#when everything hits you like a fucking tsunami

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[keferon]

May I ask what were the best transformers media you ever saw/read?

Well Transformers Prime, Transformers 1986 and IDW comics are having the first place that’s for sure

And then the second place is kind of shared by Fall of Cybertron, Exodus, Prime wars trilogy, Robots in disguise(2001) and Transformers One.

The third place goes to G1, Animated, Earthspark, Armada, War for Cybertron Netflix series, Aligned Robots in disguise, Bumblebee, Rise of the Beasts and Cyberverse because I only liked some little parts of them.

And then I also saw some of the Bay movies, Victory and Headmasters and didn’t like them at all.

Separate first place for J-Decker. It is not exactly Transformers but it is a show about giant robots and I loved it

[nottswitch]

sisters bf!theo would so stick his fingers in your mouth while doing doggy to shut you up bc you tried suggesting that you two should stop hooking up when he’s literally pounding into you

── ⌗ sister’s bf!theo shuts you up when you suggest ending your situationship

haven’t written in more than two weeks, so forgive me is this is a little rusty, but !!! i missed sister’s bf!theo so much, and my hands have been itching to write some more for the bastard

warnings: 18+ mdni, cheating, p in v, fingers in the mouth, slight gagging, spanking, mentions of blood, degradation, cursing

it always came in waves, like a tsunami that the coast guard failed to warn about – the scalding hot shame, the guilt you felt whenever you sister’s boyfriend’s cock stretched you out in ways you’d never have imagined if it wasn’t for him. it was wild, the things theo did to your body, making it crave him more and more after every stolen encounter in your room, when your sister wasn’t around – or even if she was, to be honest; in her room, busy with her college homework, or in the shower, unaware of what was happening on the other side of the wall.

but tonight, you were in luck – she went out on a girl’s night with her friends, and theo wasted no time. the second he texted her an ‘i love you, baby, take care’, he was out of the door, in his car, and then, ten minutes later – in your bed. you were on your hands and knees before you knew it, but your face wasn’t pushed into the pillows this time – no, when your sister wasn’t around, theo wanted to hear you. he needed to know how fucked out you were, how good he was making you feel. at the back of your mind, you were aware it wasn’t really about your pleasure, it was much more about stroking his ego, but… you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when his cock was sliding in and out, making you drip all over your thighs and the sheets, making you–

fuck. why did theo have to leave his phone on the bed, right next to you? did he do that on purpose? you wouldn’t even put it past him. the screen lit up with a notification. a text from your sister, a ‘love you too’, and there it was again – the guilt, the shame, everything all at once, crushing down. theo didn’t even look – he was too busy watching your ass bounce with each of his thrusts, and the screen dimmed in a few moments, untouched and ignored.

"we–" no, you couldn’t string a coherent sentence together, you felt too fucking amazing to think. theo barely heard a word somewhere between your shameless moans, but didn’t pay attention. his hand came down on your asscheek with a sharp slap as he was enjoying the freedom of being as noisy as he wanted. plus, the spanking always made a good job of shutting you up, and he didn’t want you to talk right now – he only wanted the moans and the whimpers.

but for some reason, you just couldn’t let it go. maybe it was because for the first time, you saw the evidence of your sister’s love for theo while he was balls deep inside of you. maybe you’ve just been suppressing it for too long. but when theo’s cock hit your cervix and a jolt of pained pleasure shot through your body, you managed to breathe out: “weshouldn’tbedoingthis.”

“what?”

theo had absolutely no idea what you had just said, because your pussy clenched around him at the same exact moment, squeezing his cock to the point he nearly came on the spot. but he managed to hold off, his hand digging into your ass to steady himself. "the fuck you just said, piccola? why are you even talking?” he muttered in-between breathless pants, his hips snapping to your body with increased speed.

"we shouldn’t–” god, it was hard, talking while you were being railed mindless by a man whose purpose was to stop you from talking. "we shouldn’t be doing… this…” somehow, the words finally came out, followed by another string of lewd, loud sounds from your mouth.

you could hear theo sigh behind you. or maybe it was just a gasp of pleasure, because his thrusts became sloppier, signalling his approaching orgasm. however, just a split second later, your mouth was filled; theo’s fingers were plunged almost to your throat, making you gag – why the hell were they so long, anyway?

"dumb, dumb, dumb.” each word was punctuated by a rough thrust and a slap on your ass. you were tempted to bite his fingers off, but only managed to scrape the skin a little bit. it seemed to turn theo on even more. "can’t believe i hit the dumbest duo in the world. one has no idea i’m fucking her sister right under her nose, and the other thinks i care.”

even his cock rearranging your guts couldn’t stop you from finally sinking your teeth into his index and middle fingers in silent retaliation. theo hissed, but didn’t pull out, even when a metallic tang of blood hit your tongue. you felt a strange sense of satisfaction, knowing you ripped through his skin – at least this way, you managed to get under it.

"you’re just asking for it, aren’t you, piccola?” theo muttered in frustration, realizing he’d have to teach you a lesson and therefore, hold back on finishing. "you’re gonna get it. you’re gonna fucking get it.”

in one fluid motion of his, you were manhandled onto your back, and your legs were flipped over his shoulders. he was clearly enraged, and the previous shame and guilt squeezing your chest were quickly replaced by a sick kind of excitement. you did it.

"let’s fucking pray she doesn’t come back early.”

more.

[solarismoons]

Astronomy (Prologue)

‘It’s astronomy, we’re two worlds apart’

Wally Clark x fem!reader

Summary: After suffering a near-fatal fall off the school roof, you started seeing things that weren’t actually there. Or- people who weren’t actually there.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, addiction, drugs, lots of angst.

next chap.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your legs dangled off the roof, the moon's dim light illuminating the grass below. Tears filled your waterline and your eyebrows pulled together. Silent sobs filled the night air, getting lost in the whispers of the wind.

There was no sugarcoating it, no easy way to say it–Your life fucking sucked. Drugged out Dad, your Mom out of the picture, the whole nine yards. If your life were a shitty low-budget movie, you and Nicole would’ve laughed at the lazy plot of it all.

Nicole.

The poison of her name ran through your veins and tore a hole through your heart. You’d grown up with her, she was there through your worst moments, and you were there for hers. But when you hit middle school, it wasn’t you and her against the world. It was always Maddie.

Maddie. Maddie. Maddie.

You truly had nothing against her. You had nothing against her, or Simon, or even Xavier of all fucking people. But everything in the past few years was always about her. The two of you were simply friends by extension. Two separate people pushed into the same friend group. But still, it seemed like the whole world revolved around her.

Nicole always had an obsession with Maddie. What she ate, what she wore, how she decorated her locker…Down to how she fucking spoke. Nicole copied every. Single. Part of her. You never knew if she wanted her, or if she wanted to be her. Whatever it was, it drew you two apart. You slowly started losing your best friend.

The pain and loneliness was beginning to be too much. You felt so suffocatingly alone, the only person you could confide in being lost in a la-la land of infatuation.

So, you found yourself on top of the school roof at 2 in the morning. It wasn’t high enough to die. Maybe high enough to make you hurt. High enough so someone would actually care for you. The thought of jumping crossed your mind- just for a split second. It was a fleeting thought, soaring quickly through your head like a turbojet.

Tears began to spill harder, gushing out of your eyes like a fountain. Your sobs became louder. You grounded the meat of your palms into your eyes, desperate to stop the tsunami from streaming down your face.

Behind you, words faded in and out of the breeze, and heavy whispers echoed across the silent roof.

“Is… she…”

“I….do- know…”

It was bits and pieces of phrases you shouldn’t have been hearing. Phrases that broke through the barrier of life and death itself. You didn’t know it at the time, though. Still, you whipped your head around, your lip quivering just slightly. Shadows faded in and out across the roof, the air seemingly moving in the wrong direction.

Your sobbing quickly died down, and you squinted, your head beginning to swim with confusion. The shadows shifted in and out of reality, almost. You would not have noticed them if you hadn’t been looking so meticulously.

The phantom-like whispers snuck closer as if reaching out for you. Your heart began to pick up speed, beating against your chest painfully. Breath hitching in your throat, you hastily stood up. Palms slick with sweat, goosebumps bursting across your skin, legs trembling, you yelled out, begging them to stop.

You couldn’t comprehend the gravity of your situation, couldn’t comprehend what the hell you were seeing. You took a step back, your heel hooking on the lip of the roof. Gravity took control, yanking you down over the edge.

The last thing you saw was a large hand stretching out towards you.

────────────

Wally loomed over you, his head tilted. Eyebrows knitted together with concern, he glanced over to Rhonda and Charley, who seemed oddly standoffish.

“Is… Is she okay?” He questioned.

Rhonda rolled her cherry lollipop against her cheek, “I don’t know Moose, maybe she’s just sleeping?”

Wally narrowed his eyes at her. Why couldn't she understand the urgency of the situation? Here was a girl, lying half-dead on school property with a puddle of blood pooling beneath her head.

“What if she dies?” Wally slid his hands into his pockets, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. His teeth sunk into the plush skin.

Charley frowned, wringing his hands together. “I mean… We can’t really do anything, Wally,” He reasoned. Wally knew he was right. If you died, you died. He couldn’t stop it. But it didn’t stop him from feeling any less awful. He felt… Drawn to you–in some incomprehensible way.

The group whipped their heads back down to you when you stirred. A soft groan escaped your lips. They watched with bated breath as you brought a shaky hand to the back of your head. You pulled your fingers back to your eye line, your pupils dilating at the smear of crimson.

The back of your skull throbbed with a searing, blinding pain that drew out another groan. You scrunched your eyelids together, fuzzy dots crowding your vision. At the same time, Wally crouched down next to you, fingers sprawled out on the soft grass.

Soft earth rustled beneath the soles of Rhonda’s boots as she turned on her heel. Charley glanced at you, then at Wally, then back at Rhonda. Confliction flashed across his soft features. As bad as he felt, there was nothing he could physically do.

“We should probably go,” Charley grumbled.

Still, Wally looked back down at you. He brought his fingers a feather’s touch away from your jaw before drawing them back. As much as he wanted to reach out to you, to help you, he couldn’t. He sat back on his haunches and took one last look at your pretty face.

Charley and Rhonda were halfway across the field when your eyes slowly cracked open. Wally’s eyes widened as you looked at him. Your eyes didn’t look through him. They looked at him. Your gaze pierced through the noise of the wind around you. It locked onto him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t possible. You were living. Breathing. Your soul was still tied to the land of the living. You still had a fucking pulse, a heartbeat.

“What the fuck…” He whispered.

You don’t remember what happened next. Only that you scrambled up, despite the agony in your head and the strain in your bones, and found yourself at home just minutes later, shoes caked in mud.

You don’t know what the fuck you thought you saw. It was a hallucination. Your brain had conjured his image up, projected him in front of you. You fell off the roof, for fucks sake.

Still, your eyes glided over to a picture on the wall of your living room. In it, stood your dad and his high school best friend--Who died 40 years ago.

[ang3l0fthursday]

“Take care of me?”

sub!matt sturniolo x Fem!reader

part 2

warnings: smut | no actual p in v | fem!receiving oral | dry humping?| face riding| sub matt x soft dom reader | not edited !!!

matt is blue

reader is pink

word count: 1k

author notes: please let me know if i missed anything + i’m new to this! i welcome any feedback as long as you’re not mean about it!

i open my eyes, the sunset gleaming just right through matt’s bedroom window. i stretch my arms out, accidentally bumping my knuckles on the bed frame, right after i hear my hands hit the bed frame i here shuffling outside the door before it opens, revealing my boyfriend matt, he was wearing sweatpants, a black t shirt and his hair was tousled from filming whatever it was him and his brothers had gone and recorded.

“hi ma, did i wake you?”

“no baby you didn’t just- just coincidental timing i guess” i say while letting out a yawn.

matt turns towards his desk, throwing off his shirt. As he does so i admire the way his arms and shoulders move

god he looks so good.

“what’d you do while i was gone mama?”

matt walks towards the bed, pressing his knee down onto the mattress and making his way over to me, laying his cheek down on my stomach, his hand going to trace shapes on my hip.

“not a lot. i fell asleep about thirty minutes after you guys left”

my hands card through his soft brown hair

before speaking again. “come here baby”

matt made his way up to me, looking down slightly from the angle he layed at. my hands immediately grabbed his face, bringing his face down too me. his lips met mine.his beautifully soft lips.

matt moaned into the kiss, i felt him harden against my thigh.

i pushed him up by his shoulders.

“matty do you think- uhm. that you can just take care of me tonight ?”

he smiled, “ofcourse.”

he pecked me one last time before slowly undressing me, starting with my sweatpants, slowly moving them down my legs while looking up at me. Next he went for my shirt.

i heard his breath hitch when he saw i wasn’t wearing a bra

“god you’re so pretty”

i giggled before he removed my panties and flipped us over.

“matt?”

“i wanna try something new tonight is that okay?”

“okay” i smile at him

“tell me to stop and i will okay?” he pecked my lips before laying down

i gave him a confused expression, then he started moving me up to hover above his face.

oh.

he looked up at me to look for anything sign of a no

i simply smiled, as did he when he saw my response to his worries

his hands wrapped around my thighs, bringing me just above his mouth, i felt his hot breath against my core

holy fuck.

his toungue managed its way to my clit. swirling in shapes i couldn’t identify

“fuck- matt oh my god”

he hummed in response, the vibrations traveling straight through me.

i moaned, moving to rest forward on the bed frame

i tried so hard to conceal my moans so neither chris or nick would hear but it was so hard with the way matts toungue traveled through my folds.

all of the sudden i was hit with a new sensation, matt’s toungue slipped inside of me at the same time his fingers fumbled with my clit.

“fuck! matt- oh my god! fuck that feels so good- d-don’t stop!”

he hummed again, his vacant hand moved behind me

i slightly peeked back to see he was massaging the tent in his pants

“fuck matty you can’t even focus on just me can you?”

he removed himself slightly, his fingers still making circles on my clit, to say “i’m sorry mama i can’t help it sometimes. you’re just so beautiful”

as he reattached himself i felt everything grow tighter. his toungue moved faster inside and on my clit. everything started to feel like it was coming together inside of me. the knot in my lower tummy slowly coming undone

“holy shit matt- i’m gonna- fuck!”

before i could finish my sentence my orgasm crashed over me like a tsunami.

my hips started rocking back and forth, riding myself through my high.

as i felt my orgasm slowing down, i also felt matt start to slow down

“one more baby, one more can you do that for me?”

