and a bathroom with a shower.  The one bedroom was my grandparents', the other two were the guest rooms.  My sister generally stayed in the middle room after my parents started using the downstairs one, don't know how they both fit, that bed sucked.  It was narrow, the mattress was hard, and would tilt dangerously if you didn't stay dead center.

This room was adorned with photos of dead relatives, like really old photos where nobody is smiling and their eyes are emotionless because Emoting Was A Sin.  I don't know how my sister stayed in there with the scary photos because she's a total wiener about horror movies who had to come sleep in the bed with me after my mom took her to see Blair Witch.  And The Ring.

I always got stuck in the room next to the bathroom.

That room was….awful.

First of all.

From the time I could be in a Big Boy Bed without falling out and dying from cracking my soft, egglike head on the hardwood floor, there was a fucking baby crib in front of the wardrobe, which at least kept it closed and the Narnia shit at bay.  Now, for whatever reason, probably my Chihuahua-level anxiety, this baby crib scared the everloving piss out of me.

But Ian, it's just a crib, how is that scary?  I don't know, my brain is a mess, but the FEAR of waking up in the night and hearing Baby Noises™ was sufficiently terrifying as was the prospect of getting up to use the bathroom and there being some….thing….in the crib.  You know, like in Eraserhead.

But that wasn't the worst part, somehow.  Oh no.

The bed was in a corner.  Now, for some reason I can only describe as "total bullshit" there was a closet on the wall, you know, with a door as well as another, tiny closet a few feet up the wall, about half the height of the normal closet.  The bed blocked it, but the top of the door frame ended maybe 6 inches above the mattress.

This had no solid door.

This had a curtain that was supposed to protect me from whatever nightmares lurked within.  This was horrifying, because it was at such a perfect height for me to fling a limb into The Unknown.  Which was absolutely god damned TERRIFYING.  I don't even know what was stored in there.  Ain't no way I was looking, either.  I tried sleeping on the other side of the bed, away from the danger hole, but I am not what anyone would call a "serene sleeper." One vacation, I had to share a hotel bed with my sister, and at one point, according to her, I "sat up, violently elbowed her in the gut, and rolled over."

This does sound like me, so I believe it.

So, inevitably I would trundle across the bed and back to the object of danger.  Can't sleep on the floor to mitigate this problem because there was ALSO a motherfucking trap door, which was partially covered by the rug.  I don't know what was down there.  Probably spiders.  Maybe whatever cryptid was lurking Michigan.  Maybe the Dogman was hitching around Berrien county, I don't know.

Fuck that room.

I kind of would have liked to have owned that house so I could uncover the vast amounts of crazy bullshit that lurked within its walls, but I am not a rich man, and it honestly needed a lot of repair work done.

Also the stairs would have eventually claimed my life, this I know.

Also, there was a large garage in the back with an attic filled with things.  All I remember being in there was a vintage ride-on Dalmatian toy that had a terrible face and, given the rest of the shit about that house, probably rolled around there on its own.

Christ.

[erodasfishtacos]

request for ceoverse! pls make where the wifey visits him at work ((wherein the employees still dont know how she looks like)) and his secretary kinda looks down at her like “who r u, do u even have an appointment lol” ... i want angry ceo!harry and shook employees PLEASE +++ hes all soft w her in front of them and they are all like HUH 🤨

TEMP OPENING (mini blurb)

Reminder: Harry is not nice! He’s an asshole to everyone but his wife and baby.

-

Y/N was a bit frazzled. She was suppose to drop off important documents, that her husband had forgotten at home, to Harry’s office an hour and a half ago.

Ivy decided that it’d be best to throw a temper tantrum because she didn’t want to stop playing with her toy kitchen set.

After a half hour of wriggly, angry toddler chaos - Ivy was strapped into her car seat with a furious expression.

Especially because YN didn’t let her bring a toy along because of her behavior. It was her attempting to kick the back of the leather seat until YN firmly asked her to stop.

When she wouldn’t, YN pulled out her last resort card. She didn’t use it much because she didn’t want it to lose luster.

“Did I need to tell Daddy how you’re treating mummy?” YN looks in the rearview mirror at her red-faced daughter.

Ivy looked comical. She’d refused to let her mother comb her wild curls or change her white shirt that was covered in berry stains.

“No!” She shrieks but stops kicking and huffs as she looks out the window to the passing scenery.

The temper of her father, YN swears.

-

She manages to scurry through the building without many glances. A few people know who she is but not any of the lower level employees.

They don’t recognize Ivy either because she is rarely in the building and if she happens to be they keep her on the secluded top floor where his office is.

YN is rushing, feeing awful about not getting the papers to him sooner. She doesn’t look much better than her baby.

Hair is a messy bun atop her head, a ripped up vintage shirt, and grey biker shorts that have similar berry stains to her daughters.

She is basically dragging her toddler along as she isn’t very willing to use her feet at this very moment. Stopping and staring at everything then grumbling when her mum pulls her away.

Finally she arrives at the office that houses his secretary before the massive doors that lead into his office.

When she pushes through, there are two men sitting on the sofa with briefcases in their laps - obviously waiting for a meeting.

The women behind the desk isn’t the usual grey haired grandmother-like women that she and Ivy love.

Harry’s normal secretary was on a week vacation and there was a younger, raven-haired girl sitting in her usual position.

She looks YN up and down with judgemental eyes before she smirks and says, “Mr. Styles isn’t hiring for the cleaning crew right now.”

It takes moment of confusion to realize that the girl is implying that how she looks - unprofessional and a hot mess means she’s less than.

Even though any job is a good job.

YN is about to comment on how rude the comment is but Ivy bolts to the side of the office to view a large very much alive plant.

She reaches up to curiously pick at the leaves in her child-like wonder but ends up pulling the whole thing over, soil spilling all over the plush white carpeting.

It startled Ivy into tears, rushing back to her mum and begging to be picked up. YN can feel the men and the secretary’s eyes on them.

“Mummy, it’s scary,” Her daughter whines, sniffling and burying her face into her mum’s neck. Hiding.

“You’re okay, it’s fine,” YN soothes, rubbing her back comfortingly.

“It’s really not okay because now I have to clean that up. Maybe you should get that little brat under control.”

It’s perfect timing when Harry’s door opens and he hears the girl call his daughter a brat.

His perfect little baby.

All eyes go to Harry, he demands attention anywhere he goes but this is his territory. He’s fucking furious.

“Hayley, why are you talking to your boss that way?” Harry asks in a calm, taunting tone. He casually rests against the doorframe.

Hayley looks at him confused, “What do you mean? I was just telling this women that her daughter is out of control.”

“First off, that women is your boss just as much as me. Seeing as she has 50% ownership of the company,” He replies cooly, pursing his lips in irritation.

“Second off, I’m not going to tolerate you insulting our daughter. She’s a fuckin’ baby, she’s going to do things kids do,” Harry motions to the plant lying lifelessly on the ground.

YN shoots his a look, no cursing in front of Ivy, and he automatically sends her an apologetic look. Their daughter has popped up and is dimpling at her father.

“Daddy! Missed you!” Ivy chirps happily.

The two men are wide-eyes and quiet, they look at each other once - communicating silently.

“Anything else I need to address, pet?” Harry asks his wife, accepting Ivy when she makes grabby hands at her father.

Harry smiles down at his child, “Hi Vee. Y’missed Daddy? I missed you, my little lovie.”

YN usually would let it alone and not be catty - truly.

Insult her all they want but they do not talk about their daughter like that.

“She said that they’re not hiring janitorial staff. I guess my appearance gave off that kind of signal,” YN smirks, even though the rock on her finger should have given it away.

“Hmm, isn’t that interesting?” Harry hums, mocking that he’s thinking hard.

It’s amazing how he can still be intimidating with a little clone of himself in his arms - who’s currently wrapping her fingers in his cross necklace.

“Wha-what?” The confused, nervous girl answers as she realizes the pit she dug herself into.

“It’s interesting because we may not have a janitorial position available but we have a new opening for a temp secretary,” Harry smiles widely with no empathy for the girl.

Then he’s turning to the other men, “D’you two have anything t’say? I’m always willin’ to open your positions too.”

They shake their heads in unison and don’t open their mouths at all. They actually look at their feet.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Hayley spits at him, standing up and throwing her purse over her shoulder.

“You better hurry. The unemployment office closes at two,” Her husband tells the girl before ignoring her mutters to kiss his daughter’s cheek.

YN steps over, murmuring “She has been a brat all day but she’s our brat.”

“Eh, her mummy is a brat half the time too,” Harry replies, lowly so the men can’t hear.

He can’t help but reach his hand around and squeeze quickly at her bum.

“H,” YN squeaks, smacking him playfully, “Here’s those papers. I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“Never be sorry, s’okay. These guys have been sitting there for the last two hours waitin’ on them to start the meeting. They’re fine.”

