#tiny vibration motor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

impala-dreamer · 2 months ago

Text

Crazy On You

A Tale from The MCU

~ On a trip up state, things get a little spicy when the rumble of Bucky's engine gets you going...~

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

2,158 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Exhibitionism (Sex in a Public Place), Oral, Fingering, Sexy Stuff.

A/N: For @feelmyroarrrr... I pictured Bucky from FATWS, but you can put this anywhere you'd like ;) - Also, I published this in Feb 2024, before we got Bucky in the Thunderbolts trailer, so I thought it was time to bring it over here finally lol

Wind is whipping around you with hurricane force, stinging as it hits your exposed cheeks. It prickles your skin and sweeps the hair off of your neck. It’s cold and invasive, but it feels good as the summer sun beats down upon your shoulders. The wind and heat fight for dominance and your body is the battleground.

A bump in the road jerks your spine and you lean forward, arms tightening around Bucky’s waist. He’s steering the motorcycle with expert precision, but he’s no match for the pothole-marred blacktop of New York State. Another dip makes you gasp and he cocks his head back a bit, yelling over the wind.

“You OK back there?”

You give him a squeeze and press your chin to his shoulder. The metal beneath his leather jacket gives you pause, but it doesn’t bother you- it’s just another reminder of how remarkable he is.

“I’m great!” you holler back. “But this road sucks!”

He smiles into the wind and leans slightly to the left, following the curve of the road. The Sawmill River Parkway is treacherous and exciting.

“Well, hold on, Doll,” he warns. “It only gets worse!”

The road winds around and back again, dodging towns and skirting the edge of the Hudson River as it leads them out of the city. Skyscrapers and brownstones give way to long stretches of trees and the bright green blurs in your peripheral.

As you drive, arms clasped around his firm body, your thoughts begin to drift. The engine is roaring and the thin seat vibrates between your legs, setting off an array of images in your mind. You clench your thighs as the Bucky revs the motor, hold your breath as you feel the strong muscles in his back tense against your chest. Slowly, you unclutch your right hand and snake it up to lay flat against his heart. His heart is pounding; his body firm and warm. You close your eyes and let your fingers glide downwards, coveting the dips of his abs. Your mouth waters as you envision running your tongue over every bump.

The road swerves and you hang on; centrifugal force and Bucky’s strong body keeping you in place while the bike leans to the right. Your nails dig into the soft gray fabric of his tee and he shivers. You can feel it as strongly as you can feel the vibrations through your jeans.

He picks up speed, easily overtaking the white Mazda to your left. You let out a laugh and turn to watch the darkened windshield fade into the background. There’s nothing that can catch you now. No government agency giving chase in an SUV behind you; no preternatural force pinning for your blood beyond the cliff to your right. There’s nothing but the sun and the wind and the soaking arousal between your legs.

You pass another car and your body starts to shake. Every rev, every bump, every tiny oscillation of the engine makes your pussy throb. The bike seems connected to you- it turns, you ease to the side with it. It screams, your body aches. It creeps over the jagged road top, your blood zings.

“Fuck!”

Bucky tenses at your shout, hands tightening on the handlebars. He holds steady.

“What's going on?” His voice is drenched in concern, evident even over the howl of the traffic.

“Nothing.”

You brush him off but he doesn't believe you. Something lies hidden in your voice and the way your fingers keep curling against his stomach tells him there's trouble.

He growls your name through a clenched jaw. “Y/N…”

As a shudder of pleasure whips down your body, you lean into his back and press your lips to his ear.

“I'm good! But we should pull over soon…”

Before he can solicit more information, you drag a hand down his stomach and cup his jeans.

The bike swings a bit to the right.

Bucky clears his throat, gives his head a little shake to clear his mind.

“Hang on!”

A sign ahead tells of a scenic overlook two miles down the road, but you’re not sure you can make it. The rumbling has taken over any bit of nervousness from racing down the parkway on the back of a bike, and all you want to do is get his hands on you.

The bike picks up speed and passes a black Camry.

The trees have grown more dense so far from The Bronx and the stench of a hot summer day has long ago died away.

Your desire is so intense that it’s taking all your strength to hold on, to not nibble at his ear or reach inside his tight jeans. He needs to concentrate even if you can’t. He needs to focus on the road even if your focus is on the heartbeat pulsing in your cunt. He needs to stay sharp even if your eyes are blurry and the scenery is sliding by like thinned paint dripping down a canvas.

Finally, he signals and takes the exit, following a giant blue sign towards the rest area.

Black top gives way to gravel; the noisy traffic fades away. Bucky pulls into a spot cliffside and cuts the engine. There’s a momentary shock as your ears try to readjust to the quiet, and then you hear his gruff voice and all is well.

“What’s going on?” he asks, dropping the kickstand and moving to get up. “You OK?”

Teeth stuck in your bottom lip, you watch him dismount, dragging your gaze down over his solid frame. His shirt is terribly tight; the leather jacket formed spectacularly around his muscular arms and shoulders. The jeans are soft and bite into him in all the ways you crave to.

“Oh, I’m good…”

There’s a sparkle in your eyes that makes him smirk. “Really? Ya seem a little… worked up.”

Your mouth waters for him and you squirm over the leather seat, ready to attack. “Very.”

Bucky grins and presses his tongue between his front teeth. You feel the urge to taste it and carefully climb off of the ride.

“Very, huh?” He takes a breath and looks around. The outlook is clear; prying eyes are nowhere around. “You couldn’t have waited till we got upstate? We have a room, ya know.”

All thoughts besides getting your lips on him are gone and your vision narrows in on your target. You lunge forward and pray he’ll keep his balance and not send you both tumbling into the river.

His footing is sure. His arms are strong and his kiss is unforgiving.

“Fuck, I need you so bad,” you moan, sunshine hitting your face as his tongue sweeps over your pulse. His teeth scrape the delicate skin of your throat and you claw at his shoulder. “Need you now!”

A hard shove to his chest knocks him back half a step and you drop to your knees in the dusty gravel. Bucky sucks in a deep breath and turns his back to the parkway.

“You sure about this?” he asks, shooting a glance over his shoulder. Cars speed past in the distance, no one the wiser.

You tugged at his belt. “So sure…”

One leather end flaps to the left.

The buckle dangles over his thick thigh.

You fumble with the zipper and there's a hiss from above as Bucky fears for his manhood. Quickly, he closes his hand over yours and takes over, saving himself as you stare, drooling and impatient.

“You’re certainly all worked up, Doll,” he teases, licking his lip as you stare up in utter submission, silently begging for his cock.

“Aren’t you? That ride… the engine… the-”

A gasp cuts you off when his dick appears. Bucky pulls it free of his briefs and the sun strikes his velvety skin. He pushes his hips forward slightly and your lips open automatically. Without further invitation, you lean forward and land a wet kiss over the tip. Bucky sucks in a breath and you smile, finally getting what you’ve been dying for.

You flick your tongue over his slit and then drag it slowly down, wetting his quickly growing shaft.

“Fuck, Y/N/N… feels so good.”

You look up with bright eyes and bob your partially opened mouth over his swelling head. Bucky’s upper lip quivers and he sneers with escalating desire. He dips his chin and smiles softly. A delicate finger sweeps over your forehead and curls around your ear. He urges you forward and you comply, sliding your lips down his cock. You can feel him harden on your tongue, taste the salty tang of him, smell his summer musk. It drives you wild and you swallow around him, wanting to savor every drop.

“Damn it…” Bucky rolls his hips and your eyes flutter back. “You’re a needy little cocksucker, aren’t you?”

Your mumbled response makes him moan and you pull back with a wet pop.

He shakes his head teasingly and lays his metal hand on the nape of your neck. “Don’t stop.”

The cold metal makes you shiver as he guides you back down. His touch is easy but you can feel the pent up force. He holds back with you, gentle but boiling with power. There’s never any fear when you’re with him, never a reason to think, even when he’s grabbing at your tits or fucking you on the vibranium, that he’ll do you any harm. Maybe a bruise or two, but it’s never something you don’t ask for.

He sets the pace, jerking his hips and pushing at your head in rhythmic succession. Drool spills down your chin, puddling on the gravel beneath your knees. The sun beats down, hot and wonderful. Traffic flows in the distance, clouds drift overhead.

Bucky fists your hair and snaps his hips, burying his cock down your throat. You gag and claw at his muscular thighs as his seed floods your mouth. He groans loudly as he comes and it echoes off the cliff like a roar in the jungle.

Before you can swallow it all, he’s got you on your feet, dragging you to standing and crushing you against his chest. He paws at your tits and locks his metal arm behind your back, holding you steady.

“Bucky…”

He kisses away your words, driving his tongue deep between your lips. He can taste himself there and it stirs his desire again. You can feel him push against your belly and your pussy leaks for him.

“Please…”

Again, he shoves his tongue into your mouth, silencing your cries while snaking his free hand into your jeans. He pops the button without hesitation and eases his way into your panties. You’re already soaked and he hums at the feeling as your wet heat spreads over his fingers.

His cold fingers splay open across your back and your body goes weak, cradled by his touch, safe from falling.

He touches you with expert precision, jabbing two fingers deep into your cunt while his thumb rubs circles over your clit. You hold your breath, afraid to scream with pleasure and alert any passersby. Bucky doesn’t seem to care if you’re found out, and does his best to pull moan after moan from your swollen lips.

“That’s it,” he whispers, staring down into your glazed eyes. “Gonna come for me like a good girl, yeah?”

You manage a nod as he crooks his finger against your g spot.

“Out here in the open where anyone could see.”

“Yes…”

Your voice is as shaky as your legs and the pressure of his hand increases. Pleasure swells inside and he can feel your body pulsing.

“There you go, Doll.” He rubs faster, fucks a little harder. “Let go and come for me.”

It hits like a crack of lightning and Bucky holds you steady, fucking you through the crest of your orgasm and sucking down your cry. He licks at your lips, caresses your aching cunt, hums in amazed approval.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, slowly removing his hand from your jeans.

You grab his hand, still shuddering from the bliss, and tug his fingers to your mouth. He bites his lip, watching with darkening blue eyes as you lick him clean.

“Goddammit, we gotta get to that hotel soon.”

You laugh and let his hand fall free. “Only a little longer, right?” You blink innocently and brush a finger over his new erection.

He shivers and pops the tip of his tongue between his teeth, counting the miles till he can get you in bed.

“If we rush, I can get us there in thirty minutes,” he offers.

Reaching up, you cup your hand around the back of his neck and pull him down for a final kiss. He moans and holds you tighter, wanting more, wanting to rip you apart and have his way.

You push back after a long moment and wink.

“Better make it twenty…”

#mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky/you

102 notes · View notes

tsunami-of-tears · 1 year ago

Text

Quality Control

Lucien x Reader

A/N: Filthy but loving sex for Lucien and Reader. I enjoyed writing this a lot more than I thought I would.

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, pwp, vibrators, oral (f! receiving), fingering, squirting

As the Heir of Day and the Night Court Emissary, Lucien spent a lot of time in the other courts of Prythian, working on building relations. You were so proud of him, and the leader he was becoming, but you missed him terribly while he was away.

You’ve been pacing around your home for the last thirty minutes. After spending most of the day trying to keep busy and distracted, you were very eager for your mate’s return, and could no longer sit still.

The clicking of a lock sounds at your front door. You race over to greet Lucien, pulling him into a crushing hug. He wraps his arms around you, bringing your body flush against his. You run your hands through his silken hair and lean back as you cast your eyes over his face, memorising every detail.