“of course mama” he beamed that beautiful smile of his up at me before licking a stripe through my folds,my jaw going slack and my eyebrows knitting together

“holy shit matt!”

the though of nick or chris’s hearing me had completely slipped my mind at the moment. it only felt like me and matt existed.

i already felt my second orgasm approaching when all of the sudden matt grunted before flipped us over, my ass landing on the pile of pillows i had earlier napped on and my back pressing against the bed frame

“holy shit!” my left hand carding through his soft hair, gripping only slightly. i don’t wanna hurt my boy of course.

my right hand made its way behind me to grip the bed frame.

i noticed matt’s hips starting to thrust down onto the mattress, faster and faster

at the sight of that the cord in my stomach suddenly snapped, my hips thrusting back and forth to once again. matt helped my ride out my orgasm flicking my clit with his tongue

he pulled his mouth off of me to let out a loud moan, his hips moving up and down on the bed, he gripped at my hips, i pulled him up to rest his head on my chest.

“fuck- fuck fuck ! oh my god!! can i cum mama please?” he looked up at me through his lashes.

how could i ever say no to that?

“ofcourse my sweet boy.”

his face was pressing into my chest, his jaw going slack and his hips stuttered as he wimpered my name.

“fuck! please oh my god!” he panted before slipping his arms under me and he held me tight while working himself through his orgasm

i expected him to stop but he kept going.

“baby don’t overstimulate yourself”

“mmm- fuck!” he thrusted one last time and stopped. he panted against my breasts

“fuck i better go get cleaned up.” he spoke after calming down

“on second thought matty how about i take care of you too.”

[apocalypseornaw]

Things Happen

Dean Winchester x Reader

When you and Dean get hit with a powder on a hunt you're not sure what's gonna happen until you get stuck in an elevator

It's smut yall

It all happened so fast. One minute you, Sam and Dean were chasing a witch through an old warehouse the next she'd turned, throwing an orange, fruity scented powder all over you and Dean just as Sam got the kill shot.

Your eyes met Dean's as both of you were struck with the realization something was wrong. You could hear your own heartbeat, every inch of your body felt like it was on fire and you were acutely aware of the green eyed hunter clenching his jaw tightly against his own pain to ask if you were ok.

“What the hell is this Sam?” You asked, turning to look at the younger Winchester who'd smartly stood a few feet away from the two of you. “I have no idea” the fire that had been contained on your skin chose that moment to rip through your stomach, nearly making you double over. Dean rushed to your side but the moment his hand touched your back it only made the fire worsen, a groan escaping his lips as well.

“You two go back to the hotel. I'll call Rowena in and we'll figure it out” you glanced over at Dean who nodded “Yeah, ok Sammy. Just watch your back until red gets here”

Every bump the impala hit shot straight through you. Every nerve ending was on fire and the heat between your thighs was getting worse with every passing moment. It took everything you had to concentrate on anything besides the movements of Dean's fingers on the steering wheel. The thought of those fingers on you, his hands splayed across your body, those damn lips of his tasting your skin. What the hell was going on with you?

You'd always been attracted to Dean, you had eyes. He was a gorgeous man, sweet, caring and no matter how he saw himself a truly good person at his core. You had feelings for him beyond friendship but had never once considered acting on them yet now the only thought you had was what would he feel like inside of you?

—-----------------

Dean was trying to concentrate on the road, clenching every muscle in his jaw hard enough there was a chance he'd cracked a tooth. The fruity scent of that powder still clung to the air but under it he could smell you. The shampoo you preferred, the scented lotion you loved. Every damn bump he hit a low moan would slip from you and his cock would twitch at the sound.

You were a beautiful woman, an amazing hunter and one of the most important people to him. He'd always wanted you, wanted more but wouldn't risk it yet now all he could imagine was having you underneath him.

You followed Dean into the hotel about the time a loud crack of thunder went through the sky and what seemed like hell itself unleashed. “Fucking tsunami” Dean muttered, heading for the elevator.

You stepped in behind him, shaking slightly. Your legs felt like they were made of jello at that point. Your heart rate was higher than it normally was on hunts and you were certain the slick from your core was dripping down your legs at that point. You fell back against the wall, taking deep breaths and trying to ignore Dean's breathing.

You closed your eyes when the elevator began to move but it only went six floors then screeched to a halt. Your eyes flew open “Dean?” He shrugged “I'm trying sweetheart, I'm trying” he was hitting the emergency call button repeatedly.

You slid down to the floor, sitting with your knees drawn up to your chest in hopes to soothe the ache throbbing through you. You vaguely heard Dean curse something about a rolling blackout but couldn't care less. The fire, the heat, everything was starting to hurt. You had to get a release “Dean?”

You knew you sounded wrecked but you didn't care you needed it, you needed him. He knelt in front of you and one look in his eyes told you he was barely hanging on himself “I want you” you whispered and he groaned “Sweetheart, baby please don't say that”

You looked up at him and he swallowed hard “I'm barely hanging on here” you leaned forward “Then let go” the moment his lips crashed into yours the heat roared back to life.

Everything in you was screaming that this was Dean, your best friend, your best friend who had never shown interest in you but it didn't matter because if you didn't do something for relief you'd die here in this elevator.

—-----------------

Dean grabbed your ankle and gave a tug, pulling you down onto your back where he could move to be between your legs. Hovering over you he took a few deep breath “Sweetheart” you shook your head “Shut up” 

—-----------

When you pulled him back into another kiss, hooking your legs around his waist Dean felt what resolve he had crumple. Whatever was happening it demanded you. It craved you and he was powerless to fight it.  His hands went to the hem of your shirt and you broke the kiss long enough to snatch it off and throw it. His lips went from yours, down your neck then he started to kiss down your chest “I need more Dean, fuck it hurts and I need more”

He knew what you meant. He was hurting. His cock was harder than it'd ever been and the fire, fuck the fire nipping through his body. He had to help you first, had to get you somewhat level headed. He nodded then lowered his lips to your stomach.

He used one hand to unsnap your jeans and then slipped it inside, he moaned into your skin at the feeling of the warm moisture he found seeping from your pussy. You were soaked and responsive to the point that a barely there flicker of his fingers made your back arch off the floor. “Please”

He freed your body of your boots and jeans faster than he'd ever undressed himself even. He took a moment to sit back on his heels and look at you. A brief moment of clarity telling him to stop this, he could handle the pain but what if you regretted him when this was over? “Dean it hurts please help me” you begged and that was all it took. He licked into you in one fluid motion and your fingers tangled in his hair “Yes, fuck Dean”

—------------

Dean began to work you towards an orgasm, flicking his tongue against your clit while he added a finger, curling it up to hit that spot inside of you. The pleasure began to push back against the pain and you found yourself unashamed as you ground your hips down against Dean's face. Your moans urged him on and when he shifted just slightly that blinding heat gave way to pleasure. He worked you through the orgasm and you could feel the pain roll back a bit.

When you became too sensitive you weakly shoved at his head. He pulled away and smiled up at you “Feeling better?” You nodded “Wanna take those jeans off?” His smile slipped into a grin “Yes ma'am”

—--------------

Dean slipped his jeans, shirt and boots off before tucking his shirt under your head as a makeshift pillow. Even if this was something pushing you two to do this he was going to make you as comfortable as possible. His hand shook slightly and he wasn't sure of the cause of it but you underneath him, all spread out and begging made that heat roar to life. 

He held your eyes as he slipped into you, both of you groaning at the feeling. Once he was fully inside of you he stilled, his muscles shaking with the urge to take you hard and fast. He could fight this enough to be gentle, to make it amazing for you. It was the only hope he had for you to not hate him when you were both clear headed.

Your eyes focused on him and you smiled “Fuck me Dean, please” he caught your lips in a hungry kiss “Oh sweetheart you're gonna be the death of me” 

—----------------

Dean buried his face in your neck as his thrusts got harder and deeper. You were so close to that edge you just needed a little more. Without you having to say anything Dean slipped a hand between your bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your back arched, pressing your breasts up into his chest as you came with a loud moan of his name. 

Once your vision cleared a bit you could feel Dean holding back. He needed to come, he needed that release from the heat, the pain. “Come for me Dean. Please” you begged, tightening your grip on his shoulders and spreading your legs further to give him deeper access.

You could feel his thrusts get harder and knew he was close. He pulled his face up to catch his lips in a kiss. You poured everything you'd always felt into the kiss, trying to tell him you'd wanted this for years that it wasn't just magical shit forcing the two of you to do this. You wanted Dean, you wanted to feel him come inside of you, you wanted to be his.

He groaned into your mouth as he slammed into you one final time and you felt him come filling you up.

—---------

You lay there for a few moments, Dean's now softening cock still inside of you as you both worked to get your breathing back to normal. Both of your heads were cleared now, the effects having worn off. 

“Dean I..” your words were cut off by Dean's phone ringing. He pulled out of you gently before retrieving his phone. You could only hear his end which consisted of “Yeah we figured that out….just what it sounds like Sam…..what?...That's not..yeah ok…. I know….I know”

He hung up then looked at you where you were now slowly slipping back into your clothes. He did the same but when you started to tie your boots he knelt down and tied them for you. Neither of you had spoken the last few minutes.

When he stood up he reached for your hand and you gave it to him. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you “Sweetheart” yet again the two of you were interrupted by the elevator choosing that moment to start working again.

You stayed in Dean's arms until you reached the tenth floor. You stepped off first and he watched you carefully. What was going through his head? What was going through yours? You'd figured out it was sex pollen. A few hunters had run across different variants but the cure was always to fuck it out your system. It was never meant to kill but would if you didn't give in.

You stepped off the elevator first and Dean walked off behind you. You headed for the conjoined rooms you, him and Sam had gotten. You could feel the heat from him at your back but this time it was a very human feeling.

—----------

You unlocked the door to your room and was about to step inside when Dean's hand grabbed your arm. You looked at him and he took a deep breath “That was..” “Sex pollen, I know. I know that's why that happened” 

He shook his head “No, sweetheart you don't. The pollen may have caused it but it wasn't just the pollen”

“What are you saying Dean?” You asked pulling your arm away from him to cross it over your other arm. “I'm saying I tried to hold off as long as I could because of how much I care about you, how long I've wanted to do that. I just, I hope you don't hate me now”

You shook your head “I couldn't hate you for us saving both our lives. I couldn't hate you for anything, I care about you way too much”  he half smiled “Care about me like you care about Sam or?” You cut him off by pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

You stepped back and shrugged “Care about you like if you want to try this between us for real I wouldn't be opposed to it” a grin slipped onto his face “I want you for a lot longer than a day or two” you returned his grin “Good cause it's gonna take a long time for me to get sick of you” 

Before you could say anything else Dean stepped closer and picked you up, his hands bracing under your thighs. You gasped lightly and he grinned “Sometimes witches aren't too bad I guess, if they got me you”  you laughed "Oh shut up and take me inside"

[itwasthereaminuteago]

Until My Blood's On Fire

Frank Castle x female reader. You saved Frank's life and now you're somewhere you didn't expect to be., and unsure how to feel about it. Some very vague history with Matt but he's in the bad books for an unknown reason... You decide! 😌

Warnings: sex, sado masochism, lying, undefined relationship, maybe reader is lying to herself?

“‘He know that you're here?”

You don't answer, instead concentrating on the way Frank is touching you. His hand just under the hem of your top, tracing slowly over the raised ragged skin on your side just above your hip. It has almost fully healed, torn flesh rapidly meshing together just like you and him had been. He feels for the scar every time you're together, which is happening more and more. It's the reminder, the tangible evidence of what you did, the bullet you saved him from. He'd come back to it, later, when he's inside you and you'll clasp your hand over his, urging him to press, to dig his fingers in and coax out the sharp pain that comes with a tsunami of euphoria.

Almost healed, almost…

And then what would come after? When the pain had faded to nothing would you still find yourself here?

Sometimes you didn't think you could stand the raw tenderness with which he handled you, but then he'd slip the button of your pants and slide his hand so easily into your underwear, a shared groan at the discovery of how wet you were, even though he always had you aching for him every time. He'd roll the very tip of his finger lightly around your clit making you moan out, your head falling back giving him space for him to kiss his way up the column of it, nipping at your jaw and shh-shh-shhing you gently in the otherwise quiet of the stark, utilitarian safehouse.

“Frank… don't tease…” you'd warn, and you'd feel his smile against your skin.

“You sure?” He'd ask, pitch of his voice lilting upwards, circling softly again. It was so often a rhetorical question, knowing that sometimes you needed it drawn right out and slowed way down. More often than not he could tell, but you didn't want that tonight.

“Please- I-” you make a pained sound that hits him right in the gut making him briefly withdraw.

“Anythin’ you want, sweetheart.”

And it was true. He owed you his life, you gave him that, when you threw yourself in front of that gun. Whether he wanted it or not there was no question. He would do anything for you in return for that gift, and you wanted him to do this. It was easy. Transactional.

He jumps into action, making quick work of getting your pants and other clothes off, your own hands scrabbling and pawing at his shirt and jeans with urgency to get him similarly naked.

In next to no time he's hoisting you up in his arms and you're wrapping your limbs around him as he makes the few easy steps to the nearest wall, you've barely time to breathe before he lines up and pushes inside. You're outside your body now, watching him watch your reaction as he wastes no time rocking his hips up into you, your mouth hanging open and eyes beginning to almost roll back into your head as he sets a solid steady pace.

“This what you need?” he's asking, “just like that… yeah?” his head nestles into the crook of your neck, his full beard always surprisingly soft against your skin. You're so tight and wet that he's already gritting his teeth hard to keep a handle in his own control and that just increases the building fiery flame of desire within you.

“Uhuh… yeah, l-like tha– fuck, Frank–” he slams his hips up effortlessly, punching your breath out, holding you up like you're nothing, everything. You only land back down in your body when he props you up with just a single hand under your ass, the others' fingers grabbing your chin and turning your head to look straight at him. Your eyes are blown black to the irises like night pools, but his are even darker. Yes, this was the Frank Castle you needed tonight, the one that showed no mercy. The Punisher, the one that wouldn't stop until you cried ‘Red’.

