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gogolucky13 · 3 years

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Mean It

Summary: You and Bucky get trapped overnight in the safe house after a mission. Everything should be okay, except he's your ex and thanks to his carelessness, the situation gets a little more complicated.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Word count: 7,887

Warnings: Smut (sex pollen, slightly dub-con only due to the circumstances but both parties are consenting, fingering, vaginal penetration). Swearing. Angst with a happy ending. (18+ only please).

A/N: This is my submission for @saiyanprincessswanie 2.5k follower challenge. I chose the trope sex pollen. Congratulations, Missy!! You deserve all the love and all the followers. You are truly such an amazing person. Anyways, hope you enjoy this! It was my first time writing sex pollen so hopefully it isn’t awful 😅 Happy reading! 💜💜

A blur of white crystalline flecks swirls against the dark backdrop of nightfall, a taunting dance as you watch through a small window of the safe house. Staring dumbly, you helplessly watch as thick layers of snow blankets over the wooded area. On any other given night you’d find the scene beautiful, mesmerizing even, but not tonight, because this is not how things were supposed to go.

The mission was supposed to take a few hours. A simple in and out plan; get the intel and anything else seemingly worth of value, engage only if needed, and get home. Getting stuck overnight at the safe house was not part of the plan, but it seemed Mother Nature had other ideas when she decided to conjure up the biggest snow storm Eastern Europe has seen in years.

“Fuck me,” you grumble with a sigh, hands perched on your hips.

“As you wish,” a voice from behind replies in a teasing tone.

The comment elicits another sigh, a deeper one this time, full of frustration at the situation and annoyance for who you’re stuck with. Turning on the ball of your foot, you shoot daggers at your partner before rolling your eyes.

Bucky laughs at your exasperation, and it only spurs his teasing on more.

“Could be worse,” he muses, kneeling down in front of the old fireplace. He quickly gets to work on placing a few logs in the center, dousing them with lighter fluid and igniting a match. The room is instantly bathed in a warm, yellow glow.

“No,” you remark sternly, “It cannot be worse. This is my literal nightmare.” Each word is punctuated with the rough shrill of velcro coming undone as you walk away from the window. The sound slices through the air, along with the clicks of buckles before you remove your tactile vest completely and toss it harshly onto the worn couch in the middle of the room. “And to top it all off, tonight is date night.”

“Oh, date night?” Bucky asks in a mocking tone, complete with a faux puppy-dog pout.

Your leather gloves are ripped off your hands and slammed onto a small table by the couch, evidence of your dwindling patience. “Shut up.”

“What?” He chuckles, clearly enjoying the irritation emanating from you. “I just don’t understand what you see in the guy.” He casually walks over to the wooden dining table that sits off to the side.

Another ice cold stare, irritation hardening your jaw and the corners of your eyes. “Enough.”

This time, Bucky rolls his eyes and mumbles something under his breath you don’t quite catch. He turns around to begin sorting through the documents the two of you recovered from the Hydra base.

Gently chewing on the inside of your cheek, you take a moment to watch him and wonder how the two of you ended up here—and you don’t mean snowed in and trapped in a safe house for the night.

The bitter wall of resentment that’s been built up between you over time has left you emotionally drained and, if you’re being honest, deeply hurt. It wasn’t always this way, though. At one time, Bucky was your sole source of all things love and happiness, but he’s always known exactly what buttons to push.

Being partners stuck in a safe house is one thing. Being exes and stuck in a safe house is a whole different ballpark.

You now wish you would’ve agreed with Steve’s initial hesitancies to send you and Bucky on this mission alone, despite your reassurance you’ve both managed to maintain a professional relationship. Which is true.

Flashbacks to the earlier mission attest to that—your seamless fighting styles and communication haven’t been affected by the fallout of your relationship. Each mission is completed smoothly and efficiently with as little damage taken as possible. If only the two of you managed to figure out how to make it work outside the field, too.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice brings you back to the present, “are you gonna help me with this? I”m not doing all this paperwork by myself.”

“Yes, I’m gonna help,” you grumble, marching over to him and snatching the paper he holds. “I want this done before we leave so we don’t have to worry about it when we get back.” You plop down into a chair, pulling out a Stark tablet from one of the black duffle bags, and begin the tedious task of documenting the details of the mission.

“And why is that?” Bucky questions nonchalantly, taking the seat across from you. “So you can go see what’s-his-face the second we get back?” He leans back in the chair, interlacing his fingers and placing his hands behind his head.

“You know his name,” you reply flatly, not even bothering to spare him a glance.

“Oh, right, Todd.”

“Tom.”

“Whatever.”

Finally, you look up to him from the tablet you hold. “What is your problem with him?” You ask, frustration lacing around the syllables, but there’s a hint of genuine curiosity hidden between the words.

“No problem,” Bucky replies smoothly with a shoulder shrug. “I just don’t think he’s good enough for you.” He holds your stare, daring you to look away as he speaks with conviction.

There’s a slight quirk to your brow, a sardonic laugh falling from your lips at his words. “What? And you were?”

Bucky’s hands fall to his lap, a tight clench growing in his jaw as he sighs deeply through his nose. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, serious and slightly sad, before he drops it to the table and responds, “Let’s just finish this.”

An hour or so passes, and you’re only halfway through the post-mission reports. You’ve silently cursed Steve for sending you on this mission only once or twice, but you’ve lost count of the times you’ve cursed SHIELD and their repetitive documentation. Bucky, in his typical fashion, has been minimal help with the true detailing of the mission happenings; usually only offering elaborate recalls of his super human abilities.

“You did not take down five Hydra agents with one bullet,” you comment evenly, continuing to type and ignoring his false recounts.

“Sure I did,” he responds. He sits back in the small wooden chair, propping his feet on the table as he tosses a small vial in his hands. “You were looking the other way.”

You suppress an eye roll, placing the tablet onto the table. “Stop fucking around before you break something,” you snap, fed up with his uselessness.

“Will you relax,” he replies calmly. “I’m not going to—“ but the rest of that sentence gets stuck in the back of his throat as he overshoots a toss and misses the glass cylinder.

It all happens in an instant—the vial catches on the tips of Bucky’s fingers, both jumping to your feet, yelling to not let it break. But as the vial crashes to the floor, the red liquid inside spilling onto the aged wooden floorboards, it feels like time slows to a complete standstill.

Silence settles over the cabin then. The faint crackling of the fire is the only noise as you and Bucky stare in shock at the small pool of scarlet. Waiting for something, anything to happen, but nothing comes.

“What the fuck, Bucky?!” You cry, the sound of your voice slicing through the thickened air. “What is wrong with you?!”

“It was an accident!”