Lucien’s golden eye whirs as he looks you up and down. “Gods I’ve missed you,” he sighs and caresses your cheek with his calloused fingers. “I have a gift for you, Y/N. Nuan has been working on a new invention, she asked if we can test it.”

You let go of Lucien just long enough for him to remove his coat, hang it on the hook by the door, and fish a small gift box out of the pocket.

Nuan was a very talented inventor, so you were bursting with anticipation as you opened the box. Inside was a small, cylindrical object. You roll it into your palm, noticing the silky texture of the device. You have no clue what it is or what it does.

“What is it?” You ask Lucien curiously.

“Nuan is working on the name, but, it makes vibrations.” He gives you a coy smile, “It’s supposed to enhance… certain sensations. Make it more pleasurable.”

Your eyes widen as you look up at your mate. “We don’t have any issues in that department, Lucien”

“I know, but it could be fun.”

You hold up the device between your thumb and finger, arching a brow at Lucien.

“The first prototype was bigger, but she was able to make the motor smaller. It's tiny, but I was told it packs a punch.” He looks at you and licks his lips. “Care to try it out with me, Y/N?”

You nod, biting your lip as you look at Lucien’s and then back at his eyes. He pulls you close and kisses you deeply, full of longing. He lifts you up with ease without breaking the kiss, and you wrap your legs around his waist.

With your new toy in your hand, Lucien walks you down the hall, stopping when he reaches your shared room. He places you down carefully in the middle of the bed and peppers soft kisses all over your face, jaw and neck. You giggle as his lips brush the sensitive spot under your ear.

Lucien raises himself onto his forearms and looks down at you adoringly. “You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

You blush but look up through your lashes at Lucien as you tighten your legs around his waist, attempting to pull him closer.

Lucien reaches between you, tugging your dress up. He curses when he sees you have nothing on underneath it.

You give him a sheepish grin. “I knew you were coming home today, so I thought I’d be ready for you.”

Lucien closes his eyes briefly and exhales, the scent of his arousal hits you, making you squirm beneath him. “The things you do to me, Y/N”

He sits up to remove his own shirt and you pull your dress over your head, revealing the rest of your naked form to him.

Lucien curses again as he hovers over you. He works his mouth down your body, kissing down the column of your throat, and pausing to give some attention to your breasts. He puts one in his mouth, flicking your hard nipple with his tongue as he caresses the other with his hand, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You moan at his skilled touch, bucking your hips to try to get some friction where you need it most.

Lucien chuckles softly at your neediness, releasing your breasts and continuing on his journey down your body. He kisses all over your soft stomach, making sure you feel loved before travelling down further.

He hovers over your glistening cunt, admiring how wet you are for him already. Looking up at you, he murmurs, “You are exquisite,” before his lips make contact with your bundle of nerves.

You writhe under his mouth. Soft moans escape your lips and you feel your stomach flutter at every lick up your slit. His silver tongue is even more skilled at pleasuring you than talking.

Lucien runs a finger between your folds, gathering up your wetness. Once satisfied with your growing arousal, he inserts his finger all the way in and all the way out, fucking you so slowly that you start to beg. “Please Lucien, I need you. I need more.”

Lucien gives you a sly smirk, adding a second finger and reaching for your new toy.

He continues to fuck your cunt at an achingly slow pace while he presses the small button on the end of the device. It roars to life, buzzing away in his hand. You squirm in anticipation as he brings it closer to your clit.

Your eyes widen as he touches it to you. At the same time, Lucien curls his fingers, massaging your inner wall. You let out a string of incoherent moans as Lucien fucks you closer to your peak.

“Good girl, you’re doing so well,” Lucien says. “I know you’re close. Cum for me, cum on my fingers Y/N”

The constant vibrations combined with the strong thrusts of his dextrous fingers have your walls clenching as your climax erupts from you - along with a great gush of liquid from your sex. The sensation is so intense that your eyes roll back into your head, and your back arches as you grip the sheets. Lucien continues his steady thrusting as you ride out your high.

Once your pleasure subsides, Lucien turns the device off and puts it to the side. Panting heavily, you finally open your eyes to see him watching you with a look of pure sin. “Cauldron boil me, Y/N. That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Now we need a bath,” You laugh as you look over the mess on the sheets and Lucien’s pants.

Lucien grins widely, “But first, round two?”

#acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #lucien x reader #lucien smut #lucien vanserra smut #acotar smut #a court of thorns and roses #acotar

179 notes · View notes

mirl0-turdusmerula · 3 months ago

Text

Been thinking a lot about where Kim would live pre-canon.

A tiny matchbox appartment in the Industrial Harbour.

So yeah, I wrote a ficlet. Slice of life / long ass description of a normal evening and Kim arriving home, making dinner, revising notes and doing Volta do Mar.

1200 words. Full text below the cut.

Midsummer night

The heavenly sound falls out as the motor carriage's engine comes to a stop. Inside the Precinct 57 garage, the Coupris Kineema stands out among the four other non-sports model MCs. Although different models, they all share the same blue paint and bear the corp's halogen white stripe across their side. The five of them also sleep there (guarded), to the Lieutenant's dislike. But he understands. Neither he nor his station can afford to be the object of street junior delinquency.

The Lieutenant steps out—end of the day.

He mutters a goodbye to the security guard and closes the Station's service door behind him. If it weren't for the white rectangular sign bearing the RCM initials and new motto ("Justice, Union, Prudence and Force"), this repurposed industrial warehouse could be mistaken for any of the similar buildings that surround it. The streets are wide and level, but the asphalt leaves almost no room for the sidewalk. He marches home late August evening, dodging vans, containers, and badly parked MCs trailers.

He makes a stop at a little green kiosk in the corner of an intersection, –"Evening, officer"– and buys the usual newspaper, and today too, a pack of 'Astras' (it is Friday). Back straight, steady voice, firm hands.

He finally arrives at his destined warehouse. Once housing an R&D department of the Feld-Electric company, its old-style brick atéliers have been repurposed into apartments.

Black mailboxes sit at the side of the main barred door. One of them, in the third row says: "Kim Kitsuragi". The Officer produces a key from a pocket in his aerostatic jacket's interior lining and unlocks the door. A long and narrow hallway extends before him, with storage rooms opening on either side. At the end of it, there is a not-too-dirty communal bathroom and a spiral metal staircase that leads to the upper floor. The Officer takes a quick detour to the communal bathroom, and his boots make a thump, thump noise as he comes up the stairs. He produces another key. This one is smaller and more intricate and unlocks a reinforced wooden door.

With a soft click he eases himself inside. The matchbook-sized room is orderly, bright, and well-kept. In just 6 by 2'5 meters, Kitsuragi's private life unfolds. Being a repurposed industrial atélier, the construction is sturdy: brick walls, exposed cables and plumbing, and hydraulic tiles floor, in the old-fashioned dideridada style. Opposite to the door, a grand paneled industrial window covers the entire wall, from floor to ceiling, where it bends and becomes a skylight.

Kitsuragi closes the door behind him and locks it. Two turns. Key left in the keyhole. Still on the doormat he takes off his uniform. Black heavy police boots, off. Orange aerostatic pilot jacket, off. Utility belt off. Under-arm holster and pistol off. Everything is neatly left on a shelf and some hooks beside the door.

Kitsuragi's bare feet make straight for the workbench on the left wall. On the shelf above it, is a Wowshi 12-Prefect two-way radio system for station calls. Long-cable headphones are firmly attached to the 4.5 mm port. The sound system is never used without the headphones, and the headphones never leave the room. He dones them, and the long chord follows him around the room. Kitsuragi presses the saved station button, and after a moment of static, he begins to hum half-consciously to the familiar sounds. The room is filled with ecstatic vibrations, totally translucent to the rest of the world.

He starts cooking dinner.

There is not a kitchen per se, but the original atélier's stainless steel sink and worktop, paired with a portable gas stove serves the purpose well. It also serves as a wash basin, in tandem with the mirror cabinet mounted to the wall next to it.

Rattling pots, a flame, boiling water. His foot taps along the beating pulses.

Kitsuragi leads a steaming plate of Samaran fast noodles to his wooden workbench (and only table) and sits in a rolling steel chair that probably came with the tenement. He sits crouched, one leg hugged and the other one hanging, headphones still on his head, although he has stopped the music. He is revising notes from his blue A6 Mnemonic, jotting down more nearly illegible lines, careful not to drop the spicy sauce on it. Filled (and yet to be filled) similar notebooks rest in boxes beside the table.

Above the workbench, a corkboard and some shelves. Pinned in the center, between other notes, is a map of Revachol West. Boroughs, streets, and motorways cut across the web of canals. It's up for display rather than reference. The 8/81 traverses Kim from the base of his column to the top of his skull.

On the shelves, Kim's quaint collection of hobbies: some Wirrâl dice, tiny franconigerian figurines, Jamrock Slam tabloids, some second-hand mechanical manuals, Jacob Irw's Tiptop Tournée racecar miniature, some sci-fci novellas… Most of these bric-à-bas are from the last few years when his higher lieutenant's salary allowed him some stability. With the raise also came a tiny black box that now sits in the corner, bearing a white halogen rectangle. Inside, a mémoire.

He lights an 'Astra Menthol', and absent-mindedly taps the ash onto a tray in between inhalings. The noodles grow cold as Kitsuragi writes and rewrites in his notebook. No crosswords for tonight. He doesn't mind, and his gaze certainly does not fall on the tiny black box.

Sometime later, when the Astra is consumed, the chair rolls back, and Kitsuragi stands and reignites the music. The multi-purpose pre-installed sink becomes the star of the room again. Dishes and then teeth. He does not have a personal shower (he uses the communal one in the morning), but fenilely takes advantage of his private faucet to wash off the usual dirt, sweat, and grime. Blood sometimes.

One last stretch and Kitsuragi sits legs-crossed on the steel-framed bed below the window. He takes off his glasses and headphones. No verres, no smokes, no music, no gloves. He settles down for Volta do Mar.

Y del trueno,

al son violento,

y del viento

al rebramar,

yo me duermo

sosegado

arrullado

por la mar.

(And from thunder, to the violent tone, and from the wind to the roar. I sleep, soothed, lulled, by the sea. )

It is an old boiadero song. Written by a man in the Plains who never saw the sea, now popular among entroponauts who long for the day they see the open sky again.

Outside the window, the summer sun is setting down in the Great Industrial Harbour, and the low rumble of cranes and lorries is slowly fading out. A shimmer in between two eternite rooftops: the sea. The sound of cargoships horns arriving at the port and the screeching of seagulls. Smoke rising from the chimneys fades into lazy clouds. High above, the sound of rotors and the beams of floodlights. Although Kim is not able to see the Coalition airships, he is acutely aware of their presence.

An empty pot on the windowsill. No flowers grow here anymore.

Kim's breathing steadies, his chest rising and falling as the sunlight recedes and the stars appear. Invisible, obscured by the helium streetlights. Next to him, a nightstand and two objects on top: a pair of hyperopia diamond-shaped glasses, and a single-shot Kiejl A9 Armistice. Loaded.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #my writing #man writing is hard #my first ever fiction written in english #tried to draw it but my ability is not there yet #the poem is Canción del Pirata by José de Espronceda

26 notes · View notes

norosesnolife · 4 months ago

Text

| Am I writing yet another safe for work sleepover story? Why, yes, yes, I am.

✬ began at 9:48 P.M. on July 3rd | word count: 4,083 ✬

Anxiety was spiraling again.