A poor choice for a safe word perhaps, a simple stop sign tied up to so much complex baggage. If Frank gave a shit he didn't show it, and besides he'd never gone as far for you to ever need to say it, you're not sure he would.

He could though.

Shit, you're too in your head, you didn't think that was even possible with the way Frank was fucking you right now. Somehow he can tell, his strong, thick fingers moving to grip around your neck like a collar, just enough pressure to bring you back where you need to be.

“Where'd you go pretty girl? Right here with me, hm?”

God he was so good. Soft and fierce in the way he shows his loyalty to you, his adoration of you. You could tell him to get off and leave and you know he'd do it. Sure he'd argue, but he'd do it because you told him to. Transactional.

The hand around your neck slips down and your head knocks back against the wall as he runs it over your tits before diving to kiss the rounded swell of soft skin and suckle hard on your peaked nipple. He gives each of them equal attention, using his tongue and teeth to send shivers of pleasure down your spine toward your core.

“Bed.” You eventually direct with an airy gasp, and he's taking you there sharpish, laying you out on the worn twin mattress like a princess. He grabs the pillow, folding it in half and stuffing it under your lower back to tilt your pelvis so he can hit you just right, the way that makes your heart pound and your toes curl.

You pull him down by the neck, whimpering with need and bringing his mouth to your own as he's stretching you open with his cock again. The kiss feels like a fight, violent like you need to prove your passion is only that, refusing to let him have you so easy despite everything. Frank curses at the sting of your nails gouging tracks down his back, hisses as you bite and tug his lower lip, but he doesn't stop the dirty roll and scoop of his hips. If anything it spurs him on. You're greedy and he wants nothing more than to see you satisfied, even in these stolen moments between the relentless cycle of bullets, fists, and blood in the Kitchen.

Your hands furrow through the longer, curly lengths of his dark hair, your panting mouth murmuring his name right by his ear while he drills that heavenly place inside you with a precise ease.

“Attagirl,” he growls low as your own pitched moans heighten with every long thrust, powering you towards oblivion. He's supporting himself above you with one arm, the muscles bulging obscenely, the other hand sliding up your thigh encouraging you to wrap them tight around his waist as he moves further up your body, sliding in even deeper.

The small room is stifling with the heat of the summer night and sweat slicks your skin, simultaneously sticking and gliding your bodies to each other. Your fingers claw into the flesh of his ass as his chest drags over your sensitive nipples with each quickening thrust. Frank watches you closely, staving off his own pleasure for the chance of a raw view of your own. You can feel the fuse burning hotter, getting closer to the point where just one more spark will send you over the edge.

“Frank, please… do it, fucking do it!”

He knows exactly what you mean but you guide his hand regardless as he needs the clear consent. He'd never want to risk hurting you without it.

“Yeah I got you sweetheart, I got you,” Frank digs his fingers hard into that mark in your side that binds you. “c'mon… there you go, c'mon–”

And that's it. The pain is white hot and deep. You cry out, tears spilling over as you convulse in ecstacy underneath him, his eyes are boring into your soul bare with emotion as he works you through it. Your body clenching, pulsing, squeezing around him when he unloads with a feral sound that tails off into a vulnerable whimper you swear you've never heard from him before.

Transactional, that's all there is to it.

“He know you're here?” When he asks again, Frank has you wrapped in his arms, your head laying on his chest, the spacey haze of your tryst just starting to mellow.

‘No’, was what you said, but you suspected that Matt did know. There was only so much you could hide with a shower, even if you did always use your own bodywash instead of anything of Frank's.

“I told him I was going out with Jessica. She'll cover for me.”

“Red’ll know you're lyin’” Frank points out, brushing his fingertips lightly along your arm.

“Ah but I was out with Jess, then I came here so technically…"

He just shakes his head, a slight smile creeping across his lips as he considers your logic. “Alright, alright.”

“It doesn't matter what Matt thinks, he doesn't have a say in what I do with my life. Not after what happened.”

“He’s a good guy.”

“You're a good guy.” You counter, and Frank scoffs loudly.

“Now that's a goddamn lie and you know it.”

You turn in his arms, looking up at him with a serious expression. “I wouldn't have thought you worth saving otherwise, would I?”

“Is that how it works?”

“Yeah, things can be pretty simple like that, Frank.” You weren't sure you even believed the words coming out of your own mouth.

“Hmm.”

There's silence, then he kisses the top of your head.

You don't know what it means.

Maybe it's as close to I love you as the two of you would ever get, and that was okay.

[fuzybby]

Home.

Gale Dekarios x f!reader

Synopsis: You and Gale show eachother how much you love eachother through some good ol' love making

CW: breeding, his undying love for you, overstimulation? but not really. This is pretty vanilla because Gale loves you

788 words! Enjoy

You felt like you were floating. Pure ecstasy courses through your veins as your nails run down Gales chest. Admiring his hairy body as you straddled his hips, having stopped your bouncing on his dick to calm your aching legs.

Gale kept his eyes on you, always wavering to a different part of your body. Your face in pleasure, your breasts that bounced with every raise and drop of your hips, he watched his hands as he gripped your waist. Gale was enthralled by you, the ring on his left ring finger specified so, taking a look on the matching ring you wore on your left hand, which was now splayed against his pecs.

“Stopping already?” Gale teased, letting go of your hips to place his hands behind his head. Quickly raising his hips slightly to press more of him into you. His pubic bone rubbed against your clit deliciously.

“Shut up.” The words came out of you in a breathy tone, still trying to catch your breath. Moving to raise your hips up again, only leaving the tip of your lover's cock inside of you. Your legs shook before you dropped down, your ass rippled as it hit his body once again.

Everything was wet, sticky. Sweat dropped down both of your bodies, the slick from your legs dripped onto his cock, even managing to run down his balls and to the bed below him.

“As much as I love making your legs shake, you're going to hurt yourself.” Gale chuckled as he placed his hands back onto your thighs, holding you to stay down in his lap.

Air couldn't seem to get any faster into your lungs, deep breathes didn't seem to take. “Just wanna be good for you.” You whined to Gale, who looked up at you with his beautiful brown puppy eyes.

“You're being so good.” he smiled, moving his upper body to sit up, his chest coming to touch yours. “You're such a good girl for me.”

You allowed him to slowly pull you off his dick, laying you down on your back onto the bed as he climbed on top of you. The silk sheets felt smooth against your skin. Closing your eyes, focusing on how cool the sheets felt for one second before being filled again by your husband.

He was always so big, so full it made you want to keep him inside you forever. No matter how close you two became, you always wanted to be closer. Molding into one for all eternity.

“Focus on me.” You hear him say, holding eye contact with you as he slowly moves in and out of your wet cunt. Sucking him in so eagerly.

You call his name, moving your hands to hold his face, resting his forehead against your own. “A request..” You quietly ask.

His voice wavers as he says “hm?”, groaning slightly from how warm and tightly you hugged his cock.

“Fill me?” wrapping your arms around his waist quickly, feeling his lower back tense and relax every time he thrusts. His pace picks up slightly at your words.

“Yeah?” Gale smirks, moving one of his hands down to rub circles against your clit. His dexterous fingers always felt so good against your cunt. “Want me to fuck a baby into you?”

His words were always so filthy during these moments, and you nod swiftly, your forehead bumping slightly against his as you do, which causes a small thing of giggles to erupt from you both.

His fingers and thrusts don't relent even as you share a laugh, causing your giggles to quickly erupt into moans. Your body was on fire, his touch sending waves of flames up your body and through your system. You arch your back off the bed, your breasts pushing up into his own pecs as your orgasm comes quickly, rushing over you like a tsunami.

You convulse around Gales dick, and your moans of his name make him erupt into his own orgasm. He whimpers as he continues to fuck your pretty cunt as he spills his seed into you, only stopping when both of your legs are quivering.

You were so full, so full of him and his seed, you could cum again at the thought of him spilling inside of you. You run your hands through his hair as Gale's cock slowly softens inside of you, wanting to stay inside your warmth for the rest of time.

“I love you.” He says, his lips are close to yours. His breath is hot against your face.

“I love you too.” You smile, pressing your lips against his to seal your love. He tasted like home. And you wouldn't want it any other way.

[dreamwatch]

Part 2 Part 3 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Part 1

Word Count: Pt1 - 3080 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

I'm posting in 3 parts, because this is nearly 12k in total, which is a lot. Mods - hope that's ok! I'll link them all together. :)

There’s a wispy smell of smoke wafting under his bedroom door.

Something’s on fire.

His eyes fly open. Holy shit, something’s on fire!

Eddie pulls himself out of bed as quick as he can; in a fraction of a second his mind has managed to flick through his options like a rolodex  - grab his crutches, yes or no? Should he put clothes on? It’s freezing outside, he should at least bring a sweater, right? Shoes though, those are definitely important. Maybe he doesn’t need to go out at all, maybe it’s small and he can deal with it himself—

He’s hears crashing and banging from his kitchen, followed by a loud “Mother fucker!” 

That is definitely not Wayne.

He’s on fire and he’s being burgled.

He grabs a crutch with the full intention of braining someone with it, and drags his sleep addled body through the house. He stumbles into his kitchen, crutch raised to find Steve Harrington waving a towel around, and something smouldering in the sink while being doused with water.

“Uh, what the fuck is going on?”

Steve spins around, the towel waving come to an abrupt end.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Eddie limps to the kitchen table and gingerly lowers himself into a seat. It’s been eight months since… since. His mind is in a surprisingly good place, all things considered, but his body, not so much. After everything, after Chrissy, God rest her soul, and Patrick, and being hunted by an entire town, and then being ripped apart by creatures that shouldn’t exist outside of comic books and fantasy games, after all of that his body just said ‘enough.’ The bats got enough bone, muscle and tendon to leave him changed in ways he couldn’t imagine when he was sitting under Skull Rock trying to make sense of what his life was going to be like if he lived long enough to see it;  court cases, long prison sentences (or death row), and a complete and utter mental breakdown. He avoided the court proceedings and prison, but he got his mental breakdown eventually, once the relief of being alive and the undoing of handcuffs had sunk in. He was free. He was going to live. Time for his mind to try and process the tsunami of emotions that overwhelmed it during the summer.

He got through it.

There’s a number of reasons for that. Wayne, first and foremost. Wayne, who never doubted him, who had always done his best by Eddie, somehow managed to step it up another notch. He took extended leave from work, that Eddie knows he couldn’t afford unless he had managed to dip into what Eddie knew to be an extremely meagre savings account. Eddie doesn’t love easy, trusts people even less so. People leave. People can be bitterly mean, people can hit and lash out when you’re least expecting it. His father was a viper in their nest of a home, always coiled, ready to strike. Wayne was never like that. Eddie pushed that mans buttons so hard but there were no hands raised, no words that couldn’t be taken back. Just disappointment. Anger was rare, but Eddie had been beyond a fucker to him at times, when he was young and the world had torn away everything he knew, the good and the bad. They fought, then they made up. Nothing was held over his head, nothing got filed away and thrown at him at a later date. They fought, they said sorry, they moved on. 

Eddie doesn’t love easy, and he trusts people even less so, but the exception to that is, and always will be, Wayne Munson.

Of course, there is also the Nerd Brigade that he kind of thought he would just never really hear from again, if he’s honest. They went to school together, he ran campaigns for them, and okay, they saved him from something horrific but like, it’s just something he got caught up in right? He didn’t really mean anything to them, after all. 

Except, they visited him in the hospital. They came to visit him at home. They brought him books and tapes and magazines, and kept him company when he was stuck in bed most days. Brought him movies once he could make it to the sofa. He wasn’t in the mood for them in those early days, especially when he was stuck in his little tar pit, but they kept throwing him ropes until he hung on. Stubborn to the bitter end.

Gareth, and Jeff and Matt. Well, that was more complicated, because they couldn’t ever know what had happened, and explaining away injuries like his was tough when you can’t say the words ‘inter-dimensional bats.’ There was a wall there for a while. It’s a fence now. They can see over the top of it, can link hands and shoot the shit, but it’s still a divider. Maybe one day they’ll get to push the last of it down.

The last reason he managed to climb out that nasty fucking pit of self loathing and pity was currently standing in his kitchen with an exasperated look on his face, dish towel over his shoulders and hands on his hips. 

Dustin and the other kids he could understand. They’re excitable chimps, nerds of the highest order. They have things in common, things to talk to him about that gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, and get out of bed. And his band, well they’re his band, you know? Brothers in arms, even if the arms are linked a little looser than before.

But Steve Harrington turning up to their new home? Nope, that was not on his recovery bingo card.

Steve was there in the hospital, dropping off and picking up kids. So sometimes he sat with him a while, when the chimps were visiting Max. And then one day Chief Powell walks in, mutters some half assed apology and uncuffs him. Just like that. As it turned out, those cuffs were the finger in the dam. And once you take the finger away, it all comes pouring out.

Eddie’s not entirely sure about what happened next. He knows he let out the most embarrassingly loud sob, and that spurred Steve into motion because then he’s being held; Steve was on his bed wrapping his arms around him, and fuck if Eddie didn’t hurt all over, his skin, his legs, his everything on fire, but it felt good to be held. To have someone to press their mouth so close to his ear and tell him it’s okay, you’re going to be okay, for someone to stroke his hair, lay a comforting hand on his back. For someone to reach the pain that morphine could never dull.

After that, Steve was just there, with or without the little assholes that tormented him. He was there the day the doctors told him they couldn’t do much more for him, he was there the day Eddie went home. He had been there even when Eddie wasn’t; the asshole had helped Wayne move into their new little house and decorate the place. 

He was there through the summer, there with the kids, there without. He was there when all Eddie could do was stare blankly at a wall, and he was there when all Eddie could do was cry. He was there when things started to get better.

And now he’s here, setting fire to Wayne’s new kitchen at eight P.M.  on Thanksgiving. 

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, obviously, but um… why are you setting fire to my home?”

“I wasn’t setting fire to your home, asshole. I was trying to—“ he gestures angrily at the sink, “make you dinner. Or heat, it up at least. But that’s ruined, so…”

“Dinner?”

Steve shrugs at him, flushes a little across his cheeks, and Eddie does his best not to think about that too much.

“I just— when you said Wayne was working tonight, I just thought, you know. Like, your first Thanksgiving after… and I just thought—” He’s beet red, looks firmly at the floor, at the wall, at literally anywhere other than Eddie. “I just didn’t want you to be on your own, thats all.”