YN flushes, avoiding the men’s gazes, and hands them to her husband, “You really are an awful boss.”

“I know, s’fun,” Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to her lips before kissing Ivy’s nose to hear her giggle.

After meeting, the men will discuss - one: how hot his wife is and two: how Harry was whipped for her and his baby.

Enjoy 😊

[wkemeup]

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending 

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.  

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.  

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.  

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.  

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.  

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.  

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.  

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.  

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.  

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.  

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.  

Three minutes past check-in.  

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.  

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.  

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.  

“Hi.”  

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.  

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.  

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.  

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.  

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.  

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.  

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.  

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”  

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.  

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.  

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.  

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.  

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.  

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.  

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.  

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.  

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.  

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.  

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair. 

“Yeah, I know.”  

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.  

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.  

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.  

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.  

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.  

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.  

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.  

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.  

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.  

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.  

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.  

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.  

But that’s not the worst of it.  

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.  

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.  

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.  

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.  

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.  

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.  

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.  

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.  

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.  

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.  

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.  

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.  

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.  

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.  

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”  

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.  

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.  

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.  

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.  

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.  

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.  

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.  

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.  

“You let me know if you need a break.”  

Still, there’s no response.  

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.  

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.  

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.  

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.  

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.  

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.  

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.  

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.  

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.  

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.  

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.  

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.  

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.  

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.  

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.  

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.  

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.  

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.  

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.  

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.  

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.  

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.  

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.  

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.  

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”  

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.  

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.  

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.  

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.  

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands. 

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.  

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.  

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.  

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.  

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.  

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.  

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.  

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.  

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.  

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”  

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.  

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction. 

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.  

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.  

For that, Bucky owes him everything.  

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.  

You’d killed them all.  

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.  

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.  

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.  

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.  

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.  

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.  

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.  

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.  

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.  

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow. 

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.  

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.  

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”  

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.  

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.  

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.  

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”  

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.  

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.  

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.  

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.  

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you. 

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly. 

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye. 

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you. 

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax. 

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze. 

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you. 

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again. 

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.  

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.  

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn  

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”  

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.  

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”  

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.  

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.  

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[thismaydestroyme]

Little Did I know Pt. 2

summary: in this short story, harry is famous, and he moved into a town during the summer to relax and potentially write some new songs for his upcoming album. i included some song lyrics from different amazing artists, and i pretended that harry and y/n wrote it.

author’s note: i wrote the beginning of this two months ago me being lazy i picked up where i left off because i’m too lazy to read through this. so if there’s any major fuck ups then…. i did warn you that i’m incompetent

word count: 3165

“I’m a SLAVE FOR YOU!” Y/N shouts out, and little did you know Harry was front and center watching your trainwreck of a performance. 

Harry did a whole french inhale without breaking eye contact with you. “I really wanna dance tonight with you.” Y/N hears Brittany playing in the background which you pause the music, to see what Harry would say about your little ‘performance.’ 

“Really? A slave? don’t you think it’s pretty dramatic don’t ya think?” Harry says, raising one of his eyebrows. You know he’s just playing around, but you coudn’t help feeling embarrassed how he fucking witnessed… that. You don't want Harry to know that you’re embarrassed, so you did the next best thing. 

“That fucking snake was huge. Did you know she was holding an Albino Burmese Python? I bet MTV wasn’t expecting that. Do you think MTV got filthy rich from that performance? Everyone tuned in for that performance and till this day it’s still the most talked about.” You ramble and spew out random information you bet Harry couldn’t care two shit about.” Harry has a smirk on his face, you bet he was enjoying you looking like a damn idiot. 

You start profusely apologizing until Harry interrupts you, “Do you want to come over?” He says all nonchalantly and walks away without you even agreeing. You’re all stunned and weren't able to even say one single word or even move your two feet. Harry doesn’t need to turn around to see you not moving, “C’mon weirdo, don’t act all shy with me now.” He threw back. 

“Fuck.” You whisper, but your feet finally start to move and your feet are heading straight to Harry. 

Harry turned his head and started to smirk, but he kept walking which had you feeling some nerves building up in your stomach. You’re not scared per se, just you’re going to Harry Styles house. This is normal. This is fine. This is just a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

Cool. 

When you finally get to his entrance Harry is already inside and he disappears somewhere because you don’t see him. You hesitantly walk inside and shut the door behind you. When you turn around you couldn’t help, but notice the disarray this house is covered in. Your mouth gape opened, but you immediately brought your hands to cover up how shocked you are. You couldn’t help but gawk at Harry’s place. There’s a big pink couch in the center of the room which is covered in boxes and clothes. There’s a TV on the floor which doesn’t seem to be plugged in because you don’t see it even plugged in. You try not to be too judgy because he did just move in, so what do you expect?  Harry having his life all sorted out in a span of a couple of weeks? 

You almost missed the nice white fluffy carpet that’s underneath the couch. Even though Harry’s place is a disaster, you can envision what Harry is planning on doing when he has his stuff all situated. In the back of your mind you hope he might even invite you back if he does a ‘welcoming party.’

Before you could even investigate more Harry walks back in with two bottles of water in his hand. He’s already drinking out of one of them, so he handed the one that hasn’t been opened to you. You reach your hands over to grab it. 

“This isn’t safe for the environment.” You states while unscrewing the cap. 

“Well.. you belting out to Britney is an endangerment to our society, so I guess we both got the short end of the sticks.” 

You immediately start drinking your water because you didn’t have your next rebuttal. You start scanning the room and hoping it’ll have your heartbeat settle down because you can feel it through your chest. Harry moves from his spot and starts taking boxes off the couch and to make some room for the both of you. He had to take down three boxes, so you could both sit comfortably. 

Harry walks over to you, but you freeze. Harry was pleased knowing he had you all flustered. It was one of Harry’s turn ons. Harry sits and brings his arms draping on the back of the couch which would have you being in his arm if you decide to sit right there. A couple of seconds of you contemplating you walk towards Harry and hesitantly sit down. 

“I’m not going to bite.” he whispers in your left ear. Feeling his breath in your ear made you slightly clench your thighs together, hoping Harry doesn’t notice. But knowing your track record he probably did notice.

You try to come up with a conversation starter that hopefully doesn't hold all the spotlight on you. You look down at her close water bottle and scrambling for something in her head. 

“Now you’re shy. The last time I checked up you were coming for my head after that  mishap with your dog earlier.” 

“You deserved it. You were attacking Cosmo, so yeah. I was in fact coming for your ass.” You glance your eyes to Harry. You’re overly protected over Cosmo. Cosmo is your life.

Harry gave you a smirk. He couldn’t help but to admire your bluntness. He barely comes across people who lit a fire inside of him. They always try to please him because he is a celebrity, and people just want to please him- which he doesn’t mind, but he does wish they sometime bites back. Having you in his presence he doesn’t want to let you go just yet, little did he know, he wants to get to know you more. 

“What do you do, Y/N besides piercing people’s eardrums and being a dog mom.” 

“Ummm.. that’s a loaded fucking question. But you being Harry fuckin’ Styles I guess I have to come up with something to make myself more interesting and less… chaotic. Well I’m a 21 years old who doesn’t have anything to offer to this world. I live my life accepting I’ll probably be working at Newbury Comics. And on top of that I love music, but I’ll be considered unqualified because I have no talents, and all I could do is muster up some mediocre lyrics that I have stored in my notes app.” 

Harry didn’t break any eye contact when you were summarizing your sad life. That created a pit in your stomach because you never experienced anything that could ever compare to Harry’s tense gaze. 

Harry never encountered anyone in the span of meeting them baring their skin to him. He couldn’t help, but feel some sort of pride knowing he created a space for Y/N to be able to let your hair down and express herself in full detail. He feels more drawn to you because he knows what you’re feeling. The unknown is a scary thing to feel, but you’re doing that with grace without you even realizing it. Just accepting reality is the biggest thing to acknowledge, and you’re doing just that. 

“What do you have on your notes? Could you even help me write my next album.” Harry shrug glances his eyes away from you. 

You feel a surge of worries entering her body. You don't know what’s going on, and you don't like it. “What?! You barely know me. My so-called ‘lyrics’ could be shitty and cliche. What are you getting out of this? My humiliation?” You don't like being taken as a joke, but that’s all  you could come up with this peculiar interaction. Harry sees a naive little girl. 

“You’re pretty,” Harry says. And that’s all he said. He got up and walked out the room. You're left on the couch alone, and not understanding what he just said. Just a few minutes ago he asked for your help, and now just a few seconds ago he said you’re pretty. What kind of fuckery is this?!

You immediately got up and walked to whatever room you could find Harry in. It wasn’t that hard because Harry is in the kitchen. 

“Harry! I need you to explain. Talk to me, please.” You say while running her hands down your face. You thanked yourself for not wearing any makeup.

