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star-girl69 · 11 months

Text

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: double chapter today bc…. you’ll see… i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: swearing, mentions of guns and bullets, animal death, mentions of blood, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Eleven - This Hunger Has No End

—-

1996-

This is how we do it!

The impromptu dance parties had been happening almost every night, a way to preserve normalcy. Jackie has first suggested it, but the rest of them had all agreed and soon- they were putting a music player in bucket, making it loud enough to project across the whole cabin.

You were still eating your dinner, the venison just as good as last night, easier to savor now that there wasn’t a rolling hunger in your stomach. The deer wouldn’t last much longer, but it would last long enough, you told yourself- until you could find another thing to kill.

The girls all danced and shouted, Coach snapping as a way of clapping, and you watched them all with a smile on your face. This felt like you weren’t in the woods. And maybe that was what you all needed.

Finally, the music started winding down, the voice becoming distorted until it stopped completely.

“Goddamn it,” Van panted, pick it up from the bucket and giving it a few hits. No music. “Has hitting something ever fixed it?”

“Maybe try blowing on it,” Mari said, and Van opened the side and did just so. Nothing was heard in the cabin besides for sharp creaking from upstairs, like a footstep.

Everyone stopped and looked up at the ceiling.

“Uh, the fuck was that?” Jackie asked.

“Wait, you heard it too?” Lottie says, her eyes wide.

“It was probably just a branch,” Taissa says, her voice commanding.

Mari gives her a look. “Inside, on the floor? What if it’s… you know, him?”

“What, the dead guy?”

“Um… yeah.”

“You know what it probably was?” Nat asks. “The dead guy’s missing fingers trying to find their way home.” She smiles and everyone scolds her, and you can’t help but laugh slightly, hiding behind your hand.

“You really have to encourage them?” Tai sighs.

“You gotta admit, it didn’t sound like it was on the roof.”

“Fine. Then it was just a rat, a raccoon, or something, I don’t know, it-”

“Shh,” Lottie says sharply, suddenly cutting Jackie off. She looks towards the ceiling. “Listen.”

“Oh, my God,” Tai mutters under her breath.

Everyone looks at the ceiling, including you.

While you won’t deny that the wilderness is a weird and scary place- ghosts? An animal is much more likely.

“Well I don’t hear it now,” Mark says after a moment.

Before the girls can start arguing again, Coach Ben interrupts.

“All right, all right. You know what I think it was? I think the ghost decided it was time to get some sleep. And we should probably do the same, yeah?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Van spoke, holding up the music player. And slowly, like a spill of water, the girls are dispersed and moved to their beds.

—-

Hunting was what you did most these days. You, Nat, and Travis would all hike out into the woods and look around for tracks and scratches in the trees- and while sometimes you did find markers that a deer was around, you never found it.

You were ready to go, holding your stomach because of your cramps- which most of the girls were also plagued with by now.

“Jackie,” Nat said, kicking her sleeping form. She groaned. “Jackie! Up and at ‘em, or something.”

“You got it right,” you say, smiling sarcastically, and she rolls her eyes, smiling as well.

“I’m so cold,” Jackie groans, looking like a blue blanket with her brown hair spilling out on top. “And I have cramps!” she said, finally rolling over and facing the two of you.

“No shit,” Nat scoffs. “We literally all have cramps.”

“I feel like I have appendicitis and I’m not in bed.” You start walking towards the door, excited for some fresh air- wondering if it will help you. “It’s no excuse, Jackie!” you shout over your shoulder.

Natalie chuckles. “Our periods have synced up,” she says to Jackie, nudging her one more time. “C’mon.”

She follows you out of the cabin, slinging the gun over her shoulder while you slip on your backpack.

“Hey,” Akilah says when Jackie finally comes outside. “Bloody soldiers on the left, breakfast on the right. Okay? Don’t mess ‘em up like Travis did,” she smiles.

“Okay,” he says, shooting her a look. “You guys are disgusting. I’m just-” he makes a gagging sound, and Akilah rolls her eyes.

“Shut up,”

—-

“Are we finally going?” Travis asks, looking at the “bloody soldiers” in disgust.

“Oh, don’t be so happy,” Natalie smiles. “Everywhere you go, the blood will follow you.”

He groans, but follows the two of you anyways, deep into the woods, looking for birds or something to shoot.

Travis goes first, resting the gun on the curve of a tree, staring at a large plain of thick shrubs, nothing comes out.

“Nothing,” he sighs after a minute, letting the gun fall.

“Ah, giving up makes sense.” She holds up the piece of paper you’ve been keeping track on. “You’re not too far behind to catch up.”

Travis is third, by a wide margin, and you can’t stop thinking about it and smiling. Even though he’s been nicer ever since that day on the plane, you can’t help but wonder how much this is hurting his ego.

“It’s not my fault your lady bloods are scaring all the prey away.”

“Wow,” you laugh, leaning down to touch the leaf of a small fern.

“You went there,” Nat says.

“Went there? I am surrounded on all sides That cabin is, like, the blood hive.” He reloads the gun.

She scoffs. “What’s the matter, Travis? Are you scared of our menses?”

“Never said that.”

She smiles, giving you her hand and helping tug you up from the ground. “Anyway, shouldn’t the smell of blood attract animals?”

“Uh, predators, maybe. But sure hunter-gatherer tribes used to make their women, like, hide in huts or whatever when they were on their periods?”

“Yeah, Travis, let’s talk about the logic of neanderthals or whatever,” you say.

“Yeah, I’m confused. Are you a zoologist or an anthropologist?”

He chuckles. “I’m pretty sure it was that so they wouldn’t ruin the hunt.”

“More like cause men needed something to blame their failures on.”

Travis looks at her and takes in a breath, turning back around towards the trees.

“Ouch. I guess that hasn’t changed.”

“Can he, like, forfeit his turn for being stupid?” Natalie smiles and wraps her arm around your waist, leaning against you, while you cross your arms, wanting to go back to the cabin.

Finally, the bird you’ve been stalking kicks up in flight. Travis fires a shot, and misses.

“Fuck,” he says, breathing heavily, and you and Natalie have to turn around to try and hide your laugh. “Whatever,” he spits, stalking off.

—-

You lay on your stomach next to Natalie, watching a small groundhog eat some leaves maybe 30 feet away.

She takes a deep breath and pulls the trigger. You shrink into yourself, expecting the sharp sound of a gunshot to come, but it doesn’t. Something clicks, and you look over to see Nat opening an empty chamber, which shouldn’t be empty.

“You cheater,” she says, turning to Travis who starts laughing, holding a bullet in his hand.

He does some weird trick you can barely even make out, and the bullet disappears from in between his fingers.

“Are you seriously doing magic right now?” you ask. “Major turn-off,” you sigh, flipping around so you’re laying on your back. You can hear Travis scoff. “Can we stay here for a minute? My stomach hurts.”

Natalie lays on her back next to you.

“Didn’t you tell Jackie that cramps are no excuse to stay in bed?”

Travis makes a gagging sound and walks away.

“Yeah, but like, this is is the woods. Not my bed.”

“Oh, okay,” she laughs. You rest in silence for another minute, you shoulder touching hers. “Appendicitis, though? Really?”

“I’m serious!” you say, drawing out the word in a groan, digging your feet into the dirt and turning your head to face her.

But she was already staring at you.

Her face is inches away from hers, the end of your noses brush, and you can feel her breath on your skin.

Her eyes are wide and bright blue, and you want to smile, to laugh and joke with her, but there’s something pulling you towards her, to just be like this.

You can hear branches rustle in the wind.

If you were to say her name, your lips would ghost across hers.

She’s been haunting you for so long, always right there, always a second too long, always thinking of her touch as soon as you had touched her.

Hunger has been something in your stomach you’re accustomed to. But this hunger, this one for her is different. It is a storm, in a way that you know it will never stop. There is no end in sight, no hope of food, of a savior.

You are starving and dying by the day, but this shaky friendship with her, that is what is barely keeping you alive.

The only savior you could possibly have is her.

And you’re in the wilderness, and you’re not stupid, and she looks and Travis and she cares about him. She dug up a dead body for him.

This is a hunger that will never stop, a violence inside of you that she could help you with, that you could share, but she won’t give it to you. She won’t ever give it to you, the girl with the gash across her face, the girl who barely speaks, the girl who is always second best even here in the wilderness.

It is never over, not when you’re too young to keep something like this, not when she is all that you have ever wanted, staying right in front of you for years.

Maybe it is the wilderness, the plane crash, but maybe it is just that you like looking at her, and you feel safe with her, and you want to hold her hand forever and wait for her.

“Guys!” Travis shouts, and you gasp and sit up, feeling stupid and embarrassed. Your mind was going to places that you wanted it to go. Not where it had to go.

“Y/N,” she whispers, reaching out for your hand, but you stand up. One of the bandages on your face comes loose.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I-” But you can’t speak, you can’t lie to her, because you aren’t sorry.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for-” she smiles, so sweetly, like she’s watching her favorite TV show, like she’s watching the rain fall on a peaceful night.

But the thing about rain is that soon your boots will fill up with water, soon you hair will stick to your face, and soon it won’t be nice anymore- it won’t be peaceful.

But you’re violence and she’s violence, and a little more won’t hurt-

You have survived through so much together, and you can’t step forward like this just to lose her. Not here, not in the wilderness, not ever.

You are so hungry, so, so hungry, and there is no way you can ever feed it. No way you can ever make this go away. This hunger will never be over.

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydoki

#yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader

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shellxrls · 1 month

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to answer ur questions (2)

2. okay so this one really depends on his mood!!

if he’s had a stressful day, or has just been doing a lot of his ‘business’ then he needs to burn off some of that energy!! these are the times when he’s rough, no foreplay, just straight to the mating press. he absolutely does not use protection at these times (I’m on the pill also I scripted a male contraceptive pill that he’s on cause I’m smart like that) bc he literally does not have time to think to. also this man has a crazy breeding kink like he jst wants to fill me up with Cameron babies and who am I to complain!!

but literally at these times he does not hold back, spanking, choking, really fucking rough shit and he’s into it. also does not stop and ANYTHING but a safe word or action.

these are the times where he uses those degrading nicknames every single time he hits that mushy spot, or if he hears a whimper or a noise he absolutely degrades, that’s just his mindset, he needs something to take his anger out with!! by the end of it when he’s relaxed a bit I’ll normally take a bit more lead, yes he’s still in control but I’ll suck him off, or ride him or something that he doesn’t need too much work for. also atp my brain will be the effective consistency of baby food and I’m just obsessed with him in that mindset. jst need to help daddy out ugh I miss himmm.

he gets a bit gentler at that point but he still uses those degrading nicknames, maybe wraps a hand round my neck. or if I’m giving him a blowjob he pushes me righttt down.

top tier aftercare after these instances!! he’s acc very good and knows quite a bit about how the female body works, and he’s not one to let it be neglected.

if he’s a bit more relaxed, maybe after a day of just playing golf at the country club or something along those sort of lines he’s less rough. he’s generally more into praise. he also lovessss giving backshots esp cause he got me this cutie lil buttplug that he just loves to see!!

more foreplay when he’s like this, like previously stated maybe he’ll eat me out, or I’ll suck him off. also off topic but he loves having his balls sucked on <3

he goes a bit slower, and in general is a bit nicer about it, like I said praise is a big thing for him. he likes to apply things from his own life to our sex life. so like he knows that he himself likes to be validated to he makes sure I feel validated in bed.

sometimes there’s still a hand around the throat but most of the time he sticks to giving hickeys, normally on the tits cause this boy is a titty sucker he can’t even deny it.

if he’s giving backshots he likes to push on the lower back or put a hand on the lower tummy to feel it bulge when he thrusts in. amazing dirty talk too!!

he can also be a total exhibitionist, he’s not one to shy away from making me hump on him or his thigh in broad daylight at the country club or a party. if he’s dealing with Barry and I’m whining too much he’ll just stuff a hand down my skirt to shut me up!! he’s also so casual about it, absolutely will not stop a conversation, literally complaining avidly about something ward said while simultaneously making me grind on him like there’s no tomorrow. making nooo effort to shush my noises.

he’s the softest when he’s tired, sometimes I wake him up in the middle of the night cause I just need him!!! and he’ll be all groggy and tried but me nods and agrees. bringing me to jst hump on him or ride his cock real slow and intimate, talking me through it real nice cause he knows if I woke up in the dead of night like that I probably need taking care of well. lots of kisses and praise and shushes bc everyone’s still asleep. it’s so rare to catch him being so soft I swear and I love it when I do <33

- Rafe shifter

— context (for anyone who doesn’t understand)

firstly, thank you for writing this all out again omg ?? i rlly appreciate that you’re so willing to answer and in so much depth too <3 !!

MATING PRESS FOR THE WIN ! i knew it, and also male contraceptives that is so smart bcuz as u said mans has balls made for breeding apparently.

i’m surprised ab the aftercare tbh, i always thought he’d be kinda a one and done guy but to be fair i do understand that if you’re dating it wld be hard for him to just leave you in such a vulnerable position esp after such an intense fuck.

THE BACKSHOTS THING ARGH. knew it was big enough for him to feel inside of u and i knew he’d like feeling ur stomach bulge too.

sorry the casual dominance is actually killinggg me. that’s hot as fuck omg ?? sticking his hand down ur skirt ??? IN PUBLIC !! i need him so bad.

awwwe i love that he’s capable of being soft at times too omg, groggy sleepy sex is lowkey my favourite and it’s sooo <33 to know he can do it !!

#asks.ᐟ ⋆｡˚𖦹 #;rafe shifter #;chatting #rafe cameron prompt

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paperrretro · 1 year

Text

retro.

Pairing: Billy | Four x Reader

Word Count: 1,068 words

Warnings: Swearing

“Got something for you, Eight.”

Four’s eyes are blue and twinkling when they meet yours in the mirror, and you quickly move your gaze back to your monitor before it starts to burn, fingers flying over the keyboard as he stretches an arm around you to drop something onto the desk.

“What is it?” you ask as he makes himself at home in one of the spare chairs, collapsing into it with a sigh.

Four gestures at the paper bag. “Take a guess.”

You inhale, faltering just the slightest when you catch a whiff of something greasy and warm and very, very good.

“French fries,” you say.

“Yep –”

“Arby’s. The curly ones.”

“What the fuck.” Four leans back in his chair, and you cannot stop the warmth that trickles to your cheeks at the awe in his tone. “How’d you know?”

“I can tell by the smell.”

“Holy shit, really?”

“No.” You finally detach your hands from the keyboard and grab the paper bag. “Wild guess.”

“Oh.”

Pulling the fries out, you stuff some into your mouth and hold the carton out towards Four. He takes two and puts them on a napkin, emptying a ketchup packet on the other half for dipping. “How come you sound disappointed?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Thought you had some, like, superhuman ability. With the shit we’ve done, I would totally believe it.”

“If anyone has a superpower, it’s you, Skywalker. Jumping across buildings and over roofs and shit without smashing onto the ground.”

Four grins. “S’pose so, yeah.”

“So humble.”

“I’m good at what I do!” he exclaims. “I can compliment you too. You’re literally the smartest person I know.”

“Smarter than Five?”

“… You’re the second smartest person I know. But you’re definitely the nicest.”

“The nicest?” you repeat, incredulous. That was not something you ever heard in your past life.

“Well,” to your surprise, a flush crawls across his face, “granted, the bar isn’t very high, but it’s there. Besides Six, you’re the only one out of this lot who’s gone skating with me, and believe me, I’ve asked everyone.”

The thought of saying that you had nothing better to do crosses your mind, but then you remember that he thinks you’re nice, so you don’t. It wouldn’t have been true, anyway, and you are a horrible liar.

“You’re fun to hang out with,” you tell him.

That admission is true. Four is brash, a little nuts, sometimes too mouthy for his own good – and you like that he is. You remember when he had first convinced you to crawl out of your hole and go outside with him, when he’d wheedled you onto his skateboard, hands on your waist and shrieks of laughter in his throat as you wobbled around like an idiot.