It’s not a revelation, exactly. He had several offers for Thanksgiving dinner; Hop and The Byers, which would have been desperately awkward, the Wheelers, an absolutely firm but polite no, and even the Sinclair and Hendersons. And it was all lovely, honestly, that people were over the Satan workshopping thing, but they’d moved onto the pity thing. And more fundamentally than that, their Thanksgivings were never going to be like his and Wayne’s Thanksgiving, and that’s fine. Variety is the spice of life, and he’s sure they’ll have a great time. It’s just not for him.

But maybe it is. Because Steve didn’t want him to be alone, and there’s a little lump growing deep in his throat. 

“That’s… really nice, actually.”

Steve huffs, dramatically. “Yeah, well, it’s ruined. Mom gave me all this left over food and all I had to do was leave it in the oven,” he scrabbles around on the counter, in amongst the dishes and retrieves a piece of paper. “It’s all here, all the times, the temperatures. And I fucking nodded off and now it’s—“ he gestures to the sink again.

Eddie climbs out of his seat and makes his way to the sink. He winces at the sight of what he thinks might have been some turkey.

“It’s pretty black.”

Steve sighs. “Understatement.”

“If you were trying to make charcoal you did a pretty good job.”

“Ha ha.” 

Steve flops into the chair Eddie vacated. “I just wanted it to be perfect for you. You know, it’s been a shitty year, like for everyone, but you especially.” He tails off, his voice gets quieter, as if he’s embarrassed by it.

Something swells inside of Eddie, a knot of happiness. Not at how dejected Steve is, but at how much it had clearly meant to him that this was good for Eddie. 

Perfect. He wanted it to be perfect. 

He needs to not be reading into things so much. There be dragons, after all.

Steve looks miserable, and Eddie hates that, can’t bear it actually, so he makes his way back to the table and flops into the chair facing Steve’s.

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging Steve’s hand with his. “Honestly I really appreciate the thought.” 

And who is this Eddie Munson that doesn’t mock people for being considerate, for putting effort into things he’s never considered important? A habit born out of bitterness at not having parents like everyone else’s, at not just being different, but having to lean into the different, to own otherness before someone else takes it and wraps it around him anyway. 

He does appreciate the thought. He’s revelling in it and trying desperately to keep a lid on just how much it means to him. Outside of Wayne, who has cared this much about whether he has nice things?

Steve leans back in his seat, that quick flash of red colouring his cheeks again. “Yeah, well, the thought isn’t much good if it’s sitting in the sink burnt to a fucking crisp, is it?”

“How was your Thanksgiving?”

Steve shrugs. “It was okay. Mom was hosting this year, so we had like, a million people in the house. My cousins are a fucking nightmare, honestly, probably ripping my room apart as we speak. Animals.”

“Was the food good?”

The confused little ripple on Steve’s face is cuter than it has any right to be, and Eddie doesn’t even make an effort to stop the little smile that he knows is pulling at his own lips. He rests his head in on hand, elbow planted on the table.

“Yeah, it was good. You’d know that if I didn’t fuck up reheating it. I should have just put it in the microwave, seriously, I don’t why my mom—“

“Was the company good?”

“Uh, sure. It’s nice to see the family, yeah.”

“Was it perfect?”

There’s a silence, a little wrinkle as Steve wonders on the question. There’s something about sitting here with Steve, just the two of them at the kitchen table, burnt food in the sink. Something warm. Something homey. Like Steve fits in ways Eddie had never imagined anyone fitting. It’s resolute and fast and comes from nowhere - I want this. Eddie buries it as fast as it came.

“I mean, it was nice, sure.”

“But was it perfect?”

Steve shrugs and it strikes Eddie that Steve might think he’s being made fun of, that Eddie is goading him somehow, and nothing could be further from the truth.

“You know how I usually spend Thanksgiving? Wayne usually works it, money’s too good to pass up, you know? So he works, and I get up early and then we have a couple of Turkey dinners and a couple of beers, and maybe pie if we could get one. And then we sit in front of the TV until Wayne falls asleep in his chair. And I cover the old man up in a blanket, and I leave him to sleep for the day. I go to my room and I listen to music and I read and then when it’s time to wake him up we have waffles and ice cream and maybe some more pie if we’re feeling extra decadent. Then he goes to work. 

“And I’m here by myself and yeah, it’s lonely, sometimes. But I have Wayne, and so I get a day to be thankful for that. It’s not perfect by most people’s standards, but it’s perfect for me.”

Steve looks at him, awed.

“Holy shit.”

It feels reverent, oddly, like Steve has seen this gentle part of him, like he’s unpicked locks for Steve, like he’s—

“You’re such a sap.”

Asshole!

“I am not!”

Steve leans back in the dining chair, wood creaking dangerously, grinning widely. 

“You are! You’re a fucking sap, Eddie Munson. How did anyone think you were cool enough to be a Satan worshipper?”

Eddie damn near splutters at it. “Oh fuck you Harrington! Look at me, I’m practically the Prince of Darkness.”

“Okay, so that’s Ozzy—.”

“You remember—“

“—and also you’re a fucking pussycat.”

He has to bite his tongue, can’t say anything else or it might be something he can’t take back. And he doesn’t want to lose this. He’s never been short of friends, he has the band, and okay, they’re like eleven years old or something, but Dustin and the dweeb crew are friends now, too. There’s Robin, and Nancy - Nancy fucking Wheeler for Christ’s sake - and then there’s Steve.

There’s something to be said for people seeing you at your worst and sticking with you regardless. All of those people - okay, not the band - have seen him at his worst. Dead is probably him at his worst. Bloodied and torn open is not a good look for anyone. He feels sick thinking about it. But they saw it. 

Steve saw it, then he tried to fix it.

Or well, Steve gave him CPR; no one wants to know they’ve had CPR performed on them, it’s a window into an event that he really doesn’t want to think about. But it was Steve, and somehow that feels big in a way he can’t put his finger on.

And then Steve got him out, and Steve kept him alive in the car all the way to the hospital, and Steve screamed at a nurse until they brought a gurney, and Steve, Steve, Steve. It always comes back to Steve.

Crushes are childish things, things for hair twirling girls and handsome boys, and Eddie has never had crushes. He watches someone from afar and then stuffs it away, squashes it before it gets that far. He watched Steve, once, before folding that feeling neatly and stuffing it in a box marked ‘I Can’t Have It.’ 

But there’s something to be said for a man saving your life, for risking his own to save yours, and then for sticking with you for months after. For not just being there physically, but mentally, emotionally. There’s a bond that has been growing, a root deep within Eddie, a seed that’s been there for years but has finally been watered, has had the sun of a long hot summer to grow it; Steve is his best friend. But the flutter of more, of want, sings within him.

Sitting here with him, hands almost touching over the worn top of the kitchen table, burnt turkey in the sink, over cooked potatoes and solid gravy on the counter, it’s as close to looking at that neatly folded thing as he dares, and this time when he stuffs it back inside it hurts.

“So,” Steve says, with a soft knock-knock on the table. “Have you got plans for tomorrow? Hitting up the stores?”

Eddie can’t help the snort of laughter. “Uh, no. Just chilling here, I think. The guys asked me to go with them to Indie, but… not really in the mood for walking around the mall all day, you know?”

Steve flashes a look, like concern maybe? 

“Oh. Everything okay?”

“No, yeah, everything’s fine. Just tired is all. And you know,” he taps his leg, the only shorthand he needs for the shit show that has become his body. He smiles, big and as genuine as he can make it and it does the trick as Steve’s shoulders relax.

“What about you? Big plans?” Eddie crosses his arms and leans across the table with a wide grin on his face. “A date, maybe?” It stings his lips to say it.

“Yeah, right,” Steve scoffs. “Robin wants to get away from her family for the day, I think she has about a hundred Buckley’s camped out in her place. You’re welcome to join us?”

That flutter again. He’s so close to saying yes before he reins it in.

“Nah, I think I’m just going to laze around in my pyjamas for the day. But thanks for the offer.”

“Okay, well, if you change your mind…”

They spend the rest of the evening throwing out what’s left of Mrs Harrington’s prize, and very, very black, turkey, and ordering a pizza. And Eddie doesn’t think anymore about that thing folded up inside of him.

[actualbuckybames]

Another scene from that fic I haven't posted. Excerpt of this scene under the cut

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Bucky falls the instant he steps inside the facility. Vertigo takes hold and then he’s falling, falling away from himself and away from the howling storm trying to tear him apart. He falls and the Soldier weathers the storm, the memories hitting him like hail. It’s just pain. Pain and noise. He’s done more under worse conditions.

He takes the pain and burns it like fuel as he plunges into the depths, puts the noise where it can’t disrupt his focus. The mission is to confirm this facility’s purpose and purge it. No prisoners. As always, no survivors.

A quarter of them try to fight. They die.

A quarter of them try to run. They die.

The rest beg for their lives. They die.

The last makes a stand in the bare concrete room housing the cryo unit. He manages to separate the Soldier from his guns with a kind of stun baton that leaves the metal arm jolting and uncooperative, but on his next lunge, the Soldier grabs the baton halfway down the shaft with his right hand and crushes it.

His left arm resets and locks in for a punch that sends the man crashing into the cryo pod. Though blood streams from his nose, he fumbles at his waist and unsheathes a knife. The Soldier almost smiles. When the Soldier draws one of the tantos from his back, the man pales. He’s fast enough to dodge when the Soldier whips it at his head and just barely quick enough to catch the second tanto on his own blade when the Soldier closes the gap.

Caught up in the flurry of blows, the Soldier lets the grin twist his lips under his mask. This man is good. Very, very good. As good as anyone can get with unmodified flesh and bone.

But he is unmodified. Sweat gleams on his face and he pants with each lunge, parry, and dodge. The Soldier feels no exhaustion and gives no quarter, chasing him around the small space and ensuring he never has any delusions of reaching the door.

For a minute, the man thinks he’s holding his own. The Soldier lets him think that. It feels good to stretch these muscles, to wield a knife in a way he hasn’t since fighting Captain America—

Fighting Steve—

“Перешеек,” the man gasps, and the Soldier freezes. That is what that word means: silence and stillness. The land between shifting waters, immovable and eternal. His muscles lock. The arm’s plates lock. Everything locks and his thoughts break against his body in waves.

The man doubles over with his hands on his knees and heaves for breath. Drops of sweat splatter on the floor, joining the blood he’s shed from the dozen small cuts the Soldier has inflicted on him over the course of their fight.

They’re fighting. Right. But the man said перешеек—he’s a handler. The Soldier obeys the handler.

“Fuck,” the man straightens and glares at the Soldier, “you are fucking terrifying.”

The Soldier cannot respond, but his muscles are starting to itch with a need to move. There is a headache crawling out from the base of his skull with a sound like a scream.

“You killed all of them, didn’t you?” He peers past the Soldier, towards the door. “I don’t understand why they keep saying to bring you back alive. You’re not worth this.”

He knows: the knife in his hand belongs in the man’s eye, in his brain. But перешеек holds him fast. Can’t disobey the handler. Can’t move. Can’t do anything other than watch as the handler steps close and lines up his own knife.

“Fuck that,” the man says, face contorting in anger. “Fuck you.”

He drives the knife into the Soldier’s chest.

Pain crashes through the Soldier’s mind in a tsunami that rips away the shackles of перешеек. Clarity, as it always does even without the burn of electricity, follows in its wake: this man isn’t his handler. He doesn’t have authority to override the mission. The mission is to take no prisoners and leave no survivors and he is still alive.

The Soldier’s left hand slams into the man’s chest and throws him back. Something cracks on impact; a rib, from the man’s grunt and subsequent gasp. With his right hand, the Soldier rips the knife out of his chest. The man’s next sound of pain is cut off by that knife when Soldier drives up into his brain through the fleshy underside of his jaw. A puppet with its strings cut, the man crumples and the Soldier lets him fall. Even lets him keep the knife.

For just a moment, the room is silent, no more echoes of combat bouncing off its bare gray walls. The Soldier’s breathing is the loudest sound.

He spares the next moment to examine the tear in his jacket. The wound beneath is bleeding heavily from him pulling the knife out but, upon inspection, it shows itself to be narrow and small. At the angle he struck at, the blade must have hit bone, to be stopped from going any deeper. Or the man underestimated the Soldier’s muscle density and the force required to rip through it.

The wound requires cleaning, but he halts his steps toward the exit and the medical supplies beyond when a quiet beep reaches his ears. It’s a sound he knows, a sound deeper than anything a knife can reach. He turns and faces the cryo pod. The beep comes again. Underneath it is the soft hiss of air through narrow tubes. His left hand twitches and he crosses the room in three long strides.

There’s a man in the cryo pod. That doesn’t make sense; this is the Soldier’s pod, even if he has no intention of using it ever again.

He wipes at the fog on the small window and frowns at the pale, gaunt face framed with ice crystals that rests on the other side. That frown deepens when the face and its tousled blond hair tugs at frosted strings of memory in his mind. As the monitor beeps a soft and infrequent report on the man’s vitals, recognition gives way to vertigo and the Soldier—no, no, James, Bucky, my name is Bucky—nearly collapses against the pod. Frigid metal bites into what little exposed skin makes contact but he doesn’t feel it because his eyes are fixed on Steve. Steve, who’s stuck in the pod. Steve, who’s stripped of his serum and small and week and frozen. Steve, whose vitals are sounding off ever slower while Bucky’s own heartbeat thunders in his ears.

GET HIM OUT. The order screams through his thoughts and tears up everything else on its way. He’s slamming his fist on the emergency release before he even thinks to move. But the pod doesn’t open. Doesn’t open when he hits the release again. Doesn’t open when he tries the actual command sequence for defrosting. Doesn’t open when he slams his fist into it with a shout. And still Steve's vitals are slowing.

Static bites at his focus and black creeps in at the edges of his vision. All he can see is the cryo chamber. Steve. Steve. That cold—he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It never leaves. It’s enough to kill Stevie. More than enough.

God, he might already be dead. When was the last beep?

“Stay with me,” he begs the silent figure while he claws at every seam in the pod, hunting for purchase. “Don’t you dare quit, you’re too stubborn to stop now, you hear me? Too stubborn by half. Stay with me, don’t leave.”

He hasn’t heard a beep in—

In—

His metal hand smashes into the side of the pod, denting the metal enough to expose a lip he can fasten his fingers around. He rips the panel away with a roar but it’s just an exterior support. There are so many more. So many.