Which was normal. Being one bad thought away from a downward spiral was Anxiety’s default setting. It was a wonder Joy hadn’t become so annoyed with her that she sent her away to the Vault, or worse, the Memory Dump. Lost to wander the hills of dissolving memories until she either went insane or wound up fragmenting enough to become apart of the subconscious.

Now, nobody had quite been expecting Joy to forgive her as quickly as she had. Sadness had mumbled some explanation about Core Memories, “Bing Bong”’s, and scary clowns, but Anxiety hadn’t quite understood it all.

Sure, had she tried to rid Riley of all her core personality traits and reshape her into someone bett- no, more well-adjusted and prepared? Yes. Had she nearly destroyed all of Riley’s personal relationships out of her obsessive fear of never being enough? Also, yes.

But that didn’t mean she hadn’t tried her best to make up for her mistakes and appeal to Joy and all of Riley's older, more important emotions.

Despite being assured that all emotions made mistakes- Anger had went on a lengthy boasting session about the time Riley broke a window while playing street hockey with a group of kids- Anxiety couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t doing enough to redeem herself.

Joy needed someone to evaluate memories and take note of any faulty engineering around Headquarters? Anxiety was on it with a clipboard and toolkit.

Sadness needed a helping hand in remembering something from Manuel Two-Hundred and Seventy-Six: The Cerebellum’s Motor Movement Functions, Chapters Eight through Eleven? Anxiety had the entire cerebral encyclopedia memorized, with flash cards!!

Even whenever Disgust constantly tried to ween herself off Dream Duty, Anxiety was there with an energy drink (Joy had forcibly tried to get her off the stuff, but old habits died hard) and a pillow for her neck.

Yes, she had done it all, but it still wasn’t enough. She still felt that sinking pit in the deep of her essence whenever she suggested an idea- which was becoming fewer and fewer with each passing day.

Anxiety could feel the hesitation, the mistrust, in their eyes whenever she got a little too handsy with the Console. How Joy would scurry forward to gently pull her hands away from the buttons. How Envy and Disgust were wary to leave her alone without supervision. How could she ever be a good enough emotion for Riley when all she was capable of doing was ruining her life?

Certainly, Joy’s “special chair” was great in the heat of a moment when the stress got to be too much. The vibrations made the edges of Anxiety’s form become blurry, thousands of tiny tangerine dots rippling around her, scattered like her thoughts. And the tea was nice. But one could become so tired of tea, especially since the only flavour Disgust allowed in the cupboard was lemon and honey green tea (“all those other types of tea are toxic to our minds and bodies”).

So, while the chair was nice in a pinch, it wasn’t a cure-all to Anxiety’s never-ending spiral of obsessive thoughts. She could tell Joy tried to understand this, but it never seemed to fully stick- she still tried to “happy” away all of Anxiety's worries away.

Now, long after Riley had fallen asleep, Anxiety remained awake, having suffered through a dreamless hour and a half, pacing in front of the window, incapable of escaping the onset of, well, anxiety overwhelming her. Her lanky body scurried across the floor, feet moving at such a pace that they appeared like the frames of a cartoon.

Riley had a good day, all things considered. She had aced her Spanish test (celebraciones!), made plans for an exciting sleepover with Bree and Grace for the upcoming spring break; and managed to begin talking with a school counselor about her negative thoughts. She had gone to sleep without much fuss, after some math homework and an exhilarating game of UNO with her parents, leaving her emotions to sleep without worry.

Well, mostly without worry. Despite the day having been another great day for Riley, Anxiety had spent most of it wired about the results of the Spanish test, or fretting over Bree’s lower-case-only text messages while they planned the sleepover. It had been weighing on her all day, but all that Joy had suggested was to “think positive,” sit in her chair, and have Embarrassment hug her until the results came in for certain.

It had been nice in the moment, but, again, it still came back to bother Anxiety later on.

The orange emotion pulled at her feathery hair, tugging it down over her eyes as she moaned and groaned, trying desperately to keep it down. She did not want to wake anyone and burden them with her train of paranoia, especially not now that she was so close to being one of them. Whatever they called themselves- a family, a support system, a group of friends, coworkers- regardless, Anxiety desperately wanted to be as close as they all seemed to be without putting as much effort as she was into it.

Her teeth overlapped over her bottom lip as she chewed it anxiously, mind racing. She could have easily screwed everything up had she been close to the console while the teacher handed back their test results! What if she gave Riley another attack? What if she hadn’t prepared her enough for the potential of failure? Had Riley been breathing normally when the teacher passed by her desk? Had the other students noticed her tense body language, and, if so, what would they think of her? Was she an anxious mess in their eyes?!!

UGH!! Why didn’t Joy just banish her already?! The stress of waiting for it to happen was making Anxiety’s life miserable! It was clear that she didn’t help anything, not like the others. Even Ennui allowed Riley to remain cool under stressful situations- why couldn’t Anxiety just be like that?

She slapped her fist flat against her head in frustration, trying out the self-stimulating movements she had been reading about in Manuel Eight: Neurodiversity in the Mindscape. It certainly helped relieve a bit of the tension, although now her head was sore.

The temperature in Headquarters had risen significantly due to the speed at which Anxiety was pacing about, the papers stacked on the shelves fluttering as she continued to circle in front of the window. She now gnawed on the tips of her fingers, so deeply entrenched in her spiral that she hardly noticed the lithe figure sluggishly limping down the stairs from their sleeping quarters.

It had been too warm for Ennui to sleep, enough that she dragged herself from her loft, loathing every second she forced herself to move down the stairs at the pace of a wounded animal. Despite the effort it took to leave her bed, Ennui paused when she saw the orange creature pacing around in front of the window, little wisps of electricity trailing after her.

While Anxiety thought she was alone in her fears, the others had noticed her recent decline. Ennui and Envy had found a stray can of energy drink tucked away behind Fear’s box of stuffed animals. They had told the others, but it had been resolved not to outwardly say anything in hopes that Anxiety would feel comfortable enough to reach out- even though Joy had really wanted to take matters into her own hands.

To be honest, the two had forgotten about the meeting in the past month. Envy’s attention span was short, and Ennui had needed a nap afterwards, becoming exhausted by having done anything at all. So, perhaps this was partially their doing.

It had been clear that the new emotion struggled to articulate herself in making decisions, slipping back in to her controlling habits whenever a negative situation presented itself in Riley’s day-to-day life. Even Fear could see that she was more high-strung than himself, his admiration for her preparation skills outweighed by his concern for her well being.

They had all thought she would grow more comfortable with their dynamic and stop being so afraid to open up, now that it had been almost three months, but this did not appear to be the case.

Now, standing off to the side, dressed in an orchid sleep shirt and sweatpants, Ennui yawned, fingers itching for her telephone. She slumped down the rest of the stairs as the temperature rose with every step towards the restless emotion, who had not yet noticed her.

“Ahem.” She cleared her throat, voice gravelly. Anxiety did not respond, continuing to pace. Ennui resisted the urge to roll her eyes, groaning as she raised her voice.

“AHEM.”

This time, Anxiety did stop, blinking multiple times in succession to stare, mouth agape, at the purple emotion, who merely yawned in response. Her mouth opened and closed a few more times, before she spoke, voice cracking.

“E-Ennui! I did not see you there. Why, ah, why are you awake?”

She waved a hand vaguely around the Control Room, mustering just enough energy to push her bangs away from her eyes, as though this made things clear. “Too hot to sleep.”

Anxiety’s shoulders tensed and then slumped as she realized her pacing had significantly changed the temperature in Headquarters. She felt her face warm. “Sorry.”

“Pas de probleme. I don’t really care. I don’t sleep much anyways.” Gliding over next to Anxiety, Ennui scratched absentmindedly at her face, giving the shorter emotion a look from the corner of her eye. Despite her lethargic nonchalance, Ennui knew the tricks in talking Anxiety down from her obsessions in her own special way.

As expected, Anxiety’s shoulders dropped, and she fiddled with her hands, looking out the window at the labyrinth of long-term memories. Her expression was unreadable, eyebrows knitted together as she thought and thought and thought. Ennui, unlike herself, pushed a bit more.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Ah, nothing. Don’t worry about it- that’s my job, haha!” She forced a laugh, tucking her hands into her armpits with a jerky movement. Ennui raised an eyebrow.

“….”

Anxiety slumped, “Fine. I was just…reviewing the events of today. I didn’t mean to wake you up- I could try making some origami figures again, if that’s quieter- “

“Non. We should talk.” The words escaped Ennui’s mouth before she could stop them, and she inwardly sighed. All she wanted to do was lie down, and yet, here she was, emotionally bonding. Wasn’t this Joy’s job?

Although she could technically care less, a part of Ennui did genuinely want to make sure Anxiety was okay. She could be… nice, if she was bothered enough. It wasn’t like she was heartless; she just didn’t have the energy to fret about most things like everyone else.

“Talk? About what? Today was great! Riley aced her Spanish test; she can’t wait to do karaoke with Bree and Grace; and she even won at UNO! She never wins! What is there to worry about- except for the fact that Bree seemed upset with us for no apparent reason, we tripped in front of Mx. Whittman and nearly knocked over their favourite plant, that dog on the walk home could have bitten us or ruined our new jeans and Joy thinks I’m a worthless emotion and honestly I agree but I can’t say anything otherwise she’ll hate me and-“

Anxiety’s rambling was cut off by Ennui slumping forward to place a hand on her shoulder, her deep indigo eyes staring tiredly at the other. She felt her face warm again, and she stopped speaking, only the smallest squeak escaping.

“Tranquille. I think we need to wake Joy.”

“What?! No, we can’t wake her up! She already had enough of me, and I don’t want to annoy her anymore than I already have.”

But Anxiety’s protests were ignored by Ennui walking away, her form bobbing slightly with every step forward. She was given no time to prepare or protest or run away and hide herself under the couch before Joy- and the others- were entering the Control Room, all dressed in their pyjamas and looking rather sleepy- but somehow not utterly annoyed.

Joy yawned, stretching her arms above her head. Her blue eyes looked at Anxiety, who practically cowered before her, with a mixture of concern and preparation. So many nights had unraveled in a similar way. Anxiety did not know the whole truth, but Joy was also struggling to manage herself, her own controlling impulses. There were days when all she wanted to do was scream and yell and push everyone else aside to have Riley all to herself. Days where someone got on her nerves and she wanted to eject them from Headquarters to save herself a headache. But these thoughts didn’t help anyone, not Riley, not the other emotions, not even Joy herself.

So, this was why she was working on being less annoyed with Anxiety. Learning to trust her more, even when it was hard. This was why she mustered a sleepy smile, not a fake smile or an attempt at pushing the negative away, just a smile that said “what do you need?”

“Hey. I heard you were having trouble sleeping?”

Anxiety rubbed her arm, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. I, uhm, making plans and lists didn’t help, and your chair was nice, but it only made me zone out and focus more on my thoughts...”

Envy, who had waddled over to stand beside Anxiety, placed a tiny hand on her leg, offering a big smile. “I'm having trouble sleeping, too! It's hard to adjust to new things, right?”

Anxiety nodded, “Yeah. It is, and I feel so... so different from you guys. I don’t know how I can help Riley when all I do is mess things up.” She looked down at the floor, shuffling her socks on the sleek tile.

What she didn’t see was Joy share a smile with Disgust, or Anger, or Fear, or Sadness. She couldn’t see how even Ennui managed a crooked smirk, or how Embarrassment beamed. Anxiety didn’t know that they had all felt similar thoughts at one point or another, that she was less alone than she thought.

“Anxiety, you don’t mess everything up,” Joy began, clasping her hands together.