You thought being dead meant being detached. Four seems determined to prove otherwise.

The corners of his eyes crinkle, and he scoots closer to your chair.

“What’re you working on?” he queries, elbows on his knees as he squints at the lines of code in front of you.

Tucking another curly fry into your cheek, you shrug. “Making a game.”

“Like Call of Duty? Would stay up all night with my mates playing that as a kid.”

“No, just a simple two-player one. 8-bit-ish.”

“What’s it about?”

You shift uncomfortably.

“What is this, twenty questions?”

“I’m just asking. Why, is it something pervy? I’d still be down to play.” Four throws a crooked smirk your way, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

A snort escapes you despite yourself. “What? No. It’s, um … a platform-type game. Like Mario.”

“Okay. Very specific.”

Clearing your throat, you mumble an elaboration. But that is almost worse, because then Four leans in close to hear what you’re saying, and he smells like the outdoors and his face is close and you’re worried, no, you’re terrified that you’ll glance down at his lips and say something about them that you’ll one hundred percent regret.

So you lean back slightly. Something flickers in his eyes when you do so, but he does not follow.

“Didn’t get that, Eights.”

“Parkour,” you mutter, the word fluttering out like a little drunk moth. “It’s a parkour game.”

Four blinks. Then, a broad, delighted smile spreads across his face.

“No shit?”

“I haven’t figured everything out yet,” you say almost defensively, though you don’t know what you’re defending against. “It’s nothing like the real thing, so don’t get your hopes up. It’s just a dumb project.”

“It’s wicked,” he says. “Can you make a character that looks like me?”

“Sure.”

(You do not tell him that you’ve already planned to.)

“And make a character that looks like you,” Four continues seriously, tapping the desk. “So I can kick your ass at parkour in a videogame, too. Oh, and everyone else, so I can also kick their asses.”

“You’ll be in my domain, Four. I’ll be finished before you even make the first jump.”

He chuckles, disbelieving, and bumps the side of your foot with his shoe. “Your domain, eh? I think you’ll find I’m very adaptable.”

“I know.” The words come out quieter than you intend. Adoring. Shit.

While you resist the urge to fidget and scuff a hole into the floor of your trailer, Four’s smile softens, eyes flicking back to the screen. He reaches for another couple of fries.

“Wanna go out tomorrow morning?”

“Huh?”

“Outside, I mean. I’m gonna find someplace to practice. You can come and watch and take notes for your game,” he says casually while he chews, licking the salt off his thumb once he’s done.

“Oh.” You try not to stare. “Yeah, I can go with you.”

“You could give it another go too, if you’d like.”

“Why, so you can kick my ass at parkour in real life again? I’ll just watch.”

“Suit yourself.” With that, Four stands up from his chair and looks down at you for a few seconds, then gestures with his chin at the fries. “Remember to finish those.”

“Okay, Mom.”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly and leaves without a goodbye. (There’s no need for it, not around here, because goodbyes are for the living, aren’t they?)

Once you’re sure he’s gone, you let out a breath and slap your cheeks several times, glancing at the carton next to your mouse. There are four left.

You laugh underneath your breath and reach for one.

#6underground #6 underground #6U #four!6underground #four/billy x reader #6 underground fanfic #reader insert #fluff

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motivationisdead · 2 years

Text

I swear the more I think about 3zun the more unsettled I am about their sworn brotherhood and how it worked.

Like, have you ever noticed that while Lan Xichen takes Jin Guangyao’s words over Nie Mingjue’s he also consistently places Nie Mingjue’s general wellbeing over Jin Guangyao’s? Seeming to brush aside the harm (and multiple murder attempts) Nie Mingjue commits towards Jin Guangyao.

And not to discount what Jin Guangyao has done but if you look at this purely from Lan Xichen’s perspective then Lan Xichen literally walks in on and has to stop Nie Mingjue from murdering Jin Guangyao on two separate occasions:

A moment later, Nie MingJue still raised his saber. Lan XiChen, “MingJue-xiong!”

Meng Yao shut his eyes. Lan XiChen also tightened his grip on Shuoyue, “Please excuse…”

Before he could finish his sentence, the silver light of the blade slashed down violently, onto a boulder on the side.

Meng Yao flinched from the thunder of the boulder splitting apart. Looking over, he saw that it had been sliced into two halves, from the top to the bottom.

Even in the end, the saber couldn’t fall on him. Baxia unsheathed. Nie MingJue walked away and never turned around.

- Chapter 49 of the EXR Translation

If Lan Xichen hadn’t interfered here Jin Guangyao would literally be dead.

And can’t forget:

Lan XiChen, “Brother, sheath your saber first—your mind is in turmoil!”

Nie MingJue, “I am not. I know what I’m doing. He’s beyond hope. If these keeps on going, he’ll do the world harm for sure. The earlier he’s killed, the earlier we can relax!”

Lan XiChen jolted in surprise, “Brother, what are you talking about? These past few days he has constantly been rushing to and fro between Lanling and Qinghe. Is it only in exchange for your comment that he is beyond hope?”

- Chapter 49 of the EXR Translation

Verbally Lan Xichen is taking Jin Guangyao’s side but in practice Lan Xichen sees Jin Guangyao being assaulted and somehow doesn’t come to the conclusion that the two need to be as far apart as possible for Jin Guangyao’s own safety. In fact even after Lan Xichen sees this he still lets Jin Guangyao go to the Unclean Realm to play Clarity instead of assigning someone else.

Now our perspective is limited to Nie Mingjue so Lan Xichen could have tried to talk Jin Guangyao out of going but we’re also given no reason to think he did because the next conversation we get between Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen is this:

Lan XiChen, “Since Brother chose to make the oath with you, it means that he has indeed approved of you.”

Jin GuangYao spoke with dejection, “But, Brother, didn’t you hear what he said in the oath? Every sentence meant something more. ‘Face a thousand accusing fingers, be torn from limb to limb’—this was clearly a warning for me. I… I’ve never heard of such an oath before.”

Lan XiChen replied in a gentle voice, “He said ‘if one were to think otherwise’. Do you think otherwise? If not, then why should you worry over it so much?”

Jin GuangYao, “I don’t, but Brother has already decided that I do, so what can I do?”

Lan XiChen, “He has always cherished your talent, hoping that you would choose the right path.”

Jin GuangYao, “It’s not that I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong, but that sometimes I really can’t help. Nowadays, I have it bad no matter which side I’m on. I have to ensure that I’m on everyone’s good sides. I wouldn’t care if it were someone else, but have I mistreated our eldest brother in any way? Brother, you heard as well. What did he call me?”

Lan XiChen sighed, “His anger was simply too great for him to have thought before speaking. Brother’s temper cannot compare to how it was in the past. You must not provoke him again. These past few days, he has been deeply troubled by the saber spirit, and HuaiSang has argued with him again. They still have not made up yet, even today.”

Jin GuangYao was almost sobbing, “If he could say such a thing when he was angry, then just how does he think of me on a daily basis?” …

- Chapter 50 of the EXR Translation

Now we, the audience, know Jin Guangyao is manipulating the situation to his benefit but Lan Xichen doesn’t know that. To him Jin Guangyao is literally just discussing a legitimate concern for his safety and saying that Nie Mingjue is mistreating him. Literally straight up says that and even points out that Lan Xichen has seen it himself.

And still, Lan Xichen isn’t hearing Jin Guangyao’s concerns but rather trying smooth them over. He’s not addressing how to fix the issue, he’s talking around it.

And while Lan Xichen seems to put down the majority of Nie Mingjue’s actions and anger as symptoms of the Nie’s cultivation does that negate the harm Nie Mingjue has done and could do to Jin Guangyao? Jin Guangyao is not a strong enough cultivator to truly defend himself against Nie Mingjue should he lose control as we’ve seen previously. And yet Lan Xichen does not seem to take the very real threat Nie Mingjue poses to Jin Guangyao’s life very seriously.

Even though right after this Nie Mingjue literally tries to kill Jin Guangyao again before losing control and going into Qi Deviation:

Seeing him enter, Jin GuangYao immediately panicked and darted behind Lan XiChen. Standing between the two, Lan XiChen didn’t even have the chance to speak as Nie MingJue lunged with his unsheathed saber. Lan XiChen blocked the attack with his sword, shouting, “Run!”

Jin GuangYao dashed out the door. Nie MingJue shook Lan XiChen off, “Don’t get in my way!”

He chased outside as well. As he passed a long corridor, he suddenly saw Jin GuangYao stroll toward him. He slashed with his saber and blood splattered out within an instant. But Jin GuangYao had clearly been running for his life. How could he have been walking back with such leisure?

- Chapter 50 of the EXR Translation

I… truly am at a loss. There was no way for Lan Xichen to be oblivious to how serious this was.

Like how on earth was Lan Xichen surprised when he learned one of his sworn brothers had killed the other? I’m only surprised it took one of them so long.

#mdzs novel #quotes #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #toxic relationships #their brotherhood is so bad #and seems to get worse at every angle you look at it

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blackholelynn · 1 year

Text

His Salvation - Part Five

<- Read Part Four

Summary: You have left your old life behind and started over with Dean, but you soon realize that you know almost nothing about the hunter you now live with.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Nightmares, aftermath of grief/loss, description of suffocation, swearing - these warnings are for the series of parts as a whole, so while some of these warnings may not apply on this part, they will apply for future parts.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Hello!! It's been a while! I'm just going to plop this here and slink away because I have no excuses. This is literally done and has been for months, SO SORRY!!! Life just be like that sometimes, so I will see you all on the next update (whenever my dysfunctional brain allows me).