He’s yelling at Steve, now, so Steve can hear him over the sound of Bucky tearing apart the pod. Screaming for him to stay, to wake up, to stay god please stay, because the monitor isn’t beeping anymore and—

The last hinge gives way with a shriek and the pod door goes crashing across the room. Searingly cold air blasts over him, forcing his eyes into a squint, but he reaches in blindly with his left hand and finds—

Nothing. The pod is empty. Blinking away tears, he stares at the unoccupied restraints in mute confusion, the adrenaline pumping through his veins only making that confusion spiral faster as frigid mist spreads across the floor. A blink and that mist is gone. The cold is gone.

A glance to the right: no vitals monitor. A glance back at the pod: no Steve.

There’s blood roaring in his ears, the ground is swaying under his feet, he can’t get enough air, and he's falling.

---

He comes to after a few seconds, finding himself sprawled on his right side. Another few seconds pass before he pieces together what happened and why his right shoulder and head ache. The wound in his chest is still bleeding. It’s the easiest thing to focus on with his mind fogged by confusion and pain.

Thick drops of blood pool around the fingers of his hand when he brings it near and then fall to the floor. He watches them, transfixed. And then notes how bright red his blood is. A good sign.

With a bit of effort, he gets his left hand braced against the floor in front of him and, fingers scraping on the concrete, slowly levers himself up while putting as little strain on his core as he can. He uses the cryo pod for support as he gets to his feet, leaving a bloody handprint on the metal. The front of his jacket is shiny with blood and the room spins a bit when he stands straight, but it’s manageable once he leans against the wall and takes a few measured breaths. He looks to his right; the cryo pod is empty.

Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?

[cruel-as-sin]

the neighborhood keeps getting smaller | logan howlett

series masterlist ➸ pt 2

↳ summary: after a long journey out into the wilderness, rowan finds himself needing a ride

word count: 2.2k

song: western nights | ethel cain

pairings: old man!logan x original character

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), mentions of societal oppression/misdeeds, mentions of war/military, mentions of trauma, i think that’s pretty much it for this one honestly, just some good old exposition, rowan is a mysterious man, logan is… well… logan, genuinely not sure what else to tag this with, logan is a limo driver, thunderstorms (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: i am SO EXCITED to officially be starting this series!! not much actually happens in this chapter but i hope to give some insight into rowan’s character and hints at where the story might go. i hope you all enjoy!!

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It’s raining. It’s always fucking raining.

He’s so sick of the bad weather. It’s like the universe is taunting him. Every time he thinks his life can’t get any worse, that he’s really hit rock bottom this time, some other bullshit happens.

Like the goddamn rain.

It was supposed to be a nice day out- leave it to the weather apps to fuck everything up. Now it's raining, and it's probably gonna storm, too. Fuck, he wishes she was here, damn it. He wishes any of them were here.

But they're all gone.

So Logan has nothing left to do but get back in his car and start the drive toward his next destination.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

The rain pours down in sheets around him, a downpour that leaves him soaked to the bone. He stands at the edge of the sidewalk, scanning the cars as they pass by, unaware of his plight, caring for nothing but themselves. Even if some poor soul did happen to give a damn- a rare occurrence unless he was paying them- their opinion wouldn’t remain so indifferent if they know who he was, what he was.

In one hand rests a plastic bag from the pharmacy and a similar bag from the convenience store off to the side. In the other lies a briefcase, the scratches unnoticeable through the water that’s coating it. A backpack is slung over one shoulder, weighing him down. He knows it will throw off his balance later, but his left shoulder has been giving him too much trouble lately. Another thing to add to the list of problems he can never quite seem to get rid of.

His eyes flicker toward the pavement, past the rip in his dress pants and his mud covered shoes, down to the paper floating along the side of the street. The ink is smudged, most of the text barely legible, but he can make out the words mutants and extinction, and that’s all he needs to see before he’s looking away again. With any luck, the steady rainfall will carry that paper straight into a sewer grate.

It’s been so long now, too long of this life. Still, he becomes caught up in his own mind, barely noticing a car speeding down the side of the road until it’s nearly too late. He’s been going for too long, becoming tired, distracted. Three days is pushing it out beyond civilization, but he has little choice in the matter. Information does not come to him- he goes to it.

He blinks a few drops of rain out of his eyes, taking a step back as the car drives particularly close to the curb, sending a tsunami of filthy water in his direction that he is barely able to avoid. In his younger years, he would have given them a rude gesture or thrown a particularly unkind set of insults in their direction. Now, he just takes a step forward, returning to his previous position. The crumbling overhang of the local pharmacy behind him would do little to shield him from the rain, and he hasn't bothered carrying an umbrella with him for years. The rain, the cold, the squelch of his shoes when his socks are drenched with water- it doesn't bother him. None of it does, nor has it ever. The rain makes him feel clean of who he is, the sins he's committed, the mistakes he's made. It reminds him that he is alive, reminds him of his purpose, the one thing he has left.

At first he hadn’t even been sure what town he was in; only hours after emerging fully from the wilderness did he finally come upon a sign for Horizon City. It was the bearer of the relieving discovery that he’d made it back to the edges of El Paso, the place where he’s somehow ended up spending what he always assumed would be his final days. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. He's been searching for so long, yet he refuses to give up. What would be the point, after all that, if he laid down his quest and let the world take him, as it had taken so many others?

He is, admittedly, afraid of the answer.

He doesn't check his phone, doesn't look to see where his driver might be, why it’s taking so long for the person, whose name he glanced at once and has already slipped his mind, to show up in the worst part of town. Perhaps that’s why, and he reminds himself to tip them well. He always tries to, knowing too well how hard it is to get by in this world. Money is the one thing he isn't short on, not that it does him much good anymore. Not here. The people he needs, the things he’s trying to find- none of it can be bought, no one’s loyalties turned so easily. But at the very least, he can sleep a little better at night knowing he isn't someone ordinary people will grumble about, the reason they'll go home and complain to their wives, the imbecile who makes them drive all the way to some dingy pharmacy in the middle of nowhere and tips next to nothing, the person who comes into the restaurant at two in the morning and stays for what feels like hours, then leaves without paying the bill.

Rowan Hawthorne is not that man, nor will he ever let himself become him. Even in his youth, in his worst days, he had not lost his respect for humanity. No matter how many wrongs they have done, how many evil deeds have been committed, there is a value to life that he prioritizes above all else.

Well, most else. There are exceptions, of course, as there are to every rule.

Finally, a black limousine pulls up to the curb. The door opens, and a man steps out of the drivers side, unfurling an umbrella as he goes. His hair is dark, almost black at first glance, but brown when the streetlight catches it, dotted with flecks of grey. His face, accompanied by a beard of the same color, looks strangely familiar, the crease of his brows and bags under his eyes showing the testament of time. He's older- around fifty, if Rowan had to take a guess, though those hazel eyes have the weight of far more years behind them. The buttons of his white collared shirt are misaligned, his tie seemingly done by an amateur, the wrinkles of his clothes not quite ironed out fully. His umbrella gets stuck midway through opening and he swears under his breath, struggling with it for a moment before it finally relents. He assumes, perhaps foolishly, that Rowan is the one who called for him, making his way over with a gruff, "You order a ride?"

Rowan simply nods, allowing the man to hold the umbrella over his head as he opens the door for him. The break from the rain is not unwelcome for his clothing, but remains troublesome for his soul. Still, he is not one to ignore a kindness, no matter how misguided.

This man, unlike many he meets, is a mystery he cannot unravel at first glance. Were he anyone else, Rowan would have ignored the weariness that rested on his soul and the tug at his own heart that told him he knew him, and assumed that this was just another lower-class man that didn't have his life together and drowned himself in vices to cope with it. Rowan, unfortunately, knows better than that. Those eyes hold the look of a man who has seen horrors akin to his own, and coming by that was not easy.

He speculates on the man’s origins as he sets his belongings in the car. Perhaps he’s a veteran- no, too young for that, for the scale of destruction he would have had to see to have it overtake him so fully. A criminal? A refugee? A mere troubled soul? Countless possibilities run through his mind, but none of them seem accurate.

Or maybe, maybe-

No.

Rowan sits down, paying no mind to the water that drips onto the seats as the door closes beside him. He'll have to tip extra, though given how much the man looks like he needs it, he was probably going to anyway. His right hand rests atop the handle of his briefcase, his left doing the same to the strap of his backpack.

The driver enters a moment later, shoving his umbrella into the front seat as he pulls up the navigation system. Rowan catches a glimpse of a flask in his center console and a cigar in his pocket, confirming his original suspicions but giving him no further answers.

Perhaps it would be best if he paid this stranger no mind. He has enough issues of his own to attend to.

"Where you headed?" He asks.

Rowan gives him the name of the hotel he's been staying at, an Autograph Collection hotel in the heart of the city. It's a little extravagant for his tastes, but things designed for the wealthy tend to work better and be more discreet than things designed for the poor. Rowan has learned to use this to his advantage in all aspects of his travels, such as the expensive hotel he's being taken to or the limousine he's commissioned to do it. The driver doesn't say anything more, just starts the car and pulls out onto the road.

He stares out the window, watching as the run-down buildings pass them by. Long rides like this are the only time he truly allows himself to relax, or at least aim for the closest thing to it for a man like him. To let his guard down, let his mind wander, is dangerous, especially when he is not alone; but to never allow himself that freedom would be even more treacherous. He learned that lesson the hard way. Besides, it's not like he could do anything productive at the moment. Reading makes him carsick, and listening to anything out in the open would be too risky.

So he sits, and he waits.

Ten minutes pass in this peaceful silence, Rowan's eyes resting on the street outside, when a rustling sound from the front seat draws his attention. The driver fumbles with his phone, fighting to pull it out of his pocket as he checks it at a red light. It's a decision Rowan doesn't appreciate, but he isn't one to argue about matters as trivial as this. Instead he glances back out the window, his eyes lingering on the storm clouds forming in the sky.

The driver catches his gaze in the rearview mirror, adjusting the windshield wipers to the highest setting before speaking up. “Weather’s not supposed to get any better.” He grunts, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “You want me to pull over?”

“No.”

He raises an eyebrow, this time glancing back slightly, a puzzled expression on his face. “You’re askin’ me to drive straight into a thunderstorm; you know that, right?”

Rowan keeps his gaze steadily locked on the other man as he speaks once more. “If you wanted to pull over, you wouldn’t have asked me.” His tone remains calm, leveled. “Therefore, I request that you continue to drive.”

The driver kind of scoffs in way that tells Rowan he was right about why he was asking, turning back around to look at the road. “It’s your funeral.” He grumbles under his breath, but he obliges anyway.

I’m pretty sure it would be our funeral, Rowan thinks, but he keeps those words to himself, settling back into his seat with no worries clinging to him. He has faith that the skies will not harm him.

Even as the rain starts pouring down harder and thunder booms through the air, his faith never wavers. Lightning crackles in the distance, flashing across the sky. He can hardly see anything out the window, the storm enveloping almost everything around them. Streams of profanity leave the driver’s mouth. Rowan’s not sure if he thinks he can’t hear him or if he simply doesn’t care, but either way he supposes the circumstances warrant his colorful language.

In about fifteen minutes, the worst has passed. The rain continues on with the occasional lightning and thunder, but nothing severe enough to make the driver grip the wheel quite as tightly anymore. A glance out the window reveals they’ve just passed Fort Bliss, and Rowan looks away again, keeping his eyes out the opposite window until they pull into the complex housing the group of hotels that includes his temporary residence.

“We’re here.” The driver says, moving to get out of the car, but pausing. He turns around, watching as Rowan unbuckles his seatbelt and leans forward.

He pulls out his wallet, counting out the bills. One, two, three hundred. He pauses, briefly, then adds another four- seven, a lucky number. That should suffice. He holds them out to the driver, a stack of twenties and fives.

The other man’s eyes narrow, eyeing the money warily. He says nothing, glancing between the stack of bills and the man holding them.

Rowan waits, expectantly, the rain pattering down on the windows in their silence. The driver looks back at the money, his jaw tensing slightly. Then he snatches it from his hand- gone, in the blink of an eye.

Satisfied, Rowan retracts his hand, leaning back into his seat. He tucks away his wallet, getting ahold of all his things before reaching for the handle to open the door.

“I got it.” The driver says with a huff, grabbing his umbrella and stepping out of the car, coming around to the other side. Rowan waits, allowing him to open the door and shield him with his umbrella as he takes the few steps towards the overhang of the hotel before him.

“Thank you.” Rowan says with a brief incline of his head. Then he leaves, disappearing with the last of the rain.

tags: @flowersforbucky @namikyento @thinkinonsense @sweetverine @wchswift @pidgeypidge-pidge @gewrgia-black @atleastpleasetelephone @r0ttedcherubim @cenviswasteland @logaenhowlett @th3mrskory @wlwloverwrites @rosenclaws @lostinlovingrevery @lubdubology @unlikeable-female-character

(this is the taglist for my but one out of twenty isn’t so bad (is that so bad?) series. if anyone would like to be added to or removed from this taglist, please let me know!)

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wildest dreams, pt. 28

Summary: Paul's gone. While the search for him is ongoing, Y/N is back home, awaiting his return.

Warnings: angst, fluff, sexual innuendos, swearing, talking about death, mental health issues and suicide

Wildest Dreams Masterlist

————————————

Tucking her legs under her, Y/N stares out the window. It’s been unusually cold lately, the skies turning darker with each passing day. The clouds are getting lower, spreading among the trees surrounding her home. Whenever autumn comes knocking, Y/N welcomes the rainy days and moody weather with both arms. She didn’t detest the cold as she once did, because Paul would always hold her a little bit closer. He’d often kiss her until they both struggled to keep their hands to each other and she had to beg for mercy before they were both late for work. It’s not like he’d kiss her any less in the summer, it’s just that he’s aware his warmth in already warm days is harder for Y/N’s body to handle. It’s why he’d give her space from time to time. Y/N hated that. That’s why she’d turn down the AC to freezing cold temperatures all the time just so she could enjoy Paul’s cuddles more.

She misses his cuddles now.

It’s been five days since Paul went out of the Cullen’s house and shifted into a wolf. When he’d lose his temper, Paul would be back by nightfall and Y/N never needed to worry. This felt different. Jacob didn’t tell her much at first, trying to sugarcoat what they’d discovered, but she wasn’t letting up. She could never let up when Paul was involved.