“Uh, you beg. I like that Y/N,” Harry chuckles and closes his fridge door. 

“Well…. I do find you attractive and I see a potential in you. I might be wrong or I might be right. There’s nothing wrong with finding out and seeing what you have.” Harry says. Harry isn’t afraid to look people in the eyes, but you sure do. You’re debating if you should  take this risk. Harry did say there’s nothing wrong with finding it out. 

“Fine. I will take that jump with you.” You say unsurely, but you have some faith in him and a little bit in yourself. 

“Good. Now can you stop being tense and enjoy yourself. You’re in fact talking to the one and only Harry Styles.” 

“Shut up, doofus.” 

One month Later

After Harry made the deal with you a month ago,  you guys have been surprisingly working together quite nicely. You guys wrote one complete song, and that song is now called, “Dirty Little Secret.” You can’t wait to hear Harry sing that song with his band because you’re pretty sure it will fit the band theme for his upcoming album. Harry doesn’t want to limit himself, but he does have an idea to make his third album mostly rock. 

Harry didn’t expect you to be a fuckin’ genious. Watching you in the corner jotting down lines in your beat up notebook with a pen in your hand made you start feeling someway. You always appreciate the art seeing people enjoy what they do, but Y/N is truly gifted because she has no experience with producing music. One long night two weeks ago you guys were sleep deprived because there was a week where you guys would stay up all night to write and you would stop when you saw the sunrise. Y/N found her love in music because of her father. He was a huge factor that made her who she is today. There was substance in her when she would talk about the accent in a song, how she would bounce that off with the bar while you would play the instruments. Y/N is truly a force to be reckoned with and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would be like to have her on tour with you. 

Y/N never felt more alive after her father passed. It’s like Harry woken something inside of her. You never thought you would experiment with music with Harry Styles, the artist for this generation. You’re not going to lie that you would watched all of his interviews and he would talk about when he write songs he has no boundaries, and it’s crazy he upheld that ideology because Harry made sure you know that there’s no right or wrong way, the only way is to play around and see how it goes. 

“I’m going to get some water. Do you want some?” You ask Harry dropping your notebook on the coffee table that’s covered in rolled up papers and a lot of take out boxes.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He says. You nod at him, and you got up to grab two cups of ice water for you both. 

Your notebook page flipped to a new page and Harry couldn’t help but notice to see “Bubblegum Bitch” written in all caps. Harry got intrigued, so he happily kicked the table so the book could fall, so his excuse could be, “Y/N it fell.” 

Harry kicked the coffee table with his big ass feet and the notebook happily splat on the floor. Harry reached for it and started flipping pages to see that title again, and it took him a couple of tries to find it. 

“Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll

Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored

I'm the girl you'd die for”

Harry couldn’t help but not try to read all the lyrics. He wants to digest it all, but he knew Y/N could walk in any second. He couldn’t help but make a small gasp when he skimmed to the part of the song that had him falling on his knees 

“I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch.” 

“Harry, what are you doing?” Y/N says timidly. On the outside Y/N is calm and cool and collective, but on the inside you’re shaking and screaming. Your songs are attended only to you, not for other eyes to see. You’re still not confident with your writing abilities when it comes to songs for yourself, but knowing your idol probably read more than one line of your song is having you want the ground to swallow you up. 

“I’m not going to tiptoe around you and pretend Y/N. Bubblegum Bitch is amazing, fuck maybe fucking brillant Y/N. Shit.” Harry says he looks at you but goes back down to your notebook flipping pages after pages. 

You’re stuck where you’re standing. Feeling the condensation of two cups of water you’re currently holding is the only concept you’re able to maintain. 

Did Harry say that he likes your songs? Did he say brilliant? You’re not able to speak, all you’re able to do is walk up to the coffee table, drop the cups down and grab your notebook from Harry's grabby hands and collect your belongings. This is too much. You feel too much. You simply can’t right now. 

Harry sees you picking up your stuff and shoving your notebook and pens in your purse you bring every time you visit him. Harry couldn’t help, but feel bad that he could possibly make you feel uncomfortable. 

Harry stands up and starts walking up to where you are putting the last thing in your bag, “Y/N I’m sorry if me going through your stuff made you angry, but I couldn't help it Y/N. What I read was amazing, you’re amazing.” Harry hurrys out his words because he felt if he didn’t say it fast enough you would vanish. 

You’re trying to hold back your tears because it’s getting too much for you. The last time somebody read your stuff was your father, and right now you feel like you’re betraying the intimate moments you had with him. He was the one you would share your songs first with him. Now that he’s gone, you couldn’t put yourself out there to have someone else read it. You turn back around and you try to give a smile to Harry. 

“It’s okay, I- I just have to go. I’m sorry. We can talk later.” You push past Harry to make it to the front door, but you feel someone hand on your wrist so you immediately stop. 

“Y/N, I can’t have you leave, when I know that you’re not okay. Can you please talk to me? Please?” There’s a hint of sadness in Harry. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave him without having the answer he’s yearning for. 

You turn around and there’s Harry. His green eyes are pleading with yours, and you couldn’t help, but do what Harry is asking you to do. 

“Okay, I don’t want pity. Okay? Tell me you understand.” You ask Harry because the last thing you want from him is sympathy. 

“I promise Y/N. Would you mind if we sit down?” You nod your head and he walks you back with his hand in your hand. You both couldn’t help but feel some sort of palse running inside you both while holding each other's hands. It’s something both of you guys can’t simply forget. 

You got to the couch and you both sat down, no longer holding hands. You adjust yourself so you can face him. “Okay. My father died a couple of years ago and he was the only one I let read my stuff first. After he passed I never showed anyone my stuff because it would feel like I’m replacing him. I’m not mad that you read my stuff- I was just surprised, and I couldn’t help it but feel sadness creeping over me. Once again, I’m not angry at you, I’m just adjusting to a new milestone I just crossed without me not realizing it.” You say, and you’re hoping Harry doesn’t say, “Oh I’m sorry”  because you’re sorry to. 

“Well, I’m not sorry for your loss,” Harry says and you couldn’t help, but smile and laugh. “but I’m not sorry that I read it. You have something Y/N and I know you told me you haven’t had any experience in music industry, but fuck that. You have passion and I feel that every time we write something together in the past month, I don’t think I'll be able to forget about you when the summer is over.” Harry says. There was so much sincerity in what he just said.  

You thought it was all one sided because you felt so much being with Harry. You felt you were finally seeing a rainbow you hadn’t seen in a very long time. Harry brings so much out of you that you. Harry was always there when you were scared to take the first step. Him being there with you made it less scary because he was there every step of the way.

Harry didn’t expect he would’ve met someone this summer who would make such an impact on him. Harry thought he would do a lot of hooks up, go to parties and write for the entirety of the summer. But the universe had something planned for him. He met Y/N. He didn’t want to tell Y/N he that he found his first and only love, but he didn’t want to scare her. She could probably feel the same way or she only saw him as a friend but neither of them were ready for that big leap of faith. Even Y/N knew Harry is someone she couldn’t live without because he brings something out of you that you never felt in your entire life and that was courage and faith. 

Y/N met her faith. Only time could tell if faith would lead Harry and Y/N the soulmate they both were looking for.

“Harry, I don’t think I could possibly forget about you.” Y/N whisper because you felt if you used your normal voice the bubble you guys created would shatter within seconds.

Faith is a silly thing because faith could have you longing for something that’s impossible to grasp or faith could have you leaving you vulnerable, but that vulnerability could unlock something you never dreamt was even possible. 

[in-ky]

An Old Scent [3] - Negan x Reader (A/B/O AU)

Summary: During summer break, you decide to come back home to visit your dad, Rick. Over the course of your stay, you realize that your dad's friend is pretty hot.

Warnings: Getting steamy, A/B/O dynamics, age gap, Negan

A/N: part 3 is shorter im sorry but its basically a segway 1.3k words

I was a whimpering mess that day. The fading sunlight peaked through my closed blinds but it still pierced my vision and gave me a pounding headache. My heat was starting to run its course, and I was not looking forward to it. Rick had gotten called to a new case, one that would be taking up most of his attention for the next few days. Unfortunately, that just left me and Negan in the house alone. There was no doubt in my mind he could smell the slick forming between my thighs. I heard him get up in the middle of the night and go downstairs, grumbling to himself. He didn't come back up.

I rolled over and grabbed my phone, hissing gently at the light. I eased myself back onto my pillows, stifling a groan as my legs rubbed together. My fingers swiftly found the contact I was searching for and I pressed the call button, lifting the phone to my ear as I let it ring.

"Hey, what's up? You haven't called in a while, is everything alright?" Bee asked, voice thick with sleep.

"No." I whimpered into the speaker.