Series Tag List: @leigh70

Dean Winchester/Jensen Ackles Tag List: @siospins2

Supernatural Tag List: @hobby27

Also cross-posted on my AO3 account, you can read it here!

~~~

"Damn it!" Dean cursed, swiping at the spell set up on the war room table. The components went clattering across the floor, scattering across the concrete. The older Winchester stepped away from the table and continued to seeth towards the wall, but the damage was already done.

Sam stooped his tall frame over to gather the debris, not surprised by the outcome. "We've tried every location spell we can think of, and she hasn't come up yet. Dean--"

"She's not dead." Dean's voice cracked as he tacked on, "She can't be."

"That wasn't what I was suggesting. Some of these spells locate a person even if they are dead, so that's not the issue here."

"Then what do you think it is?"

Sam sighed as he emptied his hands of the failed spell and sat down in one of the chairs while crossing his arms. "The only thing I can think of that would hide her this well is an angel brand."

"You're thinking Cas?" Dean's disbelief was unmistakable. Considering the last time he had seen you two together, you clearly had not gotten along, so it was a stretch to think that the two of you would be helping each other. “There’s no way. Those two were practically at each other’s throats when they met.”

“I’m not saying anything for sure, but if it’s not Cas, then another angel is helping her.”

The thought of another angel being around you shot Dean into action, and without another thought, he pulled out his phone and started dialing. Ignoring Sam’s querent expression, Dean listened to the dial tone with his breath caught in his throat. This was his last resort, the very last thing he could think of.

The voice on the other end of the phone had its usual exhausted quality. “What do you want?”

“Kevin, we need your help with something. I need you to figure out if there are any ways to get past angel branding.”

“Dean, I’m not your little bitch. I’m still in the middle of translating the Demon Tablet for the last trial, so–”

“I don’t care what the hell you’re doing. Whatever you’re doing, drop it. This is more important,” Dean snapped, immediately regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

Before he could even voice an apology, Kevin retaliated, “Oh, more important than shutting the gates of hell forever? More important than me getting my life back? Please, enlighten me on what’s so important.”

His similar wording only brought the memory of your argument back again, worsening the guilt he was already feeling. “We need to find someone.”

“You better be looking for God if it’s that important.” After a silence, Kevin asked, “Is that who you’re looking for?”

Dean groaned and ran a hand down his face before slamming that hand on the table in a fist. “I don’t have time to debate this with you! I just need to know if there’s anything in the Demon Tablet that can get past the angel branding for a location spell!”

Sam rolled his eyes and stood up, wrenching the phone from his brother’s hand. Sam took the conversation to another room, and all Dean could hear was the hushed, apologetic tone his brother held as he continued talking to Kevin. This left Dean alone in the room to pace and feel like he was crawling out of his skin.

He never thought he would be comfortable bringing someone into his life, especially after what happened to Lisa and Ben, but you had broken down every wall he had thought he built up so well. Now that you were so close, it was hard for him to cope with you being apart.

Abruptly, Sam entered the room again and loudly set the phone on the table, giving Dean a chastising glare. “I smoothed things over.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean asked defensively.

“You were being a dick,” Sam responded simply. Before Dean could even formulate his retort, Sam laid down a notepad on the table with a loud slap. It has a list of ingredients scribbled hastily down the piece of paper. "But Kevin came through for us. You sure you want to do this?"

Dean snatched up the notebook, eagerly reading the list of ingredients despite his unfamiliarity with spells. "Of course. Do we have all this stuff?"

Sam nodded. "I just checked, and yep. Pantry's fully stocked."

"Then let's get this show on the road!"

Dean was out of his seat before the other Winchester could even process what was said, but Sam quickly trailed after him to the library. The two were silent with concentration as they gathered the spell's components. It required some particularly rare ingredients, but thankfully the Men of Letters were a group that was seldom caught unprepared; their stock of materials was extensive.

Dean stood pensively at the side of the room as he watched Sam stir together the ingredients above the map they had spread on the table. The mixture in the container was brown and had the consistency of sludge. After what seemed like forever, Sam stopped stirring the components and swiftly turned the container upside down above the paper map.

When the concoction plopped unceremoniously onto the paper with no reaction, Dean surged forward. "Is that it?"

"I…I don't know?" When Sam caught Dean's disapproving glare, he continued defensively. "Kevin just gave me the instructions! He didn't tell me how it would work!"

"Are you kidding me, Sammy? You didn't think to ask how we would know if it worked? So now we don't know if the spell was a bust because she's warded too much or because you mixed up a tablespoon with a teaspoon!"

"I didn't mess up the spell!"

"Considering it looks like a sewer vomited on our map, I'd say you messed up the spell."

"No, I followed Kevin's instructions to a T."

"We'll, thank God we called Kevin!" Dean sarcastically huffed, throwing his hands up and turning away. "How could we go without making whatever the hell that is?!"

"Dean?"

The older Winchester was nowhere near done with his tirade. "You know, we make sure that kid is safe and that Crowley's goons don't get to him, and what's our reward?"

"Dean."

"Oh, right. A pile of brown ooze when we asked for a location spell. Because why would we ever need an actual spell? Might as well just give us the recipe for fake dog shi–"

"Dean!" Sam interrupted, and when his brother turned around, Sam pointed at the map. The thick concoction had spread itself out on the map leaving only a tiny area completely untouched. "Looks like it worked."

For the first time in days, Dean grinned and clapped his hands together, calling out as he left the room, "Pack your bags, Sammy! And make sure to remind me to buy Kevin a steak dinner or something!"

Sam looked down at the pristine spot on the map, a current of unease washing through him. What happened that hid you from their other spells, and if you were that thorough, should they really still be looking? Before Sam could think about it anymore, he took a mental note of the location and crumpled up the map.

It swished into the garbage can as he passed, going to pack his bag as instructed so they could head back out onto the road.

Once again, you were sitting in a library in front of a computer for far too long. Because of Castiel's absolute inability to use a computer, that job fell to you while he combed the bookshelves. You could see him from where you sat, and he was sitting at one of the tables surrounded by stacks of books. His brow was knit in intense concentration.

Focus.

Your brain chastised you for the millionth time since you had begun your Google journey to get back on track. Your focus was nearly non-existent, quickly getting lost in your tumultuous thoughts. It was taking every excuse to avoid the task you needed to be doing.

You wrenched your eyes to the computer screen and continued scrolling through the search results. You were sure you'd know the ins and outs of how to best use a search engine by the time all was said and done. You barely got through another page of blue links before your mind wandered again.

This time it was as though your brain was torturing you as one wrong gust of AC caused the smell of Dean to be noticeable from the flannel you wore. It was only a moment, so short of a time that you weren't even sure if you really had smelled it or if you were just remembering, but the smell launched you into a memory.

Shortly after you had started living with the Winchesters in the bunker, you had decided to make dinner for them both as a surprise. It wasn't special, considering that they never kept any actual groceries in stock, but it was something. You vividly remembered how Dean looked at you like you were his whole world at that moment. It was exhilarating, wonderful, and…terrifying. That wasn't something you remembered feeling in the moment, but looking back, it scared you to be so important to someone so soon into the relationship.

"Hello?" Castiel's gruff voice snapped you back to reality, and you saw a weathered book open on your keyboard. When he saw how dazed you were, you could see a note of concern cross his face. "Are you alright?"

You nodded profusely, turning all of your attention to the book as a means of deflection. "Yeah, all good. What did you find?"

Castiel paused as he continued surveying you, not entirely convinced. However, you ignored the angel's worries and continued skimming over the book. It was open to a Nordic poem, and after reading a few lines, you caught a word you knew – draugr.

You grimaced in disgust. "Ew. Please tell me this isn't the monster we're dealing with."

"You've had previous encounters with them? I thought this was your first time hunting alone?"

"They're not obscure! They're in an Elder Scrolls game, so yeah, I know what they are." You closed the book and handed it back to Castiel before typing 'draugr' into the search bar. You pointed to one of the pictures that depicted the game model of a rotting corpse with glowing blue eyes. "That thing. They kind of suck to deal with at really low levels."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and peered closer at the screen before shaking his head. "I believe we're looking for something more closely resembling myth."

"Well, obviously. I wasn't suggesting this thing was strutting around town unnoticed." You thumbed at the picture on the monitor before switching to the web page results, scrolling through the different links. "It is definitely going to make finding info hard, though."

"In this passage I found, it describes the draugr taking the shape of a cat, and while the victim was sleeping, the cat sat on the man's chest and suffocated him. That would be consistent with the injuries we saw on the bodies."

His tone made you look around the library nervously, and when you were satisfied that you hadn't drawn suspicion, you chided Castiel, "You can't say things like that so loud. We're in public."

"Regardless, I think a machete is our best option."

"Okay, number one: what did I just say!" You shut off your computer and stood, leading the oblivious man away from people and out of the library. The fact that you hadn't checked out the book in his hand escaped you in your haste. "And number two: how is a machete going to help?"

Castiel shrugged you off him now that you were both on the sidewalk and opened the book back up, pointing to an excerpt of text. "It says here that the draugr was slain when a warrior cut off its head while it was preying on its victim. A machete is typically the best weapon for decapitation."

"Oh. Wonderful." Your sarcasm flew over Castiel's head, but you didn't linger on that sentiment long. "I guess that means we've gotta find ourselves a cat."

"Why?"

"You said it yourself, angel boy. It found all its victims by being a cat, so we shouldn't be any different. We find it, take it home, I go to sleep while you pretend to leave, and then you give it a particularly close haircut before it can off me." You were already striding down the sidewalk to your car, eager to go on the search for stray cats. "A perfect plan, really. I see no flaws."

"I see several," Castiel remarked as he followed after you.

"Well, I didn't ask, now did I?"

He got into the car after you with only a harumph, and you didn't speak for a while. The silence let you start to reminisce again, analyzing every moment in the bunker for the past few months. How many times did you ignore your brain screaming at you that everything was too soon? How many times had you looked past Dean's brooding? How often did you struggle to be alone because if you were alone, then you thought about Laurie and the nixie?

Your brain swam with different questions and reflections until Castiel asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," you quickly denied. Your eyes focused on the road ahead to avoid his blue ones staring intently at you.

"I can tell it's about something you regret. I know that look all too well." Castiel let a moment of silence pass before he spoke again to give you the chance to admit it. "You don't have to talk about it, but denying that you're caught up in your thoughts is pointless. I have had that same spiral down myself."

"I just don't know if you'd get it since you're an angel and all." You did not want to have a gossip session with an angel, much less an angel that you were pretty sure was Dean's best friend. That seemed like the worst option at that time.

You could see Castiel's head cock in confusion in your peripheral vision. "What would I not 'get'?"

"You know…" you trailed off, but he didn't know. You'd have to explain it. "Feelings. Romantic ones, specifically."

"Ah. Romance. I actually do know a thing or two about that. Nothing meaningful, but I've had my fair share of–"

You quickly cut him off from whatever escapades he was about to describe. "Okay, we are not close enough yet for you to be telling me about your heavenly one-night stands, but I appreciate the attempt at bonding."

"None of them were in Heaven."

"Great to know that you angels aren't boning up there, Cas, but it's not the point."

Suddenly, your angel companion grew silent, and you were unsure why the conversation had stopped so abruptly. Considering its direction, you were far from complaining, but Castiel's sudden silence created some concern. You were starting to put aside the bad first impression you had and were beginning to enjoy the company.

You spotted an alley teeming with cats and pulled over to investigate, but before either of you got out of the car, you asked, "Did I say something to upset you? I'm sorry if I did."

"No, you said nothing wrong," Castiel replied, though he looked as though he was only half there with you in the car. The dazed look in his eye signaled that his thoughts were somewhere else.

"I guess you do know that look. You have it right now." You shut off the ignition and turned in your seat to face him. Castiel met your inquisitive gaze, and you parroted, "You don't have to talk about it, but denying that you're caught up in your thoughts is pointless."

One corner of his mouth quirked up as you repeated his words, and he chuckled a bit. "We have more in common than I thought we had upon meeting."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that too. We both have the 'I don't know what the hell I'm doing' vibe."

"Vibe? As in vibration?"

"Well, no…not exactly?" You cut off your explanation, realizing that you had to stay on track. "The point is that we can help each other. You've already helped me a little bit with figuring my mess out. Let me help you."

Castiel hesitated but nodded. "That logic does make sense, but we should continue while searching for the draugr. We don't have much time to waste."

"I like the way you think! Multi-tasking is a crucial skill." You opened the car door, quickly surveying the alley in front of you. Some of its feline inhabitants skittered away with the approach of your car, but most of them still resided in the alley.

One cat, in particular, caught your eye because he was so fat and fluffy, and although you were pretty sure he wasn't the cat you were looking for, you wanted to try and approach him anyway. Your conversation with Castiel was quickly forgotten as you inched closer and closer to the cat, making sure your steps were light, and your form was hunched.

You were just a hair's breadth away from touching the cat's silky fur when Castiel said, "I don't think that's the cat we're looking for."

The cat scurried away at the sound of Castiel's voice, leaving you standing with your hand outstretched, and you quietly sighed, "No. No, it wasn't, but it would've been nice to pet."

"I see…" Castiel stiffly followed you into the alley. He looked so out of place among the garbage cans, litter, and stray cats, and it was clear he was pensive. You had assumed it was about your surroundings until he said, "It had caught me off guard when you called me Cas."

You didn't look away from the next cat you were slowly stalking towards, but you still held an apologetic expression on your face. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it would upset you."

"I'm not upset," he quickly clarified. He awkwardly mimicked your posture to a nearby cat which quickly became frightened and scurried off as well. "I just had not expected you to call me that. Sam and Dean are the only ones who do so frequently."

"Do you miss them? It doesn't seem like you're around the bunker much, but the way you've talked, you were all really close."

"I would say…" The angel seemed to analyze his own feelings at that time like he had never thought about it before. "Yes. I do miss them. Although, ultimately, it has been my decisions that have made our time together few and far between."

You hummed in understanding, identifying heavily with his sentiment. "You ever think about going back to the bunker and staying there with Sam and Dean?"

"Not–" Castiel's sentence was abruptly cut off as he held his breath, finally getting close enough to pet one of the cats. His mouth pressed into a concentrated line before he sighed and stood, allowing the feline to skitter away – not the draugr. He continued, "Not very often anymore. I don't think it's the right place for me."

"How do we find the right place?"

"I don't know."

Your conversation petered until you saw a particularly malnourished cat sitting away from the rest, carefully cleaning its mangy fur. It showed no hesitation or fear as you approached, and once your hand made contact with it, you knew it was the draugr you were looking for.

You picked up the cat and carried it back towards the car, saying to Castiel as you passed, "We got 'em. Now time for the plan."

Castiel followed you wordlessly back to the car, and although you had just been in a disgusting alley trolling around garbage for feral cats, he had actually had fun. So had you. For the first time in months, you started feeling like you had a handle on your life again.

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cambria-writes · 2 years

Text

it is sunday my dudes!

a bit of a later update because i did, in fact, go see heilung last night and stayed up way too late and then got sick. (stress and tired sick not like, sick sick.) i think i was able to proofread this two or three times, but if i missed anything please let me know!

also who’s guessed what the chapter titles are

pairing: eddie munsonx reader rating: T warning: mention of minor character death, vague mention of attempted suicide, loose mention of severe depression, lots of swearing, underaged drinking (because this is still the states), spicy topic but only if you squint and only for a fraction of a second word count: 4,129

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖎𝖛𝖊: 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔩𝔩

You don’t sleep.

You spend Eddie’s entire watch with eyes wide opened looking at the ceiling. Chrissy Cunningham is dead and some kind of inter-dimensional asshole is responsible for it. And for some god-forsaken reason, you and Eddie both have to rely on a bunch of kids and their glorified babysitters to keep you out of trouble.

It’s literally the worst idea you ever could’ve thought of, but considering you and Eddie are the ones the least knowledgeable about whatever the fuck is going on... you don’t really have a choice but to accept to be sitting ducks.