“Yeah! You help her make plans and manage her time efficiently, even down to the minute. I wish I had your management skills!” Fear joined in, his teddy bear clutched close to his chest.

“Besides, if you weren’t here, who would keep us in check about all the boring stuff nobody remembers?” Anger gruffly added.

“Or help us remember to keep things around Headquarters running smoothly?” Disgust, looking at her nails, offered her own sly smile.

Sadness, who had moved to stand beside Envy, nodded and patted Anxiety on the back. “Sometimes, it is hard to feel as though you’re helping Riley… you feel small and worthless, right?” Anxiety nodded.

Joy, realizing where she was going with this, nodded and chimed in, “-But, if Riley didn’t need you, you wouldn’t be here with all of us. We love you, just like we love Riley. None of us are perfect- “Disgust raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. “- but that is why we all need to work together, to keep each other in check!”

“Yeah! Could you imagine if Anger was always in control?” Elated laughter bubbled up from Fear’s chest, nudging the red emotion with his elbow, which resulted in him being punched in the arm.

“Pssh. She’d probably kill someone if that was the case,” he shrugged, barely concealing a prideful smile.

“Exactly!” Joy pointed to emphasize her point, relieved that they could finally find something to agree on without the incessant bickering that typically followed. “The point is, Anxiety, we’re a team.”

She knelt down, placing a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder, “All we have is each other, so no more secrets, okay?” Anxiety sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. “Which means, no more hidden energy drinks around Headquarters, got it?” This made the orange emotion laugh, more so out of nervousness than anything else.

“Good! Glad we got that sorted!” Joy backed up, standing up straight, but she couldn’t help but smile ruefully as Anxiety yawned, her eyelids drooping. All of the energy had been sucked out to fuel her thought spiral, and now she was more exhausted than anything else.

Envy perked up, gesturing for Joy to lift her up. She whispered something excitedly, and Joy beamed. “What a wonderful idea, Envy! I’m jealous I didn’t think of that first!” This made the little turquoise girl bubbly with pride, and she hopped away to enact her plan.

While Anxiety stood still, head drooping forward as she tried to remain awake, the other emotions retreated to their sleeping quarters, retrieving pillows, blankets, nightlights, and stuffed animals to pile up in the control room. Embarrassment constructed a makeshift fort out of the pillows and blankets, while Disgust plugged a lavender-scented diffuser into the Console.

Anxiety blinked quickly, seeing the cozy structure as she snapped out of her reverie. She was confused, and hesitant, and raised a finger in protest.

“Wh-What is this? What about Dream Duty? Your beds? I don’t wanna impose-“

Anger waved an arm dismissively, adjusting his boxer shorts with the other hand, “Eh, they’ve got the night off down at Dream Productions. They’ve been doin’ this new 'one day on, one day off' schedule, which means we all gotta adjust to their stupid idea.” He narrowed his eyes and grumbled, but ultimately let it go when Joy gave him a Look.

“Besides, slumber parties are fun! Why wait until spring break when we can have our own little cozy night in right here? There are no rules to where we have to sleep!”

Sadness raised a hand up slowly, “…actually, Manuel Seventy-Six: Proper Core Emotion Maintenance and Routine states that Headquarters isn’t a sustainable space for emotions to sleep in for long periods of ti-“

Joy waved her hands, cutting Sadness off with a forced grin. Hey, nobody said she was perfect all the time. “Thank you, Sadness, but we’ll be fine for one night!!” She clapped her hands together, “Now, everyone! Grab a pillow and huddle up!”

After a few minutes of moving around, adjusting, and squeezing into the (admittedly tiny) pillow-and-blanket fort, the emotions had settled in and managed to doze off.

Embarrassment lay on the floor, on his back, arms outstretched as the others cuddled close to him, his form warm and comfortable. Having spent most of his days attempting to make himself look smaller or less noticeable, it was nice to support others with his larger size, even if it was a little cramped in the fort itself. He was all cozy in his wool onesie, already snoring softly beneath the glow of the Console.

Disgust laid on the far left, her arms flat at her side, a sleep mask pulled over her eyes, the cooling gel preventing any wrinkles and creating a refreshing nights rest. Only one strand of hair escaped from beneath the hem of her bonnet, but Joy brushed it back in place as she checked in on everyone one last time.

Sadness was curled up beside Disgust, her fists balled up, eyebrows knitted together while she whimpered softly in her sleep. Joy smiled, placing a hand on her cheek to comfort the blue emotion throughout any depressing dreams plaguing her subconscious, and nestled in beside her, their backs pressed together.

Anger was on the far right, barely laying on the edge of Embarrassment’s outstretched arms, his own arms crossed over his chest as he grumbled in his sleep. Despite his insistence that he needed his cinder block pillow to sleep, he had been one of the first to pass out once he begrudgingly laid his head on the fluffy fabric of Embarrassment’s sleeve. Joy had tried to get him something to help him stop gritting his teeth at night, but he had chucked it out the window. Oh, well.

Fear was next to Anger, on his left, sharing his beloved teddy bear with the fiery emotion as he whimpered and kicked his feet. He was having another nightmare, undoubtedly, but this one seemed less tense than the others. At least, if he woke up, he would be surrounded by those he loved most… and the ten nightlights he had plugged in across the Control Room. Joy tucked a stuffed clownfish plush into his arm, just in case.

Beside Fear was Ennui, who had miraculously fallen asleep after a lengthy period of time scrolling her telephone. Joy did not understand what was so interesting on that little device- Riley was obsessed with it, too, but Joy could not understand the appeal of pressing a bunch of little buttons repeatedly with no real-life reward. The indigo emotion was like a snake, curled up with her legs poking out of the fort’s front. Despite her lackluster attitude, Joy found it cute how Ennui was holding Envy, the tiny emotion tucked in between her arms like a little kid. It reminded her of how Mum and Dad used to hold Riley, back when things were so easy.

Before she could get wistful, Joy relaxed back into her position next to Sadness, turning to the one emotion who had brought them all together like this. Anxiety laid in the centre of them all, tucked between Joy and Ennui. Her feet were kicking quickly, not like Fear’s terrified kicking, but more of a self-stimulating activity designed to help her relax. It did not appear to be as effective as she hoped, as the orange emotion was still tense.

Joy pursed her lips and propped her head up on her hands, looking up at the ceiling, mimicking Anxiety, who was doing the same with a wide-eyed stare. They lay in silence before she finally spoke.

“I don’t understand why you forgave me. I nearly ruined Riley’s life.”

Sighing, Joy glanced at Anxiety. “It wasn’t easy. I think the reason why I pushed you away was because I felt threatened by you. You reminded me of... me. O-Of what I couldn’t be for Riley. You were right, neither of us can choose who she gets to be. We can hope for the best for her, but she needs to be her own person.”

Anxiety fiddled with her fingers. “I know. It’s all just so scary... What if we mess it up and hurt Riley? What if I mess it up?”

“Then we try again the next day, and the next, and the next. Riley will still be here tomorrow, no matter how scary today seems, and we need to be there tomorrow, for her sake.” Joy placed her hand on Anxiety’s, and the other emotion stilled entirely, cautioning a glance towards her.

“Thank you, Joy. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no need to thank me. This was Envy’s idea.”

She laughed despite herself, nestling deeper into the blankets. Anxiety’s form relaxed enough so that she could comfortably rest her head on one of the many pillows, feathery hair splayed around her like the tail of a peacock.

Joy stared at her affectionately, at all the other emotions with a sense of love. Sure, they got on her nerves, and it was so very hard to be the only positive emotion in a sea of worry and negativity, but they were her family. She was protective of them in a similar way that she was protective of Riley, and it made her feel warm and fuzzy to have them all so close to her, no matter how much problems they caused.

She yawned, feeling her form sparkle around her in little glowing dots of happiness, and lied down, draping an arm over Anxiety. She then paused, wondering if that was okay, but she felt the smaller emotion relax and move closer to her, so she left it there. Sadness snored and pressed her back against Joys, making her feel surrounded by warmth and love.

Maybe, just maybe, it would all work out in the end. At least until tomorrow. There was always tomorrow.

#.log date #Inside Out #Inside Out 2 #Inside Out fandom #Inside Out Anxiety #Inside Out Ennui #Inside Out Joy #Inside Out Anger #Inside Out Fear #Inside Out Disgust #Inside Out Envy #Inside Out Embarrassment

41 notes · View notes

fandomfluffandfuck · 1 year ago

Note

First time I am using this and I am a lil unsure about it but you are one of my favoured writers out there at AO3 so here goes nothing:

#stucky Imagine a mute horny Bucky Barnes Post Hydra who tries to get 'lovesick and a lil dumb(when it comes to Bucky)' Steve Rogers to understand that he NEEDS... I just loved the thought of that slightly frustrated dynamic

Aw, you're real sweet. Thank you! Welcome to this side of the internet, lol, and thanks for sending an ask my way!

As for your idea--

YES!

I love this concept. It actually reminds me of two fics I've seen floating around:

"covert op" by mcwho

*this fic is more casual, almost a crack fic

"Beauty Lifts from the Dark" by the1918

*this fic is much more serious and contains omegaverse, pregnancy, and dealing with brain damage. But I think it relates to your ask still, so, check it out if you want!

Bucky isn't entirely nonverbal, and it's clear when he does speak that he is perfectly capable of both clear speech and clear thought. He just... doesn't seem eager to speak unless it'a necessary, and even then, it isn't eager, per say. More reluctant. Short sentences. Sometimes, just a single word or two. Information that can't otherwise be gotten across.

And Steve's not ever going to pressure him to talk more. If Bucky only ever wants to, every now and again, answer "yes" or "no" or tell Steve what he wants from the restaurant they're ordering from (as opposed to just pointing at the menu when they have physical or digital copies) then Steve can live with that. Steve will relish in simply having Bucky back with him. It's more than enough. Even if he does miss that smooth talking motor mouth he used to have. Sometimes. He can live without, though.

It's fine.

Sincerely, It's all good.

Steve can live with Bucky now being a quiet person--nonverbal, even. So long as Bucky is okay.

Sure, Bucky seems to have some trouble putting his emotions into words, but, hey, between growing up in the time they did, being told men couldn't express emotion, and all the emotions Bucky is feeling at any given time because of all he's gone through... Steve feels as if that's fair.

Bucky's therapist sometimes sends Steve emails--she knows he worries--and assures him that progress is being made, and, yes, Bucky does speak to her during their sessions. (And, no, don't take that personally, Steve. Bucky's connection to him is just as strong as it's always been, even if their conversations mostly consist of Steve motoring on and Bucky listening.)

Outside therapy, though, Bucky's just not too interested in speaking.

Sometimes it's a mental block, sometimes Bucky is too consumed by memories, sometimes Bucky didn't sleep enough or had to many nightmares, sometimes he's just exhausted, sometimes he wants to but can't, and sometimes he doesn't want to; there's a whole plethora of reasons Bucky can't or won't speak.

When it comes to voicing his need for... y'know. He wants to but can't.

He can't speak about how fucking wound up he feels these days.

An itch always under his skin, in dire need of a good, hard ranking with his fingernails to sate the urge. Electricity that just won't stop crackling, instead only getting worse and worse and worse. It sizzles and spits, vibrating through his veins whenever Steve looks at him, no matter how quick the glance is. Whenever their skin happens to brush--finger tips flirting as they walk, shoulders knocking in their little hallway, feet under the table, sitting too close together on the couch. Whenever Steve makes a suggestive sound, moaning about food, stretching in the morning or after a particularly good workout, or whatever. So many tiny things leave Bucky aching.