"Oh, honey," Bee hummed "You started didn't you." All I could do was groan as a wave of abdominal cramps hit me. "Do you have-"

"They aren't going to help!" I hissed "I need him, Bee, I need...I can smell him." I took a deep inhale. My eyes rolled to the back of my skull as the warm scent of Negan filled my nostrils. It seeped into my sinuses and settled like a pit in the bottom of my stomach. The smell of him urged a new wave of wetness to gush out of my center. "I need him, Bee."

"Hey, listen to me, this is dangerous," She called to me. I could barely hear her over the heat clouding my head. "I know it's hard but you need to cool off. The fever can be deadly." I moaned and buried myself deeper into my sweat-soaked sheets. Bee swallowed over the other end of the phone. "Can you get out of bed? Can you make it to the shower?" I cried out. It was so hot. It was so painful. I felt so empty, a deep void inside me that only Negan could fill. "Omega." Bee demanded, her voice firm. My attention snapped to her. "Take a shower."

~~~

As much as I hated to admit it, Bee had been right once again. The freezing shower had cooled me off enough that I had regained some form of self-control. I wasn't a feral beast begging to be knotted, but I wouldn't stay that way for long. I got out of the tub and shivered, lips borderline purple from the cold. I grabbed the soft cotton towel hanging on the rack and wrapped it around me, drying off the remaining droplets of water. I hadn't brought any clothes with my to the bathroom knowing that they would be coming off in a few hours anyways. But the laundry basket in the corner of the bathroom caught my eye. I clenched my jaw and swallowed. At the top there was a white shirt and a pair of black boxers haphazardly draped over the side of the basket. I instantly knew who they belonged to. And just like that, the cramping had returned.

At that point, I decided to just give in to my omega impulses. I crossed the room to the hamper, wet feet patting against the tile floor. I dropped the towel and fisted the fabric in the basket. I dropped to my knees instantly and buried my nose in the shirt.

"Alpha." I groaned, tossing my head back and rubbing the cloth over my neck. It was drenched in his scent. Almost overwhelmingly so. If I couldn't have Negan himself, his clothes would have to do. I pulled his shirt over my head and around my body. It was large on me and I could see the tops of my breasts as well as the outlines of my hardened nipples poking through the thin fabric. I put on his boxers next, covering my naked sex. The thought of the underwear previously being on Negan made my insides quiver and my pussy throb. I felt another rush of slick leave me. I rubbed my thighs together, trying to ease some of my arousal, but it was in vain. Truly nothing would compare to having the alpha's knot buried inside of me. I let out a moan of want, rubbing my face and inhaling his scent. But my old methods would have to do. The unbearable arousal was starting to come back and I desperately needed a release. Back to my bedroom I went.

I twisted the knob of the bathroom door and swung it open, flicking the light switch off as I stepped into the hall. As soon as my feet felt the carpet, I froze. There before me was Negan, paused mid-step at the top of the stairs. Our gazes met and my insides burned. His tawny eyes were dark with lust behind his black-framed glasses. He gripped the railing so hard his knuckled were white and his jaw was clenched. The alpha broke eye contact and his gaze raked over my body, drinking in every detail.

"Are those my clothes?" He growled. His voice combined with the embarrassment of the situation made a blush rise to my cheeks. I swallowed thickly.

"Maybe." I whispered. Negan walked up to me slowly, large frame shadowing my smaller one. He leaned in and tucked his nose into the crook of my neck. He took a deep breath and we moaned in unison.

"Fuck, doll, you smell so good," He rumbled, calloused hand winding around my throat "like peaches and lavender. Even better with my scent around you." My breath rattled at his words, insides turning like a whirlpool. There had to be a visible wet spot on the crotch of his boxers, but he didn't seem to notice. Not yet, anyways. "I wonder if you taste the same." His fingers danced up my neck and gripped my chin softly, angling my face up to look at him. Negan's eyes were wild, a tumultuous mix of lust and protectiveness storming in those deep brown pools. My breathing hitched as he leaned in. His lips were almost brushing mine. My heart was pounding against my ribcage, begging to be let free. A whimper was caught in my throat. I wanted to beg for him, plead for his knot. I wanted to be claimed and dominated by him. And I think I would have been if the door didn't open at that moment.

"Guys, I'm home!" Rick's voice chirped from downstairs.

Negan's head whipped around and I took the moment of distraction to slip away from his grasp. I slid against the wall and scurried to my room, closing the door behind me. I pressed my shoulder against the wood and sunk to the ground, trying to regain my breath. Did that actually just happen? Did Negan really just try and kiss me? I closed my eyes and swallowed. My throat was dry but Negan's boxers were absolutely drenched in my arousal. I had never been that close to him before and now that I was away, my body craved more. A soft knock sounded above me.

"Hey sweetheart," Negan's voice purred from the other side of the door "you can keep the clothes for a few days, but I want them back when you're done. You hear that, 'mega?" I whined as a form of affirmation and I heard him chuckle, the noise sending bursts of warmth through my belly. "That's a good girl. Call me if you need anything." He took an audible sniff before I heard his footsteps retreat slightly.

"Hey, is she alright?" Rick asked, voice muffled.

"Yea, I think she might be...having some omega problems," Negan explained gently.

"Ah, got it," Rick gulped "I feel bad but I'm still the primary on the case. Do you think you can look after her for the next few days?" I could practically hear Negan's smirk as he spoke his next works.

"Abso-fuckin-lutely I can."

[tfisathoughtfulnickelbakeryfire]

Awesome! :3 Ok so I for the drawing I was thinking it could be two friends chilling quietly outside with their legs dangling off of something, like a pier or the edge of a skateboarding pit, whatever tickles your fancy, and then one of them says, "One time my aunt's cousin stole her an industrial size Dunkin Donuts carpet in broad daylight while she was ordering coffee because she said it looked nice. They had to carry it home for like a mile because they walked there." And the other one, looking mildly flabbergasted, says, "...You're so fuckin' weird."

I'd like both the friends to be women and for the one with the carpet story to be a lot shorter than the other one, but other than that I don't mind what they look like.

Also, I know this is a weird and somewhat complicated request, so I can change it if you want lmao.

This is also based on a true story btw. My aunt had that carpet for years.

Mortals, we got to 400!

(You may say that that's nothing. But I'm still going to celebrate)

@tfisathoughtfulnickelbakeryfire , rejoice. Or fear.

Go ahead, vote, and reblog for sample size!

[stargazer-sims]

50 - Fraternal Wisdom

Despite the fact that he's spent the night on an air mattress in his brother's living room, Dylan wakes up feeling good for the first time in weeks. He can barely remember the last time he'd awakened without feeling hungry, irritable and more exhausted than when he went to sleep, but this morning he's warm and content; still comfortably sleepy, but not tired. His hand hurts, but not as much as he’d expected, and that pleases him as well. He decides he can always take some ibuprofen later if the pain flares up, but for now, everything’s fine.

He rolls over, and sees the remains of last night's revelry strewn across the carpet; beer bottles, soft drink bottles, an empty pizza box and a few wrappers from their caramel snack cakes. Derek's dog, Harley, is casually licking the inside of the large plastic takeaway container that had been full of sweet chili chicken wings last night.

Dylan grins at her. "Morning, Harley."

The pit bull looks up for a second and tilts her head to the side as if in acknowledgement, but then goes back to foraging.

A moment later, Derek appears in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He's dressed only in bedroom slippers and a pair of old shorts, and he looks extremely hung over. He's carrying a cup of coffee in each hand.

"Morning," he says, as he shuffles over to the couch and puts both cups on the coffee table.

"Morning," Dylan greets him. "One of those better be for me."

"Nah, you can get your own," says Derek. "I need both of these. I fuckin' wrecked myself last night."

Dylan grins as he rolls off the air mattress and clambers to his feet. He comes over to join his brother on the sofa, and picks up one of the mugs. Leaning back, he raises the cup and takes a long sip of the hot, bitter liquid. "You know coffee doesn't do shit for a hangover. You need to hydrate, bro."

"Shut up," says Derek.

Dylan laughs. "Such a welcoming atmosphere around here."

"Hey, you take what you get," Derek tells him. "Anyway, why aren't you hung over?"

"Because I'm pregnant and I'm not allowed to drink."

"For a guy who's not allowed, you seemed to be doing a good job of making the booze disappear."

"I only had two beers," Dylan says. "How many did you have?"

"How many did we buy?"

"Twelve."

"Then I had seven, 'cause there's like, three left. Oh yeah, and the rum shots.”

"Right," says Dylan. "Of which I had exactly one, and you had…?”

“Literally no idea.”

“So, that's why you're hung over and I'm not."

"I hate you," says Derek. He gulps his own coffee. "So, fuckin' crazy night last night, huh? How's it feel to be a fugitive from justice?"

"Am I a fugitive from justice?"

"You tell me," Derek says. "I mean, for a change, the cops were at my door looking for someone other than me, so it kinda makes me wonder."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not in trouble," Dylan says. "Not with the law, at least. Zahir's probably gonna be pissed, though."