You can hear Eddie pacing in the hallways. Has been for the past several hours. Sometimes you hear him slide down a wall to sit on the floor, only to get back up a few minutes later to resume his pacing. You absently scratch at the raised scar on your left arm. You’re wondering if maybe you should give Eddie the full story behind it when you hear him walk in the room again.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked, worried, sitting up and scooting back to have your back against the well.

“What, you mean besides the fact that I’m the prime suspect for the murder of a seventeen year old cheerleader?”

You pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your arms around them. “Shit, sorry I asked.” You mutter, resting your chin on your knees.

Eddie sighs, and you feel the foot of the bed dip when he sits down. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t...” You see the shadow of his arm when he covers his face with his hand.

“I know,” you say quietly, drumming your fingers against your legs. “All of this is fucked.”

“Super fucked,” he agrees, and you can vaguely see him lay back on the bed. “We shouldn’t have run away.”

“Ed, there’s nothing we could’ve–”

“We don’t know that!” He shouts, and you can’t help but flinch at the volume. “Shit, sorry. Sorry I, fuck.”

You uncurl and crawl forward and feel around until your hand finds a shoulder. Grab it a bit more firmly when he flinches.

“Eddie, there’s nothing we could have done. We didn’t know anything,“ you say, hoping that your voice sounds as firm as you want it to. ”You heard Max. Nancy’s gonna try and snoop around Forest Hills tomorrow to see if she can find anything out. Steve and the kids are gonna try and see if they can figure out why it was Chrissy. The best we can do is just...“

“Wait,” Eddie finished for you, after you trail off. “I know. I fucking hate it.”

You pull your hand away and pull your legs under you to kneel on the bed. Bite at the inside of your cheek for a second before you speak up again.

“I could try to do it,” you say hesitantly, and the uncertainty you feel makes it sound more like a question.

Eddie sits up and turns to look at you. “Try what again?”

“The whole plane shifting,” you say, digging your fingers into your knees. “If I bring the guns with me–”

“No,” Edide cuts you off, pulling a leg up on the bed to face you. ”Absolutely not.“

“I think Vecna’s the one who kicked me out.”

A second of silence.

“You what?“

“When I did the thing earlier,” you continue, balling your hands into fists to stop the shaking. “There was a man who talked to me before I landed face first on the floor. I think that was Vecna.”

You can hear Eddie swearing under his breath. “And that’s not an even bigger reason to not do that again because?”

“Maybe I can talk to him again or something, I don’t know. I just...”

You feel Eddie getting up and off the bed before you see him.

“Fuck this, I’m too sober for this shit,” is all he offers in the way of an explanation before walking out of the room. You hurry after him the best you can, trying not to trip over anything or run into any walls. You slam your hand against the fridge door when he reaches for it.

“Are you insane? We’re basically wanted fugitives and your genius idea is to get drunk?”

Eddie sighs and turns around.

“Look, neither of us can fucking sleep, I’m losing my mind, you’re suggesting doing the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard, so yeah, in comparison, getting drunk and passing the fuck out sounds like a fantastic idea,” He says, putting his hand back on the fridge door handle. “Get your hand off.”

You stare him down for a second. “Fine. Make sure the fridge light stays off.”

You take a few steps back. Eddie opens the fridge slowly, swats at your shoulder for you to hold the fridge’s light switch down while he grabs what’s left of a twelve pack of beer.

“How did you even know that was in there?” You ask, once the fridge door is closed and Eddie puts the case down on the counter.

“He’s a dealer?” Eddie says, that like that shoulder be self explanatory. He grabs your hand and places a cold bottle in it. You feel his hand cover yours for a second while he seems to use one of his rings to pop the cap off.

You stare down at the bottle with equal amounts of incredulity and suspicion. You hear Eddie pop the cap off his own bottle and knock it against yours.

“Cheers to the town freaks,” he says, before taking a very long and audible gulp.

“Cheer to that, I guess,” you say, and chug as much of the bottle as you can before the carbonation starts to hurt your throat.

“Woah there,” Eddie says, bringing your arm down. “Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick.”

You shrug him off and take another more reasonable sip of the beer, and turn around to sit on the kitchen floor, against the fridge door. You hear Eddie take another drink before sitting down next to you, legs stretch out in front of him.

“Wanna play twenty questions while we wait for this to kick in?” you ask, leaning your head back and turning slightly to look at him.

“Sure,” he snorts, putting the bottle down on the floor between his legs. “You start?”

“Alright,” you say, taking a second to think. “Okay. Favourite Band?”

He chuckles. “Corroded Coffin. Yours?”

“Hold up, who the fuck?”

“It’s my band,” Eddie shrugs. “Answer the damn question.”

“Blue Öyster Cult,” you answer, after some consideration. Eddie makes a sound you register as disgust. “Shut up,” you say, and punch his shoulder. “They’re a good fucking band. Do you still play guitar?”

“You know it baby,” Eddie says, and the pride in his voice makes you grin. He takes a sip of his beer and puts the bottle back down. “Do you still write?”

The grin falls from your face and you take a sip. “No. Not after I... not after what happened. Do you write your own lyrics?”

“Sometimes,” Eddie answers. You see him twisting one of his rings. “What... what happened? For that,” he asks, waving vaguely at your left arm.

“Pass,” you immediately say, chugging down another third of your beer.

“Hey, no, that’s not how this works,” Eddie complains, pulling the beer bottle away from you. “Answer the question or you don't get this back.”

“That’s bullshit!” You whisper harshly, leaning over to try to grab the bottle back. When you see that Eddie’s arms are clearly longer than yours and that there’s no way you can get it back, you settle back in your spot and cross your arms. “It’s... not something I like to talk about.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie acknowledges. “How many people have you talked about it with?” You stay silent. “Yeah. Should probably get that off of your chest at some point. Might as well be now.”

“It was...” You groan, letting your head tilt back and smack against the fridge. “It was three years ago. I’d been having those nightmares so often I just... sometimes I woke up and I couldn’t tell if I was awake or not,” you start, closing your eyes against the sting of tears. “I thought—when it happened I thought that, if I just...” You clear your throat with the intention of continuing, but Eddie pats your knee.

“I’m good. Sorry for...” He trails off, and takes a second to chug the rest of the beer. You look on, speechless, as he reaches over his head for the case still on the counter. Clears his throat, too, and grabs another beer. Grabs a second one to put in front of you. “Your, uh, your turn.”

You sniffle and paw the tears from your eyes and clear your throat again. “Right. Um, okay.” Slap your thighs and lean back against the fridge. “Why do you wear your bandana like that?”

You can almost feel Eddie freeze mid-gulp. He sputters and covers his mouth for a second.

“Wear—my ban—what do you mean ‘like that’?” You can’t help but laugh.

“Wow, okay,” you take another sip of your nearly-empty beer. “I don’t know that I need a straight answer with the way you just reacted, damn.”

“No, seriously, what do you mean,” Eddie asks again, though it sounds much more like a statement and his voice sounds a little bit too steady. When you turn your head to look at him, you almost flinch with how intently he’s staring right back at you.

“Uh,” you flounder, hurriedly looking away. “It just uh. You—do you know what flagging is?”

You hear the bottle being put down on the floor.

“Do you?”

“Is that your question?” you joke, drinking the last dregs of your first bottle and reaching for the second. Eddie stops you by putting his hand on top of the bottle. You slowly look back at him, and it feels like forever before he sighs and takes his hand back and nurses his own beer.

“Sure, that’ll be my question,” he says, and you’re not sure if you appreciate that he’s looked away if that’s what he’s asking you.

“...yeah,” you answer quietly. “I do. How’s Wayne doing?”

You chuckle nervously along when Eddie laughs. “That’s your question. How’s my uncle doing? Seriously?”

“Well yeah, what the fuck,” you say defensively, bringing the bottle closer to your chest. “I haven’t seen him in years, I wanna know how the old man’s doing. What’s so wrong with that?”

Eddie shakes his head and chuckles. “He’s fine, doing alright. As fine as he can be given that he’s housing the town f—”

“I swear on my father’s Elvis vinyl collection you better not call yourself the town freak again or so help me god,” you threaten, tossing the bottle back.

“Don’t need to since you just did,” he replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Oh fuck right off. Ask your damn question.”

You go back and forth like that for a good while. Eddie keeps asking things about what you like, which bands you’ve been able to see live, which college you would’ve gone to if you had the choice, what your major would’ve been. You ask him music related questions, like what his favourite brand of amp is, which key he prefers to compose in, how he even goes about composing in the first place.

It’s the first time in four years you get the sense that this is how normal people your age are supposed to act. And feel.

As time wears on, you unfold your legs and, now that you’ve kicked off your own shoes, knock your foot against Eddie’s for a bit. You slow down on the drinking after the second bottle, so by the time you’ve finished your third, he’s already halfway through his sixth.

“Dude,” you breath, looking up at the kitchen window. “Fat load of good doing watches did. It’s fucking daylight already.”

Eddie groans and lifts his arm, shakes the sleeve up to look at his watch.

“Shit, it’s like, half past six,” he says, and lets his arm drop back to the floor. “Man, I’m dead.”

“No shit,” you snort, waving at the small crowd of bottles off to his right. “You drank half a pack, you raging alcoholic.”

“Yeah, uh huh, whatever,” he mumbles, leaning his head back against the counter. “If no one’s busted through the door yet I’m pretty sure we can sleep.”

“We should probably sleep,” you agree. But neither of you make a move to get up. Instead, you chug the rest of your third beer before leaning forward to put it on the floor with your other two empty bottles. “Problem is that I really don’t wanna get up.”

“Cheers to that,” Eddie says, lifting his bottle to chug the rest of it after you. “We gotta, though. Come on,” he continues, making a show of getting up, using the counter to prop himself up and extending a hand down to you.

You sigh wearily and grab his wrist. You very much ignore whatever it is that hits you in the gut when you feel his rings around your wrist in return.

You both stumble to keep your balance. Walking down the hall, though, you can’t help but laugh at how Eddie needs to keep an arm braced against a wall.

“No one asked the peanut gallery,” he grumbles, swinging himself through the door of the bedroom and heading straight for the bed.

You stall in the doorway, though. Suddenly, sleeping alone on the hard floor with just a pillow doesn’t seem as appealing as it did in the dead of night.

After orienting himself the right way up on the bed, Eddie lifts himself up on his elbows to frown at you. “Hey, you good?”

You open and close your mouth once or twice before finding your voice. “I, um. I’m not entirely sure...”

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs before scooting over on the bed to get closer to the wall. He pats the space next to him.

“Come on you coward,” he says, though by the time you stand next to the bed, his eyes are closed and he already looks half asleep.

“...yeah, alright,” you say, sitting on the bed for a second before lying down. “Just don’t cuddle me in your sleep. I don’t need to deal with an awkward morning wood situation. I’ve got enough on my mind already.”

Eddie snorts in response, but doesn’t say anything.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper to yourself, pulling the pillow from the floor and shoving it behind your head. “I’m gonna be fine.”

And though it takes longer than you’d like—the sun’s over the horizon by the time you do—but you eventually fall asleep, too.

March 22nd, 1986

“...one of you guys please answer? I’m seriously about to hijack a car and drive over there myself. You know I’ll do it, Eddie.”

You groan and turn over in bed, turning away from the obnoxious sound. Though you try to block out the noise by hiding your head under the pillow, the constant static of the walkie talkie tuning in and out is starting to wear on your very last, tired, fraying nerve. When you manage to get yourself to sit up on the side of the bed, you’re about to grab the walkie and whisper some very unkind things into it. Eddie sweeps into the room with a… dishtowel? Thrown over his shoulder, for some reason? And snatched the thing up from the ground.

“Henderson I swear to Christ if you keep badgering us every half hour I’ll replace every single damn can of hairspray with contact glue,” he growls, pacing around the room with a hand on his hips. “Copy that?”

“Jesus, no need to be touchy,” Dustin answers, and if you weren’t so annoyed you’d actually find his indignation funny. “Wait, no, fuck off! I’ve been trying to get an answer from one of you for like half an hour!”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Eddie starts, turning around to throw you a quick wave. “Ever occur to you that maybe we’d need to sleep considering we’ve just been exposed to fucking Hell 2.0 and couldn’t get a god damn wink?”

The banter leaves with Eddie once he steps back into the hallway. You take a deep breath and let yourself fall back on the mattress. You’re not hungover, not really. But you’re also not exactly used to plane shifting, drinking and running from the law while being sleep deprived all at once.

It’s a lot. It’s a lot to contend with.

You throw an arm over your eyes if only just to avoid looking at the alarm clock on the desk. You don’t think you want to know what time it is. So, instead, after giving yourself some time to breathe and relax—as much as one can given the impossible scenario you’re in—you get up and follow the smell of freshly made coffee.

In the kitchen, Eddie is busy in front of the stove making pancakes, judging by the already sizable stack on a plate on the counter next to him.

“Siddown,” he says, though he doesn’t turn around to look at you.

“You can cook,” you say, a little slack-jawed, as you slowly sit down. You also notice that the table is significantly cleaner than you think you remember it being.

“You can cook,” Eddie repeats back, pitching his voice to imitate yours. “No shit, Sherlock,” he scoffs, taking a step back from the stove and perfectly throwing and flipping the pancake before it lands back in the pan. “How many you want?”

“Ugh,” you groan, sliding the chair back so you can rest your head on the table. “Do I really have t—”

“Yeah, no, eating isn’t negotiable, princess.”

“Did you just call me princess?”

Eddie visibly freezes, though it’s only for a fraction of a second. He scoops the pancake up with a spatula before carefully dropping it on the increasingly large stack.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat. Still hasn’t turned around to look at you once. “Sorry, force of habit.”

You frown but hum in acknowledgement, but remain quiet after that. Eddie doesn’t say anything else until he’s done making another two pancakes. There’s nine on the stacked plate now, and after he puts that down in the center of the table, he grabs two other plates from a cupboard and two forks from a drawer before sitting down in front of you.

“No maple syrup?” you ask, grabbing a fork and stabbing the pancake on top of the stack to bring it to your plate.

“I honestly wouldn’t trust what’s in that fridge,” Eddie says, stacking three pancakes on his plate and immediately going to town on them. “I had to use water for these cause the milk looked about ready to develop capitalism,” he adds, talking around a full mouth.

“Gross, don’t talk while you chew,” you laugh lightly, cutting a small triangle out of the pancake to taste it.

It’s not terrible, but the lack of eggs and milk does make a noticeable difference. Considering you’re basically a fugitive for the next however long, though, you don’t feel like you have too much room to complain. Taking a look around the kitchen, you figure that there are definitely worse places to be stuck hiding out in.

“And worse people,” you mutter to yourself, tearing another piece of pancake to chew.

“Hm? What was that?”

You cough when you try to swallow. “Not-nothing. What did uh, did Henderson give you any news?”

Eddie’s shoulders slump and the change of his expression would have probably been comical in almost any other situation. Puts his fork down and leans back in his chair with both hands flat on the table.

“We are, in fact, wanted murder suspects,” he replies slowly, drumming his fingers against the edge of the table. “Well, I’m a wanted murder suspect, you’re apparently wanted for aiding and abetting.” You stay quiet and nod as you look down at the table. “Wheeler’s—Nancy, she was headed to the trailer park this morning to see if she can find anything out. She was able to let ‘em know about some guy named Victor Creel, and Harrington and his Merry Hobbits are off doing god knows what.”

“That’s,” you start, taking a deep breath and scooting closer to the table. “That's a lot.” Eddie nods quietly and you try your best to eat the rest of the pancake despite the lump in your throat.

“You know...” Eddie’s voice trails off when you hold your hand up to him.

You can hear chiming.

“It’s happening again,” you say, slowly standing from the chair. “I can hear the grandfather clock again.” You wait for a bit, closing your eyes to focus on the sound. “Four. Four times. It’s coming from... that way, I think.”

Eddie turns around to look at where you’re pointing, in the general direction of the back of the house. You can see him frown when you sit down, and jump in your seat when he whips around.

“No fucking way, that’s Forest Hills.”

“Yeah, and the rest of fucking Hawkins,” you scoff, leaning back in with crossed arms and tapping your foot on the floor. “We’re at the edge of town basically. Everything’s going to be in that direction.”

Eddie grumbles but leans forward. You can already tell he’s determined not to let this go.

“How close was it? Compared to before?” he asks, sliding his plate to the side to clasp his hands on the table.

“I don’t know?” You frown, biting down on your lip to think. “Last time, like when I heard it driving to your place?”

“Y-you what,” Eddie stutters, and you let your mouth fall open. Had you not mentioned that?

“Shit,” you whisper. “I told—when I met up with Harrington and the kids, I heard the grandfather clock ching when I was with them,” you start, bringing your hands down to wring them in your lap. “But I... I heard it when I got to your place, too.”

The chair practically falls backwards with how fast Eddie gets up and rushes at the walkie talkie.

“Hey hey hey someone better answer because we have something really important going on here,” he says, panic bubbling in his voice with every word, smashing the speak button repeatedly. “Hello?!”

“Oh my god, would you just,” You rush over to Eddie and snatch the thing out of his hands. “You’re gonna fucking break it, what the hell’s wrong with you?”

“You heard the clock before Chrissy fucking died,” he spits, and it’s in the shocked silence that the walkie crackles to life in your hands.

“Jesus Christ man calm down,” Steve says, and you slowly bring the device up to your face. “What’s so damn—”

“I heard the clock before Chrissy died,” you explain maybe a little too quickly, eyes locked with Eddie’s. “And I just heard it again now.”