Desperately Bucky wants to just fucking spit it out, but his brain and mouth won't let him. The words get trapped in his body and bounce around, feeling it throughout. And. still. he. can't. say. it.

So, he sits. He stews. He waits.

He gets tired of waiting.

Bucky is a goddamn sniper, and he gets tired of waiting for his stupid boyfriend (is Steve even aware they're dating (again)?) to bring it up to him.

It.

Sex.

Bucky knows Steve wants it, too--he sees him looking, and more than that, he can feel Steve's ravenous gaze on him, following him like a predator eyes it's prey, but he never pounces. They have countless hours alone, there's only a few select people that are brave enough--stupid enough to come and see Captain America and his ex-assassin boyfriend. People who are especially loyal to Steve, either people that are like Steve (Sam) or like Bucky (Nat). So, it isn't like they have many interruptions.

So, the only conclusion is that Steve is stopping himself for some reason.

Fucking whatever. Reason. Steve's never had good reason. For anything. Bucky remembers that well. It might've been the first thing Bucky remembered about him.

Bucky assumes that the reason has to do with his inability to say the words. Fuckin' Steve--he always wants to, "talk it through," begging with those big blue eyes of his and the picture-perfect pout of his pink mouth.

Can't they just--

Just.

Do it?

What does a guy have to do to get some fucking dick around here? The more Bucky waits, the more he stews, the more frustrated he gets. He is not like food, stewing, and getting tender and soft, he is starved.

Apparently, a lot. Apparently, a guy's gotta do a lot, even though Bucky knows they're both frustrated. Steve might not show it, grumbly and stalking off when he can't get what he needs, but he's in the same place. Talking is hard. But that's gotta be it. That's gotta be the thing to give Steve the all clear because Bucky has tried everything else--

Skimpy clothing.

He figures the more skin he shows, the harder it will be for Steve to resist. But Steve is stubborn. Whatever he's waiting for, he doesn't get, and after an initial period of staring, jaw on the floor, cheeks pink, and eyes unblinking, following his every movement, he scrapes his eyes away and... doesn't look at Bucky anymore.

Nooo

Bucky tries to get his attention back when he's forcing himself to look away, but Steve has, at some point, mastered the art of looking just over Buckys shoulder instead of into his eyes.

Ugh.

Bucky will stare at Steve, trying to telepathically communicate, throw out your fucking morals and fucking ruin me, I know you want to, I am--I was very well acquainted with caveman Steve. Gimme that guy!

When it doesn't work, Bucky slinks away and growls, clenching his fists. He punches his pillow because he doesn't want to make Steve call someone to repair their wall (again).

Damn you, Rogers.

Showering multiple times a day.

Even when he hasn't gone to the gym, Bucky will take it upon himself to shower twice, sometimes three times a day. He's desperate, okay?

And there's nothing that should break a man like lounging around in a towel that's barely clinging onto you and nothing else for hours at a time, all exposed and wet. But. Steve isn't a fucking normal man, now is he?

Even when, with a towel low, low, low on his hips, Bucky brushes his fingers through his wet hair and then drags his hand down the side of his neck to his shoulder and tilts his head to the side to crack his neck, showing Steve the cut of his jaw, the curve of his exposed throat, and his hair. All things that Steve used to be obsessed with, or seems currently obsessed with. Even then, Steve doesn't do anything.

Once

ONCE he shifts in his seat, crossing his legs, and puts a pillow conspicuously over his lap but other than that-?

Nothing.

Bucky gets their couch, the armchair, and his own damn bed wet with all this lounging he's doing. Bucky, just to spite him, jerks off in the shower, rough and unashamed, leaving the bathroom door wide open, the water not hot enough to steam up the air. If Steve walked past, he'd be able to see everything.

If Steve sees, he doesn't comment. He doesn't turn more red than usual. He doesn't squirm more. He does do anything.

Bucky wants to growl at Steve. He wants to bear his teeth. He wants to roll over on the floor and show Steve his tummy and his expose his neck. He just needs it so bad. But none of those animalistic displays are productive. So. He doesn't. (See, Steve, the therapy is working! Ha!)

Fine.

Wordlessly, obscenely tonguing his cutlery during meals.

Bucky discovers that he doesn't have a gag reflex anymore with a spoon, sitting across from Steve at their dining room table--he doesn't want to remember where or when his gag reflex disappeared to. So he doesn't think about that. Instead, he just thinks about how Steve stares at him with that spoon in his mouth and his tongue flicking over the silver. Breathing so hard that his nostrils flare. Then, promptly choking on his own food, turning red from arousal and embarrassment and trouble getting oxygen.

Serves him right for not diving over the table and eating him for dinner instead, Bucky thinks.

Hmmph.

Intentionally eating with his fingers even when it doesn't really make sense.

Licking his fingers.

Holding little bites up to Steve to feed him, fingers in his mouth.

It all fits together, all the little things Bucky has started doing with food, trying to show Steve how bad he wants to be devoured himself. And when Steve stands his ground, it just escalates and escalates. Bucky goes from eating a little more thoughtfully, trying not to just hoark everything down like an animal, the serum demanding all too many calories, to basically fellating his food. More focused on getting dick than getting nourishment.

God, he's starved for it.

He's so fucking frustrated that he might just cry.

Would that get Steve to fuck him? If he broke down and cried and pawed at Steve's dick, would Steve finally break and fuck him until he was crying good tears. So far, anytime tears come out of him, he gets all of Steve's attention, but... it's mother-hen attention. Bucky doesn't want his back rubbed. He wants his hole pounded.

Jesus Christ.

Steve has a thick fucking skull. He just thanks Bucky for feeding him. He tracks the movement of Bucky's fingers and tongue and doesn't say anything. Anything at all.

Dammnit.

Bucky has to look away, desperate, frustrated tears burning in his eyes when Steve continues to not understand. He digs his fingernails into his palms and taps his fists softly against his thighs when he wants to punch something.

Grr.

It'd be amusing how much Bucky is grumbling and growling and feeling grumpy if it weren't so fucking irritated. He needs Steve.

Forming a sudden lip balm obsession, constantly re-applying it.

Steve likes his lips--he watches him when he talks, when he performs unspeakable acts on innocent food eats, when he licks his lips passively, when he's just sitting, watching TV.

Steve likes his lips.

So, he might as well give him something to look at.

Shimmery or glossy or matte lip balm. Flavored or not, scented or not. Bucky tries it all. He applies it without show or with an immense show. Testing Steve. What makes him react the most? What does he like to watch Bucky put on? What does he like to see Bucky wear.

Steve bites his own lip sometimes, watching. Steve swallows. Steve clenches his jaw. Steve sighs. Steve does nothing else. Steve doesn't put his fucking hands on Bucky.

FUCK.

Bucky's temper has run out.

Fuck this.

"Fuck me--" Bucky hisses, voice rusty, eyes narrowed like it's a challenge, and before Steve can even ask if he's serious, if he's absolutely sure, Bucky is there, beating him to the punch, "'m sure," he forces the words out, not because he doesn't want it but because words are still fucking hard. Not as hard as Bucky himself is, pressing tight up against Steve, crowding him in, and lowering his voice to an almost inaudible tone--impressive considering the both have enhanced hearing--"please?"

"Bucky," Steve murmurs, full of emotion, swaying into him, weak, as their their lips collide bruisingly.

Steve gasps. Bucky gets full body chills, tingles, shaking with it.

Y-e-s.

Every moment of this, the longer it draaaags out, the more he's on board with this. Kissing. Kissing. Lips sliding together wetly. Steve moans, and it feels like gold, liquid gold, sliding down Bucky's throat, and pooling deep in his belly. Inside him. He tastes Steve.

The way he moans.

God.

The way Steve bites Bucky's lower lip, the way he licks into his mouth, the way their teeth hit together accidentally when they get into it too much. Grasping as each other. Kissing.

JesusfuckingChrist.

Bucky is red-hot, glowing like molten metal. And every time Steve touches him, sparks fly. He's so affected that it's like Steve is the craftsman hammering soft metal, Bucky, changing its shape with every powerful strike.

Steve presses him harder into the wall. Punching the breath out of his chest. Tilting his chin up, fingers strong and demanding on his skin, and knocking their foreheads together. Eyes locked.

The hunger in Steve's eyes.

Christ.

Bucky's never felt so wanted.

Oh.

It makes him weak.

It feels like he's melting into the wall, fuck it, worse, like he's melting into the floor, knees weak, clinging onto Steve, breathless, soundless, and soaking in every wave of pleasure, barely keeping his head afloat in the ocean.

Steve's hands paw at him.

Bucky's mind whites out.

He rips Steve's clothes, unable to control himself. Steve moans, "yes-" drawn out and hot when Bucky's metal hand bites into his hip. Finally, finding purchase amongst the desperation.

His own clothes are torn off. Bucky arches into every pop of seams ripping, cloth, not clothes because it's now useless to cover anything, falling away. Leaving him naked, chest heaving, blood boiling, mouth agape, not a sound coming out. He's so overwhelmed. He can't breathe. He can't think. He can't--

He can't.

Steve is splitting him open.

Ah. Ah!

Steve is biting his shoulder, carving a space out for him inside his body, spit slick, burning alive with the stretch, burning alive--

Steve is alive.

Bucky is here with him and alive, too.

How-?

How is this real? It doesn't feel real. Too good to be true.

And this is--

This is all he wants forever.

Steve inside him; heavy, hot, throbbing, and fuck.

Oh, God.

Every thrust is better than the last. Hard. Deep. Bucky's jaw has dropped wider than he thinks is possible. His entire body is trembling. Vibrating. This is how he dies. Split open. Steve moaning and groaning and fucking whining, lips pressed hot and wet to Bucky's cheekbone. Sweat in rivers dripping down his skin.

Desperate.

Oh. God.

Bucky is sure his body is making a dent in the wall. Every thrust is brutal. It's exactly what they both need. Bucky's fingers are digging bruises into his flesh. His nails might be drawing blood. It feels too good to notice, though.

They're both feral.

The first audible sound that is ripped out of Bucky is a pant.

Then, a gasp.

Punched out of him by Steve.

Other than that, the evidence of his pleasure is almost entirely physical, shaking, drooling, limp, yet pressing back weakly whenever it's possible, too. It's not really verbal. It's certainly not loud. Somehow, it's very reminiscent of their days in the past, when they were always worried about getting caught because of the whole, y'know, being-gay-is-illegal thing. So, it doesn't bother either of them, just like old times, but caught up, at the same time, in the furious drum of now, now, NOW.

BUT

The near-silence from Bucky of is shattered all at once when as he's about to cum, dangerously close to the edge, his prostate getting beaten in the most idea way possible, bringing him to tears--Bucky lets out a rusty whine.

A whine.

High and needy and feminine. Coming out of his big, heavy chest. The antithesis of what this man should sound like. A pathetic little whine.

Fuck.

It's hot.

It works its way under Bucky's skin and under Steve's skin. Twinning. Tied together. Caught up in this mess.

Jesus. Fuck.

Bucky is too close.

He can't.

Yet, it only gets impossibly hotter when as he cums, entirely uncontrollable, there is nothing that could ever stop him, Bucky jerks and quivers and moans. Loud but wordless. Incoherent. Animal. Feral. This guttural, guttural sound of pleasure. Pleasure that's been ripped from his overwrought body.

He keeps cumming with Steve's answering bone deep groan of his name. It sounds so good to hear.