"Who cares about him?" says Derek. "I'd worry about Mom if I were you. I mean, she's used to the cops talking to me and I think she's pretty much given up on worrying about it by now, but you... She'll lose her shit when she finds out her perfect son is a wanted man."

"I'm not wanted. All I did was walk out of the hospital. Last I checked, that's not an actual crime."

"Whatever," says Derek. "You'd make a good fugitive, though. You went for that closet pretty fast."

"Yeah," Dylan says, and finds himself laughing. "In hindsight, I guess it was kind of funny, wasn't it?"

He and Derek had been watching a movie and devouring an excessive amount of pizza and wings when the police showed up. Fortunately, they weren't the least bit subtle, and had announced their presence by banging loudly on the door and yelling out that they were from the Willow Creek-Newcrest Police Department and were conducting a welfare check.

Both brothers had realized why they were there, of course, and their reactions had been like something straight out of a badly scripted TV show. Derek whispered to Dylan to go and hide, and Dylan slid off the couch and rapidly crawled out to the kitchen, where he hid in the storage closet. Meanwhile, he could hear Derek at the door, casually greeting the officer, and answering his question about whether or not he’d seen Dylan that day with, “Nope. Haven’t seen him since last weekend.”

There was a tense moment when the officer asked if he could come in and look around. Derek had no valid reason to refuse, and Dylan realized it’d look suspicious if he didn’t allow the officer in. Dylan had held his breath as the cop passed through the kitchen. He could hear him as he roamed around and quickly searched the other rooms, occasionally asking Derek questions. Derek was polite and friendly, but just like at the hospital earlier that day, he didn’t give away much of anything.

Eventually, the police officer left. Dylan waited until Derek told him it was safe to come out, that the cop had driven off and he couldn’t see the car any more. Dylan practically fell out of the closet and into Derek’s arms. He’d gotten a cramp in his leg while huddling in there. The brothers held onto each other and laughed like idiots. It’d been a close call.

Derek has obviously been recalling it too, because he says, “it was like something that would’ve happened when we were kids.”

“If the police had done a welfare check on someone in my neighbourhood, they wouldn’t have left without checking the closet and the basement,” Dylan remarks. “I would’ve been busted.”

“Lucky for you, you’re in my ‘hood now. Unless somebody’s dead, the cops don’t care what happens in the park. Sometimes that can work to your advantage.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed being here,” Dylan says.

“What? Tired of the posh life in Newcrest?”

“Honestly? Yeah, right now I am.”

“I guess it’s true, what they say. You can take the boy out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the boy.”

Dylan smiles weakly. “Maybe so,” he says. “What I’m really tired of is trying to squeeze myself into the mold of what everybody expects.”

“The respectable upper middle class mold?”

“Yeah. I mean, I love my career and I like having money and a nice house, but I miss being the guy who gets to eat the whole package of mac and cheese straight from the pot it was cooked in, while playing video games in nothing but his underwear. The guy who swears, and drinks beer on the front steps, and takes a leak with the bathroom door open. Who generally does what he wants and doesn’t give a shit what other people think.”

"Who doesn't tie himself down with a shit ton of responsibilities, like having a kid?"

"Yeah."

"So, tell me about this whole alien pregnancy thing," Derek says. "I thought it was a load of bullshit when you said you were doing it, and I've been wanting to ask all along. It's legit, right?"

"Too fucking legit," says Dylan. "So legit that it's making me want to throw myself into the canal."

"Yeah, about that—"

"Hormones," Dylan says. "Every Monday, I have to swing by the clinic for five minutes before I go to work, so a nurse can stick a needle in my thigh."

"What for?"

"I guess you didn't pay attention in biology class in high school.”

“What?”

It's because I'm a dude, and my body doesn't make pregnancy hormones by itself,” Dylan says. “I have to get them injected so I can stay pregnant."

"That's some weird shit," says Derek.

"Yeah, and it’s massively fucking up my brain."

"To the point where it's making you suicidal?"

Dylan is silent for a moment, staring into his coffee. After a while, he says, "I already told you I'm not suicidal."

"Why would you even want to let aliens get you pregnant in the first place?” Derek asks. “You know adoption is a thing, right? It seems like that’d be a hell of lot easier than whatever you’re going through now.”

“This seemed like a good idea at the time,” says Dylan.

“Famous last words.”

“Tell me about it. I wish we hadn’t done it.”

“I thought you wanted a kid.” Derek says.

“I don’t know.” Dylan sighs. “Back in the summer, I was sure I did, but now it just feels like I’m sabotaging my own life in every possible way.”

“Not good,” Derek comments.

“It’s horrible,” Dylan continues. “I can barely concentrate, so that’s making work harder. I'm tired and anxious all the time, and my emotions are all messed up, like randomly all over the place for no good reason. I’m telling you bro, It's really fucking scary to be that far out of control, and the fact that I'm always hungry and sore isn't doing a whole lot to improve the situation either."

"Why are you always sore?"

"Because Zahir keeps making me exercise. You know... walking on the treadmill and doing yoga. Shit like that. I hate yoga."

"You need to find some kind of exercise you like," says Derek.

"Such as?"

"I don't know. Something more manly than yoga. I could teach you how to lift weights."

"It's not really about the exercise," Dylan says. "The real issue is, Zahir’s being a total hard ass about it. He makes me walk on the treadmill for half an hour every evening, and I always end up puking my guts out afterwards and then going straight to bed. But, does he give me a break? No. He just keeps telling me stuff like 'you'll get used to it, sweetheart' and 'it'll get easier'. But like, it hasn't gotten easier after two months, so I doubt it's ever going to."

“That’s like, husband abuse or something,” Derek says. "What's his problem? Can't he see that he's hurting you?"

"I'm sure he can, but apparently he doesn't care. He says he's doing it for my own good, but it's not much good if I'm miserable, is it? But, I guess he's more interested in following the rules than listening to anything I have to say about it."

"What an asshole. He’s lucky he’s not here right now, ‘cause I’d rip him a new one for treating you like that.”

“That wouldn’t solve anything,” Dylan says.”

“It would for me,” says Derek. “I might enjoy knocking his ass into next week. That’d serve him right for hurting you.”

"I don’t want anybody to avenge me,” Dylan says. “I just want things to go back to the way they were.”

“Before you did the alien baby thing?”

“Yeah,” Dylan affirms. “I love Zahir and I thought he loved me, but he's not acting like it right now. We used to always get along, but all we do lately is fight, and I hate that. I'm starting to think that deciding to have a baby was the worst mistake we've ever made, because if it wasn't for that, I doubt things would be this way.”

"What are you going to do?"

Dylan sighs. "I don't know. I wish I could get rid of it, but I can't.”

“Why not?”

“Because Zahir said if I did, things would never go back to the way they were, and I know he's right. He'd never forgive me, and I'd lose him forever." Dylan puts his coffee mug down. Leaning forward, he covers his face with both hands. "I don't know what to do. I just want Zahir to listen to me, and respect and love me like he used to. I'm tired of being treated like a dumb little kid who needs constant supervision."

“Have you told him that?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t care what I think.��

"Tough one, bro." Derek idly scratches his bare belly and looks thoughtful. "Maybe you gotta do something to make him appreciate you."

"Like what?"

"Let him see what life without you is like. If he really loves you, that'd be a wake-up call for him. And if he doesn't, well..." Derek shrugs.

"Are you suggesting I should leave him?" Dylan asks, slightly incredulous at the idea.

"Not like a breakup or whatever," says Derek. "I mean, literally disappear for a while. Either make him so desperate that he'd move heaven and earth to find you, or so annoyed that he just says 'to hell with it'. You know, like a test of loyalty. If he really gives a shit, he'll want you back, and maybe he'll see that he needs to treat you better if he wants to keep you."

"That... that's horrible," Dylan says.

"Yeah, but it fuckin' works," says Derek. "You know how many women have done that to me? Three. And you know how many I was desperate enough to try and find? Zero. It's how you know if you really love somebody or not."

"I'm not going to drag my husband into some trailer park style drama."

"You're too good for the classic trailer park drama now? In case you missed it, people are all the same, no matter where you're from or where you live. Fancy rich people like your husband do shit like this too, you know. It’s just that around here, we're honest and open about the fact that we're all living in one big realtime soap opera.” Derek gulps more coffee and gives a kind of half-shrug. “Days of our fuckin’ lives."

"If I were to disappear," Dylan ventures, "where would I go?"

"You have money. You can go wherever you want," says Derek. "Personally, if it was me, I'd leave the country. Find some alien doctor who'll do an abortion or whatever, and then live it up like there's no tomorrow. I'd go someplace where there's nude beaches. Tartosa is nice this time of year, I hear."

"Know where I'd really like to go?"

"Where?"

"San Myshuno."

"Nice. I could go for a week in San My. You wanna do it?"

"I don't know—"