“I told you to stop and look what happens! Why don’t you ever listen to me?!”

“Will you just re—“

“Don’t,” you retort, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Do not tell me to relax. We have no clue what was in that vial and now it’s all over the floor, and probably seeping into the air as we speak.” A gasp falls from your lips, slipping through a shaky hand that covers them, as panic begins to settle in. “Fuck, Bucky, we don’t know what was in there! What if it kills us?!” Your eyes grow wide, tears brimming at your lower lash line.

He sighs heavily. “Sweetheart, please take a deep breath. We’re not going to die.”

Any other time the pet name would’ve had you stopping, tossing a snide, and probably hurtful, remark at him to not call you that—that he can’t call you that anymore. But in this moment, it falls on deaf ears, and you unknowingly ignore the squeeze in your chest his terms of endearment always elicit.

“You don’t know that!” You feel a tear slip down your cheek and you step away from Bucky and the stain, beginning to pace in front of the fireplace. “Fuck, this is so bad.”

“Everything is going to be okay,” Bucky begins, reaching for his coat and sliding his arms into the sleeves. “I’m gonna go get the hazmat kit from the Quinjet, and I’ll clean it up.”

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you look to him and nod.

“I’ll be right back.”

You watch as he slips out the front door, a gust of icy wind sweeping through the small living room. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around yourself in an effort to warm yourself and calm your nerves.

Bucky returns not even five minutes later with a hard, black case. In an attempt to save yourself from any of the harmful effects of the liquid, you remain on the other side of the room, and allow Bucky to clean up his literal mess. He removes his coat and places a mask over his face before slipping on a pair of rubber gloves. From inside the case, he pulls out a few microfiber towels and spray bottles. With your thumbnail lodged between your teeth, you anxiously watch him work in silence.

“Okay,” Bucky sighs, dropping the last towel inside a black bag. “It’s all cleaned up.” He gives the floor one last spray before taking the trash bag to the front door and tossing it outside. Then, he turns to you. Concern colors his features, crinkling his brow and softening the corners of his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Still in a slight state of shock, you can only nod, eyes wide in worry.

“Do you feel okay?” He presses, slowly walking towards you.

You quietly nod again.

When he gets about a foot away, he places two large hands—one warm, one cool—on your upper arms. A gentle squeeze from both to ensure you’re still with him, his eyes searching yours. “Y/n,” he tries, “tell me you’re alright.”

Blinking several times, you can feel traces of rogue tears trailing down the skin of your cheeks, but then you’re nodding your head and taking a deep breath. “I’m…I’m okay.”

His hands don’t move, and you would never admit it, but his touch has always been a source of comfort for you. Even now, when you no longer can seek him out for it. With one final squeeze to your arms, Bucky drops his hands to his side and he lets out a breath.

“Maybe we should call it a night.”

Bucky turns to walk back over to the table to begin collecting the files and tablet, sliding them into a bag. A weight still sits on your shoulders, your feet like lead, holding you in place by the fire. It heats your legs; the warmth seeping through the fabric of your tact pants, and it would be unbearable, except, you’re more concerned with the heat spreading from within.

“Y/n,” Bucky softly calls out to you, “bed?”

“Ye—yeah,” voice sticking, you clear your throat and try again, “Yeah, bed.” Without giving Bucky another glance, you sweep a shoulder against him. When you reach the door to one of the bedrooms, it shuts with a definitive slam.

On the other side, you stand with your back against the wooden slab, chest heaving as you try to ignore the obscure feeling that something is off. Instead, you kick off your boots and crawl into the bed. Normally, you would’ve whined and complained about the hard mattress and scratchy sheets, but your mind is miles away from this small cabin. It isn’t until you hear the distant sound of the other bedroom door closing that you attempt to get some sleep.

__________________________________________

It’s hot. So unbearably hot.

Your shirt and tact pants were discarded hours ago, leaving you only in your underwear and tank top; the blankets kicked off soon after. Even with the single window open in the middle of a snow storm, your body is still on fire. Sweat soaked through the thin sheets, dampening the fabric an uncomfortable amount. And as you continue to toss and turn, limbs thrashing from discomfort, you realize the sheets aren’t the only thing that’s damp.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to forget and tell yourself that’s not what this is. But as the minutes ticked by and your body grew hotter and hotter, the aching between your thighs screamed at you that this is definitely what you so desperately wished it wasn’t.

A fucking sex tonic.

Of course the one vial Bucky had to fuck around with consisted of a serum designed to make its recipients sexually aroused beyond reason; a feral experience until the ache is satiated.

You almost had enough sense to chastise yourself for not recognizing it sooner. The serum was only a myth until Steve and Nat found remnants of it on a mission a few months ago. Bruce was able to run some tests on it, and the findings even made the Hulk squirm.

But your mind is clouded with unquenched desire, the ache between your legs radiating into your lower abdomen now. A throbbing cramp has you curling over into the fetal position, a weak sob wracking through you as you press your face into the damp pillow, willing it all to stop.

From what you can remember of Bruce’s presentation, your options are very limited. You could wait for the serum to run its course, with the small chance it won’t send you into a pain induced coma. You could try to satiate the need yourself, but he warned this could also have a counter-effect, making the pain so unbearable you end up in a coma anyways. Or, and really what seems to be your only option, you engage in coitus.

Another cry rips from your lungs, the piercing pain continuing to uncomfortably pulsate under your skin, as you realize the only person who could help is the last person you would want to ask. Instead, you have a brief moment of lucidness and you allow your stubborn nature to take over.

Slowly, you shift to lay on your back, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes and trailing down your temples. With a shaky hand, you slide it under the elastic of your underwear in search of some relief. The fabric, damp and tacky with your arousal, brushes against your knuckles, but the second the pad of your middle finger touches your swollen clit, a sharp sting shoots up your body. It rips you apart, like a knife stabbing mercilessly at your insides and slicing you open; punishment for not doing what the serum is designed for.

A pitiful whine falls from your lips followed by a cry. It’s the only thing you can do as you roll back onto your side, pinching your legs together. The lust induced fever reaches unbearable heights, your consciousness waning when a new prickling sensation of needles all over your body takes over. It immediately has you resenting your stubbornness.

Then, a rough, almost desperate, knock breaks you from your thoughts. Through your delirium, it takes you a moment to gauge if it was real or not. But when you hear it again, you deduce it wasn’t a hallucinated side-effect of the serum.

On trembling limbs, you manage to get out of the bed. As you stand upright, you take a moment to grasp the nightstand. Dizziness swirls around your head, the room spinning as you attempt to discern up from down before taking the five, agonizing steps to the door.