But Steve doesn't go soft even when he orgasms. He doesn't stop fucking Bucky either. He fucks Bucky through their orgasms. And Bucky's moan turns to helpless whimpers, but he clenches on. He's not going to let Steve stop. No.

No.

Keep going, keep fucking whines and moans and wordless sounds of pleasure from him.

Please.

Steve hears him loud and clear.

I hope you enjoyed 😘

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #fic rec #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky

108 notes · View notes

crowtrobotx · 10 months ago

Note

Lottie has a book report that she has to present in front of the class. Tell me about it.

“Siiiigh.” Kris pretended not to hear Lottie’s dramatic exclamation over the sound of the television - she didn’t get many chances to watch garbage reality shows and dammit, it was a rainy Sunday and she would enjoy it. Summer was coming to an end - soon her free time would be engulfed by Lottie’s robotics and theater club fundraisers, parent teacher conferences, and the ever growing list of back to school items she’d have to fist fight the lesser mothers for. Karl’s deafening snores from the armchair to her left necessitated subtitles and the occasional rewind but it was fine - she had wine and a box of Cheez-Its all to herself. Nothing was going to ruin this moment for her.

“Uuuuuuughhhh…” Don’t look. Be strong, woman. Kris couldn’t believe that Brandon was seriously thinking his batshit relationship with Stacia was going to work out. They were complete opposites, and not in the good way - not to mention Stacia was clearly only in this to further her influencer career. Kris privately was always rooting for a giant meteor to kill all the contestants, but she was truly addicted to the drama - it was one of her deepest, darkest secrets. She took a larger than average swig of her merlot when somehow yet another gratuitous pool scene graced the screen, adjusting her position on the couch in preparation for what was sure to be a very long and brain dead manufactured drama scene.

“MOOOOMMMM….” “....Yes, dear?” Kris didn’t make eye contact - maybe if she didn’t look at her daughter, she would give up. Like a tiny, space-bun sporting tyrannosaurus rex.

“Can you help me with my book report? Pleeeeaase?”

“You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out - you just need to focus instead of thinking ahead to whatever madness you and Papa have planned for this evening.” Lottie groaned on the opposite end of the couch before flopping back onto the pillows dramatically, a pile of worksheets in hand.

It was a partial truth. The science and math teachers from kindergarten all the way up until now - her freshman year of high school - had always sung her praises incessantly. “Lottie’s a genius,” this, and “Lottie should consider advanced courses,” that. Karl practically vibrated with pride each and every time - it was adorable, but Kris would jump off a bridge before she let him know that. Their daughter, like most children, put forth a lot of effort into what she was interested in, and why shouldn’t she? The arts were something else entirely. Kris realized with every passing year that those particular talents of hers had been totally overridden by whatever methods the Heisenberg genes used to weasel their way into every crevice imaginable. She’d never come close to failing, no, but more than one exhausted looking and cable knit sweater boasting English teacher had commented that it didn’t seem like she was really applying herself in their subjects. Kris always promised they’d work on ‘encouraging her curiosity’ at home before invariably having to physically restrain Karl from attacking them for the audacity of criticizing Lottie in any capacity. It was only a matter of time before he was totally banned from the school grounds..

“Please? You’re really good at this woo-woo stuff and if I don’t finish I won’t be able to help fix the motor in the Thunderbird later!” Woo-woo stuff? Kris grimaced. Wasn’t she a cool mom? She glanced at the boxed wine, visible on the kitchen counter the next room over. She couldn’t possibly be becoming…. A lame Pinterest mom?

“What book are you doing the report on?” Kris asked far too quickly. She pretended to focus back on the elimination ceremony playing out dramatically onscreen. “Frankenstein.” Of course. “That’s a good one,” Kris nodded, tearing her eyes away from the TV to look at her daughter, who was putting on the most suffering, miserable expression she could muster. It seemed she’d even dressed to look as pathetic as possible - an old, stained hoodie with the faded logo of her father’s garage still vaguely visible on the front and socks with holes in them poking out from beneath the throw blanket. “What’s the basis of the report?” Lottie held out a worksheet with five questions printed on it. It was less a formal essay and more a series of thought exercises she’d apparently be expected to present to the class once summer vacation ended. To Kris’s surprise, four of the five empty spaces had been filled with Lottie’s barely legible chicken scratch - but they appeared to be largely literal questions. It was the fifth and final question that seemed to be turning Lottie’s little brain into dust. “Consider the gender roles in the novel. Is it possible if Dr. Frankenstein’s love created the monster instead of him, that she would have been a better role model, and would her maternal nature have changed the creature’s outcome?” Kris read the question aloud, mildly impressed with the magnitude of what was being asked. “Well, the way I see it, you just need to assert your opinion and defend it. It’s actually kind of hard to get wrong.” Lottie worried at her lower lip. Karl mumbled something that might not have been English in his sleep. Kris took another sip of her drink, privately ruminating on the question herself - it had been a long time since she’d had to write a paper and even longer since she’d read the book.

“I mean… is she asking if a girl made the monster if the story wouldn’t have been so dark?” “Sort of,” Kris commented. She reached over and tucked a stray curl behind Lottie’s ear, much to her teenage offspring’s dismay. “Your teacher is asking you to think about how men and women are portrayed differently in the story, and if you think a being like the creation might have benefited from a gentler touch versus the hyper masculine figure he was given. Again, I don’t think there’s a wrong answer. You just need to think about it. Would you have done anything differently from Dr. Frankenstein?” Lottie blinked. “I would have given the creature chainsaw arms.” Kris shut her eyes and exhaled slowly through her nose. Chainsaw arms. A part of her wanted to pat her daughter on the head and tell her to carry on, just to make the first parent teacher meeting more interesting. She wondered how Mrs. Hernandez would work fucking chainsaw arms into a conversation. “Well, see,” Kris began, choosing her words carefully - a task that felt Herculean against the asinine conversation on the television. “That’s a thought. For sure. You could argue that women are entirely capable of unethical and insane decisions as well, and the gender of the creator matters less than their belief systems and moral compass. But I think you need to address how

Elizabeth is characterized - which is more traditionally feminine - and if you think the story is making a nature vs. nurture argument.” “I think that the creature would have been happier with chainsaw arms. And a laser eye - like Cyclops from X-Men.” “Wouldn’t we all,” Kris stared at the dregs at the bottom of her glass in dismay. Lottie scribbled something down hastily, giving her mother a false hope that perhaps she’d gotten a spark of inspiration and would finish her procrastinated summer work at last. Netflix asked Kris if she was still there, and she hastily smashed the “yes” button ten times in response. “You know,” Lottie began, mercifully either ignoring or missing the tightening of Kris’s fingernails on the arm rest. “I thought I’d like this book more than I did. I mean, maybe I’m crazy, but it seemed like the author was condemning what she thought was unethical science.” “Oh? Do you think?” Kris was torn between feeling proud and wanting her daughter to stop talking before she extinguished the little flame of hope she’d unknowingly ignited. “Yeah. It seemed like…. I don’t know. It’s weird, it’s almost like she was saying there’s a difference between scientific advancement and like… I don’t know, humanity? Like even well intended ideas can have monstrous outcomes?” Kris nearly fell out of her seat, her eyes glued to Lottie with baited breath.

The teenager held her mother’s gaze a moment before laughing and going back to frantic scrawling. “But chainsaw arms could have solved everything. There’s no problem that can’t be fixed if you can turn anyone who pisses you off into hamburger meat.”

This is a punishment for a horrible transgression committed in a past life. I know it. It has to be. Kris smiled and patted Lottie’s hand affectionately. Wordlessly.

“Snrk… HUH?! Shit… how long was I out?” Karl, having apparently not died in his sleep, sat up in alarm, looking from his wife to daughter like a man stepping out of a time machine.

“Long enough,” Kris said blankly, rising from her nest on the couch at last to refill her wine glass. “Lottie was just finishing her homework, why don’t you two head out to the garage while I start dinner?”

“Hell yeah!” Lottie exclaimed. “C’mon Papa, I had a great idea while you were sleeping…”

#asks #the chaos family is at it again #thank you for the asks/prompt that was not really a prompt LOL #grisailledreams

13 notes · View notes

imtryingmybeskar · 2 years ago

Text

Come Home Chapter Twelve

Joel Miller x F! Reader

Word count: 5755

Fluff, fluff and more fluff. With a little angst on the side. We finally get a small insight into what has been tormenting reader, along with Ellie behaving very strangely. And of course, it's the morning after the night before...

Spoiler for what Joel does for Ellie for her sixteenth birthday (as shown in TLOU 2). Its my favourite scene of either game and I can't wait to see Pedro and Bella bring it to life!

Come Home

Chapter Twelve - Dull The Pain

Music pounds so hard you can feel the vibrations in your chest. The neon-painted corridor you’re standing in is so tiny that condensation is running down the walls from the bodies packed tight together. There’s a queue. Why is there always a goddamn queue? You’d think by this point they’d design these places with twice as many stalls as urinals. You shuffle, tensing the muscles in your leg to distract from your bladder and then stand on tip toe, trying to see over the heads of the people ahead of you.

People…no, not people. Not anymore. No laughing. No chattering. No hopes or dreams. Just swaying, drunk on the chemicals of infection that the fungus is pushing. You walk among them and they do not attack, their skulls with their fungal-infested sockets merely turn to look at you impassively as you go, as if you're as dead as they are. You have to get out. But there is only one way through, one chance at salvation. The black doorway looms large. The door to the bathroom.

But then...it isn't. It's a different door. One that you keep your back to every second of every day. You try to stop your feet from moving forward but it's as if the fungus really is driving your motor functions and you have no control anymore. The music is gone, relegated to a time long dead, but your heart still jars with its pulse. The walls are blank now, a mysterious slate grey at the edges of the halo of your torchlight. You are alone, no infected to watch your progression and you feel a gaping loss for the poor company they provided.

The focused beam reflects off the metal bars of a medical cart on wheels, the grid reflection cast wide upon the wall behind it. Nothing of value remains inside, just scattered dusty records of patients who were lucky enough to live in a world where people cared enough to write down what ailed them.

Shattered windows with twinkling broken shards of glass teeth line one wall and inside...you can't bring yourself to look. The mural that your light sweeps against tells all. Smiling rabbits and squirrels and raccoons dance eternally as giant, gleeful toadstools oversee everything. The cots lie in haphazard rows under their collective gaze.

But worse, far worse awaits and some desperate part of you thinks that maybe if you don't put your gas mask on this time that the outcome will change. That the place, the portal you can now see at the end of the corridor will open out into sunny pastures and true peace. Your fingers betray you, slipping the constriction into place to protect your body even as your soul is screaming.

And in the black doorway at the end of the corridor, the too-large figure begins to emerge…

“Hey!”

You sit up, panting and sweating and breathing so hard you think you’re going to pass out.

“Hey.” The voice is gentler this time and you realise a big hand is resting on your arm, squeezing it slightly, leading you back to reality. Squinting against the morning light that spills around the blinds you follow the path of the hand, up an arm to see Joel sitting beside you with a look of concern on his face.

“You’re okay. Just a dream.”

“Yeah. Yeah…a dream,” you gasp. He sits in silence with you while your breathing returns to normal, then silently hands you a cup of coffee which you take with a wan smile.

“A man of your word I see, Miller. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He picks up his own cup from where it rests on your bedside table and warms his hands around it. “Thought I’d let you sleep in. Maybe that was a mistake.”

“Nah, I appreciate it,” you say and you suddenly realise how husky your voice sounds from both the sleep and the aftereffects of the drink. You clear your throat. “It was just a bathroom dream.”

“Just?”