"Trust me, it'll be great," Derek says. "Tomorrow, we'll sneak over to your place while Zahir's at work, and you can pack up whatever you need. Then, we'll hit the road."

[babbushka]

For sinday can I request some sexy shoulder holster porn with Flip please? Preferably he has you pinned up against a wall and you’re having to hold on for dear life! There has to be a way to make that more Valentineish, but I’m sure your ideas would be better than mine! Thank you :D

Anonymous said: For sinday I’d like to request some sexy possessive action with Flip or one of the Kylos wanting to knock you up please (like actually trying as part of a plan or just the sexy talk would be fun but not breeding kink) for Valentine’s Day and just keep you full of come and inside their arms. Thank you for taking requests!

~2k, NSFW (holster fun, trying for a baby/trying for pregnancy, wall sex, PIV, implied masturbation & edging, cockwarming, comedump)

For once in his life, Flip is in a good mood. It’s Valentine’s Day and boy oh fuckin’ boy is he in love with you. Has he somehow fucked up every single Valentine’s Day for the past seven years that you’ve been married? Yes. But that only made him that much more determined to go all out for you this time. He figured 8th time’s the charm, as he whistles a jovial tune, taking the front porch steps two at a time, big bouquet of red roses tucked safely against his chest.

“Ketsl, baby I’m home – ” He’s got a smile in his voice as he turns the lock and pushes open the door.

But when you throw yourself into his arms and have a look of wide-eyed panic on your pretty face, his mood immediately sours, fearing for the worst.

“Flip!” You gasp, tears in your eyes, sending his panic skyrocketing, dropping the bouquet of roses right onto the floor as he kicks the door closed.

“Is everything okay? Are you alright?” Flip steadies you with his strong palms, searches your eyes.

“You need to fuck me, now.” You insist, tears of an altogether different kind clinging to your lashes, and all at once his adrenaline turns to something far more jittery jumpy wonderful.

You’d been trying for a little while now, to have another baby. You had brought it up back around New Year’s, and only now did things feel like it was really the right time. Getting the timing right was tricky though, and even though Flip fucked you just about every day anyway, now it felt more important.

“Oh! Are you – is it?” Flip struggles to get everything put away, assuming that this must be peak ovulation time for you, and not wanting to waste anymore of the day than he already had just by being at work.

As he shucks off his sherpa coat and throws it in the mudcloset, working as fast as he can to not trip over his cowboy boots as he steps out of them, he finally takes stock of what you’re wearing.

“According to the calendar, yeah, this is the best chance, please Flip? Please fuck me?” Your robe is barely hanging on around your shoulders, the sash tied loosely.

“I’m workin’ on it, I’m workin’ on it honey-bunny – aw fuck it, c’mere.” Your tits are practically out, chest heaving, and he can see the sheen of sweat that tells of you fingering yourself for who the fuck knows how long, and that thought on top of everything else makes Flip’s impatience rev up tenfold, and he forgoes stripping down, instead yanking his jeans down far enough to pull his cock out.

He scoops you up in his arms and shoves you against the wall right there in the foyer, your ass resting on the credenza, sending whatever was on it clattering to the floor without a care. Your robe falls away, and your legs wrap around his waist, your glistening pussy warm and inviting.

Flip thrusts himself into you in one thick long hard push, his cock sinking deep deep deep into your cunt, proving his suspicions correct. You’re relaxed enough to take him without any prep from himself, your pussy dripping wet all on your own, your sticky fingers clutching harshly at the leather straps for purchase.

“Have I ever told you – oh, fuck right there – how much I love this holster?” You gasp as he immediately starts a brutal pace that has you knocking against the wall, the credenza shaking underneath you. Your voice wobbles and you gasp, “How they wrap around your strong shoulders so well?”

“Just for you to hold onto baby,” Flip kisses you all over, all across your face and your neck, something primal and feral bubbling up inside his chest, “All for you, grab on tight.”

He wants this, fuck he’s never wanted anything more in his whole life, than to bury his cock into your sweet pussy. Your tongue laves over the pulse in his throat, as you let yourself be fucked rough and fast, trying to get him to come as fast as possible. Sucking on his neck and clenching around his cock, you moan moan moan, wound up and desperate.

“I – I – I’ve been waiting for you to come home, kept myself stretched and ready for you, fuck, you took so long Phil!” You whine, and Flip thrusts faster, jostling you and the credenza, the antique creaking under you.

Flip winces, not wanting to break the damn thing, so he pauses just long enough to lift you off the wall and carry you to the conversation pit in the living room, where it’s plush and carpeted, before dropping you back down and climbing on top of you. You grin, and Flip can’t get that possessive bubble to stop rising, he’s so fucking in love with you, with the family you’re building together.

“Sorry ketsl I wanted to surprise you with – fuck do that again – with some flowers.” He halfway remembers the roses that are on the floor by the front door, as he groans and thrusts steadily, drooling into your mouth through clenched teeth as he grunts, “Shit this pussy’s begging to be filled with my come, huh? Squeezing my cock so tight, I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you what you want, ketsl.”

“Yes! Oh yes right there, knock me up Flip, pleasepleaseplease!” You beg, tugging on the holsters, the heels of your feet digging into his thighs, wanting him close.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Flip thinks you must’ve been edging yourself this whole time, waiting for him, and he decides he’s going to make it worth all that effort.

“Are you close?” Flip demands, his detective voice coming through, and through a hiccupped moan you laugh, because even getting fucked out of your mind, you still can’t pass up an opportunity to tease him.

“MMmmyeahh,” Your mouth is dropped open, back arching up off the floor as you moan, “Yes, yeah I’m – oh! I’m close, but don’t stop, whatever you do don’t stop -- !” Flip drops a hand to your clit and your body shakes rattles rolls convulses under him as your face pinches up and you come, a ragged gasp sucking down air from the force of it.

Flip grunts out his first orgasm of the evening, driven by the sheer overwhelming lust and love for you, the way your body wraps around his in the most complete way. He’s sweating something fierce, still in his jeans, flannel, and of course the harness that your nails have left permanent crescents into – but that’s not important.

He can get naked in a minute, first, he needs to make sure you’re taken care of.

“Knees up,” He blinks through his pleasure, reaches blindly around for a throw pillow off the couch to push under your hips. “I don’t want any of this leakin’ out. You hear me? Gotta keep this safe inside your perfect cunt, okay?”

“Uhhhuh.” You beam up at him, head lolling to the side as you shiver and tremble from your orgasm, eyes glassy.

Flip cups your cheeks in his big sweaty palms and kisses you sweetly. You’ve got a case of the giggles, something that’s almost infectious, almost, because he’s still not over the sight of you naked and marked up and all his.

“Fuck I’m – ugh I’m going to come again, just a little more, you can take a little more.” Flip licks his lips, pries your knees apart just long enough to slide his cock back into your pulsing cunt.

“I want it, I want all of it.” You nod, reaching for him, holding him close as Flip thrusts much slower, lazily, pumping another hot load of come into you, willing it to take hold.

“I’m always gonna give you what you want baby,” He bites and licks at your lips, at the edge of your teeth, the corner of your mouth until you’re laughing and swatting at his shoulders, “Always.”

Flip rolls the both of you onto your sides, one of your legs slung over his hip, his cock still nestled inside your cunt. He could live here, and maybe he will, maybe just maybe he will.

“Do you think it worked?” You smile softly, your pleasure weak hands pushing the holster off his shoulders, slowly working to undo the many buttons on his flannel.

“I hope so.” Flip leans in to press a gentle kiss to the side of your nose, bumping his forehead against yours. “I really hope so.”

You shift around a little bit, making him groan as you squeeze his cock with your pussy in the process. Trying to get him naked while not letting him pull out was something you’ve sort of mastered over the years, and he lets out a big relieved sigh when you tug the undershirt over his head, the air hitting his skin.

“Did you have a nice day at work?” You ask sweetly, one of your hands rubbing at his bicep.

“Yeah, was real quiet, I missed you mostly.” Flip admits, before ducking his head down for another kiss, because really he could never get enough of kissing you.

Tongues sliding slowly against one another, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing. Flip groans a little in the back of his throat, thinking about the reservations he had worked pretty damn hard to get for tonight. But none of that matters, when you crane your neck up to look over at the front door, before looking back at him and chuckling.

“Thank you for the flowers honey, they’re beautiful.” You smile sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to jump you like that, sorry.”

“Don’t you dare be sorry. I had plans for you for tonight, you know. I was gonna take you out to someplace real fancy, but now all I want to do is keep you right here and fuck you until you can’t walk.” Flip pulls out a cigarette from his back pocket, thrusts into you a little deeper from the effort, and another little moan falls from your lips.

“Yeah?” You waggle an eyebrow at him, clenching around his cock in return.