“How many times did you hear it before last night?” Eddie asks, taking a step forward and putting his hands on your shoulders.

“I, uh,” you bite your lips and look off into space to remember. There was the time in the woods, there was the school parking lot... “I guess twice? I think? Two or three times.”

“How many times did you hear it before—” Dustin’s voice comes over the walkie, which Eddie snatches from your hands.

“Two or three times,” he answers, walking back until he can lean back into the kitchen counter. “I just asked.”

“How many times have you heard it today?” comes through the walkie.

You balk, because though you’ve heard it once today, you have no idea if you would’ve heard it more if you’d actually been awake.

“Just. Just the one time so far, she just woke up,” Eddie answers for you. You nod at him to confirm. “Yeah, just once.”

“Still no idea where it’s coming from?”

“Quoth the cleric, ‘we’re basically at the edge of town, everything’s in that direction’, so no. Just that it’s closer to you than us, probably.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic reenactment of your previous statement.

All at once, you frown and hold your hand up, stopping Eddie before he can open his mouth again.

“Wait, hold up. The cleric?”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie starts, and despite the fact that you can tell his hands are shaking and his eyes still look a little wild, there’s a smirk growing on his face. “You got Detect Magic, Astral Spell and Plane Shift. What else are you gonna be?”

@anothermunsonsimp @doratheignora

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rivetgoth · 1 year

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I don’t understand this sentiment I keep seeing that Skinny Puppy final tour = the Kevins retiring altogether? I keep seeing people be like “SP’s ending cuz the guys are so old now and don’t have the energy they used to” and even stuff like “I wonder if Ogre has any ohGr left in him” hell I even saw someone say “we’ll never get Repo 2 now that it’s Skinny Puppy’s final tour” and while I have never held out for a Repo 2 specifically I genuinely cannot fathom the correlation between Skuppy breakup and Ogre’s acting career (if anything such a correlation could very well be positive since it means more free time for independent creative projects) like y’all… I love Skuppy too I am extremely heartbroken about its end but Ogre and cEvin’s life force are not attached to it….. They just don’t work together that well and have very obviously been going in different artistic directions for YEARS, neither one has been secretive about that, both have talked constantly about upcoming projects in interviews, both are confirming upcoming projects at the VIP meet-ups, cEvin’s Patreon chats, the ohGr promos, etc. It is not that they are just too ancient and decrepit to ever play a live show let alone release new music again on account of how staggeringly old they are or that they’re retiring from public life forever they literally just don’t like each other that much 😭 You guys keep sounding like the bit in Brother Bear where the lady bear is like “I miss my husband so much since he died, I swear sometimes I can still hear his voice” while her husband is like “quit telling everyone I’m dead” 😭😭

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homosapiencenter · 1 year

Text

Queer Slammers as Incorrect Quotes

Zack: You often use humor to deflect trauma

Ryker: Thank you

Zack: I didn't say that was a good thing

Ryker: What I'm hearing is, you think I'm funny

Rini: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming

Evan: Does anyone in this godforsaken group ever think before they speak

Azrael: This is a mistake

Ryker, enthusiastically: A mistake we're going to laugh about one day!

Azrael: But not today

Ryker, still enthusiastic: Oh, no. Today's going to be a mess

Ryker: *Gets down on one knee*

Nightmare: Oh my satan, it's finally happening

Ryker: *Falls over*

Nightmare: The poison is kicking in

Rini: I was arrested for being too cool Francis: The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence

Evan: Welcome, fellow idiots Zack: Hello, Evan Evan: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot Zack: You underestimate me

Evan: God, give me patience Ryker: I think you mean "give me strength" Evan: If God gave me strength, you'd be dead

Nightmare: *Accidentally hits Starlynn in the face* Nightmare: *Trying to decide between saying "I'm fucking sorry" and "Are you okay"* Nightmare: ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY?! Starlynn: WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!

Starlynn: Please, I'm begging you go to a doctor Ryker: I'm sorry is this OUR stab wound? Stay out of it.

Starlynn: Date someone who will drag you outside at 3am to look at the stars Francis: If anyone, and I mean anyone, wakes me up at 3am to look at the damn sky they will be removed indefinitely from my life

Nightmare: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated Zack: Killed without hesitation Nightmare: No

Azrael: We want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives Starlynn: I wake up at 4:30am Nightmare: Nightmare: We want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives

Azrael: You know, I'm starting to regret showing you how to use the blender Ryker, drinking toast: Why do you say that?

Ryker: A theif Francis: Thief? Ryker: Theif. Francis: I before E, except after C Ryker: Thceif Francis: No

Evan: If there's going to be a big dramatic scene, wait until I get back Nightmare: Of course, I can't flip this table myself

Francis, going over Nightmare's resume: Okay, so right here, it states that you’re creative Nightmare: Yes Francis: Okay... may I know what you create? Nightmare: Problems

Ryker: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you Nightmare: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule. Ryker: Absolutely not

Zack: Nightmare... Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor? Nightmare: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned. Zack: Zack: I wrote sanitize, Nightmare.

Ryker: Top 30 reasons why Ryker is sorry... Number 5 will surprise you! Azrael: Top 30 anime deaths. Number One: YOUR FUCKING ASS RIGHT NOW!!!

Starlynn: Can you please be serious for five minutes? Rini: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

Azrael: Nightmare was banned from the chicken shack, so we had to go out of town to get some Nightmare: Well, they shouldn’t say “all you can eat” if they don’t mean it. Starlynn: Nightmare, you ate a chair.

Ryker: .. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- [translation: I’M SORRY] Evan: What's that? Ryker: Remorse code. Evan: I'm even angrier now.

Azrael: Ryker... Ryker: Oh no, 'Ryker' in b-flat. Ryker: You're disappointed.

Ryker: So are we flirting right now? Nightmare: I AM LITERALLY STABBING YOU Ryker: That doesn’t answer my question

Ryker: *Stubs their toe* FUCK! Starlynn: Mind your language! Ryker: What else am I supposed to say, “Woe is I”??? Starlynn: Ryker: You have to accept that swear words are necessary sometimes.

Ryker: What if the 'g' in 'gif' is silent Starlynn: Go the fuck to sleep Ryker: What gif I don't want to? Starlynn: Screw You

Ryker: What’s up guys? I’m back Nightmare: What the- you can’t be here. You’re dead. I literally saw you die. Ryker: Death is a social construct

Nightmare: I would do anything for money. *later* Nightmare, covered in blood: THE STATEMENT STILL STANDS!

Starlynn, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll drink my sorrows away.

Starlynn, to the squad: And remember, if I get harsh with you it is only because you’re doing it all wrong.

Ryker: STOP! *Everyone stops* Ryker: wAiT a MiNuTe-

Evan: *Plays Slender: The Eight Pages* *Jumpscare* Evan: *Jumps back* OH SHIT, IT'S A WHITE GUY!!!

Zack: I'm so tired of this life. I want to be a roomba. I want knives taped to me. And I want to be set loose.

Francis: Fuck capitalism. It's a rigged system that keeps us poor and it isn't fair. You shouldn't need to work three jobs to afford basic necessities. Francis, playing Monopoly: Sorry, if you wanted to win you should have tried not being poor.

Evan: New challenge! Don't say stupid shit for 24 hours!

Ryker, lying on the floor, depressed: I'll never be a cop. I'm gonna have to be a robber

Francis: Like, no offense to myself and all, but what the fuck am I actually doing?

Ryker: Yeah I'm LGBT. Ryker: cuLt leader. Ryker: God hates me personally. Ryker: cowBoy hat. Ryker: *sniffles* Trying my best.

Rini: I like wearing oversized sweaters. Not just because they're extremely comfy and cuddly, but because whenever the sleeves are really big, I get to flop them around and smack people.

Azrael: Isn't it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?

Nightmare: Maybe the real monster was the friends we both literally and figuratively murdered along the way.

Ryker: Woah dude, premarital handholding? That’s just not cool or groovy.

Azrael: I warned you. Azrael: I'm perfect.

Rini: You know the sound a fork makes in the garbage disposal? That's the sound that my brain makes all the time.

Azrael: I'm usually that person who has no idea what's going on.

Azrael: I'm a firm believer in "if you're going to fail, you might as well fail spectacularly."

Nightmare: My ultimate goal is to punch God in the eye, just to spite him one last time.

Zack: Hey, quick question. How petty am I allowed to be?

Evan: I dunno if I'm ready to process the ramifications of this bullshit.

Nightmare: It's not like I try to blow things up, exactly. It just sort of happens. You've got to admit though, fire is fascinating.

Nightmare: I am literally evil incarnate. Nightmare: I’m not actually, I just enjoy being evil. Nightmare: Which I think actually makes it even more evil because I’m making a conscious effort.

Nightmare: I like to play this game called nap roulette. I take a nap and don’t set an alarm. Will it be 20 min or 4 hours? Nobody knows. It’s risky and I like it.

Evan: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture. The Squad: Awwww- Evan: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything." The Squad: Oh.

Zack: I have seen a lot of murders in my time, and all six of them were today.

Francis, working at McDonald's: Sorry sir, we don't serve a McFuck here, so either you throw that one slice of pickle out or we're gonna have a McProblem.

Evan: I’ve never smoked marijuana. I ate a brownie once at a party. It was intense. It was kind of indescribable. I felt like I was floating. Turns out there was no pot in the brownie. It was just an insanely good brownie.

Francis: Then either Sonic is a god or could kill god, and I do not care if there is a difference.

Evan: Now, the recipe calls for 2 shots of vodka. Evan: *upends the bottle*

Nightmare/Ryker: Am I a boy? Am I a girl? It doesn't matter. I'm going to burn your house down.

Nightmare: Raisins. It's nature's candy.

Starlynn: I love the term 'partners'. Are we dating? Are we robbing a bank? Are we the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies and are members of an elite squad known as the special victims unit? Who knows.

#ocs #my ocs #incorrect quotes #Ryker Rosestone #Azrael Rosestone #Rosestone Siblings #Rini PowdeFleur #Francis Porter #Evan Carrero #Zack Flowers #Nightmare Flowers #Disaster Duo #Cursed Duo

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thatrosewoodwriter · 2 years

Note

heeeyyyyyy

julius dating hcs gimme pls

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐁 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

☾ character/s: julius stub

☾ warnings: swearing, mild angst, much fluff, spoilers for princess ever after?? super soft julius ;v;

☾ notes: i’m not dead y’all! also, thank you for the request, i kinda went overboard with a long backstory to the relationship-

since you’d be part of leviathan, you’re probably childhood friends with him

he thought you were annoying at first 100%

avoided you at almost all costs because he just wanted to be sad and alone

his favourite place to mope ponder things was the pool

so when he came over to be sad, he paused at the entrance seeing you sitting by the edge of the pool with your legs dangling in the water

he considered just finding somewhere else, but then he heard a sniffle and he felt kinda bad for ditching-

after he awkwardly shuffled over and sat next to you, he asked what was wrong, in which you told him why you’re there

he definitely didn’t know what to tell you

the best he could do was stiffly rub your back as you cried

wasn’t what you wanted, but it was something

from there on out, you’d gotten closer as friends

let’s get this straight, ever since he talked to you by the poolside he was in love with you

he’d always been protective of you

you can imagine how he reacted when you got stabbed in the side by jamie

he was quite literally seeing red because of his busted eye

but now he saw red figuratively after hearing a shriek of pain come from you

after returning to the safe house and everyone had for the most part healed up, it was you who found him by the pool

sitting with him as he beat himself up over not being able to keep you safe and also getting injured himself, you returned his gesture all those years ago, except the awkwardness was gone

when he finished, you pulled him in and gave him a kiss to let him know he was fine and didn’t fuck up

which broke him

but also prompted you guys to start dating

NOW

julius is a really awkward boyfriend

at the start anyway

he eases into it eventually, but in the beginning, he’s hopeless

stumbles over words and goes red after any form of romantic affection

every anniversary of yours would be spent by the poolside just talking

and you’d always cook together

there had forever been a part of you that longed to be a normal person without all this partizan bullshit

so you often engaged in blander activities to even out the being part of an evil organisation bit

every morning, if he noticed you’d somehow escaped his arms, he’d shuffle closer to you and pull you against him again

and if either of you woke up before the other, you’d get each other your morning coffee or tea and drink them in bed together

he’s really fucking touch starved, so cuddles every night

and he loves kissing, oh my god

he’s addicted

he also loves it when you kiss his scars

it makes the baby feel loved ;v;

and you’re under close watch when out on missions because no one touches his partner

though you often get teased for being couple-y around the safe house by other members

when jamie first came to the safe house, julius was mad

did not want you near him

and to be honest, you were also really cautious

jamie caught a glimpse of the scar on your side from the tompkins manor scuffle and apologised to you

so while you accepted it, both you and julius were still quite apprehensive

over time you grew to be friends with him, but you found you could never be around jamie without julius’ arm around you or hand holding yours

sometimes when he was jealous he’d pull you in for a kiss that lasted a couple seconds before shooting whoever was making him jealous a glare

at one point it became so frequent that you pulled him in by the belt and gave him a kiss

which broke him pt. 2

i personally believe that julius likes to caress your jaw when y’all kiss

the other hand is around your waist or holding your hand most of the time

the coloured lights in the pool illuminated your face as you stared into the clear water, swinging your legs gently through the water. it was over. leviathan, the organisation that defined your whole life and gave you a purpose, had disbanded.

memories were attached to the hexagonal tower you’d been living in for the past 10 years minimum, so you were reluctant to leave. your suitcases sat in your bedroom, completely empty. you’d meant to pack soon so you could start living a regular life, but now you weren’t sure you’d ever get one.

‘thought i’d find you here,’ julius said from the entrance. a soft smile played on his lips as he saw your figure bathed in the purple and blue pool lights. as you looked at him, his gaze brightened slightly, taking leisurely strides before pulling his socks off and rolling his pants up to his knees and sitting beside you. ‘what’s on your mind?’ he asked, placing a hand on your thigh and squeezing lightly.

taking a deep breath, you leaned your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. ‘just what we’re gonna do now that leviathan is gone,’ you admitted.

‘yeah?’

‘my whole life revolved around this group, i don’t know who i am without it,’ you continued. ‘what do regular people even do?’

julius leaned his head on top of yours and followed the rhythm you had set by swinging your legs through the water. ‘i don’t know.’

‘i’m gonna miss this place...’

a silence filled the area as you sat beside each other in the dim light. most people found an almost all black room to be depressing, but you both found comfort in the darkness.

‘i will too,’ he said finally, pulling away from you to stare into your eyes. ‘but i know that i’m home whether we stay here or not, because i’ll be with you.’

smiling through misty eyes, you pulled him in by the back of the neck, pressing your lips to his gently. snaking his arm around your waist and grazing his fingers along your jaw, resting his index and middle fingers against your neck and smiling at your quickened pulse.

the sweet moment didn’t last much longer, as the water engulfed both of your bodies and the sound of a splash filled your ears. looking to the water, you saw the rest of leviathan in their swimwear and laughing amongst themselves.

‘sorry, we saw an opportunity and took it,’ jamie said through his smile.

‘the building is still ours, you know,’ phi explained.

‘pool party as celebration for our freedom?’ you and julius stared at the prince of maradova, then back to each other with wide grins.

‘fuck yeah!’

#the rosewood chronicles #rwch #julius stub #the rosewood chronicles x reader #rwch x reader #julius stub x reader #the rosewood chronicles imagines #rwch imagines #julius stub imagines

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fjreproofs · 6 months

Text

Journal entry / Monday, October 2, 2023, 10:56 am

I saw Hozier live at Madison Square Garden the other day!!! One of my favorite artists these last few weird years. This was my second time seeing him live this year and both were ethereal and soul-healing experiences. Literally. Live music is my favorite thing in the world and experiencing some of my favorite songs, especially ones that soundtracked my life through some of the worst times (starting in 2020, the beginning of Covid lockdown), feels so full circle. There’s also something so special about hearing thousands of people sing lyrics that resonate so deeply with you, especially the painful ones. He has a song called "Abstract (Psychopomp)" that’s new (but I’ve already cried to several times) and I swear it’s one of the rawest/saddest/most beautiful things ever written. It makes me reflect so much on my own life and on moments that felt like everything but kind of just petered out over time. Like feeling like I’m in love but hitting a dead end, or wondering if I’ll ever get a sign and then having a deer run out in front of my car and then stop and run back into the darkness. Basically it makes me reminisce in an upsetting yet profound way. Dude, I just love the song. Whatever.

Anyways, hearing thousands of people sing that hook, “see how it shines,” together made things make a little more sense to me. Like, life isn’t just about the pain we experience or the fact that we often feel it alone. It’s about being able to recognize that in ourselves and share it with others and scream along to songs about it. And in turn we don’t feel as alone, or as in pain. In fact, then we get to associate that pain with something more beautiful–– hope and connection and feeling vulnerable yet comfortably seen. So I’m glad that, for a moment, through music, I felt comfortably seen. And now I can hear those sad lyrics, and they’ll still be sad, but they’ll also be a reminder that life can be beautiful and joyous. So that’s what I gained from that show, and from a lot of other ones honestly but sometimes I think I forget it. That’s that.

I’m grateful and I feel a little lighter from carrying these memories. "See how it shines!"