“There may have been infected also queuing for the bathroom.”

“Ah,” he nods sagely. “A classic.”

You huff a laugh and pull down a sip of the bitter, hot, steaming coffee.

“You okay?” The soft concern in his voice startles you and you blink up at him stupidly, head still feeling a little like cotton wool.

“Yeah…yeah I’m fine. There’s just…a recurring dream I also have which was kind of blending in to the bathroom dream. You woke me up before the best part of that for which I’m very grateful.”

He frowns and nods and the simple gestures tell you he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Guessin’ you don’t wanna talk about it.”

You shrug and open your mouth to say “Not really,” but what comes out instead is “I didn’t used to be like this.”

“None of us did.”

Your own desire to talk takes you by surprise and you don't know if its because you're still half asleep or because you know Joel will understand but you take a deep breath before plunging ahead.

“No I mean, of course the outbreak changed me. But even after that I didn’t used to be like this. I lost someone. He travelled with me to keep me safe on some stupid fucking goddamn mission I cooked up and…I lost him.” You draw your knees up to your chest and hold your coffee cup on top of your knee cap.

“And the worst part is that its not even what happened to him that gives me these fucking nightmares. I carried on. I went alone to do what I thought I had to do and-“ You break off and shake your head, then look up at Joel with a bitter smile.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say. “This is just the post-alcohol depression talking.” Another swig of scalding coffee helps to stabilise you. Sharing was one thing. Re-living was quite another.

Joel bites his lip as he stares into the black depths of his own coffee.

“I lost someone that way too.” His voice is so quiet you’re not even sure you heard him correctly. “When I first met Ellie. There were three of us at first and…she got bit in the process of protectin’ her.”

His jaw clenches in angry thought and you know that he too can’t forgive himself for his mistakes. For all of it. For any of it. Regardless of if it was his fault, it was his fault. So you don’t try to sympathise, don’t spout any platitudes. Instead you wordlessly slide your hand over his and squeeze it hard. His dark eyes flick to yours and bore into your skull and at that moment you know that you were wrong. He’s not a closed book, not at all. He walks with the weight of what this world has made of him every single moment. He carries it, clutches it to him like something precious because he doesn’t believe he deserves redemption, much less that anyone could redeem him. Something shifts in the air between you. An understanding settles like blossom on river rapids.

“But then there’s Ellie,” you whisper, and the trembling breath he releases tells you all you need to know.

“Then there’s Ellie,” he agrees, and you finish your coffees in comfortable silence, hanging on to one another’s hands for life itself.

After a shower and fresh clothes you feel much better, though your head is a little painful and the sun glaring off the snow outside is much too bright for your liking. Following a smell that makes your stomach rumble, you head downstairs to find Joel cooking.

“Eggs? I didn’t have any eggs.”

“I do. Or did,” he replies. “You look like you need ‘em.”

“Thanks,” you say in a sarcastic tone, though you genuinely are grateful for both the food and the thought. “I’ll have to make you guys dinner soon.”

“You don’t have to,” he corrects you. “This ain’t a transaction.”

“No, but…I want to,” you shrug. “I like having you and Ellie here.”

He gives that coy little smile again as he focuses his efforts on the pan and you feel your chest swell with affection. How can someone so rough around the edges be so…well…so damn cute?

“Take over will ya?” he asks. “I just gotta go to the bathroom.”

He departs and you resume pushing what will be scrambled egg around the pan. When you had first met Joel you would never have thought that you could be alike. He exuded danger and coiled menace, and you had seen that come to the fore when faced with the situation in the store. But every time you had opened up to him, he had reciprocated. Little by little, bit by bit, he was showing you other facets of himself and you found yourself more eager for that than you would necessarily like. He had trauma, everyone did. But his and yours seemed to stem from a similar place, at least in part. He understood the need to push away those things that you simply couldn’t deal with and he made no judgements. He understood that in order to survive you sometimes had to cut pieces away from the person that you had been and solder those wounds shut. He was so kind – to you and Ellie at least - but you didn’t doubt for a moment that he had been truthful when he said he was very different ten years ago. You wonder just what he and Ellie had gone through to bring about such a change.

A knock at the door jolts you from your reverie and you turn the eggs off and move the pan before going to answer it.

“Hey,” Ellie says, a nervous energy permeating her as she absent mindedly rubs her right arm. “Have you seen Joel? I don’t think he came home last night.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say, stepping back and gesturing for her to come in. “He’s-“

“Have you put a bookcase up against that door?” Joel’s voice rings out as the stomp of his boots comes down the stairs. “I mean that’s one way to deal with it I guess-oh! Hey, Ellie.”

Ellie’s eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen them, darting between you and Joel and a sly smirk begins to creep over her face.

“Before you say anything, no,” you say firmly.

“No what?” she asks innocently.

“You know what. No.”

“Hey, it’s none of my business what fogeys get up to when they’re alone!”

“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” Joel huffs as he joins you at the foot of the stairs, and you have your own moment of sneaking amusement at the fact that he looks quite flustered as he shakes his head in disapproval at her.

“Yes Joel, I put a bookcase against that door. Out of sight, out of mind, right?” you say, not taking your eyes off Ellie. “As for what we got up to-“

“Oh fuck! I don’t wanna know!” Ellie exclaims, suddenly horrified.

“-it involved very clothed sleeping. No touching, no kissing, no se-“

Ellie stuffs her fingers into her ears and walks off humming loudly before exclaiming “Can I have some of these eggs?!” as soon as she walks into the kitchen.

Joel and you exchange an amused glance and you notice a creeping redness up his neck before he goes off to portion what he has made on to plates.

What you had told her wasn’t strictly true. You had awoken sometime in the night to find yourself pressed in tight against Joel’s back, your arm thrown loosely around his hip and your cheek against the soft plaid of his shirt. He smelled even better this close – warm sleep musk mixed with an indefinable scent of comfort that was purely him and you had gently removed your arm and turned over before you got too enamoured of it.

He had other ideas, giving a deep, sleepy groan that shot straight to your core and then flipping over so he was on his side with his chest now pressed against your back and his arm thrown around your waist, his movements clumsy in his semi-conscious state. You had held yourself stiffly and hardly dared to breathe, wondering if it was intentional, if he wanted more. The gentle snores that came almost immediately told you no, and you relaxed back into his embrace, smiling drowsily as you fell back to sleep yourself. The next time you had awoken it had been to his hand on your arm and the relief that you wouldn’t have to relive yet another nightmare. You have no idea if he knew what had occurred, and you weren’t about to bring it up.

The morning passes in a haze of pleasant domesticity. While Joel goes back to his house to shower and change, you take Ellie into town to do some shopping and pick up eggs for both you and Joel, as well as some fruit, vegetables, rice and chicken. Next stop is the armoury. The bows and arrows that you had retrieved from the town had made you realise that it had been a while since you had practiced with that particular weapon, and you wanted to make sure your skills were up to par for the next planned sweep by a scouting party. Ellie sets up the targets in the yard outside, and you spend an hour being completely outmatched by her abilities, though you do get better under her tutelage as time goes on.

As you make your way back towards your respective houses, you get the impression she wants to talk to you. She’s dragging her feet a little through the stony slush on the ground, pensively looking down at them. You allow her time, and eventually your patience wins.

“So…you and Joel huh?” she says. Her voice is more timid than you’ve heard in a while, as though she’s scared of your answer.

“No," you laugh. "I meant what I said. Nothing happened between us. You know sometimes I’ve had…difficulties adjusting to life here. He helped me through one of them last night. Not like that,” you hasten to add, feeling heat rising in your face. “He just…he was kind to me.”

She nods, her face a little less anxious and a little more Ellie, a small smile creeping over her lips. “But at the dance…you guys were kinda close.”

“I was pretty drunk,” you admit. “He looked after me, made sure I didn’t make too much of an ass of myself and then helped me home. That’s all.”

“Do you like him?”

The direct nature of the question catches you off guard and you splutter a little in your reply. “Like him? I’m too old for that high school shit, Ellie.”

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’,” she shoots back in an irritating sing-song voice.

You sigh and try to collect your thoughts. “Of course I like him. He’s a good man. And he’s already helped me through a lot. So have you, come to that.”

“You know what I mean,” she presses.

“Ellie, I can’t think about shit like that,” you say, bluntly. “Much as I’d like to, it’s just not possible. I let myself get close to people and then they die. Chris…Jacob…A-Alex-“ The litany stops and so do you, squeezing your eyes tight against the memories that threaten to invade. You take a deep breath and open your eyes to look at the girl ahead of you. “It’s too hard.”

“And what if they don’t? Die I mean.”

You frown and try to make your next words as gentle as possible. “But everyone does. It’s just a matter of when.” Before she can formulate a reply, you carry on, trying to bring a levity back to the conversation as you continue walking. “I’m not taking your old man away from you, don’t worry.”

“Not what I’m worried about.” The reply is waspish and it takes you by surprise.

“Well then, what’s this all about?”

“Never mind. Just forget it.”

“Hey.” You stop again and gently touch her shoulder. “If there’s something bothering you and you don’t want to go to Joel you can talk to me. You know that.”

“Sure,” she says, nodding, but there is nothing else forthcoming and you walk the remainder of the journey in silence, wondering if you’ve somehow managed to already fuck up your friendship with her.

The afternoon is spent beginning to tackle the garage that came with the house. There’s not too much in there for which you’re grateful – some standard junk that you sort by usefulness. A pile for you, a pile to donate to the supplies in Jackson and stuff that you think should probably be thrown away. Then you clear the cobwebs and dust and sweep up as much as you can. The light is beginning to fade as you stand tall and stretch out your back. Maybe tonight you should use your bath as intended, though you’re not sure of the wisdom of using that much hot water in one go. Deciding to shower instead you open up the garage door to leave, but before you can you hear a flurry of raised voices from next door.

“Jesus, Joel. Can’t you just fucking leave it alone?”

“No, I can’t. Not when you’re bein’ pissy with me for no goddamn reason!”

You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to intrude on anything so personal and you definitely don’t want to think about the possibility that you’re the reason for Ellie’s bad mood that she’s now taking out on Joel. As you exit the garage as quickly and quietly as you can you hear Joel’s voice again.

“Ellie? Where are you goin’? Ellie!” Then the distinct sound of Joel’s side gate slamming hard and his quiet curse of “Goddamnit!”

You creep up your back steps and your hand is on the door handle and about to turn it when –

“Uh. Hey.”

You close your eyes against the thought of the conversation that will follow, but turn and speak to Joel who is standing in his yard looking both angry and a little ashamed.

“Hey.”

“So…guessin’ you heard all that.”

“I wasn’t trying to, I swear,” you protest. “I was just finishing clearing out some of my garage and-"

He’s shaking his head. “Naw. S’ok. We musta been pretty loud. Not used to havin’ neighbours still I guess.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck in an embarrassed sort of way.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. I just…I don’t get that kid sometimes.”

You lean against the wooden railings of your porch and take hold of the top of it, feeling the paint crumble a little under your hands.

“But you do remember what it was like to be fifteen?”

He scoffs and folds his arms. “I guess.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She just needs some time to work out whatever’s bothering her.” Joel nods, but his jaw is still set angrily and his eyes are faraway as he stares toward the place that she stormed away.

“I uh…” You grip the railing more firmly, anxiety swirling in your stomach at your imminent confession. “I think it might be my fault.”

Joel looks taken aback. “What, you guys have a fight or somethin’?”

“No…yes? I don’t know really.”

“Look, why don’t you come over? I don’t really wanna discuss this outside in the dark when I’m not wearin’ a coat.”