He strikes up a match and you cup around the cigarette end so the flame doesn’t jump around. Flip sucks down a steadying breath, tucks your head under his chin.

“Yeah, get you up to our big soft bed and knock you up.” He smirks.

“Oh shit.” You gasp then, and Flip pinches at your nose questioningly, playfully.

“What, pretty girl?”

“I just realized that if it works, they’ll be a scorpio.” You look up at him in horror for a moment.

And even though the two of you are exhausted, you have enough frame of mind to burst into laughter, happy tears of hope pricking the corners of your eyes.

Oh well, Flip thinks not regretting it in the least, there’s always next year for the perfect date night.

[pedros-mustache]

loquacious

summary: you’re not normally this expressive.

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ or i will fight you): protected sex (not specifically mentioned), kinda sorta cockwarming, dirty talk, .2 seconds of cumplay, breeding kink if you squint. also: language, x fem!reader.

a/n: there is no plot, but i very much enjoyed writing this prior to my three hour thesis presentation tomorrow. v much would enjoy smoft sex with ezra. also: sorry mom

it’s simple, unrushed this time. 

so often you find your lovemaking with ezra to be born out of frenzy, a need to expel pent up energy after a grueling scavenge. it is rough and dirty and, yes, thoroughly enjoyable, but decidedly unromantic. though there are moments in which he gazes at you with pure adoration amidst the throes of pleasure, that adoration is quickly replaced by a cavernous sort of lust that never seems to dissipate until you are both spent and sated.

this evening, though—this evening, tucked away in your rented room, you are away from danger, away from deadlines, away from everything but the warmth of one another.

and ezra is taking his time.

he sits on the edge of the bed (a bonafide mattress with a luxurious comforter and two pillows!), his feet planted firmly on the floor. you sit on his lap, his length firmly sheathed in your tight core, your arms around his neck, face bent in the crook of his neck as you move slowly against him. your own legs squeeze tight around his hips, drawing him ever closer.

it’s a reprieve, this moment. a reprieve from thirty cycles on an inhospitable moon with other prospectors on your tail and too few resources to go around. you’d gotten the job done, though, and the buyer paid handsomely for all your trouble. 

now, ezra fulfills his softly spoken promise of eighteen cycles ago. he’d promised you rest, a break from the hard work and a moment to catch you breath before moving on to the next job. noxxo seven isn’t the warm, sun-drenched planet you’d hoped for, but it’ll do the trick. so long as you’re with ezra, any place is just fine by you.

the room he’s bought for the next few nights is unique. it feels more like a replica of a pod than a traditional room. oval in shape, complete with white walls and thin carpet, the layout reminds you somewhat of an egg. soft blue lights emanating from the baseboards do little to counteract the gray permeating every corner of the room. noxxo seven’s atmosphere—a thick, heavy cloud of fog—is inescapable, and any sunlight attempting to shine through the veil merely bathes your room in a colorless soft of haze. trees smack against the singular window, pushed by the rushing wind. there’s a storm somewhere outside; you can hear rain pelt the roof of the building. 

everything—the fog, the rain, the dim lighting—pushes you closer to ezra.

neither of you rush to find release. tonight is about the journey. it’s about savoring the feel of ezra in his naked humanity and him exalting in your divine aura. (his words, not yours.)

ezra’s hips barely rut beneath yours. his arms are wrapped tight around your back, his mouth drawing wet paths from your lips to your neck to yours breasts and back again. he can’t be bothered to move faster, to truly thrust in and out, and you really don’t care. the stretch of him is enough for now. 

you sigh, tilting your head away from his neck when his mouth finds your nipple. raking your fingernails through his hair, you smile when he mumbles something against your sweat-slick skin.

“always talking,” you whisper. you swivel your hips lightly, and he grunts in approval, pulling away.

he catches your eye, and you still, trapped in the warmth of his gaze. “i would never be able to exhaust all the writing utensils in the universe were someone to task me with recounting all the ways i adore you, little bird.”

you lift a hand and cradle his chin between your thumb and forefinger, leaning in for a kiss. his lips are soft, his mustache ticklish. you linger in the feel of his mouth on yours: the way he lets you set the pace, humming against your touch.

then he adjusts his feet on the floor—perhaps to get more purchase, perhaps because he’s lost feeling in his toes. whatever the reason, the movement drives his cock a little deeper, a little closer to that one particular spot, and you gasp, clenching around him.

ezra chuckles. “you like that?”

you nod, and he moves again, this time with purpose. one hand comes to grip your hip, the other splayed along the small of your back. he thrusts once, twice, three times. each time you mewl in pleasure. you drop your forehead to his shoulder as he slows once more.

“kevva, erza,” you breathe. you dig your nails in the muscle of his bicep. 

he just snorts in amusement, thrusting upwards again. his pubic bone brushes your clit, and you keen, eyes rolling back in your head.

“shit. you’re so—” you press your lips together to stop yourself.

ezra’s fingers squeeze your hip. “what’s that, my love?” he bucks beneath you at an erratic pace, setting you on edge, uncertain of when or where the next pulse of his cock will strike. “do you have something you’d like to say with those precious lips of yours?”

before you can respond, he kisses you, his mouth a messy slant over yours. he pulls away, gasping for breath as he continuous the slow, torturous drag of his cock in and out, in and out.

your throat seizes, and you lift your head from his shoulder. your mouth falls open on a silent moan. “you just...” you gasp and shudder, shaking your head.

“what is it?” he prods, tone gentle. “tell me.”

he’s egging you on, you know. he can see the way the words sit on the tip of your tongue. he knows you well enough to sense the feelings mounting in the pit of your stomach that you shove down time after time. 

talking—that’s his thing. he’s good at it. no matter the subject, the time, or the place, he can wax poetic. you, on the other hand, aren’t as eloquent. you cannot paint pictures with your words the way he can. you cannot make him crumble with just one phrase the way he does you. so you keep quiet—especially during sex. you cannot compare to him, so you don’t try.

“tell me, bird,” he whispers. he presses his palm to the side of your face. “let me hear you.”

and with one emphatic thrust, he unlocks the floodgates. 

gripping his shoulders, you toss your head back with a wanton moan. “fuck, ezra. you’re so big.”

his hips stutter. he groans, his own forehead dropping to your clavicle. still, he continues pushing in and dragging out. you lift your own hips to help the movement. the evidence of your desire—your love for him—pools at the base of your joined bodies, and you whimper at the sight.

“you fit me like a fuckin’ glove.” you wind your arms tight around his back as you grind against him. “every time you fill me, i think i might burst.”

he growls, pushes a little harder, a little deeper.

“just like that, baby,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself from speaking it all, telling him every thought that floats through your lust-clouded mind. “you’re good with your fingers and even better with your tongue, but fucking fuck—i want you all the time. like this, any way, i don’t care. i just love the feel of you and—” you whimper again. “touch me, ezra. ‘m close.”

ezra remains silent as he removes the hand from your back to press his thumb against your clit. he rubs the nub in sweet, gentle circles, and tears spring to your eyes.

“oh shit, that feels so good.” 

if it is at all possible, you press yourself tighter against him as you clamor for your release. your hips move wildly against his, his fingers now rough against your clit. he huffs in your ear, and the sound drives you mad.

you can feel it rising like the tide in your stomach: the clench, the fluttering, the ultimate burst of pleasure.

in an instant, you clamp down, crying out against his shoulder as you come. ezra just keeps going, leading you through your high until you begin to settle.

then he moves.

in one fluid motion, he has you pinned to the mattress, one leg flung over his shoulder. sweat drips from his forehead as he drives into you, deeper still at this new angle. the sound of skin against skin brings a flush of heat to your cheeks, and you grip his arms for support.

you lift a hand to smooth back the little patch of blond hair clinging to his forehead. “fuck me so good, baby,” you mumble, the outline of another orgasm slurring your words.

he comes without warning, a guttural groan tearing through his throat as he releases inside of you. the feeling is enough to send you over the edge once more.

for a moment, as you both regain your breath, he lays his head against your chest. you hold him, your eyes fluttering shut as you swallow past your dry throat. 

“i can hear your heart beat like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings.”

you startle at the sound of his voice. it’s been—what?—quite some time since you last heard him speak. a new record.

you don’t say anything, and he pulls out, moving to sit on his knees. he grunts at the sight of your mingled juices spilling from your core. with two long fingers, he scoops what he can from the bed and slips it within you.

you laugh and wiggle against the feel of his fingers. “what do you think you’re doing?”

he looks up through his lashes. “merely putting my seed where it belongs.”

satisfied, he goes to the fresher and returns with a damp cloth, wiping you down. he smirks and lifts an eyebrow as he works, his touch languid and unhurried. “you are quite loquacious when you want to be.”

“you are quite tight-lipped when you want to be.”