#from my journal #just some reflections that felt worth sharing #see how it shines #mine

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schattenschreiberin · 9 months

Text

Silly Among Us

If my OCs would play Among Us

Emergency Meeting:

Hiroki: So… This should be a clear case

Hiroki: We have one body, two impostors and three crewmates.

Edward: That’s not really the definition of a clear case

Hiroki: Who was with who?

Hiroki: I passed Cyrus multiple times in cafeteria and I don’t know how he’s not dead yet.

Edward: Killing AFKs is no fun.

Niraza: I was with you. But at the end of the round I split to do the card swipe and saw Ed in Admin.

Edward: Thanks. Saw you come in too.

Hiroki: And that leaves two people. And one of them literally is incapable of lying.

Raphael: I really don’t know why I play this game with you…

Niraza: Raph. Did you kill Nick in Electrical?

Edward: I saw him sometime during the round

Raphael: I didn’t kill Nicholas in Electrical.

Hiroki: What?

Raphael: I

Raphael: Didn’t

Raphael: Kill

Hiroki: We heard you!

Edward: So… This is a clear case.

2 minutes earlier via DMs:

Raphael: I’m in Security and I just killed someone through the wall.

Edward: Who?

Raphael: I think it was Nick. I can hear him yelling downstairs

Edward: That’s hilarious

Present:

Hiroki: Then it was Ed.

Edward: Or a Self-Report. You like to do that.

Hiroki: It was ONE time! On accident

Edward: Sure…

Niraza: I don’t think it was you…

Hiroki: Omg…

Raphael: Well… Since Cy is still AFK doing who knows what

Raphael: I don’t think Nirazas vote is gonna save you.

Hiroki: I swear to God… If it’s you two again I’m quitting.

Victory

Nicholas: How the **** did you kill me?!

Raphael: I have no idea.

Hiroki: I’m never playing with you again.

Niraza: … GG?

----

Edward belongs to @unicwolf

#original character #Among us #emergency meeting

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drowninmiserylake · 9 months

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existential crisis

running down this tunnel that never ends, but i know it will. I don’t want it to end, but I can’t stop running. My feet hurt, but I can’t stop. I’m scared the end is coming sooner than I'd like. Can I slow down? Can I jog? Can I just walk at a fast pace? I try, but it still feels like I just can’t stop running. I hear the labored breathing, I feel my hand around his swollen jaundice fingers, the sweating pooling from my anxiety and his terminal fever. I jolt awake and realize the labored breathing was my dog’s snores. I swear she snores like a grown man sometimes. But, that dream was real. It was an occurrence that I lived through and haunts me daily. Sometimes I miss that moment, knowing you were still here. Watching your chest struggle to expand. Never wanting to sleep because any second it could be your last breath. I missed it anyway.

I can’t stop thinking about how we are all gonna die and where the fuck do we go? I can’t help, but think after this there is nothingness. We won’t even have consciousness and it’s terrifying me. I don’t know why. I guess I should feel relief in that, but I feel like I’m doing everything in life wrong. I should be dead by now or at least on a transplant list by now, but a drug was invented to extend my life and now I have to start all over. I started over at 28. It feels like I’m 18 and everyone I know is at different stages of their lives than I am with mine. I’m going fucking crazy. I got this little bit of hope. This medicine that extends my life and I’m freaking out that something else will come up now because you know because that’s how my life fucking works. nothing ever works out like literally ever. I'm scared some other terminal medical condition will appear and my life will end early. I’m not sure if it’s a premonition or trauma. I just don’t wanna fucking die like ever. I'm scared for that moment and how it will happen and will it be painful. I just watched too many people die in the last year. Im scared as fuck. I want there to be some peaceful after life, but logically thinking it doesn’t seem that way. Then it’s like what the fuck is the point of anything and why am I just fucking sitting here all fucking day doing nothing but waiting for that day to come. I just want love and peace and happiness and I never have it. I don’t feel safe at home. I don’t feel love from anyone except my dog. I don’t feel a constant happiness fill my life. what the fuck am I doing here?

#personal

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pa-pa-plasma · 2 years

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i think the thing i love so much (and simultaneously makes me so sad) about the Owl House is that it plays out more like a children’s novel than a children’s cartoon. i mean, even the Owl House has been changed more by the Rat to fit children, but is still written like that, ya know? it was always meant to be just a story about a kid, not necessarily for kids but for literally anyone to take in and enjoy.

cartoons are so exaggerated--it’s either for kids, maybe bordering on teenagers sometimes, or it’s for horny adults and there is no between, at least as far as i’m aware.

but when it comes to books, children’s novels tend to be darker, scarier, more horrifying and shocking and real than books aimed more at young adults and adults put together. they don’t censor things like death and murder, homophobia & gay people (please read Animorphs), or the fact that sometimes people swear, though usually it’ll just be a “they cursed under their breath” but sometimes (like in Alex Rider) they straight up say bitch because kids will hear and say words like that in real life. they don’t avoid certain topics because it might make the parents mad about their precious innocent baby not being able to grow up under a rock.

i stand by my repeated statement that books like Animorphs, Alex Rider, Guardians of Ga’Hoole, and Warriors have the most fucked up shit happen in them i’ve ever read despite being marketed for 12 year olds and are more on the level of House of Leaves than something like Mortal Instruments or Divergent, which as far as i can remember have no scenes that really stuck with me horror-wise. i remember people dying, and i remember not caring because the scariest thing about it was them being dead. i’ve read YA novels, and nothing compares to the books aimed at preteens. i will literally never forget the David Arc in Animorphs. that shit had me lying down for a week after. and like. that shit is fairly normal in these types of novels. like.

in GoG, one of the main characters gets their wing ripped off and they bleed to death. in Warriors, two cats are mauled by a pack of dogs, brutally killing one of them and permanently disabling & disfiguring the other. in Alex Rider, there’s a whole scene where Alex is trying to convince himself to commit suicide--and only doesn’t when someone interrupts him. in Animorphs, Tobias tries and fails to commit suicide, having been stopped by his friends, before going into a heavy disociative state and ghosting everyone for days.

in the Owl House? horror like that wouldn’t really seem out of place. they don’t hold back on how trauma effects people, or how bad regular people can be, how sometimes violence is literally the only answer and how that, doing those things, changes how both other people and you view yourself afterwards.

i don’t know what this post is about anymore--novels or cartoons, the Owl House or Alex Rider or Divergent--but i guess what i’m getting at is i think more writers need to be given the opportunity to really put their creative projects out there, without everyone judging who it should be “aimed at” and what should or shouldn’t happen in it depending on who they decide to market it towards. writers obviously should focus more on what their story is saying rather than being lazy about but also GOOD stories need to be ALLOWED to BE TOLD instead of the same old “emotionless female protag falls in love with 2 boys in the middle of a war” storyline (i use the word here lightly) everyone and their dog has done because it’s made money in the past, so why not 20 more times??

“aimed at young adults/adults” shouldn’t mean “just romance” and “aimed at kids” doesn’t mean “for babies,” it usually means “we assume no one but kids wants to read a book with a kid protag so it’s going in the kid’s section” whether it is appropriate for them or not.

and as a writer who has a lot of story ideas that involve kid protags but is based around trauma & horror & abuse i am very tired and afraid of what might happen to these stories if i try to publish them with someone like Disney or a bigger novel publisher one day. it’s like i’m feeling both survivor’s guilt and immense relief that i can self publish my stuff on webtoons or something and advertise it myself if i want. but for cartoons, it’s so, so bad. there’s so many cartoons that i love, but were cancelled, killed off prematurely, or changed beyond recognition simply because the only people the creators could get to take it were children’s publishers. ya im going to go lie down peace out

#putting this rant under a cut so yall dont have to deal with my shit #i have a LOT of opinions and they all tie into each other and im going crazy #i can't even get out everything i want to say there's so much more than just this #the more i analyze writing the more i realize things are so fucked #things that are badly written are advertised more because it's a copycat of something that made a lot of money once #and things that are great aren't advertised at all because of shit like the MC being a kid #whenever i hear about the process behind really good movies/shows/books whatever #it's always along the lines of ''we weren't as supervised as usual so we went ham before they could stop us''#like the equivalent of someone looking away from their plate for 1 second #and the dog immediately jumps up and scrambles to scarf down as much food as possible before anyone can stop them #and by the time they do it's too late #the show is airing. the book is published. whatever. people are already consuming it #like that post about the Emporer's New Groove writers being essentially locked in a room with no supervision #im soooooo frustrated and sooooooo annoyed im up the fucking wall man

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divine-mistake · 3 years

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bitter fruit

Summary: “The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”

“Because you were going to die.”

Characters: Bucky Barnes/(f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut (oral fem receiving, Bucky is a slut for consent), language, graphic depictions of violence, blood

Word Count: 9338

A/N: This is a tumblr request for @buckybarnes101 who requested an enemies to lovers with eventual smut and I got so so carried away with this request and ended up writing this 9k chonker! (5k of it is smut so, carry on) HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! Enjoy!!

main masterlist | AO3

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you snap, “maybe about saving all the innocent people that’ve been trapped in HYDRA’s basement for god knows how long?”

Bucky snarls at you, grabbing the front of your tac-suit and pulling you up until your nose is inches from his. A striking pain shoots through your side like a bullet, which is funny, considering the hole he stitched up for you what seemed like seconds ago.

But just like your relationship, numb one second and blazing the next, it’s like some switch has flipped in his brain in a matter of minutes.

You should really give him some more credit—the man describes his brain as spaghetti most days. And as funny as it sounds, it really isn’t. You’re keenly aware of the haunted look that fills his eyes when he struggles with his past.

Except when he acts like this, it’s hard to remember that.

Something smells of smoke and gunpowder. People are screaming. The men who just ran through the door are shouting in Russian, you know, because you’ve heard the same language from Bucky’s mouth when he’s having nightmares. Faintly, you realize there’s a pain just above your hip. You don’t have time to look. The gun is in your hands and you’re firing. Someone—innocent, crying—bumps into you as they flee the scene. Your shot goes wide.

Bucky’s voice crackles over the comms. “Where are you?” He sounds panicked.

“Got held up,” you respond. “I’m on my way. Civilians headed to you.”

He curses your name. “I told you to get back to the jet!”

The butt of an assault rifle is hurtling toward you and you duck, rolling across the dirty concrete. The pain in your side flares up, burning. You think you might’ve gotten shot. You return the favor, killing two more HYDRA agents.

“I took a detour.”

A moment to breathe. Your eyes roam over the cells that you uncovered in the base, checking for any signs of life you previously missed. It’s all dead bodies and blood. You’re starting to feel weak.

“Get back to the fucking jet, agent! The base is rigged to blow!”

Before you can reply, someone grabs you by the hair, the muzzle of a gun pressed into your neck. On reflex and instinct alone, you thrust your elbow into his side and disarm him just in time. The gun goes off, bullet lodging in the concrete. Fucking slug would’ve ripped right through you.

“Bit busy,” you reply to Bucky.

Your name is lost to the sound of you firing the last few rounds into your attacker. When you’re sure he’s dead, you slump to the wet floor, knees unable to hold you any longer. The pain in your side is killing you—probably literally. A gasp escapes you when you press your fingers to the wound, trying to staunch the blood from the bullet hole, but at this point, you guess it doesn’t matter. The base is going to go up in flames in a few more minutes and you don’t have the strength to get back to the quinjet.

And really, you don’t want to. Bucky’s gonna be pissed.

“Hey, Barnes,” you wheeze through the comms. He doesn’t reply. “You know how you got all pissy at Sam when he ate your last loaf of that banana bread, and you put all those laxatives in his brownies and he was shitting for like, days? Yeah, that was me. I ate your banana bread.”

He never replies, but you chuckle all the way until you fall asleep, cheek pressed into a pool of someone’s blood.

He says your name now, catching your attention again, and when you roll your eyes at him he shakes you again. With a hiss of pain, you try and shove him away from you, but his dumb super soldier ass is too heavy.

“That hurts!”

“Good!” Bucky finally lets you go and you slump against your seat, wincing. “Maybe the pain will make you stop being so fucking reckless! You defied a direct order from your captain. You could have died.”

“Maybe I should have,” you mutter back, not looking at him.

“I should be so lucky,” he seethes. “If I hadn’t gone back for your dumbass, your body wouldn’t have even been recovered. You would have rotted in that damn HYDRA base. Is that what you want?”

You snort. “Ain’t like I got a family who wants my ashes.”

Bucky throws up his hands, exasperated, and then decides to pace up and down the aisle of the jet. He doesn’t look at you, and you only sneak glances at the rage painting his face when you’re sure he isn’t going to see you staring. He looks just as worn as you, the sole sleeve of his tac-suit bloody and ripped up, charred remains and soot skimming his boots where he’s tied the laces tight. Sweat-matted and probably dried with blood, his hair is falling in chunks from the bun he usually keeps it in for missions now, and he has to brush it out of his face every few paces he takes.

In another phrase, Bucky is fucking hot right now.

Maybe death would have been tragic, you muse, since you wouldn’t get to see the absolute specimen of your partner anymore.

For as much as you two hate each other, you can’t deny how gorgeous he is. Ripped to match the gods, carefully trimmed beard only a little more bristled than the one Steve sports these days, and god, the man wears a sweater like it’s Armani.

When you blink, you realize he’s looking at you, and your face flushes. It isn’t the first time he’s caught you staring at him hungrily, you’re sure, but most of the time he gets this stupid smug look on his face, lips wide in a smirk, and sometimes he’ll even throw you a flirty little line that has you gnashing your teeth and snapping at him to fuck off.

But this time, he’s so angry that he just stares at you, eyes narrowed in a glare.

“When we get back,” he says, nostrils flaring, “I’m benching you.”

“What?” you cry out, eyes wide. “Why the fuck—who the—who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Your captain!” he roars, and you almost swear the whole jet shakes with his fury. “You disobeyed my direct order to retreat to the jet and instead you almost cost us both our lives. Why the fuck shouldn’t I bench you?”

“I didn’t ask you to come save me!” you shout back, trying to stand from your seat. Almost immediately, Bucky shoves you back down.

“Not only am I your captain for this mission, but I’m your partner. I’m responsible for you. What, you just expect me to leave you behind?”

“The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”

“Because you were going to die.”

The way that Bucky is looking at you right now steals all your breath away, steals all the fight you feel in your bones. You watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way the vein in his neck jumps, the way he holds his jaw tight. His eyes, a blaze of blue, are looking at you like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve right in front of him, leaving behind a body bag of skin and bones and teeth. That’s all you are, maybe.

“Stay with me,” he says, voice so close to your ear. “Please, just stay with me, doll.”

It’s all hazy. The world is black. You can’t open your eyes, they’re so heavy. Your body hurts so bad, so fucking bad. Someone is jostling you and it hurts so bad and you just want to open your mouth and scream.

“You’re okay.” It’s Bucky, you realize in some vague fog of a dream. “You’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.”

Your leg feels like it’s on fire. The air smells like the fourth of July, all fire and gunpowder and barbeque. Burnt flesh. It’s hot and thick, the smoke you’re breathing in.

“I have so much to tell you,” he whispers, maybe. Or maybe that’s just how it sounds in your mind. “So much to say to you. So much to apologize for. I need to tell you something. You told me about that dumb fucking banana bread. I have something I gotta tell you, doll.”

What? What does he have to tell you? You want to ask but your throat is so dry and your lips are glued together.

You want to tell him you aren’t dying, and god, he’s being so dramatic. But you can’t, because you might actually be dying.

Instead, you try so so so hard to open your eyes, and a sliver of light invades your vision, and even with the way your eyelids shudder, you can see Bucky’s face. Just a little bit. He’s covered in blood, you think.

Oh, but his eyes. Fuck, you love his eyes. Thank god you opened yours so you could stare at his eyes before you go to sleep again. So blue. So deep. So icy and sad and hurt and beautiful.

“Please,” he says, and you swear it’s the only time he’s ever begged you for anything.

Of course, you tell yourself before your eyes close again. I’d do anything for you.

“Why do you care?” you whisper, and he blanches, because you swear his damned super soldier hearing can even hear your thoughts.

But fuck it, you’re young, wild, and free, and you’re alive now too, so fuck it.

“Why do you care?” you repeat, louder this time, very clearly addressing him. “Why do you care so much if I die? You’ve hated me since the day you met me,” you spit the words out like poison.

Bucky turns away, gaze trained on something other than you and your bloodied tac-suit.

“We’ve always fought about this,” you continue. “This isn’t anything new, Barnes. You knew I’d go down to save those people. You knew I’d risk my life to get them out. You know this and you still fucking went after me. So why?”

The silence eats at every edge you have until it consumes you, and Bucky never replies.

You watch him walk away, toward the cockpit, and you don’t have the energy to follow him and finish the fight.