With great effort, you turn the knob and pull the door open. On the other side, Bucky appears. Through blurry vision you can see he’s drenched in sweat, too. His long hair sticks to the sides of his face as a sheen of sweat glistens off his forehead. A flush like a blooming rose stains the shiny skin across his chest, reflecting off the moonlight as it rises and falls in rapid motions.

He clenches his hands into fists, but overall, he seems in a bit more control of his body than you, most likely in due part to the other serum that flows through his veins. But when you meet his gaze, there’s a burning, untamed desire spiraling in the depths of blue, blowing his pupils wide, and you realize his control is holding on by a feeble thread.

Seeing him ignites a new fire within you, and it takes you back to before. To a time when things were simple, and there were no defensive walls between you. To a time when you called him yours.

It forces you to let your guard down, and you nearly fall into his arms, whining, “Bucky…”

He catches you, scooping you into his arms and carrying you back to bed. Gently, he lays you atop the drenched mattress, his sinewy figure hovering over yours. He’s close, so close, and that fact alone is enough to make you lightheaded.

A blinding wave of lust crashes over you when you’re hit with a scent that you can only describe as him; musky with a hint of spice. But there’s a trace of something tangy you pick up on, and when you glance to the bulge in his boxers, you know it’s his arousal. The thought induces an uncontrollable throb to pulsate through your core, its effects rippling with pain and you cry out instinctively.

Bucky can only stare at you as he assesses the situation. He’s in his own world of discomfort, you’re sure of it. He can smell you on any normal given day, so you can only imagine what kind of restraint he’s using in this moment when his senses are in overdrive.

“Sweetheart, please tell me you didn’t try to touch yourself,” he pleads when he realizes how much agony you really are in.

Sobbing, you can only nod. A pattern of crescent moons indent into the clammy skin of his back as you dig your fingers into it, an attempt to hold onto something to ground yourself and take the pain away.

He lets out a sigh, one you think is mixed with slight frustration at your refusal to never ask him for help and genuine concern over your wellbeing.

“Please,” you cry again. “Help me.”

Biting through his bottom lip, Bucky can taste copper. His hands clutch at the sheets on either side of your head. The whirs of his left arm fill the heated space as it incessantly grinds from tension; the muscles of his right arm almost bulging out of their flesh confines. A rush of conflicted emotions scatters over every inch of his face; desire, guilt, a tortured sadness, love.

He wants to help you. Hell, he needs help himself, but even through the fierce blaze of pain his body is going through, his moral compass remains strong, and he doesn’t want to make you do anything you would regret.

“I don’t want…I can’t…” he stammers. “You’re with somebody else.”

“Bucky, I don’t give a fuck about that!” You scream, finding your voice through the pain. “If this doesn’t stop soon, I’ll kill you myself before this fucking serum can do it.” Sweat continues to build along your hairline, beading and dripping. Gripping his face, you hold him an inch away to ensure he hears you loud and clear. “I need you.”

The remaining shreds of hesitancy and decency Bucky clung to instantly flies out the open window, catching in the freezing wind and lost to the blizzard. With a firm hand, Bucky reaches behind your neck and crashes his lips to yours. The cool metal of his hand alleviates some of the feverishness, a brief moment of respite, but it’s the feeling of his lips moving against yours, the knowing of what’s to come, that brings you most relief.

A light brush of his clothed erection against your leg has Bucky on the verge of crying, skin crawling with need. His symptoms started after yours, he deduced by the looks of your state when you answered the door, but it doesn’t mean he’s in any less anguish. Everything from the angry red tip of his cock to the sensitive skin around his sac aches in the most unpleasant way.

Leaning closer to you, Bucky rests his chest against yours, only feeling slightly satiated as his body begs for more. But the pressure has you pulling back, sucking in a pained hiss through clenched teeth.

“It hurts,” you whine, eyes scrunched closed in hopes to mentally will the pain away.

Bucky glances down to your covered torso. Through the thin fabric of your tank top, he can see your peaked nipples straining against the white cotton. Without another thought, he slides his hands underneath and removes it one quick motion. In the next, he swirls his hot, wet tongue over one bud before encasing his lips around it, gently sucking at the needy flesh.

“Ahhh!” You cry breathily.

Desperate fingers tangle in his sweaty locks, pulling at the scalp as he tends to one breast then the other. The ache in your abdomen is beginning to subside, but it’s still not enough. Instinctively, you start bucking your hips up to meet his.

“I need it, please. I need you,” you whine into the top of his head, taking a deep breath as his delicious pheromones continue to invade your senses.

Stopping his motions, Bucky brings his lips back to yours for another bruising kiss. His flesh hand immediately begins to descend over your stomach, slipping under the hemline of your panties. He feels how wet you are; how incredibly, impossibly wet you are, and his cock jumps in his boxers at the feel of your warm arousal covering his digits.

This time when your clit is touched, there is no shooting pain, only a blooming sense of relief, and it sends a wave of goosebumps over your entire body. A choked moan sticks in your throat, tears welling in your eyes and spilling out.

“Yes,” you sigh.

Fingers still twisted in his hair, Bucky tends to your neck with sloppy kisses, the short hairs of his stubble scratchy against your skin. Small ripples of satisfaction pulse through your core at Bucky’s continued ministrations, the squelching sound of two thick fingers moving in and out of your heat condenses the heavy air. But it only lasts a few minutes before your body is burning up again; twisting your insides and reprimanding for not giving it what it needs.

“Bucky.”

Releasing the hold you have on his hair, your hands trail down his sides to his lower abdomen. The bristly hairs below his naval tickle your palm as you slip a hand under the elastic of his boxers. His cock is achingly hard when you wrap your fingers around it, thick and heavy, velvety soft in your hold. It’s the hardest you’ve ever felt and you wonder how he’s been able to restrain himself for this long. Gently, you sweep your thumb over the weeping tip, his pre-arousal hot and sticky.

A guttural groan, deep and pained, erupts from his chest, reverberating against the skin of your neck. Bucky shudders on top of you, body going slightly limp as he allows himself to bask in the brief moment of respite. God, he missed being touched by you.

“Please.”

Finally, Bucky picks his head up. His eyes are wide, a crazed, animalistic look glazing over the usual calm ocean blue, but there’s a flash of concern that cracks through.

“Are you ready? I don’t wan—“

“Yes, I’m fucking ready,” you grit out. “Now stop acting like you aren’t also dying for this and fuck me already.”

In a blur of heady movements, Bucky removes his boxers and rips your panties off, leaving you both stark naked together for the first time in a long time. Settling between your thighs, Bucky lines himself up at your entrance, your core already throbbing in anticipation. He easily sinks in, a chorus of moans breaking out when he passes the threshold, the first sense of real relief you’ve both felt all night.