“i must admit your words stunned me to silence, which is a rare occurrence, as you well know.” he pauses his ministrations, meets your eyes. “but i would go to the pits of hell and back to hear you speak like that again. i would let my tongue be cut from my mouth if it meant—”

rising, you shut him up with your mouth on his. you kiss him until your lungs scream for air. you pull back, your hand pressed to his knee. “i’d be upset if you lost your tongue. it’s one of your greatest assets.”

“so i’ve been told.” he squeezes the curve of your ass, and a line of concern appears between his brows. “you must use your words, dear one. i long to know every thought that crosses your mind, especially when i am sheathed inside of you.”

you run your hand along his chest. “even if i’m not as... pretty as you are?”

he shakes his head. “i have never seen someone so illustrious.” 

“i mean with my words.”

“your words are like honey, each one a magnificent drop in its own right, but electrifyingly sweet when swirled together.”

laughing, you fall to your back against the comforter, reveling in the silky fabric against your bare skin. “ezra, you should be a poet.”

he lowers himself to your side and runs his fingertips along your stomach. “only if you remain my muse.”

you circle your fingers around his. “always.”

outside, the storm rages, but inside, you bask in the moment of peace. in a few day’s time, you will be back in the field, working once more for rich men willing to pay for your skill and effort. but for now—for now you lie nestled against your love, desire sated, unyielding affection coursing through your veins.

you snuggle closer to ezra, and he slips his arms around your waist, drawing you to his chest. 

tomorrow’s worries can wait.

[cardedsoul]

<- previous.

Tufted ears are suddenly perked up, alerted to the familiar ' click, click, click. . . ' of false hooves walking across tile before it'd be silenced by carpet. Crimson hues dart to the metallic mixer he's holding, and the reflection he sees sets a cold pit of dread in his stomach— followed by the heat of aggravation that naturally boiled in cooled, unmoving blood when the man in question was around him. Those erect audits flatten in a display of annoyance, a groan leaving the bartender before he finally turns around to acknowledge Alastor before the demon has a chance to speak.

❝ Would'a stayed quiet if you'd stayed out fuckin' longer. ❞ Grumbles the bartender. ' Interesting ' was hardly a word he'd ever use to describe the Radio Demon in a positive light. No, ' interesting ' often meant he was about to suffer for the Overlord's amusement. Despite his complaints, however, Husk begins making the drink asked of him in the same fluidity that he had gathered everything up for the Graveyard mix. ❝ Nothin'. As usual. ❞

Short and brash, a straight-to-the-point answer, as was expected of someone as gruff and antisocial as Husk. He takes a short glass in one clawed hand, plumed tail coiling around a whiskey bottle that he pops open with his free hand before scooping out about four cubes of ice to drop in the glass; the alcohol comes next, poured until the ice cubes gently sit just under the rim of the glass itself. Perfect. The drink is slid to Alastor, with everything just as smoothly put away before Husk makes an effort to ignore the Radio Demon's presence.

[theboysfromaustin]

My paternal grandparents' house was built in the late 1800s, and I believe they acquired it in the 1960s or 70s.  Spent a good deal of time at that house, much as I could, my dad dragging us from Michigan to Indiana (ew) to Texass to Tennessee and back to the garbage state for computer work.  Lot of summers, lots of Thanksgivings, maybe a couple Christmases.  Large chunk of my family, paternal and maternal lives (or lived) around southwestern Michigan.

That house had an air of fucked-upedness.

It was a two story house, kind of Victorian, I guess?  Lot of gingerbread trim.  Very pretty.  It had a basement as well, I don't remember an attic - I never went into one, the basement was bad enough.

The basement was very large, and had a set of stairs (which I have fallen down), and had two distinct sections - the vaguely scary one with the washer and dryer along with The Closet, which is where my father told me a monster named Oscar lived.  He now denies this.  Classy.

The other half of the basement was, when my grandfather was alive (he died in 98 or 99) both awesome and ball-retractingly terrifying.  He had a big, badass electric train setup.  I am a man who can appreciate a fine train landscape and this thing was the tits.

The bad part was, this section was well-lit.  The rest of this godforsaken hole in the ground was pitch goddamn black, and just full of…stuff, looming menacingly in the shadows. I did not go beyond the light down there, because I was terrified.  I was last in this house for Thanksgiving 2014, and I was sent to the basement to look for a pitcher.  No pitchers, but at least 5 coffee makers.  I looked through the door into the doom pit, felt my stomach clench in terror, and fled.

Nobody liked that fuckin' basement.  Redfin photos from when my aunt moved my grandma out due to that fucker Alzheimer's don't even go in the dark half.

Don't blame them, I don't think realtors get paid enough to potentially be dragged to hell.

First floor was fairly normal, except my mom once saw the ghost of an old lady in the kitchen.  Also to note, the door frames in this place were low as shit.  I'm 5 foot 7, and by the time puberty punched me repeatedly in the pituitary gland, I was constantly getting bonk bonk on the head and learned to start ducking.  There was also an office that, after my mom started using oxygen 24/7, had a bed set up in it for our visits.

Also, one time a squirrel got in the house and terrorized my grandmother over the course of a few days.  It was one of those lil' fuckers introduced by John Harvey Kellogg.  You know, that cereal fucker.

Upstairs was a bitch and a half to get to.  I think my grandfather, my delinquent dad and his delinquent brothers installed the Death Stairs.  Did a shit job.  They were steep, they were narrow, and they were covered in the slipperiest carpet the 60s or 70s could barf up.  Everyone hated these stairs.  I've always been stomping around in natural clown shoes, so these were A Special Challenge.  I think most people in the family fell victim to the stairs at some point or another, but I managed to fall from the first step down, Zetsu Tenrou Battouga'd my ass all the way to the hardwood floor below where I slammed onto my back.

Had a goddamn Rorschach test black and blue mark on my whole damn back after that.

Maybe that explains why my spine hurts so bad now at 34.

Huh.

Upstairs, there were 3 bedrooms and a bathroom with a shower.  The one bedroom was my grandparents', the other two were the guest rooms.  My sister generally stayed in the middle room after my parents started using the downstairs one, don't know how they both fit, that bed sucked.  It was narrow, the mattress was hard, and would tilt dangerously if you didn't stay dead center.

This room was adorned with photos of dead relatives, like really old photos where nobody is smiling and their eyes are emotionless because Emoting Was A Sin.  I don't know how my sister stayed in there with the scary photos because she's a total wiener about horror movies who had to come sleep in the bed with me after my mom took her to see Blair Witch.  And The Ring.

I always got stuck in the room next to the bathroom.

That room was….awful.

First of all.

From the time I could be in a Big Boy Bed without falling out and dying from cracking my soft, egglike head on the hardwood floor, there was a fucking baby crib in front of the wardrobe, which at least kept it closed and the Narnia shit at bay.  Now, for whatever reason, probably my Chihuahua-level anxiety, this baby crib scared the everloving piss out of me.

But Ian, it's just a crib, how is that scary?  I don't know, my brain is a mess, but the FEAR of waking up in the night and hearing Baby Noises™ was sufficiently terrifying as was the prospect of getting up to use the bathroom and there being some….thing….in the crib.  You know, like in Eraserhead.

But that wasn't the worst part, somehow.  Oh no.

The bed was in a corner.  Now, for some reason I can only describe as "total bullshit" there was a closet on the wall, you know, with a door as well as another, tiny closet a few feet up the wall, about half the height of the normal closet.  The bed blocked it, but the top of the door frame ended maybe 6 inches above the mattress.

This had no solid door.

This had a curtain that was supposed to protect me from whatever nightmares lurked within.  This was horrifying, because it was at such a perfect height for me to fling a limb into The Unknown.  Which was absolutely god damned TERRIFYING.  I don't even know what was stored in there.  Ain't no way I was looking, either.  I tried sleeping on the other side of the bed, away from the danger hole, but I am not what anyone would call a "serene sleeper." One vacation, I had to share a hotel bed with my sister, and at one point, according to her, I "sat up, violently elbowed her in the gut, and rolled over."

This does sound like me, so I believe it.

So, inevitably I would trundle across the bed and back to the object of danger.  Can't sleep on the floor to mitigate this problem because there was ALSO a motherfucking trap door, which was partially covered by the rug.  I don't know what was down there.  Probably spiders.  Maybe whatever cryptid was lurking Michigan.  Maybe the Dogman was hitching around Berrien county, I don't know.

Fuck that room.

I kind of would have liked to have owned that house so I could uncover the vast amounts of crazy bullshit that lurked within its walls, but I am not a rich man, and it honestly needed a lot of repair work done.

Also the stairs would have eventually claimed my life, this I know.

Also, there was a large garage in the back with an attic filled with things.  All I remember being in there was a vintage ride-on Dalmatian toy that had a terrible face (and I’ll post a photo from eBay) and, given the rest of the shit about that house, probably rolled around there on its own.

Christ.