“You need to hear it from him, not me,” Jacob sighs.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Y/N frowns deeply. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I feel that his heart is shattered and I -”, she pauses as a sob threatens to escape her. “I never feel his emotions unless they’re at an extreme and his pain is suffocating me right now.”

“It’s a deeply personal thing I can’t imagine Paul would want you to talk to us about.”

Chuckling dryly, she points a finger at Jacob’s chest. “You have no idea what he or I would want. You weren’t here when we were building this relationship from the ground up! You weren’t here as we grew up and you sure as hell weren’t here when we learned each other’s hearts by heart! So don’t tell me what he would or wouldn’t want, because I know what he wants, and that is me! And if he is in this state because he believes he’s done something that will take me away from him, I need to know what the fuck it is so I can convince him it isn’t his fault and that–,“ belting over she lets a shuddered breath pass her lips. Clutching her chest, Y/N’s knees hit the ground with a loud sob echoing throughout the room. Jacob’s quick to wrap his arms around her, looking at Edward in distress.

“She’s overwhelmed”, Edward explains before glancing at Jasper, who seems devastated by the constant waves of pure anguish coming off of Y/N.

In the blink of an eye, Jasper is beside Y/N, his hand running up and down her back as she gasps for breath. All the pain and confusion coursing through her blood is nearly enough to make anyone insane. Even Jasper is barely holding it together as he takes some of her pain, replacing the tsunami of negative emotions with a sense of tranquility.

It doesn’t take long for Y/N’s breathing to return to normal, but her tears don’t dry. Jasper can manipulate her emotions, but he can’t trick her body into forgetting everything.

“Just tell me,” she pleads. “I need to know how to bring him back home.”

“He’s found out you’d possess a rare ability if you were to join our family,” Carlisle answers, and her eyes find him immediately. “One that the Volturi would never allow to exist. That means they’d kill you if you were to change.”

Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she furrows her eyebrows. “Then I won’t shift and it won’t be a problem.”

“Aro will know,” Alice chimes in. “He can read every thought anyone’s ever had just by touch. He’d find out about you. Even as a human, you’d be a threat. The potential you carry is enough for him to act.”

Letting out a heavy breath, Y/N shakes her head. “How do you even know I might have this power?”

“We asked a member of our extended family to visit,” Alice replies. “We didn’t want to take risks when it came to you. A Quileute imprint.”

“And if you didn’t? If he never told you what potential I carry? If we never even mentioned the possibility of me being part of your family?”

“You’d have never gone through what Paul saw the day he imprinted on you.”

“A self-actualizing prophesy,” Y/N nods. “Is it really as bad as it seems?” Y/N asks Alice. “Paul has always seemed traumatized by it, but he’s my imprint. Is it really a horrid way to die?”

For the first time, Y/N noticed emotions in the Cullens. The Cullens' stony faces are difficult to read by humans, but Y/N can no longer ignore the emotions she notices in them. It’s on all their faces–compassion and pity most of all.

“Okay then”, Y/N forces a small smile as she uses Jacob’s shoulders to help herself stand. Jasper doesn’t hesitate, holding her up as she stumbles during her attempt.

“We need to find my fiancé,” Y/N purses her lips. “Jacob,” she sighs. “Please find him and bring him back to me.”

“I will do my best,” he promises. “But it’s not easy when we get into this headspace. It once took me an entire summer to return to my human form.”

Nodding, she swallows thickly. “Tell him I need him. Tell him I love him and I don’t care about anything other than spending the rest of my life with him. I want to get married and I want us to live every single day to the fullest.”

“I’ll gather the rest of the pack still willing to shift,” Jacob pecks her forehead. “We can cover more ground and drag him back if necessary.”

As Jacob walks toward the door, he’s stopped as her fingers coil around his pinky finger–the only part of him she could reach as he all but ran to fulfill his promise.

“Don’t let him see me breaking down. He can’t ever know.”

Ever since, Y/N waited for her soulmate to return to her. Embry, Quill, and Seth joined Jacob in their search the very first night. Sam and his eldest son waited for Leah and her husband, Owen, to come from Port Angeles before joining the very next day.

Emily would visit with her youngest every morning. Y/N’d have her dad over for lunch, but it didn’t help distract her as much. The greatest thing Sam has ever done for her was give her and Paul his blessing to clue her father in. She didn’t tell him she was marked for certain death. It would kill him to know, but he knows enough to be aware her life is in danger. She told him Paul’s off with the pack trying to hunt down a rogue cold one, protecting the tribe. Kim and Jared would come over every other night for dinner. Y/N imagines it’s because they feel guilty about Jared’s lack of involvement in the search for Paul. He’s not shifted in so long, the human part of him is much stronger than the wolf. Y/N supposes they didn’t want to halt his aging now when they finally seem to look the same age. She can’t take it to heart. Perhaps she’d hate if Paul shifted after a decade too.

Claire and her wife visited on the second day. She’s never been too close to Claire as she and Andrea live far, about a five-hour drive in one direction. They mostly see each other for holidays, but Y/N appreciated her visiting very much. Catching up with them put her mind at ease for a few hours, long enough to maintain some semblance of sanity.

Renesmee showed up with Bella for a few hours on the third day, bringing loads of chocolates Edward knew Y/N liked. Apparently, he’s joined the search earlier that day with Emmett and Rosalie.

The only ones who never left her home were Daisy and Jasper. It would likely drive Embry crazy if he knew his imprint had been sitting beside a vampire this entire time, especially when that vampire was Jasper. He’s apparently less stable with his diet compared to others in his family, but Y/N likes it when he’s close by. If it weren’t for him micromanaging her emotions whenever they threatened to kill her, Y/N would have lost herself. Alice came and went, unable to handle the smell of wolves for too long. The smell of several wolves mixed together is much worse than Jacob's scent, she said.

“He’s going to come back”, Daisy hands her a cup of warm tea. It’s nothing compared to holding Paul’s hand, but if she closes her eyes for a few minutes, she can pretend he’s there, safe with her.

Daisy sits with her, feeling her loss. Embry’s never been away this long before. She can’t imagine how hard it must be for Y/N when she can’t even be sure Paul is alright when she can feel he’s in pain. At least Embry isn’t in danger and he isn’t heartbroken to the point of being stuck in his wolf form. He’ll definitely come back home. Paul might not. She doesn’t say that openly, but she carries that worry. Meeting Y/N was scary as hell, especially with how highly Embry used to talk about her. She knows they had a mutual crush on each other when they were younger, but it never seemed to work for them. Embry told her he didn’t want to mess up his friendship with Jacob, who was evidently in love with Y/N, but he also didn’t want to risk losing Y/N as a friend. It was easier to admire her from a distance.

It’s not like Daisy is insecure about her relationship with Embry now, but before she knew what imprinting was, it did cross her mind that Y/N might be competition. She only found out about imprints when Embry spilled the beans about Paul imprinting on Y/N when she first came back to town. He wasn’t aware she was close enough to hear him and the way he mocked Paul for it, but she heard it. It wasn’t hard making the connection about their own situation. Smiling, she remembers how stupid his face looked when she called him her imprint in bed that night. He nearly choked on his own saliva before she kissed him harder than ever before. She wishes he was with her to kiss him harder than that. Jared didn’t shift and leave Kim, so why did Embry? Shaking her head, she puts those thoughts away. Y/N is a close friend, possibly her closest friend, and she’s definitely Embry’s favorite person aside from herself. This is a small sacrifice for someone they both care about.

Jasper watches the two girls from the couch. He can sense the quickly shifting emotions in Daisy every day, but none of them are malicious. It’s evident she simply misses her husband. Y/N is a hurricane compared to Daisy. She’s impossible to predict and the devastation her emotions can cause is incredibly difficult to contain. He’s never truly delved much into imprint connections, perhaps because Jacob and Renesmee had a simple relationship. Renesmee didn’t pay him much attention until she ended things with her high school boyfriend. After graduation, that’s when she decided she wanted him…selfishly so. She never quite unlatched from him. Renesmee was more or less obsessed with him, jealous of Y/N’s friendship with him, but she was never in any pain regarding Jacob. As for the wolf side of the relationship, Jacob just wanted to protect her and make her happy. He didn’t necessarily love her the way Renesmee loved him, but he wouldn’t ever break her heart, even though his own wasn’t whole. Jasper always knew Jacob loved someone else and despite the imprinting tying him to his niece, Jacob never forgot the one he wanted truly. Seeing Jacob and Y/N in the same room revealed everything to him — he wanted what he could never have. And now he’s off, making sure Y/N can have some form of a happy ending as if she won’t die soon.

Never before did Jasper care much about humans, knowing they’re around only for a brief part of his immortal life. Very few did he care to befriend and, for some reason, Y/N felt like a person he wanted to be around. She didn’t make him thirsty, it’s her heart that speaks to him. So many people walk around hiding their true feelings, but she feels everything so clearly and she refuses to pretend otherwise. It’s rare to find someone like that. He has observed her mainly depressed in the time he's known her, but he wonders about the potential of being around her when she's truly happy.? He could get drunk on candid joyfulness Y/N is capable of feeling. Perhaps he’s going to be invited to the wedding when Paul returns. She’ll certainly be cheerful on that day and he has to know the other side of this despair. He can't believe that he cannot replace this pit of aching with ecstasy and serenity.

Alice finds him unreasonable for staying with Y/N inside the house she shares with Paul, but he can’t bring himself to leave yet. Not before she’s reunited with her fiancé. Leaving now is like playing with destiny. She deserves the relief he’s cautiously giving her, making sure she can feel her emotions without allowing them to cross the borders of what she can safely handle. Y/N needs him, even if others do not agree. Until Paul walks over the threshold of this house, Jasper will not leave. Y/N doesn’t demand it either. He can feel she’s grateful for his presence, for taking the edge off the very sharp knife her emotions tend to become.

So he stays, watching over the girls as the lighting tears apart the sky.

“What would happen if I were to join your family and Aro was,” Y/N pauses as she turns to look at Jasper, who seemed rather surprised she was talking about it. “Well, if he was eliminated, would it really be such a problem for me? For your family?”

Staring at Jasper, Y/N watches as his lips spread in a thin line and then into a genuine smile. She’s definitely gone mad. “You’d want to take on the Volturi?”

“I want to take on Aro,” she corrects. “If he was alone, he’d be easier to eliminate.”

“To kill, you mean,” Jasper states.

Shaking her head, she places the empty teacup down. “I understand the chances of it are minimal, but say I accept to be one of you and I get this magical power of making vampires human… Can’t I make him human?”

“Would he, like, just become a vampire again?” Daisy asks.

Jasper rubs his chin. The more time he spends around her, Y/N swears he does these little gestures for her benefit, something to take away from the ungodly beauty he possesses, to make him seem more human.

It's impossible to turn them into vampires after they have been cured. However, the rest of them would know. The entire army would be ready to dismember us to get to you.”

“Not if he disappears,” Y/N tries. “We could hold him hostage until he dies a human death.”

“That’s dark”, Daisy notes.

“It’s nothing compared to what he’s been doing for much longer than you’ve been alive,” Jasper argues. “He deserves far worse.”

“Could it work?” Y/N asks as Jasper’s phone lights up. “Alice?” The hope in her voice is so easily detectable that it makes Jasper almost frown when he sees it’s a message from Edward.

We found Paul.

“No. Edward says they found Paul.”

“Are they coming home?” Y/N jumps, running toward Jasper. “Call him, call him!”

Smiling as her hope brings alive the butterflies in his stomach, Jasper dials his brother immediately.

“Kind of hard to talk now”, Edward grunts as a loud growl sounds.

“I’m with Y/N. You’re on speaker.”

“Where is he”, Y/N grabs Jasper’s wrist, bringing her lips closer to the phone. “Is he okay?”

“Canada”, Edward sighs as the growling grows louder.

“Is that him?!” she exclaims. “Paul Lahote, you stop that right now!”

On command, the growls turn into whimpers and she can’t help the way her chin trembles with the pained sound leaving her fiancé.

“Come home,” she says softly. “I know you believe you put me in this situation, but that’s not true.” Sniffling, she pauses as if to wonder if saying it in front of everyone is unwise. It doesn’t take long for her to decide, choosing to prioritize Paul over her vulnerability. “If you and I never fell in love, I’d have been dead a long time ago. Paul, I came back home for a few months to tie up loose ends.”

Glancing at Daisy who stood by her, Y/N swallows thickly. “I was struggling with anxiety and depression. And I didn’t feel like I had anyone in this world other than my dad. I just…I was in therapy, but it didn’t really feel like it was working. The meds never really helped either. I was just so…so lonely.”

“Y/N”, Daisy rests a hand on her shoulder as a show of support.

“I was planning on taking my life and then you showed up in that forest with your stupid smile and gorgeous eyes and suddenly I had one more mystery to solve.” Smiling meekly, Y/N sighs. “Before long, I was falling in love with you and my friends returned to me and in that time, I started falling in love with life again. You saved my life, Paul Lahote, and I hate how cheesy that sounds, but you did. And whatever time I got now is still a lot longer than it would have been if we never met.”

Biting her lower lip, she closes her eyes. “You made me happier than I believed was possible. I love you and I want to marry you. I want to marry you and become your wife as we planned. Come back to me so we can enjoy this time we have left.”

“I will.”

She recognizes Paul’s voice immediately.

“I’ll be home soon. We’ll do whatever you want.” His voice is shaky, imbued with heavy emotions he’s attempting to keep under control.

Smiling, she nods. “A beach wedding would have been great, but the weather might not agree.”

“I’ll make sure it agrees,” Paul sniffles.

“Where we had our first date?”

“Sounds perfect!”

Neither spoke for a few moments. Each breath seems to hang in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. It’s the kind of silence that carries weight, a palpable tension that both parties are acutely aware of but hesitate to break. Y/N inhales sharply as Paul breaks the silence.

“I love you too.”

“I know”, she replies quietly.

“With all my heart.”

“I believe you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Paul promises.