When he bottoms out, it's the fullest you’ve ever felt. It’s an unexplainable feeling that has you wanting to claw your skin off at how amazing the sensation is; the ache almost satisfied.

Bucky nearly collapses on top of you. Also momentarily blissed out from the euphoric sense of relief, his forearms catch himself just before he crushes you with his weight. You’ve always been tight, but this, this has his toes curling and fingers gripping desperately at the headboard, willing himself to keep it together and not manically drive into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, and you can feel his body trembling against yours.

Nails dig into the slick skin of his lower back, pulling him into you briefly before demanding, “Move.”

Without having to be told twice, Bucky lets go and retracts his hips before relentlessly pounding into you. A scream rips from your lungs, and you think you could be on the verge of passing out. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around the room, blending with muffled grunts and strangled moans.

“Always so tight,” Bucky groans against your open mouth. “So good for me.” He peppers kisses over your face, wiping a gentle hand over your forehead to remove some of the sweat that’s built up before using it to cradle the back of your head.

Your body is alight with a tingling desire, tuning you into every minute feeling; each veiny ridge of his cock drags against your silk walls, the coarse hairs at the base tickling your slick folds each time he reaches the hilt, a delicious full pressure filling you up. It creates a burning friction that has you already clenching around him, and your only reaction is to bury your face into his neck, nipping at the flesh there.

Bucky growls, his chest vibrating against yours. Blindly, he reaches for your right thigh with his metal hand, hiking it high over his hip. The new, deeper angle has you pulling your mouth away from his neck to blissfully cry out. The springs of the cheap mattress continuously prod at your lower back as Bucky shifts his weight to increase the force of his thrusts.

Above you, Bucky is teetering on the edge of losing all control and giving in to the innate primal urge clawing its way out, begging to be released. But the super soldier serum allows him to keep one hand on the wheel, and he’s grateful for that. At least one of you can keep a semi-level head in this situation—one that he’s to blame for. As he watches you, though, squirming under him from uncontrollable need, feeling you clench down around him over and over again, whimpering in a blissed out daze, his willpower is faltering.

With every rough snap of his hips, he feels you getting closer, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting the sweet spot inside you. He’s mindful to not leave any marks; a partly coherent piece of him still aware enough to not leave any physical traces on you of this god awful event. The vibranium grip he has on your thigh loosens.

He’s careful to not leave a mark, but he lets you. From the bruising kisses already purpling on his neck to the harsh red lines scratched down his back, he lets you. And he silently curses the serum’s rapid healing effects, knowing he’ll only have these reminders for a short while. To remind him when you were his again, even if it isn’t in the way he wanted, he could still fool himself.

Two trembling arms snake around Bucky’s neck, your quivering thighs tighten against his hips. There’s a new throbbing ache, a building soreness, between your legs, but this time, it’s welcomed. Your insides begin to twist, the chord of pleasure straining for release.

Bucky momentarily frees your thigh from his hold to slip his metal hand between your sweat covered bodies. The typically cool metal is hot against your swollen clit as he rubs generous circles over it, pushing you closer to the edge of euphoria.

“Don’t stop,” you pant against the shell of his ear. “Please don’t stop.”

It takes only a few more rapid thrusts before your skin begins to prickle with the sensation of pins and needles. A contradiction of pain and pleasure emanating from your core, overwhelming you as the chord snaps and your entire body engulfs in flaming elation. It ceases your breathing, has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, vision blurred and whited out.

“Fuck, yes!” You cry out between strangled sobs, arms and legs securing firmly around Bucky.

Tightly clenching around him, Bucky nearly chokes on air, the tightest you’ve ever been, and he’s determined to reach his own release. His skin is on fire, body blazing with need and his rational mind slips as he finally gives in. Viscously snapping his hips into you, he’s so close he can almost taste it. A wild rush courses through him, egging him on and clouding his mind.

“My best girl,” he pants by your ear, face buried in the pillow you rest on, “my only girl.”

He continues to pound into you, his thrusts faltering every now and then when he feels a fluttering aftershock of your orgasm. “Love you,” he breathes between nips and kisses along your slack jaw, one hand gripping the back of your neck, the other gripping onto the underside of your thigh again, “so much.”

The words dissolve into the mist of your sex fueled haze and they’re quickly forgotten about as you blindly agree you love him too. He bites down gently on the skin of your shoulder, a feral growl reverberates through his entire body as he releases inside you, and he forces himself in as deep as he can go. So much for not leaving any marks.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, bodies trembling and hearts thundering wildly in your chests, competing against one another as you come down from the intense high. Like a thick fog, the lustful intoxication of the serum dissipates, clearing your minds and allowing the harsh reality of the situation to settle in.

A chill fills the room, a breath of wind spilling in from the open window, causing you to shudder beneath him. It’s the only thing you can really feel as a numbing after effect consumes you.

Bucky feels you slightly shaking and lifts up, letting go of your thigh and you let it limply fall to the mattress. Resting on one hand, Bucky uses the other to grip the base of his cock, slowly removing it from inside you. You both watch as he reappears covered in your mixed juices. Pained hisses cut through the silence when he’s fully out, taking a piece of you with him; or maybe it’s one he’s always had. An uncomfortable emptiness leaves you feeling hollow in more ways than one.

Then, Bucky is looking to you. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He searches your eyes for any indication that you’re in any form of discomfort.

You don’t respond; only stare blankly up at him for a moment before sliding your legs out from under him and gently push off the bed. Silently, you gather your clothing that was discarded in a feverish state of pain and desire, not even bothering to take the time to search for your underwear Bucky carelessly threw somewhere. As you move around the room, the warm stickiness of his spend begins to trail down your inner thigh, hastening your effort to get cleaned up. Without another glance in his direction, you slip out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall.

Cool, refreshing water cascades over your skin, simmering the boil of surging emotions inside. Anger at Bucky’s carelessness; guilt at cheating on your partner; and confusion at the newfound adoration you thought was buried long ago, when you and Bucky decided it was no longer working between you.

It’s difficult for you to discern when your feelings towards Bucky started blossoming again. You could easily brush it off as a lingering side effect of the serum—a slight emotional attachment to the person who took your pain away. But you know it’s so much more than that. If anything, tonight has brought to light all the feelings you’ve been trying to suppress for far too long.

Moments of catching yourself staring longer than you should; being secretly excited when assigned on missions together, despite outwardly protesting your discontent for the situation; nights spent wondering about the what ifs and could have beens.

The raging storm of confusion elicits a deep frustrated grumble. Slipping your head under the running water, you pray for it to help make sense of everything swirling around inside it.