“Get it through your pretty little head before you go on a mission and get yourself killed, doll.” Bucky’s smirk sends a shiver through you and you aren’t sure if it's anger or arousal. You bite down on your tongue to keep from lashing out. “You can’t save everyone.”

“Bullshit,” you say before you realize. Bucky’s eyes go wide. “I took this job because I have the ability to save people, so I’m going to save everyone.”

His mouth opens but you cut him off.

“I don’t care if you can’t save everyone, but me?” Your finger is braced against his hard chest and he doesn’t recoil. “I’ll save everyone or I’ll die trying.”

“Hey,” Steve says, trying to move between you two, but you barely notice his presence.

“You’re stupid,” Bucky hisses.

You smirk. “You’re not as skilled as you think you are.”

“Shut up,” he snarls.

“Make me,” you snap back.

“Guys,” Steve tries to interrupt.

“Meet me in the ring.” Bucky’s eyes are glaring down at you, heated. “Let’s see if you can handle me, doll.”

“Buck!” Steve’s hand falls on Bucky’s shoulder, working to hold him back from stalking off to the gym. But Bucky shrugs him off.

“Back off, Steve.” He looks over his shoulder at you as if daring you to follow.

And, fuck, you’ve never backed down from a challenge in your entire life, so you follow him all the way to the training room, watching the way his muscles strain through his tight t-shirt the whole way.

He’s kind enough to hold the ropes up so you can duck under easier, but you roll your eyes and leverage your foot against the spring and tuck your legs underneath you to jump the top rope easily. You throw him the same look that he did, a coy gaze over your shoulder, and then you beckon him forward.

His nostrils flare and you wonder what he’d look like on top of you in bed.

“Wrap your hands, for god’s sake,” Steve shouts, but you ignore him in favor of cracking your knuckles for good measure.

“I’m not planning on getting mine bloody,” you tell him, and Bucky laughs brusk.

“You should plan on losing,” he says, smirking.

With a twist of your jaw, you crack your neck. “Not planning on that, either.”

Like big cats, the two of you circle each other, toes so light the mat makes no noise. Bucky’s eyes are focused, narrowed, and beautiful like this, you think. He’s calculating every single movement you’re making and it sends a heat down to your core. This is all just foreplay to you.

Until he charges, and then it’s on. You’re a flurry of limbs, defensive stances and blocks. Bucky is unrelenting and the fucker is fast for his size. He never uses his metal arm to attack, but the manic whirr and click of it as he moves is alarming. There’s a window of opportunity when Bucky overshoots a right hook and you duck underneath his arm, and you’re able to get behind him and kick him the back of his knee. He falters for not even a second and then it’s back on.

It’s a dance, weaving between limbs and twirling kicks aimed at his head. You struggle to figure out how to take him down—he’s so big, like a fucking brick wall. There’s very little chance you can flip him. You’re going to have to try and get him in a hold, but there’s no way he’s going to allow you to do that.

But maybe you can bait him. You go on the attack now, whiffing a couple of good punches and sending a straight kick right at his jaw that he barely dodges. While you’re recovering, before your foot is even planted back on the mat, Bucky does exactly what you want him to do. He slides up with a fist and you feign a misstep, ducking right. His follow-through is too heavy and you grab his wrist, locking it in your grasp, and then your heel goes straight into his abdomen, right under his center of gravity.

He goes down and you relish in the moment his eyes blow wide with the shock of being caught off guard. You scramble on top of him but he rocks his hips up and starts to roll you both until you’re underneath him. In retaliation, you lock one foot around his calf and use your other knee to jab his stomach, and then you roll him underneath you instead. Your forearm presses against his neck, legs squeezing his middle.

God, he’s fucking pretty, his blue eyes all big and pants falling out of his pink lips. Sweat is dripping from his hairline and rolling off the bridge of his nose and it pleases you, the fact that you made Bucky Barnes bust his ass in a fight. You know you have to look like a drowned dog by now, so how the fuck is he still so pretty? For that, you press down on his throat harder until he taps the mat—a yield.

Immediately you’re off him, panting as you lean against the ropes, but a shit-eating grin is plastered on your face. Bucky looks anywhere but you, wiping his damp face on his shirt, which gives you the most perfect flash of his carved abs.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “we can agree to disagree, right?”

He stares at you for a hard moment, a longer moment than he has before, and you swallow as desire crawls up your spine. Then, Bucky ducks under the ropes, grabs his towel, and gets the hell out of dodge.

“Fuck you too, Barnes!” you shout, and you know he must’ve heard you.

He helps you walk off the quinjet and you hate literally every second of every moment that you have to have his arm wrapped around your waist. Mostly because you’re pissed at him and you hate being babied, but also because god, you can imagine Bucky holding you like this in a different context way better than you should be able to.

Those thoughts are the demons in your brain and you need someone to exorcise you. Probably Natasha. No, Natasha will make fun of you. Wanda, then.

As soon as you’re out of the hangar, Bucky asks FRIDAY if there’s anyone in the medbay, and your neck about snaps in half from how fast you turn.

“No,” you say. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to medical.”

He cuts you a glare. “As if you have a say in it.”

“I do have a say! It’s my body! This is the twenty-first century, Barnes. My body, my choice!”

“You’re injured,” he grits through his teeth. “We’re going to medbay.”

“I don’t need to go!” You start dragging your heels, trying to make yourself heavier, but Bucky is a super soldier and probably throws mack trucks for a living or something. “You stitched me up! The burns aren’t that bad, either. I’m fine, I’m not going to medical.”

“God, can you ever give me a break?” he groans. “Why are you always so fucking difficult?”

“I’m not being difficult!” you snarl, trying to push away from him, but his grip tightens. “Why the fuck do you care so much?”

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, maybe I am, since I don’t know why the fuck you give two shits about saving my quote-unquote dumbass who almost got us both killed, and I don’t know why the fuck you care about getting me to medical when you’re gonna bench me anyway! Right, thanks a lot Barnes, I’m so stupid for not fucking figuring it out!”

“You are!” he roars, and then your back is against the wall, his hand cushioning your head from hitting it. He corners you there, covering your body with his, ducking down so your mouths are so close you would only need to reach up a little to kiss him, and god, that’s tempting.

Not tempting enough when you’re this pissed off, though.

“So that’s what it is, huh? You just think I’m some stupid, incapable little girl who is so impractical because all she wants to do is save lives? You think I’m so stupid that I don’t know that people are going to die? And they’re going to die because I can’t save them? Maybe you should think about how I could never live with myself if I didn’t do everything possible to save them, so I risk my life to get them to safety. I would never ever risk yours, you stupid, arrogant, ignorant—”

Oh, Jesus.

His lips are hot when they crash against yours, pinning you between him and the wall. It’s desperate, the kind of kiss you’ve never had before. It’s so desperate and you want to pull away and ask him, Bucky, what are you so desperate for? He kisses you like he wants to keep you, his mouth swallowing yours like he can’t get enough of you. It’s hungry and begging and you don’t ever want it to stop, your teeth nipping blood from his bottom lip as if it’ll stop him from leaving, but he pulls away, leaving you breathless anyway.

“You’re stupid,” he repeats again and you watch his tongue dart out to taste the blood you’ve ripped from his skin. It sends a thrill of pleasure through you. “You’re so stupid.”

And he kisses you again and you decide that sure, maybe you’re stupid, you’ll be stupid all day long because he’s going to kiss you stupid.

It’s your hands that move first, you realize in some random corner of your mind. Your fingers twine in his brown locks, tugging the hair tie away and flinging it somewhere. Vaguely, you realize you’re still in the middle of the hallway, on the way to the elevator, but you don’t give a shit. The hand that isn’t twisting Bucky’s scalp finds the material of his tac-suit and starts pulling at all the straps and buckles, searching for a sliver of his hot skin in any capacity.

His own hand, the one not holding the back of your head, skims over your waist and flutters down your uninjured hip, grasping at the flesh underneath your suit. Suddenly, you’re overcome with the need to get these fucking clothes off, and immediately, and you break the kiss so you can suck down air and ask the man you’ve been hating, been pining after, to take you to bed.

As you do, Bucky trails a hot path of sloppy kisses down your chin, over your jaw, against your neck, until he finds the juncture of your shoulder and attaches his teeth there, nibbling on a patch of skin that is so distracting you forget about your question for a minute. And then your fingers run over a rough spot on his suit and you remember.

“Bucky,” you gasp out, and it sounds so heady that you nearly throw your head back. “Bucky,” you repeat, more urgently, when he doesn’t let up, your hand is tightening on his sleeve and tugging on it.

His head snaps up now, eyes piercing yours, concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asks, moving your hair away from your face to look closer at you.

“Bed,” you rasp out, but barely. “Now, please.”

He doesn’t move for a second, just staring at you like he’s scared, like he’s surprised you would ask. You see his eyes sort of glaze over, a reminder of the nightmares he’s seen, the nightmares he replays over and over in his head, but you’re selfish and your core is pulsing with a heat you’ve never felt this hot before and you need him here, not wherever his mind is taking him.

“Please, Bucky,” you say, and he blinks, and then he’s present again.

“Anything for you, doll,” he whispers, and your legs nearly collapse beneath you at the thought. Bucky scoops you into his arms carefully, trying not to jostle your wound too much, and then he sweeps you into the elevator and you’re speeding toward his room and hoping to god that Steve isn’t prowling around.

In a haze of kissing and excitement, you barely recognize that Bucky’s opening his door until it’s closed behind you and he’s walking you through his room and to his bed.

God, you’ve wanted to be in his bed for so fucking long.

He drops you among the sheets gently, so starkly different from the harsh tone of his voice only a few minutes earlier when he was yelling at you, and you’re not sure what you like better. You want Bucky to fuck you, to rip you in half and put you back together like he always does. But you want him, so badly, to make love to you just as much, but you’d never admit that to him.

Bucky’s kissing you so sweetly now, and then his kisses get more forceful, more needy, and you suck on his tongue until he’s panting above you. His hands are everywhere, sliding over your suit, unstrapping and unzipping and unbuckling all your gear, and your hands fumble in tune with his, trying to help him get you out of your clothes.

Just before he takes off your vest, he kisses you and asks, “Is this okay?”

You rip the vest off yourself, sitting up on your elbows to rip your undershirt off with it, leaving you in a black sports bra.

And you revel in the way Bucky stares at this new flesh. His lips find your sweaty skin, covering every inch that’s been revealed now as your fingers start taking his tac-suit apart the way he did yours. Soon, you’re frustrated, and you whine and pull at it until he huffs a laugh and takes it off himself. His vest gets thrown to the side and his tank top follows, leaving him bare-chested.

Your fingers are shaky as they touch his tanned skin and you almost laugh at how nervous you are. You’ve spent so long looking at him, hating him, wanting him, and now you have this stretch of his wide chest in front of you and all you can do is let your fingertips glide over him, mouth parted, eyes hazy.

His pupils are blown wide, too, and Bucky takes your hand in his and presses it against him harder, and suddenly you’re feral.

Your hands slide over every part of him, taking in the expanse of him. His biceps, his strong shoulders, the hard planes of his body. As gentle as possible, you trail your fingers closer and closer to the scar where metal meets flesh, and you glance up at him, a silent question, and when he gives you the smallest nod, you smooth over the gnarled rift of skin. You don’t ask if it hurts. He gives no indication that it does. And when you reach up to press a soft kiss to it, he shudders above you.

“Please,” he whispers, so quietly. “Let me touch you, doll.”

You lay back and start to unstrap your holsters, gesturing for Bucky to help you with your pants. He unlaces your boots for you as you throw your weapons to the ground, the clink of belts and buckles mingling in the silence, a song that ignites the excitement inside of you.

Your core is molten lava, the apex of your thighs dripping and Bucky hasn’t even touched the most intimate parts of you yet. Every single fiber of your being is trembling in anticipation, and in your hurry to strip your pants off, a twinge of pain shoots through you as you bend the wrong way, stitches pulling.

Bucky curses—like he’s the one who’s hurt you and you aren’t the idiot trying to rip her pants off—and just like he can flip the switch on his attitude, he flips the switch on this, too. He’s off of you before you realize, sitting back on his haunches, staring down at you in panic.

“I’m—Baby,” he breathes, voice shaking. “I'm sorry.”

His hands are outstretched, reaching for you, trembling as he swallows hard. You watch as his eyes shift in the space between your face and the white gauze wrapped around the bullet wound in your side.

“Bucky,” you hiss and grab him by the back of his neck, pulling him down. He doesn’t budge, not much at least, but you meet him the rest of the way and your lips collide with his in a thunderous crash, and like instinct, he kisses you until you can’t breathe.

“Doll,” he mumbles against your mouth and you drink the word from his tongue, distracting him. “We can’t.”

“We can,” you growl back, teeth reminding him of the pulsing ache between your thighs. In search of more, your hips roll up and meet his own, causing a groan to tumble out of his mouth into your own.

Fuck the pain—you’ll grit your teeth and bear it. This is the only moment you’ll ever have him, and by god, you need him.

Your hands return to your pants. “Help me,” you plead, breathless, unable to shimmy out of them. Bucky’s already pulled your boots off, socks coming with them, and his fingers find the heated flesh right beneath your waistband.

“Are you sure?”

All you can do is whine his name until he understands, and then Bucky is peeling your black pants from your legs, the rush of cool air rolling over your hot skin feeling almost as good as his hands are going to feel if he’ll just put them on you.

When his palms finally fall upon your thighs, rough and calloused and big and warm, you need much more, so much more. The way he trails his fingers down your knees, caressing your calves, brushing atop your ankle, and then coming back up to have his thumbs follow the ridge of muscles in your thighs, it all makes you shiver in pleasure. You’re so hot, sweat pooling in the small of your back against the bed, the dampness of your core becoming harder to ignore.

You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the ache and Bucky notices—of course he notices—and his mouth finds your neck again, sucking until dark bruises begin to mar your skin, until you’re bowing off the bed, arching toward him, trying to get something, anything. Anything from him.

At some point, you realize he’s just torturing you on purpose, letting his hands roam the stretch of your stomach, smooth over the hills of your hips, and then draw down your legs until you’re shaking as he kisses you so softly, and then so roughly, like he can’t decide if he wants to grow old with you or if he wants to ruin you for whoever comes after him.

You sit up and reach around, fingers intent on unclasping your bra, but Bucky stops you with a nip at your bottom lip.

“Will you let me?” he asks, so sweetly. Bucky’s hand finds yours and bats them away, his fingers on the hooks as he waits for your answer.

“Yes,” you moan as his other hand tickles down the curve of your side. “God, please, yes.”

“Bucky,” he says, smirking against the side of your neck.

“Shut up and undress me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, when you ask so sweet like that, baby.”

With a quiet click, your bra comes undone and Bucky pulls it away from your body, and then your breasts are bare before his eyes. Now, it’s your turn to be doused in ice, to freeze, for the switch to flip.

You feel shy beneath his gaze, the way he looks at your nearly naked body with such reverence, as though this is the moment he’s been waiting for. Your knees close and your elbows draw in over your chest without your permission. It’s not like you want to hide from him, but he looks so perfect atop you, so beautiful in every single facet, better than any dream you’ve ever had of him, and you can’t stop yourself.

What have the other girls looked like underneath him? Better than you, surely. Prettier, skinnier, smaller, sexier. For fuck’s sake, you’ve got a nasty burn on the side of your leg and were shot through your left side only a few hours ago, your middle wrapped in medical tape. You can’t be that pretty a picture.

You’ve had your shot at him and you’re gonna lose it.

But when you look up, Bucky’s looking at you like you’re everything. His face is flushed, red creeping down his neck, and his eyes are soft, hazy, glassy. Gently, his fingers find your jaw and cup your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Let me look at you, baby.” His voice is almost as rough as the worn skin of his hand, dry and gravelly and thick with lust. When Bucky moves to grasp your wrists, you let your eyes flutter closed and nod, allowing him to peel your arms away from where they hide you, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes.

“God,” his voice shudders. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. I couldn’t have dreamed you up if I tried, and I promise you, I tried.”

Your eyes fly open at this. “What?”

If it bothers him, he doesn’t act like it. Bucky leans down to nuzzle his nose against your collarbone, kissing and licking your skin like he’s making constellations out of your body—bruises connected only by his tongue.

“I’ve thought about this since the day you kicked my ass in the ring.” He sounds like he’s reciting a prayer, all whispered desires. “Your perfect lips, what they’d feel like, how soft they are. If you’d touch my scars, and how your fingers would feel on them all if you did.”

His mouth closes over the mound of your breast, the clash of tongue and teeth upon your nipple forcing you to arch into him in pleasure. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and you aren’t quite aware that you’re even whining until his free hand crawls up from your hip and cups your other breast, thumb strumming over your peaked nipple. The breathy moans that pour from your mouth fill the room and only seem to make Bucky work faster, work harder, as he drags every drop of pleasure out of you with every instrument he has. Your hips buck up and into his, your thinly-clothed core catching the tent in his pants—his tac-suit, you realize, is still on—and it makes you both groan in a symphony of need.

“Need you,” you somehow manage to get out between your heavy panting, hips still searching for something to relieve the ache in your center. “Bucky, please.”