Nodding, she holds her breath as tears rush to her eyes. She can’t let Paul hear her crying. He’s carrying far too much guilt already and her tears shouldn’t be part of the load. Swallowing the growing lump at the back of her throat, she replies sweetly, her tone laced with all the love she wants to give him.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

__________________

Tags:  @b-tchymoon​ @squiddaloo​ @abbiesxox​ @kellyashcroft​  @the-chaotic-cow​​ @xxxjaexxx​​ @captainrogers-19​​ @bexloxl​​ @llovergirlll​​ @adaydreamaway08​​ @sunsetevergreen​​ @volturiwolf​​ @twihard08​​ @galacticstxrdust​​ @sorrow-and-bliss​​ @ireadthensuetheauthors​​ @missxmarvelous​​ @locokoca​​ @unstablekay​​ @makhaia​​ @venusdelaroix​​ @avadakadabra93​​ @tearsforhan​​ @a-marie-a​​ @lendeluxe​​ @seagulls-corner​​ @jdbxws​​ @konigslilslut​​ @rottenstyx​​ @itsmytimetoodream​​ @dreamerwasfound​​ @convolutings​​  @thingfromlove​​ @jennyamanda8​​ @havecourage-darling​​ @luvr-exe​​ @alittlejudgemental​​ @turningtoclown​​ @emptydoorsandpaintedwindows​​ @marvelmenarebeautiful​​ @bringmethe-world​​ @alitaar​​ @sugasthreedollarkookie​​ @chloe-skywalker​​ @heyheyheyggg​​ @feral-ratatattat-king​​ @queereddie​​ @fandomrulesall-blog​​ @queenotaku27​​ @dcgoddess​​ @lilac-crowns-blog​​ @small-town-wayward-daughter​​ @yourqueentp​​ @boreddemigodd​​ @chaosgoblinreblogsthings​​ @felinegrate​​ @lunajay33​​ @gtfoana​​ @hpboysslut2707​​ @tpwk-harry-styles​​ @amberpanda99​​ @let-love-bleeds-red​​ @mo-s-blog​​​ @nj01​​ @myheadsinanotherworld​​ @problematicpastry​​ @witchybabel

A/N: No clue why Tumblr is being a bitch today, I don't even know if the tags are working because it doesn't let me do my usual thing, so if you're on the tag list, please let me know if you got a notification or not. On a side note, I've had the worst stomach bug since Friday, so forgive me for the grammar, I beg for leniency. As usual, anyone wanting to be tagged can comment on the post, just make sure your blog visibility settings are on and that your blog hasn’t been flagged (blurry pfp is usually your clue that you have been flagged) as those are most common reasons why tumblr won’t let you be tagged. Also keep in mind changing your @ might mean you lose your tag since Tumblr acts like your blog no longer exists due to the change.

Part 29

[god-complex-12]

Saudade

— Paring; Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II

Saudade: (n.) a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia; longing to be near something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; “the love that remains”.

Quote; “Fuck you, Simon.”

Disclaimer; middle of a war, angst, sad, guns, violence, descriptions of war, childhood friends, childhood trauma, kind of PTSD, blood, fighting, fear, stabbing, no use of Y/N, conflict, arguing.

Word Count: 0.9k.

Masterlist

A/N: I read the very first lines of this @charliemwrites fic and this came to my mind. I haven’t read the rest yet, but inspo from them. Also, please send in requests. I’m desperate for ideas.

The sound of gunfire wasn’t foreign. Not to Simon. However, even with ear coverage, the headache couldn’t be stopped. The adrenaline of the bloodshed kept his mind off the pain. It was moments like these where his mind was empty and only set on surviving and carrying out the mission.

Simon’s back hit the wall as he took a brief breather before he busted into the room, firing at the first man he saw in a Shadow uniform. His gun was aimed at the wrong person at the wrong time because he was quickly met with a hit, sending him to the ground with a groan of pain. He tried to shoot whoever the perpetrator was, but the enemy pried the rifle from his hands and pinned him to the ground, holding their own gun to his head. All Simon could see were the soldier’s eyes, but even those let off more emotion than would be ideal in a situation like this. Simon struggled, but his struggle did him no good against the body weight of the enemy atop him.

The soldier didn’t shoot, though. That’s why Simon was trying to act fast, as he managed to get his hand out from under the enemy, and he grabbed the knife on his leg and lodged it into the man’s thigh. Instinctively, the stranger yelled out and slammed the handgun down against the lieutenant's head. The mask cracked and Simon cringed in pain.

“You fuckin’ piece of shit!” The soldier yelled, and he angrily ripped the mask from the other man’s face. He tore everything off Simon's face, destroying his comm and headset, ripping the balaclava, and using the broken mask to stab him in the shoulder. Simon fought him, tossing his head around to stop him and even grabbing him by the face to make him let go. The soldier pointed the gun back at Simon’s bare forehead. He held Simon’s wrist tightly, stabbing the other piece of his mask into his palm, making Simon let go.

As the enemy’s rage calmed and his breathing steadied, his hand wavered. His eyes widened ever so slightly before sharpening again. “What are you doing here?” His tone was harsh, as if he were talking to a private. Simon took it as a demand in order to win rather than the man’s curiosity.

“You’re a dumb fuck if you think you can get information out of me in the middle of a warzone,” Simon spat out through gritted teeth.

The soldier paused before they lowered their balaclava. Simon’s eyes widened in fear as all the unwanted memories rushed back to him like a tsunami. His breath became labored. Everything he wanted to forget was on top of him, pointing a pistol at his head. He started thrashing more. “Get off of me! Get the hell off of me, you dickhead!” He shouted angrily.

“Stop it,” he says calmly. However, all gentleness was gone when Simon continued to fight. “I said stop!” He punched Simon with his full strength. He grabbed Simon’s face harshly, making him look at him. “You can run. Forget everything bad. But I’ll be damned if you try to forget me, you cowardly bitch. I fought for you. I’m the only reason you lived through your pathetic childhood and you abandoned me. You left me with everything I fought with you through. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you! I could’ve had a happy childhood, but I was too busy fending for your bitch ass.” All that pent-up aggression was being spewed through a tight jaw and angry eyes.

Simon was desperate to get away. He looked like a little boy again, trying to get away from whatever his father brought home. “I had to! You don’t get it!” Another hit from the gun shut Simon up. The lieutenant knew exactly what he had done was wrong, and he knew that the man in front of him had every right to be angry. Even though Simon was the reason his youth was corrupted, they never split. He was like a brother to him. One who helped him through all, yet Simon left him with everything the other protected him from.

The soldier got back to his feet and pulled his mask back up. He turned around and was ready to walk away from his opponent, unable to pull the trigger, even though he was overwhelmed with a burning hatred for Simon. Angry at him for putting him through his fucked-up family even though they weren’t related. He still had the urge to protect him.

“Fuck you, Simon. I hope it all comes back to you at night. I hope it keeps you up.” He grumbled as he limped out of the room, leaving Simon there on the floor.

[anxiouslowercase]

canon au eoin-survives-the fall hc ish ???

Just picture Augustin looking at Eoin and paddy (as a pair) and him trying to figure them out and ofc his first thought is paddy is the moon and Eoin is the sun ??? Besides of the straightforward comparison just by looking at them and seeing them behave, there's no denying that paddy seems to shine when he's hit by eoin's light, whenever he is around the man

And that seems all fair and good, but something is not quite right anyway? Because the sun and the moon don't orbit each other the way they do - you could argue they helplessly follow one another, never quite meeting but. Even if unsaid, Augustin would propose there's actually something there, paddy and eoin are meeting (however one wished to interpret that). So the analogy doesn't fully track and he shouldn't even think about it that much bc like. Who cares, right? Except he does, and he keeps looking at them and observing them and he wriggles himself sort of next to them whenever he's allowed to, or between them, and he pays attention but still can't put his finger on it

Until there's a mission with both Irishmen leading different squads and augustin happens to see with his very eyes how Eoin mcgonigal goes absolutely feral when paddy does not show up at rendezvous point with his unit. He doesn't scream but he growls, and he very much still raises his voice, firm and with authority, and it booms through the desert, and Augustin literally sees him get all up on reg fucking seekings' personal space, grab him and rough him up against the nearest surface, yell and demand about paddy in more languages than augustin knew eoin was fluent in

-- until paddy does show up. A bit dirty and with probably some bruises, but very much alive and kicking

And everything in eoin mcgonigal's body comes undone, all pliant and invitingly gentle again - even if he does get on Paddy's case about his recklessness

And that's when Augustin comes to the conclusion that whereas paddy is indeed the moon (lunatic that he is,) Eoin is but the earth - they are constantly orbiting each other, eoin's gravity pulls paddy in at every turn.

But most importantly, Eoin needs Paddy the way the earth needs the moon to control the tides. With them gone, tsunamis would wreak havoc inside Eoin mcgonigal, taking anyone who dares come close in the process.

It's somehow fascinating and, dare he say, somewhat alluring.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

i love dove so much ;-; 🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞 i want more of her pls

THANK YOU!

93 for 🪞:

---

“Okay,” Buck sighs. “Well… I still don’t know if I fully get it. But it doesn’t matter. You’re home, he’s home, so… I’m happy.”

Eddie smiles. It’s tight. Nervous. Like he knows he’s gotten away with a flimsy explanation, which isn’t usually a grace Buck affords to him. Buck’s actually not entirely sure why he’s letting it drop so easily. Maybe because he’s got things on his brain he doesn’t quite want to tell Eddie, either. 

“I’m happy, too,” Eddie says. 

I realized that he’s just kind of… He’s just kind of sad… 

“Then that’s what matters,” Buck replies, relinquishing any hopes of learning more. 

ii.

Christopher takes Buck’s words to heart. From there on out, he’s always kind to Dove. Even when she is kind of objectively annoying in a way that makes Buck want to call up Maddie and apologize for having once been young in her proximity. Because, wow? Once Chris starts giving her attention, Dove sort of becomes a pest. 

She’s kind of obsessed with Chris. Talks about him all the time. Thinks he’s the coolest person on earth. Buck and Eddie are completely old news. Did you know Chris learned how to make robots at school? Did you know Chris is better at video games than you? It’s constant and, frankly, adorable. Much better than her glaring at him like he’s a crooked picture hanging on the wall, anyway. 

For his part, Chris seems to quietly enjoy the attention. It’s always been just him. He’s always been the baby. Once he gets over the fact that there can in fact be two kids around, he takes it in stride. 

“He told me he can basically show her everything he likes and make her cool,” Eddie tells Buck one shift at work. “Like she’s a puppy to raise to do fun tricks.”

“Hmm,” Buck considers this. “I guess he’s not wrong. She’s still at a pretty impressionable age.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know whether or not to be concerned,” Eddie admits. 

“I mean, as long as he’s like… Reasonable?” Buck posits. “Like, not forcing any opinions or hobbies on her? Then I guess? Whatever? I think she wants to be like him regardless.”

Eddie shrugs. “He kind of likes that about her.”

“Diaz control freak genes are strong,” Buck nods. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wait until she learns what a clipboard is. Then she can adopt your style of control freak.”

“Hey, you jest, but that’s not a bad idea. It’s never too early to learn about effective organization and project management.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. But the gesture, Buck finds, is fond. 

iii.

They do end up taking both kids to the beach. It’s not really warm enough to enjoy the water properly, but they pack a lunch, and set out to have a good day regardless. 

Buck purchases and insists that Dove wear a lifejacket. Even when she complains that it looks silly. He doesn’t actually care. He, for one, will never take ocean safety lightly again in his life. Sure, she’s had a few swimming lessons in a pool. With no currents or waves. No undertow. The ocean is a totally different beast. One Buck is all too familiar with. 

Chris tells her as much when they pick him and Eddie up and she’s still grumbling out the life jacket. 

“It’s puffy,” she complains. “I don’t need one in swimming lessons.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Chris says. “I think it’s kind of smart to have. One time, Buck and I got hit by a really big wave called a tsunami. I wish I’d been wearing one then.”

Buck and Eddie tense in unison. Neither of them had planned on terrifying her today. 

“Really?” Dove asks. 

“Oh, yeah,” Chris nods. “It was super scary even though I’m a good swimmer. Better to be safe than sorry.”

A phrase Buck has used no less than ten times in explaining the necessity of this less-than-stylish piece of apparel. 

“Okay, Chris,” Dove says, sated. “That’s pretty smart.”

Wow. 

Eddie looks at Buck and snorts, amused. 

“Jokes on you,” Buck grumbles. “I’m sending her to your place next time she needs convincing of anything.”

Eddie shrugs. “I’m not complaining.”

▪️▪️▪️

It’s a really nice afternoon, even if it is a little chilly. Dove puts her feet in the ocean and makes a shrill giggle-shriek combo noise when a receding wave pulls sand over her toes. Eddie convinces her to look for sea glass. 

[sushiwriterhere]

coming home to you

summary: "It hit him like this sometimes, all tsunami and three-hundred-mile-an-hour winds and lightning strikes, just how much he wanted you."  rating: explicit (18+ mdni - so nsfw it's not funny) pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x f!reader word count: 3.5k warnings: ass play, somnophilia (slight if you squint-ish), dry humping, thigh fucking, PiV (unprotected, pls wrap before u tap irl), rimming, cum play, squirting, no use of y/n.  notes: this is 1000% the most nsfw thing i have ever written so pls dni if ur a minor (srsly im not fucking around) and otherwise pls give feedback!! doing my best with characterization, hope y'all enjoy! my other works are here tagging: @sebsxphia @roosterbruiser @waklman - tagging ppl either by request or whom i feel like are horny for bradley soooo pls let me know if you'd like to be added/removed

He didn’t know when he had become like this, all desperate and needy for your touch.

When you’d started dating, Bradley did his best to be the gentleman his mother raised him to be: opening your car door, always paying on dates, bringing flowers, and walking on the outside of the sidewalk. He did his best not to gawk at you when your dresses cut low on your chest or when you bent over in front of him to pick up the bobby pin you’d dropped in his doorway. 

But it really was getting difficult. 

You’d started staying nights. Bradley wasn’t a prude or anything like that, he was human and he had needs and he wasn’t going to let some complex about sex prevent him from being with you. But there were things that he wanted that he wasn’t sure you wanted. 

It all started when he got home from a long day, far too long, of training. Mav had ‘shot him down’ more times than he could count, and it was a small blessing that each of the penalties had been fifty pushups and not two hundred. Nevertheless, his arms ached and he was developing this nasty knot at the base of his neck that made him want to never put a helmet on again. 