The pipes squeak and groan as you cut off the water, drying off and redressing. But before you slip your shirt back on, you catch sight of a reddened mark on your right shoulder in the mirror. Grazing light fingers over it, you harshly bite down on your bottom lip to stop the threat of tears. Quickly, you drag your shirt over your head and cover it up, trying to forget that Bucky had been yours once again, if only for a moment. But there’s still a dull ache throbbing between your legs, radiating up into your chest and clamping around your heart, and you pull on every fiber in your being to not cry at the thought of it.

Opening the bathroom door, you peek out into the hallway, searching for any sign you’re not alone. When you don’t see one, you step out but stop before going back into your room.

The door hangs open, a clear view of tangled sheets and a fading imprint on the mattress the only remaining signs of what just occurred. The ache slightly intensifies the longer you stare at it. Instead, you opt to sleep on the couch in the living room.

The fire burned out hours ago, the room only illuminated now by the bright moon hanging outside the window. Laying on the couch, a numbness settles over your body, glassy eyes staring at the pulsating glow of the small pile of embers. Only a few minutes pass before you finally cave, crumbling into yourself as you allow the new wave of internal pain to take over, and you cry.

__________________________________________

A soft weighted sensation stirs you from your sleep the next morning, and you have to quickly reach out to stop the blanket that covers you from slipping onto the floor. Gripping it, your brows knit together as curious eyes scan over the fabric. You don’t recall getting the blanket at any point during the night, and you slowly sit up to place it on the cushion beside you.

The front door opens, and you snap your head in the direction to see Bucky’s large figure appearing in the room, stomping his feet to rid his boots of snow. Instinctively, your eyes squint from the brightness of the sun reflecting on the whiteness outside, raising a hand to shield it. When Bucky catches sight that you’re awake, he stops his motions and stares at you.

His cerulean eyes are always brighter in the morning, something you remember from before, but no longer allow yourself to bask in. This morning, however, they’re a sad shade of grey; dull, puffy, and slightly red around the rim. A flicker of remorse flashes across his features as he notices your own disheveled state.

He uneasily clears his throat, dropping your gaze to remove the gloves from his hands. “The Quinjet is all packed. I figured you’d want to leave as soon as possible.” He clutches both gloves in one hand, looking to you once again. “I’m ready when you are.”

Blinking away the tears that burn the back of your eyes, you nod your head. “Okay.”

Almost like a hangover, you’re still a bit lightheaded from the after effects of the serum and your night of crying, wobbling a bit when you stand on two feet. In hopes to steady your equilibrium, you press the base of your palms into your eyes, taking a few deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Bucky softly asks, voice ripe with worry.

“I’m fine.” The words scratch their way out, your throat sore from crying.

Without another word, you collect your belongings and rush out to the Quinjet, leaving Bucky to follow behind you. Settling in, you choose to sit as far away from him as possible, your skin already crawling at the prospect of sitting in an uncomfortable silence for the next four hours with your ex-boyfriend.

Your ex-boyfriend who you reluctantly had between your legs no less than eight hours ago.

The faint throb returns, constricting your chest, and you shift to turn away from him. Even from the pilot’s seat, you can feel Bucky’s stare burning through you. You shift again, curling your legs up and tucking an arm under your head in an attempt to get comfortable enough to hopefully fall asleep, and ignore the awkward tension brewing between you.

Once you’re finally back at the Compound, you can’t get off the Quinjet fast enough. As you land, Bucky rhetorically tells you he’ll finish up the rest of the post-mission paperwork, ensuring you won’t have to worry about it. You only nod before leaving him alone to retreat back to your room.

Five long days pass in a blur.

Nat came to check on you soon after you returned home. You internally debated telling her what happened, but the more you tried to keep it to yourself, the more it ate away at you. Once the initial shock wore off, she insisted you go to the med lab to get checked out, and then asked what you were going to do now.

You could only answer honestly when you said, “I don’t know.”

You knew you had to talk to Tom. The thought alone created a rock of dread that sat heavy in your stomach, but it was nothing compared to the thought of having to talk to Bucky.

It’s on the sixth day you finally manage to muster up enough courage to talk to the man you’ve been avoiding for almost a week. You haven’t seen Bucky since you returned home, mindful to keep your distance and you’re sure he tried to keep his, too. A few times you heard him coming and going from his room, and you think there was one night he lingered outside your door before he decided against coming to you.

The sound of his door closing breaks you from your thoughts, head snapping in the direction of the wooden barrier currently between you. Gently chewing on the inside of your cheek, you ponder for another moment before you ultimately decide to just get it over with, rip the metaphorical bandaid off and be done with it. Standing up from the chair you sit on, you take a deep breath and go to him.

Hesitantly, you raise a fisted hand to his door, knocking softly. You wait, your fingers wringing together as anxiety curdles in your stomach, and you almost turn to leave, but the door suddenly whips open. Bucky stands before you with a slight dip in his brow, eyes uncertain as he regards you, waiting for you to speak.

“Um,” you begin, voice low and shy, “can we talk?”

He remains silent, stepping to the side to open the door for you to enter. You falter, taking a step before second guessing if this is even a good idea, and you almost run back to your room until you stop yourself. Stop being dumb.

Bucky closes the door once you’re inside, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the fact you’re alone with him once again when he turns to face you. Goosebumps prick at your skin, the anxiety twisting your insides that much more.

“How are you?”

The weakness of your voice has you internally wincing. You’ve been with this man countless times before, fought with and against him, and all of a sudden you’re a fragile mess before him? No, you’re stronger than that. Pulling your shoulders back, you raise your chin as you wait for him to respond.

“I’ve been better,” he replies evenly.

You slowly nod. “I assume you went to see Bruce,” you begin, and continue once he confirms, “and I assume everything was okay?”

He nods.

“That’s good.” You pause to rub your lips together, crossing your arms self-consciously over your midsection. “I told him the tonic took a few hours to take effect, so he thinks it might’ve been old.” Another pause before you sarcastically add, “Still potent once it starts working.”

Pinching his lips together into a thin line, Bucky doesn’t say anything. You notice the dull blue of his eyes, reminding you of the sad, stormy grey they were the morning after in the safe house.

Swallowing thickly, you briefly look away as your brain scatters for something else to say. With your mind distracted by other things, and in your haste to get this whole ordeal over with, you gave little thought to what you would say to him. You open your mouth to say something, what—you aren’t sure—but Bucky beats you to it.

“I really am sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

There’s a sadness that pulls at the corners of his eyes, a sincerity in his voice, but his words flip a switch inside you. No longer a lost, fragile mess, red begins to cloud your vision, anger seeping into your veins.