He releases your nipple from his lips, the chill assaulting the wet bud making you bow from the bed once again. Bucky places a kiss on the other, letting his tongue lave over it until it's just as wet and hard.

“I imagined what you’d sound like,” he says against your stomach, punctuating his words with a smattering of kisses across your skin. “Thought about what you’d—fuck, baby—I thought so much about how you’d look beneath me all spread out, just for me.”

The sound you make in reply is almost embarrassing as how soaked your panties are.

“Wondered how you’d taste.” He lets his tongue drag across the hem of your underwear and you press up, trying to get his mouth closer, but his hands settle on your hips and gently hold you to the bed.

“Bucky!” you try and growl, but it comes out an octave too high. “Please!”

“What is it, babydoll?” His fingers curl underneath, thumbs riding the line of skin just beneath your panties.

“I need you!” You throw your head back against the pillow. “I’ve thought about it too,” you admit, breathing hard. “How you’d touch me like this, how you’d feel inside me, please, so please just—I need you, Bucky.”

“You got me, baby,” he says and it sounds so fucking beautiful. “I’m right here. I got you, doll. Gonna take care of you, okay? Will you let me give you what you need?”

You answer by trying to press your hips up again, and Bucky shifts until his hands are cupping your ass and he drags you down the bed, closer to him, closer to his own hips where you can feel the bulge of his cock begging to be released.

“Your pants,” you remind him, wrapping your uninjured leg around the back of his thigh. “I want to feel you, please, Bucky.”

“Okay, doll,” he says, laying a kiss just above your panty line again, and then he’s pulling away and you whine despite it.

You listen as Bucky fiddles with his gear, going through the same motions as you had to go through earlier. The clink of his knives, the buckles of his holsters, the heavy soles of his boots as he throws them off. When you sit up, Bucky is standing in his black boxers, the faint light streaming into his room highlighting the shine of the scars that cover his body.

He looks as breathless, as flustered, as aroused as you feel. His hair is mussed from your hands, falling over his shoulder in the thick waves that feel so soft between your fingers. The lust is evident in the way his eyes roam over your body, his pupils blown wide, and then he’s moving toward you and fitting himself between your legs on the bed.

Bucky slides his hands over your heated skin yet again, a reminder of how much he wants you, how much he loves the feel of you, before his fingers hook inside your panties and begin to pull them down. Before he gets too far, he stops again, gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod, lifting your hips as carefully as possible in order to keep from jostling your wound, and Bucky slips the last piece of clothing from your body. You hope, fucking christ you hope, he doesn’t realize how soaked they are when he peels them off, but maybe that’s a lost cause.

Because as soon as you’re naked, your glistening core bare to his eyes alone, all bets are off. There are no more barriers, nothing for you to hide behind, no sharp words to keep your feelings at bay.

His fingers skim over your lips, collecting all the honey you’ve made for him as his knees widen to spread your thighs. The simple movement has your hips rolling already in search of more, whimpers falling from your mouth as Bucky stares at your naked form beneath him. Eyes lidded, you watch as he brings his fingers, wet with your juices, up to his mouth.

“Shit, doll,” he curses. Bucky’s tongue envelops his digits and he groans at the taste, sending shocks like a fucking earthquake through your body, through your bones, straight to your core.

He moves closer to you, sliding your thighs onto his shoulder and locking his metal arm around the top of your hips, far enough away from your wound that it doesn’t hurt. Bucky peppers kisses along your inner thighs, biting and sucking in intervals that has you pressing your mound to him, begging for more.

“You taste so good,” he mumbles, breath ghosting over your quivering pussy, pulling a wanton whine from your throat. “Will you let me taste you, baby?”

“God, yes, please Bucky, please, I need it so bad.” The words are frantic, strangled, a mess of moans of breathless gasping.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

And then his mouth is on you, hot and slick upon hot and slick, his tongue parting the valley of your lips and delving into your dripping center like he’s a man starved and you’re the first meal he’s tasted in years. You keen in pleasure, thrashing your head against the pillows until your hair is a tangled mess as Bucky’s tongue flattens on your clit, licking a wide path until it’s well-traveled and your hips stutter, held back only by the cooled metal on your heated skin. Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tugging at his scalp, and the motion makes him groan into you.

You call his name like it’s the only word you know, chanting it over and over like it’s a spell similar to the one he’s weaving with his tongue upon your aching clit. He doesn’t let up, tracing words you can’t make out and drinking in all the wetness flooding his mouth. The gentle scratch of his wiry beard burns just right, contrasting with the curls of pleasure coming from your sensitive clit. Without realizing, you grind your core against Bucky’s mouth, the friction only serving to make you into a trembling mess, your insides throbbing with a need to be filled, pussy clenching around nothing.

As if he feels you, Bucky slides his free hand over your leg and to the apex of your thighs, the first thick finger entering you slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You cry out, begging for more, and Bucky relents. His second finger follows as his tongue continues to lap at your pussy, letting you gyrate against his face as you try to fuck yourself on his hand.

“Bucky,” you pant, each letter of his name a stutter with moans, “please!”

“Please what, babydoll?” His voice sends another wave of arousal through you, juices slicking his fingers up more than before. Your stomach is tightening, pleasure in tight curls between your legs, center so close to snapping that tears are beginning to leak from your eyes because Bucky won’t fucking let you move your hips in the way that you want. He chuckles against your pussy, breath teasing over you, vibrations making you quiver.

“I’m gonna—”

Bucky curls his fingers inside of you, stroking your spot, just as his mouth envelops your clit in its heat and he sucks, hard, and the thin thread coiling in your core snaps and you come apart, harder, and a scream tears itself from your throat as warm tears fall into your hairline.

He never stops. As his suckling turns into kitten licks upon your clit, his third finger breaches your opening and slips inside, pumping into you as you ride your orgasm out on his hand. Your hand is tight in his hair until it all becomes too much and it falls to cover your mouth, your teeth finding your knuckle to bite back the sound of your moans.

“Oh no, baby, no,” Bucky says, and when you look down, he’s between your legs, watching you in the aftershocks of your pleasure. His fingers leave your pussy and you clench around nothing, a whine leaving your lips at the emptiness, until Bucky’s metal fingers are pulling your hand away from your face.

“I gotta hear you,” he whispers, the hand covered in your nectar finding your mouth. “Need to hear all those pretty little noises you’re making, baby. I’ve dreamed about ‘em. Would get my cock all hard thinking about ‘em. You gotta keep making ‘em ‘cause now that I’ve heard ‘em, I can’t get enough, babydoll.”

When he moves to trace your bottom lip, red and swollen from his own, your tongue darts out to taste the salt and sin on the pad of his thumb. Bucky places his fingers at your parted lips and you suck them into your mouth, licking all the juice from his skin, tongue swirling around his digits. You wonder if his lips taste like this, too.

He groans as he watches you, his eyes lidded and hazy and lovely, and then his metal hand finds the waistband of his boxers and yanks them off his hips. In one perfect movement, his cock slaps against his stomach, hot and red and already leaking, which makes you flush at the fact that Bucky liked making you come.

Subconsciously, your tongue snakes out to lick your lips as you take in the length, the thickness of his cock, and Bucky gets that familiar look on his face—cocky, smirking, knowing that he’s pushing your limits. He presses you back down upon the bed, his arms bracketing your head as his nose brushes against yours, his heat pressing into the subtle dip where your hip and thigh meet.

The feeling of his cock, hard and heavy against your naked skin, sends you into a frenzy of arousal, of want, of need. You reach out and take him into your hand, your thumb brushing over the velvet head and smearing his precum along his length. Bucky’s jaw tightens, muscle twitching, as you pump your fist around him and drag your fingers along the blue vein riding up the underside. The groan that falls from his lips, the stutter and jerk of his hips, the way he shakes above you is addicting, and Bucky has to pull your wrist away from his cock in order to stop you from getting him off just like that.

“Baby,” he breathes, resting his sweaty forehead against yours.

“Bucky, please,” you beg again. “Please, I need you inside me.”

“You want me?” he asks, and even though his voice is scratchy and thick with desire, he says it like he’s surprised. As if you could never want him.

You’ve always wanted him.

“Yes, god, Bucky. I want you,” you moan, threading your fingers into his hair to smash your lips together in a sharp, bruising kiss. “I need you,” you say against his mouth. “I need you so, so bad.”

“I need you too, babydoll. Need to feel you,” he says, the sound strained, almost like he can’t stay away from you any longer. You feel it too, the ache without him, the way your pussy clenches in anticipation for him.

The head of Bucky’s cock nudges at your entrance and your slick coats him. The soft skin of him brushes your over-sensitive clit and you keen, and he does it again, and again, until you’re shaking, until you wrap your ankles around Bucky’s back and pull him into you, raising your hips to meet his.

“You want this?” His voice is heavy when he asks.

“Yes,” you moan out, rocking against him.

He says your name and it sounds pained on his tongue. “Are you sure?”

“James.” Your teeth snap and gnash on his name, and it awakens something within him that sets every place he touches you ablaze with a new sensation, and Bucky enters you with a slow thrust of his hips.

And it feels so fucking good.

Like straining a muscle you haven’t used in a while, it aches as he enters while you stretch to accommodate his size. The way his cock feels inside of you—touching you in places you never thought you’d be touched, filling you in a way you never thought you’d be filled.

He’s finally, finally yours. If just for this moment, Bucky Barnes is yours.

Your nails incise his back, making new marks among the sea of scarring he’s suffered, as you cling to his body in any way to feel him closer to you. Bucky leaves kisses on every surface of your face, your jawline, your neck. He kisses you everywhere and you wish you could tattoo the feeling into your skin.

“Are you alright?” he mumbles faintly into your neck and you can feel how hard he’s trying not to move, not to hurt you, to give you time to adjust to him. Your fingers trail up and down his spine, drifting into his hair, scratching against his scalp.

“Yes,” you hiss, undulating your hips and making a similar sound fall from his lips. “Bucky, please.”

You don’t know how many iterations of that same phrase you’ve said all night, but you’ll keep saying it, over and over, if he’ll take you like this. Just like this, with his arms trapping your body to the bed, his hips flush against yours, panting above you as he stares into your eyes all lustful and dark and wanting. He smells like the Bucky you’re so familiar with, your partner, Barnes, gunpowder and explosions and blood, with the clean scent of whatever deodorant he uses. If he’ll keep you like this, where you can pretend your his for this moment, you’ll say it over and over

Bucky, please—Bucky, please—Bucky, please—please—please—

When he finally moves, thrusting into your heat with a growl, it feels like time stops.

Bucky fucks you like he loves you, slow and steady, pumping into you fully and deeply until you lose your mind. He fucks you like he wants to ravage you, fast and quick and hard as he holds your hips to keep you steady, and you ignore the dull pain that flares up in your side because he’s fucking you like he needs you, like he can’t exist without you. He fucks you like he’ll never get another chance to touch you. When he fucks you like this, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, out of time, he rests his forehead against yours and you lean up to capture his mouth with yours, tongues sliding over one another sloppily.

The heat is building up inside of you again, and when Bucky lifts your hips and drapes you over his knees, pressing you up with his metal arm, his cock hits the spot inside you that makes you scream over and over. The waves are cresting. The crescendo is approaching. Every grunt and groan he makes mingles with your moans and shrieking pleasure, and it’s all going to culminate into one big moment, you can feel it.

Bucky pulls back to slip his hand between your bodies, sweaty and hot, and his thumb presses gently into your clit. With one sharp thrust, your body arches off the bed as you snap, screaming his name, and Bucky holds you through it.

Your vision goes black—you aren’t sure if it's because your eyes are screwed shut in pleasurable pain or if it's because you’ve passed out. Bucky’s hips jerk wildly into yours and you tighten the grip you have around his waist with your legs, digging your heels into the small of his strong back.

“So tight,” he hisses into your ear. “So fucking wet, baby. Feel so fucking right, made for me, aren’t you doll?”

“Yes, James,” you moan out as you ride the waves of your orgasm. “Made for you!”

Bucky works at your clit again as his rhythm starts to fail, and even with how sensitive you are, you feel the pleasure curling inside you again, hot inside your stomach. You clench and jolt whenever his cock hits the right angle, and all of a sudden, you’re on the edge yet again.

“I can’t,” you cry out, nearly a sob lost to the sound of his hips snapping against yours.

“You can,” he says, so gently. “You can, baby, just for me. You said so, right?”

How is he still talking? For fuck’s sake, your tongue feels like its detached from your mouth and all you can muster are the moans and whines that come from the back of your throat Bucky is forcing out of you.

“Come with me,” you beg, you plead. “Please James, please, come with me.”

“Baby—”

You break apart silently, clinging to his body, holding him to you as every fiber of your being is torn into pieces, shattered. As your pussy clenches and spasms around him, Bucky stutters in his thrusts and you pull him into you, willing him to fall over the edge with you, and he follows dutifully.

He groans out your name as he comes inside of you, liquid heat searing the deepest part of you. Falling back against the pillows, you whisper his name and drag him with you, mouth meeting his for one last clumsy, haphazard kiss. Bucky stills inside of you, still throbbing, and then he whispers something against your lips.

“I love you.”

You freeze, eyes wide, and Bucky pulls away from your embrace to look at you.

“What?” you ask, swallowing thickly. “What did you say?”

“I—” He looks nervous now, but his blue eyes are so fucking sincere. “I’m—I’m so sorry, fuck.”

Bucky moves to pull out of you, to leave, but you tighten your legs around his hips and trap him against you. The cocky smirk he wears, the confident smile, even the look of desire he wore while fucking you—it’s all gone. Left in its wake is the ashamed look Bucky wears that makes him seem small, and you want to smooth it away until he looks at you like he wants you again. Like he wants you to be his.

Like he loves you.

“Why are you sorry?” you ask him, stroking a hand through his hair.

“Because—fuck—this wasn’t supposed to happen.” He glances away from you and glares at the floor and a heartbreaking pain shoots through you. Now, he pulls out of you, shifting to get off the bed and clean up, but you can’t stop the words before they tumble out.

“You didn’t want me?”

“What?” Bucky turns and cups your face in his hand, searching your eyes for something, and his thumb wipes away a stray tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

Oh fuck, here it comes. He told you he loved you in a fit of passion and now you’re the stupid, clingy girl that he needs to leave behind. You’re partners, first and foremost, and you shouldn’t have forgotten that.

But god, he made you feel like you were his, and you wanted that so bad. You want it so fucking bad.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, voice shaking and you wonder if you mean it. “I know I’m stupid, and I know you hate me, and I know it was just sex—”

“Baby, no, please.” Bucky brings your face to his and kisses you softly, sweetly, like he adores you. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry because someone like me shouldn’t love someone like you. God, I shouldn’t love someone as perfect as you. I can’t have you, doll. And I’m sorry.”

Oh. Bucky does love you.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You surge up and slant your mouth over his, hand gripping the back of his neck to pull him down, fingers twining in the fine hairs where his scalp meets his skin. In this one kiss, you pour everything you think you can into it, everything you feel now, everything you’ve felt since you met him, everything you’ve ever felt at every moment you’ve shared with him.

“I love you,” you say when you pull away. “I love you so much, Bucky. I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

His eyes are so wide, so afraid, so confused.

“You do?”

“I do,” you tell him. “God, I’ve wanted you for so long, Bucky Barnes, you stupid man.”

You expect him to kiss you now, but he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky cradles your head in his hand and pulls you to his chest, embracing you in his warm arms. He rolls onto the bed, carefully lifting you until you’re situated on top of him, where you wrap your limbs around him and lay upon his warm body. Bucky lays kisses on the crown of your hair, holding you so tightly against him you think you might suffocate.

“I’ve loved you since the day you kicked my ass, doll,” he admits. You laugh.

“Are you kidding me? I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you,” he says. “I hated that you would sacrifice yourself for others. I still hate it. It’s why you got hurt today and god, the threat of losing you, it scares me doll. I didn’t know what I would do if you died right there in my arms and I never got the chance to tell you all this.”

You glance up at him, at his beautiful face and his beautiful eyes, the man who you hated and who you wanted and who you love. God, you really do love him.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you whisper, pressing an awkward kiss to his bare chest. “Now that I have you, I could never leave you.”

He laughs at that. “Babydoll, you’ve always had me. I can’t believe you never knew.”

You think back to all the times he’s looked at you, dopey grins and cocky smiles and coy glances. You think about how long you’ve leaned on each other in the two years you’ve been partners, how he’s the only person you’ve ever trusted with your life, how you always work to come back to him. You think about the butterflies that stirred in your stomach the first time you met him, when he shook your hand and gave you the prettiest smile you’d ever seen, the same smile he has plastered on his face right now as looks down at you.

Sitting up, you look at Bucky Barnes, chin resting in your palm lazily.

“Maybe I’ve always known,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I did, too.”

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