“Understandable. I’ll be right there.”

You remember to grab the eggs you had got for him before crossing to his side of the fence and knocking on his front door.

“Come on in,” he calls from inside.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had been expecting in Joel’s house, but the first impression that hits you is that this is a home. The hallway lies in front of you and opens up to his living room, along one entire wall of which is a huge, beautiful bookshelf, packed with ornaments, framed pictures, video cassettes, DVDs, books and magazines. His furniture actually matches – a brushed suede settee in beige with a reclining chair off to one side and a window seat also upholstered in the same, all with plump, welcoming cushions on them. He was correct in saying that it is more modern than your house, but not by much. It does, however, exude a charming middle class quality that is distinctly lacking in yours.

You don’t get a chance to be nosier than that before he’s calling you, and you follow the sound of his voice into the delicious warmth of his kitchen, which is fitted in shades of warm white wood, a large central unit in the middle of it all against which he is leaning, his back toward it and arms outstretched behind.

“Drink?” he offers.

“Tea?” you ask hopefully, and he nods and begins to prepare it.

“So what happened?”

What did happen? You don’t really have a good answer for him, so you start from the beginning.

“We did some shopping – here’s your eggs by the way – and then we practiced some archery. Well, I practiced, she told me where I was going wrong. And then on the way home she seemed to have something on her mind and when I tried to talk to her about it she just shut down.”

“Any idea what it was about?” his voice is full of concern and you realise you can’t keep the details from him, no matter how much it might embarrass you.

“Well she…she asked about us.” He raises a questioning eyebrow at you and you plunge ahead. “ ‘You and Joel huh?’ were her exact words. I told her again that nothing like that had happened last night. And then she asked-well she asked if I liked you. I said of course I did, you’ve been nothing but kind and generous to me. Both of you. But she meant…well, you know. And when I said that I can’t think of that kind of stuff because…well because of the past, she just shut down.”

“Hmm,” Joel says, his back to you as he grabs two cups and places them on the counter. “Anythin’ else?”

“I told her...I told her everyone dies,” you blurt out. “And that’s why I can’t get close to anyone. I thought…I thought that being who she is and living the life she has that she would understand that. But maybe…she’s so young. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so blunt about it. And I said-“ You take a deep breath before continuing. “I said that I wasn’t going to be taking you away from her and she said she wasn’t worried about that and that’s when she stopped talking completely. I’m sorry if I overstepped. Or if I was insensitive.”

He continues to make the tea in silence, his back to you and your anxiety moves even harder through your veins.

“Joel? Did I…did I fuck up?”

He sighs before turning to you and handing you a steaming cup that smells wonderfully of apple and winter spices.

“No, I don’t think you did. Comin’ to Jackson has been an adjustment. Well, you know yourself…Sometimes she confuses the hell outta me and I just wonder if I’m too old to be raisin’ a teenager. Especially now. What the fuck do I know about what she’s goin’ through?”

“Well,” you say slowly, picking your words carefully so as not to betray any of Ellie’s confidences. “I never raised a teenager. Or any kids for that matter.” You stop, take a breath, get a firm grip on yourself. “But you know some of what she’s been through because you lived it too. Its hard…now you’re safe. The stuff you couldn’t allow yourself to feel, it starts to come through anyway no matter how much you might not want it to. And so much stuff is so much more important at her age. Being liked by her peers. Finding out who she is. That’s all still there but we got to do it in high school. I’m not saying high school was great, but there were things you took for granted y’know. There were lots of people to bounce off and figure shit out. She has to find her own way. I guess…all you can do is always be there for her.”

Joel nods slowly, seeming to absorb your words. “I will,” is all he says firmly before taking a sip of tea.

You relocate to the living room, where you carefully put your steaming cup on a coaster on the table while Joel lights the gas fire that sits under an ornamental mantelpiece.

“Ooooh fancy,” you tease.

“I actually prefer yours,” he says, collapsing onto the soft cushions with a slight groan on the other side of the couch from you. “Nothin, like an open fire.”

“Your house is beautiful,” you say, looking around and taking it in again. “Guess this is what you get when your sister-in-law runs the joint.”

He grins softly. “Ellie chose it.” His face suddenly clouds. “You think I should go after her? I’m kinda worried. She has a history of…runnin’ off.”

“If you want to,” you reply gently. “And I’ll help if you want that too. But if you find her before she wants to be found, would it make things worse? I mean…you don’t think she’s gone out out, do you?”

Both of you look outside simultaneously, your eyes drawn to the darkness beyond the windows by the horrific notion.

“I’m goin’ to the stables,” Joel says as he puts his own tea on the table and stands, the firmness of his voice still not enough to quell the faint note of panic you can hear underneath.

“I’ll go look around town,” you say, standing too and grabbing your coat from where it lay on the back of the couch.

Before either of you get any further, you hear a scuffling on the porch and then the sound of the door opening. Joel moves quickly into the hall and his relieved sigh of “Ellie,” is enough to make your stomach untwist itself. Faint murmuring reaches your ears and you debate sneaking out of the back door to give them the time they need together. You don’t get a chance to make a move before Ellie is coming around the corner, looking at the floor slightly shamefaced and twisting her fingers together.

“Hey,” you greet her. “I was just gonna go. Sorry to interrupt-“

“No, no,” she says, “Its…its cool. Stay.” Joel nods his agreement behind her and you take your coat off again. A slightly awkward silence falls between the three of you before Ellie ventures, “So…you guys wanna play cards?”

The peace offering is taken up and the evening ends up as so many of them have recently, with stupid jokes and playful teasing and smiles all around. After Ellie beats you and Joel for the third time in a row, the crowing becomes almost unbearable and to make it stop you offer her something you know she won’t be able to refuse.

“Hey, Ellie?”

She gives a tiny delicate cough. “I think you know that’s not my name right now,” she says somehow managing to sound both prim and full of glee.

“Fine! Supreme Queen of Go Fish and Jackson in general-“

“Yes, peasant loser? What can your Queen do for you?”

“You want your Christmas present a little early?”

All pretence drops from her as she sits forward eagerly. “You got me a present?”

“Sure did. And Joel said he’d be more than willing to help you use them.”

Ellie says “Them?” as Joel says “What now?” and you laugh as you rush out of the house to collect the skates. You place them into one of the many boxes that you had emptied out of the garage this afternoon and inwardly curse your impulsivity and bemoan the fact that you hadn’t made it look nicer for her before heading back to Joel’s.

“Thank you,” she breathes as you hand her the box, her eyes bright with excitement. When she opens them, her face falls just for a second. “Oh! Thank you. But I-uh-I don’t know how to skate.”

“Well I thought I could teach you,” you smile. “Or Joel can. He’s not half bad when he’s not falling on his ass.”

Joel covers his eyes with his hand as Ellie giggles. “I ask you to keep one goddamn secret,” he jokes.

“Yeah, I’d like to learn,” Ellie says happily. “Is this where you went earlier in the week when you were “scouting”?”

“I got these from when we actually did go on patrol through that town. But earlier in the week we were scouting, just not for supplies. There’s a good lake not far from here. It’s safe, the ice is thick enough. Tested and approved by Joel’s ass and my knees.”

“One time! I fell one time!” Joel protests. “Pretty good considerin’ I haven’t skated in almost thirty years!”

“This is so cool! Thanks,” Ellie smiles happily. She stands, clutching the box to her chest. “Well, I’m gonna leave as the undefeated Queen and turn in.”

“Chicken,” teases Joel.

“I am making a tactical retreat,” she replies haughtily. “G'night, fogies!”

Joel grins fondly after her as she departs. “Night, Ellie.”

You wait until you hear the door close softly behind her before asking what you want to.

“She okay?”

“She’s fine,” Joel reassures you. “Just needed some time. And while we’re still on the subject of gift givin’ I have a favour to ask you.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“It’s Ellie’s sixteenth in April. Now I got an idea of what I wanna do for her, but I’m gonna need your help. I’m plannin’ to take her to a museum. Its a few days ride out."

“What museum?”

The Wyoming Museum of Science and History. She loves space, thought I’d take her to see the exhibits if there are any left. But it won’t be much of a birthday if we’re fightin’ off infected every step of the way. I need your help to check it out, clear a path to it. You up for it?”

“Damn straight,” you say with a smile. “I love a museum. And no one can tell me not to touch anything now!”

Joel relaxes back into the couch, a relieved smile on his face. “Thanks. I was gonna ask Tommy originally, but he’s got so much shit to do with the dam that I woulda felt bad takin’ him away from it.”

“Not a problem. Might be fun. Apart from the possible infected. When do we go?”

“Not for a while. Not till the weather gets a little better. We’d need to go partway anyway, sweep those areas once the snow clears and make sure it’s all okay.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You drain the remnants of your tea and then stand. “I better get going too. Otherwise she’s gonna think there really is something going on between us.”

“Before you do, just…hold on a sec, okay?”

Joel springs up from the couch and retrieves a small parcel wrapped in brown paper from one of the shelves on the bookcase. He hands it to you with a smile.

“Since you’ve decided we’re doin’ Christmas presents early.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. “Oh shit, Joel no. I didn’t get you anything. I mean, you’re more than welcome to pick through the stuff I found in the garage, but unless you REALLY like old copies of classic car magazines you might be shit outta luck.”

“Its okay. Honestly, sharin’ your coffee has been more than enough. Well go on. Open it.”

A rush of warmth and excitement trills through you. The presents you and Chris had managed to exchange each year had been tokens at best. This felt like...well it felt like-

You gasp as you unwrap the book to find a beautifully embossed book of John Keats poetry in your hands. Your eyes rove over the cover, not quite comprehending that you actually had a copy in your hands and more, that Joel had given you something so precious and meaningful.

“Ellie said he was your favourite.” His gravelly voice breaks into your shock and you manage to nod at him, your eyes suddenly watery.

“Thank you. So much. This is…this is incredible.” You skim through the pages, to find them barely touched by the ravages of time. Even the cover is only mildly battered. “Where did you even get this?”

“I might’ve been on a sweep with Tommy and we may have come across a bookstore. I got me some more Game of Thrones books too, don’t you worry.”

You laugh, but it sounds like half a sob and half a hiccup when you do.

“Thank you,” you whisper again, managing to tear your eyes away from the book to look at him instead.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly.

He walks you down the hall to the door and when he opens it, instead of stepping through immediately you move forward to hug him, your arms barely able to circle the breadth of his shoulders. You feel him tense at the contact, but before you can pull away and apologise you feel his arms come tentatively around your back, holding you a little closer. His beard is prickly against your upper cheek, his muscles hard under your hands, his scent once again filling your nose and before you allow yourself to get dragged too deeply into that undertow you pull back.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

“Goodnight,” he smiles softly, dimple winking in his cheek.

The short walk back to your house feels like you’re walking on air. The thoughtfulness and beauty of the gift is unparalleled, the emotions spiralling uncontrollably from you are all blissfully good. Tonight, the tub is just that and you barely even contemplate getting in before heading toward the soft welcome of your bed. You lie there for a moment, thinking about the warmth of Joel's hands on your back and the soft light in his eyes when he saw your joy at his gift. You turn over to hug the pillow that his head had laid on, wrapped in his comforting scent and smiling into the darkness.

Taglist - @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities @deadhumourist @pedrostories @abbyhaslongshorts @celebrtyskinz @majahu @sanscas @myloveistoolittle @ohthemisssery

Next chapter

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel tlou x you #joel tlou x reader #joel tlou x f!reader #joel tlou x female reader #joel tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic

88 notes · View notes