“Oh, so you’re finally taking ownership for your actions?” You spit. “That’s nice.”

Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh, rolling his eyes as he looks to the ceiling. “Please don’t do this.”

You choose to ignore him, continuing with your verbal assault and unsubstantiated accusations. “Or did you do it on purpose? Trying to get back in my pants again to prove some kind of sick point that I’ll always be yours? Is that it?”

Incredulity creases Bucky’s brows, his eyes widening at your outburst. “What are you talking about?” He asks, annoyance threading through his rising voice. “How was I supposed to know what it was?”

Clenching your back teeth, you shake your head at him. “Forget it,” you begin, moving to step around him. “Forget I even came here. This was stupid.”

You only make it halfway to the door before Bucky is grasping your upper arm, stopping your movements and swinging you back around to face him.

“No,” he firmly states, “you came here to talk, so let’s talk. This isn’t gonna be like before. I’m not going to let you run away from this.”

“From what?”

“Us.”

A tense silence falls between you, chests heaving as you stare each other down. Finally, Bucky speaks again, releasing your arm and dropping his gaze to the floor.

“What did your boyfriend say?”

Taking another hard swallow, your voice is low when you respond, “We’re not together anymore.”

Bucky swiftly picks his head up to look at you, guilt shining over his pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell me he broke up with you because of my fuck up.”

“No,” you sigh, eyes downcast to the floor. “I broke up with him.”

There’s a brief pause as Bucky processes your words. “Why would you do that?”

The question is simple, but the answer has left you in a tangled mess of emotions. “Because,” you pause, taking another deep breath, “because I realized something.”

“What?”

Gazing back to Bucky, you choose to ignore your conflicted answer, and instead ask him a question of your own. A question you hope will help bring you some form of peace. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” His voice is low, nearly a whisper.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, steeling your frenzied nerves, you finally respond, “When we were…together, you said you loved me. Did you mean it?”

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise, clearly not expecting you to bring that up. It was a slip of the tongue, spoken in the heat of the moment as he was overcome with a crazed desire. He didn’t think you heard it, or at least, didn’t really comprehend what he was saying, but he did mean it. He’s silently loved you from afar every single day since he let you walk away, always too afraid to admit it out loud to himself, and to you.

But he does. He loves you and he means it, every word. And in this moment, he’d rather ingest the sex tonic all over again, allow it to destroy him, than let you slip away a second time.

“Yes,” he replies, voice strong and full of conviction. His eyes hold your stare, watching as they gloss over with unshed tears. “I meant it.”

The confession has a breath catching in your throat. The raging war of confusing thoughts and feelings comes to a cease fire, your inner turmoil surrendering as everything falls back into place.

Without an ounce of hesitation, you reach out for him. Both hands grasp along his jaw, lips crashing onto his. Bucky reacts instantly, gripping your waist to pull you in. His lips are fierce against yours, desperate like a man starved, and his tongue slips out seeking yours.

The kiss is a bittersweet taste of resentment and longing. Tongues gliding against one another as you both forgive and remember what it’s like to be together again. It tastes like home.

Breathless, you pull away, eyes searching his—no longer dull and conflicted, they shine bright with a spark of hopefulness.

“I’m sorry, too,” you softly say, “and I’m willing to try again if you are.”

Bucky lets out a deep, pleased sigh, the beginnings of a smile curling the corner of his mouth. Tenderly, he places a chaste kiss to your lips, your cheek, and wraps two strong arms around you, securing you into a tight embrace.

“I missed you,” he says, the words muffled, his lips pressed against your shoulder.

The beating of your heart stutters at his admission, a pleasant flip in your belly, because you’ve missed him, too. So much, and more than you allowed yourself to admit.

Tightening your arms around his neck, you softly tell him, “I love you, too.”

And you mean it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes

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trashytummiez · 3 years

Note

what if Orca ate too much and Killer Croc rubs her belly?

Killer croc returned to his underground lair and rubbed his scaly stomach hungrily. It growled like an animal and left him grumbling for his own stomach to keep it down. But when he checked his fridge to his dread he saw the whole thing was picked clean.

"What the hell?!" Croc shouted.

He had a stocked fridge when he left how could it it be empty just like that?

Then he heard groaning from the other room and straight away got his answer.

There he found his girlfriend Orca sitting on the floor and caressing her massively stuffed tummy. Orca had eaten so much that her stomach looked like she was pregnant and expecting any second now. Her blubbery tummy was so huge that she had to sit on the floor with her back against the wall and her thighs spread out just to give it some room to breathe.

"Ey why'd ya eat everythin' in the fridge??" Killer Croc complained.

Orca groaned miserably. "Unnngh sorry Croc. Something got me feeling anxious again so I had to distract myself..."

"So ya settled on cleanin' me out?"

Orca hiccuped which made her huge belly jostle and slorsh. Not a good feeling right now. "...Unf couldn't help myself..."

The way her massive tummy groaned so loudly was enough to make even Killer Croc cringe almost as hard as Orca did. He'd certainly been there countless times in his life.

He decided to cut his girlfriend some slack so Croc sat down next to her and planted his rough scaly hands against her giant smooth tummy. Then in a surprisingly gentle way Killer croc began to rub Orca's massive tummy with a great deal of care. His hands delicately moved up the giant blubbery medicine ball of a tummy where his claws gently dug into the fat flesh.

Orca's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she moaned at the much needed tummy rub. For a monster so rigid Killer Croc knew how to be surprisingly tactile and docile with her.

"That feel good?" Croc asked.

Orca hummed through her chest and smiled pleasantly.

Killer Croc grinned and kept it up even when his own stomach rumbled.

Orca frowned guiltily when she heard Croc's scaly belly complaining. "Sorry I really should've left you something..."

"Ah it's cool. It's pretty late so I'll go back up t'the surface and find a mugger later."

Orca shrugged. At least Killer Croc would be getting a more filling meal that way. Then she continued to enjoy his soothing treatment over her tummy.

His scaly hand ran up and down the fatty side of Orca's massive stomach. He just kept rubbing it up and down occasionally rubbing upwards with his palm or gripping into Orca's blubber and kneading it to help it settle. Croc's hands traced over every bit of that giant whale belly and kneaded into it on top of rubbing away.

Orca sat there loving every second of it. Especially when Croc dug his claw into her very deep belly button. Croc kneaded into Orca's navel moving around circularly inside which got Orca moaning a little louder. Even when she was human her belly button was always extra delicate.

When Croc yanked his claw out of her belly button her whole chubby tummy wobbled around until Croc patted it heartily which caused it to slosh around and made Orca hiccup again.

"Man ya really know how to pack this stuff away don'tcha!" Croc admired.