When he pushed open his front door, he could hear you bustling in the kitchen, clearly having come over to make dinner. Your jacket was thrown over the back of the couch, your keys in the bowl by the door–god it almost seemed too good to be true to his exhaustion-addled brain. He moved on autopilot as he dropped his bag in the laundry room and made his way to you. 

Standing in front of the stove, you were stirring something that smelled like tomatoes and basil and everything heavenly, all the while softly singing along to whatever your phone was playing. 

“Bradley! You startled me.” You jumped as his arms wrapped around your midsection and his forehead came to rest on your shoulder, “Missed you while you were at work.”

All he felt like he could do was to just stand there, borderline useless, as you threaded one perfectly manicured hand into his hair and continued stirring with the other. Your nails felt like heaven scratching at his scalp, sending tingles down his spine. God he wanted you so badly. 

It hit him like this sometimes, all tsunami and three-hundred-mile-an-hour winds and lightning strikes, just how much he wanted you. It was in the mundane moments mostly–watching you cook, your focused face when you were reading a work email. He didn’t think it would ever stop stealing his breath. 

“Bad day.” He mumbled, leaning his weight into you as you leaned yours into him.

He let himself follow your gentle, but stunted, shuffle around the kitchen as you salted the pasta water and threw more spices into the sauce. 

“Can I help make it better?” 

The complete pureness and kindness in your voice made Bradley feel a little nuts–because that’s just who you were. So giving and open, always there to support him, always there to listen to him rant about his latest spat with Mav or worry about another deployment. 

Now it wasn’t like Bradley was just leaving you hanging, but the near-perfect ebb and flow of your relationship made his chest ache. It also made that terrible possessive thing in his chest bare its teeth and whisper dark thoughts. It was the part of him that wanted to hide you away from prying eyes, that bared its teeth when men let their heads follow you across a room. 

He’d met you at the Hard Deck. You were new in town and looking for somewhere not too fancy, not too dive-y. You wore this sundress that Bradley knew he’d remember for the rest of his life, and you’d been all teeth and crinkled eyes when you smiled at how he played the piano. He didn’t play the piano for female attention, but when you looked at him like that, well, maybe it didn’t hurt. 

You were a bit of a social butterfly, introducing yourself as someone who was looking for friends and did anyone know of the best taco place in town and would the pilots maybe have any beer recommendations? He couldn’t help but be drawn to you. And when you’d given him just a bit of shit about the mustache and Hawaiian shirt combo, it was over for him. 

Your relationship progressed at just the pace Bradley preferred–first date he had dropped you off with a chaste kiss on the cheek. On the second date you’d surprised him just a bit by pulling him in by the collar of his shirt to kiss him stupid on your doorstep. You had straight up asked if he was planning on having you stay over before your third date; you wanted to bring your overnight supplies and really you liked being prepared. 

Now here he was, with his nose tucked into your neck, back slightly aching from the angle, inhaling what was uniquely you. He didn’t want to come home to anything else on a bad day, or a good day for that matter. 

“This is making it better, even though my back is kinda aching.” He admitted quietly, and he was almost offended by how hard your body shook with laughter.

“Okay well, if you let me go, we can eat and watch trash TV then I’ll massage out that knot at the base of your neck.” 

Bradley would be a fucking fool not to marry you. 

-

About one Bachelor episode later, Bradley could feel himself starting to nod off despite his best efforts. He had given up a long time ago trying to pretend like he didn’t care, and instead embraced that he loved the drama and the cat fights. He was sitting on the floor leaning up against the couch in between your knees, with your fingers digging into just the right spot. He could die a happy man right here. 

The sensation of your fingers pressing into his skin, your nails scratching at his hairline, made something curl pleasantly low in his stomach. There wasn’t anything technically embarrassing about sporting a semi when your girlfriend was giving you a massage, but he still felt the flush in his neck. You had clearly noticed because you let one of your hands curl around his jaw and turn his head to the side so you could press your lips into his. 

When your hair tickled his face, he shuddered. 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah Bradley?” You cooed, letting your hands fall to his shoulders so you could push yourself to standing. 

The two of you stumbled slowly to the bedroom, the move slightly awkward with the way Bradley kept leaning on you but also kept trying to press his lips into yours. Stripping of everything but underwear, Bradley let himself fall onto the bed without getting under the covers. He watched you brush your teeth with one eye open, the bathroom lighting giving your figure a fluorescent backlit halo. 

When you made it to bed, you shoved at him, “Go brush your teeth, Bradley, I’m not kissing you if you taste like tomatoes while I’m minty.”

With only a light amount of grumbling and complaining, he forced himself to brush his teeth and complete at least one part of the skincare routine you had set up for him. He didn’t want anything in the way of fucking you tonight–as soon as dinner was over, it had been occupying almost all of his thoughts. 

You squealed when he used the remaining amount of his energy to launch himself into bed, bouncing the both of you. For a moment, he just let himself go heavy on top of you. 

“Babe.” He grunted in response to the pet name, “You’re heavy.”

Lifting his head, Bradley pecked your lips and pulled back to look at you without rolling off, “Didn’t you want a weighted blanket?”

Your pout made his head spin, “Weighted blankets don’t usually have bony–oof!–elbows.”

Ever the drama queen, Bradley rolled off you with a huff. You giggled at his antics, and the sound of it made him feel like someone had lit his heart on fire. 

The two of you settled under the covers eventually, legs tangled together with your face pressed into his chest. Your fingers occasionally stroked down his pecs, the sensation was slightly odd against his fine chest hair but it made him shiver more than anything else. You seemed so comfortable petting him and snuggling into him, so who was he to disturb that.

He felt himself starting to drift off when your lips pressed to his, plush and warm. Your hand stroked his cheek, as if urging him to just drift (don’t think, just do) and let muscle memory guide the way his lips met yours. And boy was he ever content to do just that.

Half asleep, he rutted against you, just giving himself permission to feel and feel good. One of your hands clutched at his hip while the other tugged him into a kiss at the back of his neck, your lips moving gently against his in a wonderful contrast to the way his cock felt grinding on you, despite the two layers of clothing.

“Can I—” He couldn’t think straight at that moment.

He was overwhelmed all of a sudden by all the exhaustion and frustration of the day, by the need to feel you and have you close. He grabbed at his briefs before yanking them down just enough for his dick to be free and he almost groaned at the relief. 

You were hardly deterred by how desperate he seemed, and instead took it in stride. But when you went to take your panties off, he stopped you.

“Bradley? What’s wrong, what do you need, baby?” You asked as his hands wrapped around your wrists to center himself. 

He cleared his throat, momentarily embarrassed, but overall too desperate and wanting for it to really affect him.

“Can I fuck your thighs?” He whispered. “I want to make you cum first, but after that?”

It wasn’t necessarily the wildest thing in the world; rationally, he knew that. But he never wanted to encroach, never make you feel uncomfortable, didn’t want to make you feel used. It’s just that sometimes when you wore skirts and bent over, or when you were reaching for a glass or plate on the mornings you stayed over and his shirt rode up over the curve of your ass, he could see that spot at the top of your legs where your thighs touched—and all he could think about was what it might feel like to hold you by your hips and slide his cock there.

You shivered and murmured that of course he could. He dragged you over him so that your legs were framing his hips and pulled your still-clothed cunt over his cock. Clearly you were almost as affected as he was with your panties sporting what felt like a decent sized wet spot at the crotch. 

But he wanted more. He wanted them soaked so that your thighs were slick with it, so that he could pull them to the side and let the bite of the waistband center you while he pressed his head into your clit. He wanted to lose himself in you.

Your gasps and whines were mind altering, the stuff that Bradley stored away for moments alone while deployed. He tried to let you control the rhythm, just letting himself massage at the fat of your ass and the muscle of your thighs. The broken moan you let out when he dragged his fingertips up your back made him grit his teeth.

He knew you were close when the steady rhythm of your hips began to stutter, as if the mechanics of the motion was all autopilot, whatever it took to get you there. When you came you licked into his mouth and tried to kiss him, but mostly just ended up sloppily pressing your lips together with tongue. Bradley didn’t care though, because the feeling of your soaked panties dragging over his dick was making him feel crazy.

Eventually, he eased you off of him and onto your side so that his chest was plastered to your back. He made easy work of his boxers, sliding them off and losing them immediately in the mess of bed covers. The thin layer of sweat between the two of you was just more evidence of what had happened, and the way you jerked from oversensitivity when he played with your nipples was another reminder. And god, just like he had wanted, the insides of your thighs were slick with the mix of your cum and his precum. 

Framing his hips right against yours, he gave an experimental thrust right into that spot he always stared at. He absolutely was not going to last long. Everything was just so much—from the way you kept twitching from the onslaught of sensations to the slight roughness of your panties against him to the way you twisted your head back to kiss him messily. All of it was so much against the smooth glide of your thighs. 

Bradley let one of his hands move away from your nipples to pull the fabric to the side, and he groaned at the sensation of his sliding cock sliding up and down the length of your pussy. You wailed at how the head of his dick rubbed right up against your clit again and again and he could feel just how much arousal was pouring out of you. Your hand shot out to grip his hair and he mouthed at your neck, tasting salt and something so distinctly you. 

“F-Feels so good, Bradley, always feels s-so good,” You gasped.

When you started thrusting back against him, he was done for. He scrambled to pull your panties further to the side just enough so he could slip the head of his cock into you, and the sensation sent him over the edge. Despite your orgasm, you clenched around him, tight, hot, and everything he had ever wanted and more. A few more thrusts and he felt his orgasm spreading to his fingertips, making his brain go fuzzy. He was sure he was babbling some nonsense as his cock caught on the edge of your hole and the slight resistance made his teeth hurt. 

You groaned at the sensation of him finishing in you, content to let him ride out the aftershocks with little stutters of his hips. Eventually, he came back to earth and that bone-deep satisfaction washed away the stress from the day. You two lay there for a moment, catching your breaths.

“Fuck, you’re incredible.” He whispered, easing himself out of you and helping you shimmy out of your underwear. 

“Thank you, babe,” His chest felt tight at your tone and the soft look in your eyes as you stroked his cheek when he leaned over you to climb out of bed. 

“Anything,” his throat welled up a bit and he cleared it, “Anything for you.”

Honestly, cleaning you up after fucking your thighs was the least he could do. After stripping completely and padding to the bathroom to clean himself off, Bradley wet a washcloth and pulled on another pair of briefs just to be comfortable. 

When he got back, you had settled with one of your feet flat on the bed, the knee of the leg closer to him slightly raised with one arm thrown over your eyes to block the gentle light from the bathroom. You looked so beautiful. The rise and fall of your breath accentuated your chest and you looked so at peace. 

The moment was broken when his eyes reached the place where he could see his cum dripping down the crease of your ass.

Suddenly Bradley felt very awake. Dropping to his knees on the carpet, he tugged you to the edge of the bed, and tilted your hips upwards. 

You were a sight to behold. Your thighs were still wet from where he had been fucking them and your pussy was glistening from your orgasm. But it was the way his cum steadily pulsed out of you, over your puckered hole, and onto the mattress that made him feel like he’d died and gone to heaven. He felt his cock twitch with interest. 

“Bradley?” You said softly, slightly confused at the way he seemed to be frozen between your legs when he was usually so determined to get you cleaned up.

His tongue felt like it was made of lead—he couldn’t respond. All he could do was stare as his thumbs gently pulled your cheeks apart so he could get a better view. 

The ah sound you made when he stroked his thumb over your asshole felt like a punch in the gut. The stuttered, gasping moan you let out when he finally, finally licked it could have made him finish right then and there.

“Oh god, oh fuck, babe—” For a split second Bradley thought you might pull him away, reject him in that gentle way of yours you always used when redirecting him.

Instead, your hands shot out to his hair and yanked. Hard. Your hips bucked up and you pulled his face into you as he dived in eagerly. 

Maybe he’d confess it to you after this was over, but this was the stuff that haunted his imagination when he thought about you late at night. Some primal part of him wanted to be the one to have you every which way you’d let him, and now that he knew that it was on the table, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to get enough. He’d come shockingly quickly into his own fist more times than he could count since he’d started seeing you to the thought of fucking you in your ass, to the thought of rimming you til you couldn’t take it anymore. 

The noises you were making were heavenly–moans and whimpers for more. He held your hips down so you couldn’t escape his tongue, his thumbs holding you open for him. It was all you could do–beg for more. The slick pouring from your pussy was overwhelming and the grip on his hair was borderline painful, but it kept him grounded.

“Bradley!” You wailed when he inserted a finger into your spasming cunt and curled it upwards in a petting motion. 

He didn’t think he’d ever seen you quite like this. When he opened his eyes, your chest was heaving, your face barely visible from how you’d thrown your head back in ecstasy, a thin sheen of sweat covering your torso. It was potentially the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his life. 

When he added a second finger, your hips bucked up so hard he almost lost his grip on you. But he could feel the way you were close around his tongue as it circled and gently pushed past the initial ring of muscles. It took all his focus to not cum in his boxers from the thought of imaging how you might feel, clenched around his cock as he pushed into your ass. 

“Babe, I think I’m going to–!” Was all you managed to get out before your orgasm hit you.

Bradley would never forget where he was when he made you squirt for the first time–there, on his knees in front of you, exhausted from a long day of work. The noise you made seemed to be torn from your chest as you rode out your orgasm on his fingers and tongue. For a moment, your body moved on its own accord, chasing and trying to prolong your pleasure. 

And in that moment, when he couldn’t resist any longer and reached down to palm himself for a bit of relief, his own orgasm stole all the air from his lungs. Leave it to Bradley to come in his boxers like a high schooler from rimming you for the first time. 

Slowly, gently, he pulled his fingers out of you, not missing the way your fingers flexed in his hair and you clenched around him. You tasted incredible as always, slightly salty with something else that was just so you. He’d never get tired of it. 

There was a moment of silence before you pushed yourself to your elbows, an absolutely wild look in your eyes, “Bradley Bradshaw you are a menace.” And then you collapsed in a fit of giggles.

He sat there, fingers half way out of his mouth, chest and face soaking wet with you, and watched as you laughed to yourself about how horny he was for you not even moments after he made you squirt. 

“Are you making fun of me?” Now he was laughing a bit too.

Then you were crawling over to him as he stood slowly, pulling him down and over you. Your lips pressed together over and over as you stroked his hair, over his shoulders and down his back. 

“You silly, horny, man. I love you so much. Let’s shower and go the hell to sleep.”

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read the next part of this series here