"I stress-eat sometimes," Orca admitted with embarrassment. "I keep meaning to maintain better self control."

"Pssh self control's overrated," Killer Croc dismissed speaking from extensive gluttonous experience himself. "Besides ya look good with a belly on ya," Croc almost purred when he grabbed a hold of Orca's hefty blubbery tummy.

Orca blushed and scowled back in response. "Y-You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Naw I'm serious," Croc insisted and looked down at that big plump tummy which he rubbed circles all over. "Ya look sexy as hell."

"...You're an idiot..." Orca said but the way her cheeks flared up hinted something else.

She didn't object when he continued stroking her tummy though. Her silky flesh felt so smooth to Croc even with his scales partially diluting everything he felt. Even he could feel the sleekness to it and how much softer it was when Orca was so unbelievably bloated. He couldn't help marvel at her girth as his hands roamed every bit of that hefty belly.

Killer Croc fondled her heavy underbelly gripping into her tummy and heaving her whole stomach up a little to just feel its weight in his arms. And the way he looked down at this massive tummy with this hungry look in his eyes was telling.

Maybe Killer Croc really did have a thing for tummies, especially Orca's tummy.

Orca also had to admit. Having her belly tended to by her big scaly boyfriend was doing something for her too.

It was enough to make her forget all about her troubles. At least until Killer Croc brought it back up.

"So what was buggin' ya anyway?" Croc asked while he rubbed.

Orca shifted a little. "You know me. I'm an anxious person."

"But ya usually ain't anxious fer nothin'."

"I don't know. I guess I was just thinking about the future. I've accepted this is who I am now but I don't know things like how it's going to affect my lifespan if I can have children or if it will affect my mind going forward."

"You've been this way fer years now though."

"Mutations do still occur and I never got a chance to read the fine print when they transformed me."

Killer Croc frowned. He'd changed a lot too when he grew up but for as much as he mutated he was still himself. "D'ya feel any different?"

"No?"

"Yer thoughts ever make ya think differently?"

"Well I didn't used to think humans tasted so good," Orca joked and rubbed her fat belly fondly patting it a few times too. "Besides my hunger and my new body though no. I guess not."

"I ain't smart bout nothin' but I know people well enough. I think the fact yer so nervous bout this sorta crap only means yer still you cuz ya always overthink crap. Comes with bein' a nerd right?"

"Scientists aren't nerds," Orca frowned.

Croc grinned teasingly. "C'mon ya could be playin' video games with me but instead yer always readin'? Yer the queen'uh nerds babe!"

"And you're an asshole."

Killer Croc laughed and nodded in agreement. Orca herself couldn't help laugh and shake her head. Croc wasn't the most sensitive of maneating monsters but he was surprisingly very good at listening and helping Orca get out of her own head sometimes. That was all she really needed sometimes and he never failed to give her that relief from her own anxieties.

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

Croc smiled back at her and leaned up to kiss her on the lips.

Or at least he tried to until her huge belly gurgled heavily enough to actually make it ripple slightly.

Orca cringed and turned her head with a fist pushed against her mouth. She stifled a deep burp in her mouth that Killer croc could hear rumbling in her cheeks. Then Orca gripped the dead center of her chunky belly and muffled an even bigger burp that made her cheeks balloon out somewhat.

She blew the gas out from the corner of her mouth and blushed.

"Unnnnf excuse me. That was gross," Orca pardoned herself.

"Pssh ya forget who yer datin'?" Killer Croc teased. "Don't hold 'em in if yer feelin' gassy babe. That ain't gonna feel too hot fer yer gut."

Killer Croc leaned his heavy scaly torso against Orca's giant belly. The added weight of his body alone was causing the pressure to build but then he squeezed Orca's tummy firmly and forced that pressure right up her throat. Before she could stop herself Orca a huge echoing burp that rumbled throughout the tunnels.

BBBRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHP!!!!!!!!!

Croc grinned. "There ya go babe! Get it all out!"

Killer croc gripped the center of Orca's belly and pushed his hands deeply into the middle of her heavy tummy. Before Orca could tell Croc off she burped so hard that the ground felt like it was shaking!

HHUUUUUUUURRRRRAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOURRRHP!!!!!!!!!

Croc laughed heartily. "Damn! Ya been holdin' out on me haven'tcha!"

Orca panted heavily and waved her hand to get Croc to pause for a moment. Her blubbery tummy rose and fell heavily with her stunted breath. Orca's face was pretty red. She was never shy about burping at all even back when she was still human. But these days she usually only did that either if she was alone or if the only other person around was in her stomach.

She couldn't help be a little embarrassed by how loud they were. But she had to admit it felt so much better getting the gas out.

Whatever the case Orca puffed out her cheeks and blew in a weary sort of way. "Ungh push here," Orca instructed Killer croc pointing right around her belly button again. She felt that part of her stomach bubbling and making it feel even more tense.

"Grand finale time huh?" Croc grinned. Then he pushed his thumbs into Orca's belly button and pressed both hands right into the middle of her chunky gut. They actually sank into the blubbery belly fat and caused her whole stomach to churn.

The Orca's mouth parted with an absolutely colossal burp that was louder than any she'd ever let out and rumbled out of her tummy so long that Croc stopped counting the seconds.

AAAAAAAAAHHRRAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUURRRRAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOORRRRRHHHHUUUUUURRP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Orca panted so heavily she started drooling. She slumped back in a daze feeling absolute relief while her belly spilled out freely and bubbled much more softly.

Killer croc slapped his thigh with laughter. "GAHAHAHA!!! Holy shit babe! You'n I definitely gotta have ourselves a contest later!" He said childishly patting her tummy and making her hiccup again.

The relief she felt was so astronomical that Orca didn't even blush. She just smacked her lips and said, "I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

And in an uncharacteristic display of cockiness Orca thumped her chest and burped one last time to prove her point.

#kink fic #orca #killer croc #waylon jones #grace balin #stuffing #belly rub #belly kink #burping #hiccups #belly button play #fat play #belly play #fluff #killer croc x orca #waylon jones x grace balin #canon ship #relationships #anxiety

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shabre-legacy · 4 years

Note

snuggling in a blanket fort for Leikael Sorcha Shabre

Sorry this took so long, and also sorry it’s a little rough, my brain has been difficult but it’s done!

The song at the beginning is “Would Anyone Care” by Citizen Soldier

“Would anyone care? Would anyone cry, if I finally stepped off of this ledge tonight? Would anything change? Would you all be just fine? Cause I need a reason to not throw the fight. It just might save my life.”

Corso sighed as he heard the strains of the song come from under the door to his and Leikael’s room. Well technically, it was only Leikael’s since she had partial ownership of this Nar Shaddaa apartment. Though he had moved into her quarters on the ship a few weeks back and she’d made it clear that the arrangement included the apartment. They’d arrived the day before and while the rest of the crew wanted to hit the cantina’s and markets, Kael had locked herself in her room and hadn’t left. It had been a terrible coincidence, running into what was left of the crew that had grabbed her on Tatooine, and a crew that had turned on her on Mek-Sha (he hadn’t known who they were then or they wouldn’t still be breathing) at the same time. Then getting some tragic news about some of the Solar Flare crews they’d been working with recently as soon as they got back to the ship. He wasn’t surprised that the usually tough as nails captain was falling apart. But he couldn’t stand seeing her like this. He’d sat with her all night. He was the only one she wanted to talk about what had happened with. He’d only stepped out to get some food for them since the apartment only had really old ration bars that were probably just dust by now. It seemed like she’d gotten worse in just the few minutes that he’d been gone.

As he placed the food on the counter and started pulling out a few plates. His girl really needed to eat, it had been what, two days now, since he’d last seen her eat anything that wasn’t soaked in alcohol. He listened for any other sounds. It didn’t seem like there was anyone else in the apartment.

What could he do though? He’d spent the night holding her, comforting her, trying to help, but it hadn’t seemed to have any effect. The experiences just dragging up old memories and old pain from earlier times in her life. By the Force, thinking about her past hurt him! And he hadn’t even been the one to live it! She’d lived through so much, endured so much, had her childhood shattered and erased far too young and her suffering just seemed to continue. He couldn’t seem to stop it from haunting her, no matter how much he wanted to. Her childhood, it had ended far too early, but it was the last time she felt life was safe. That gave him an idea. It possibly wasn’t the best he’d ever had, but it was something he hadn’t tried yet.

If he remembered correctly, and he was certain he did, she hadn’t had anything resembling a childhood since she was six, so maybe a piece of that would help her. He needed supplies though. He tucked the food in the reheater to stay warm and slipped into the room where Leikael lay curled under a single blanket, staring blankly ahead, her eyes still red and drying tear tracks on her cheeks. Another one of those painfully sad songs started. His heart nearly broke at the sight of the woman he loved more than anything in the galaxy looking so sad and scared and alone. He sat next to her and brushed the hair from her face, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to her forehead. She instantly curled around him, hiding her face and trapping him where he was. She was a tactile woman, touch was something that meant so much to her and while she was careful with it, he’d found she seemed to never get enough.

“I thought of something that might help you feel a little better darling. Do you think you could try and eat?”

Leikael watched as Corso filled his arms with all the blankets from their room and most of the pillows and walked out of the room. He’d sat with her for a few minutes before pulling out his datapad and telling her he was getting rooms at one of the Cantina’s for the crew and letting them know. He’d told her he’d only be another minute, slipped out of her arms and started grabbing the soft things in the room. She heard what sounded like furniture being moved in the other room, the one with a big terminal for holovids from the sounds of things. It was an investment that she’d been happy about when she and Nat had finally had enough credits to buy anything after getting this place. If she had any energy left, she’d be curious about what he was up to, but she was just so tired, tired and useless and pathetic and everything hurt. It’d be so easy to just walk out of the apartment, but even the room seemed so big, and she was so tired. She let the music play on and lost herself in the melodies. The lyrics filled with as much pain as she felt.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d zoned out for when she felt a hand gently touch her lower arm. She blinked back to awareness and as she did, Corso smiled down at her before sliding his arms underneath her and picking her up along with her blanket. He carried her across the apartment to the holovid room as she’d taken to calling it.

There, in the middle of the room where there was usually a variety of furniture was a strange structure made of the back of a couch, many blankets and what appeared to be the chairs from around the table in the kitchen. “What is that?”

Corso blinked down at her for a moment before gently setting her on her feet and helping to hold her up as he guided her towards the thing in the room. “It’s a blanket fort. Didn’t you build these with your sisters when you were a kid?”

“They weren’t this big. It was usually a blanket over a table” She stared in confusion. How had he managed to get the blankets to stay up?

“Well, that wouldn’t fit us, now would it.” He smiled at her, and crouched down crawling through a small entrance that he’d somehow fit into the design. As she got to the interior, she looked around. The space was small and contained, but cozy and not constricting. The floor was covered in pillows and blankets except for a small table on which sat two plates, some bottles of water and a pile of various snacks. Corso had settled himself in the middle of the fort leaning back completely relaxed, an arms reach away from the food and the remote for the terminal, which had been moved onto the ground and into the blanket fort. He opened his arms and her heart hurt. She’d been a mess for almost two days straight, she was tired and hurt and nothing like herself. She’d dealt with panic attacks and pushed him away, and all he did was open up more, give more to try and help her. She silently thanked the Force for sending him into her life as she dragged herself over to him and collapsed into his arms. He held her quietly for a few moments, before helping her sit up against him and handing her the plate with the smaller portion and pushing a button on the remote. “Way I see it, you haven’t had a chance to relax with a good old blanket fort and movie night in years. This is one me and my sister would watch all the time as kids. Mama would help us build the Fort and sometimes, we were able to persuade her to sit and watch movies with us.” She stared at the food, not wanting to eat, but as the colorful movie with it’s soft and sweet soundtrack began playing and Corso wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to rest against his chest, tucked under blankets and surrounded by the warmth and the soft lights. The hurt felt a little further away and she was able to take a few bites.

Corso tucked his chin over her head and gently squeezed, his beautiful, deep voice softly singing along with the opening song of the movie that held so much meaning for him, she felt herself drifting off softly. He lifted the plate and returned it to the table as she curled tighter against him and his arms wrapped around her again. The movie played as they held each other, the comfort blocking out all the pain that the galaxy had heaped upon them, at least for a few hours. They had each other, and cuddles and blanket forts, and for tonight, that was just enough.

#asks #my writing #corso riggs #oc: leikael shabre #otp: starmates #leikael shabre #corso x fsmuggler #leikael/corso #writing prompts

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bluesfortheredj · 4 years

Text

Hidden treasures.

A/N: I think I needed this story too.

Smut ahead.

You could count on one hand the amount of months you’d been with Gwil, but it felt like forever in the best way possible. You were used to staying over at his place and his at yours too, and on this particular occasion you were cuddled up on the sofa with your head in his lap as he runs his fingers through your hair soothingly. The television gives a background noise but all you can hear is his breathing which is a real comfort as you close your eyes and feel his finger tips sliding across your scalp gently. The hand that rests on your hip suddenly begins to move slowly beneath the hem of your top and your eyelids fly open as he heads down towards the paunch that hangs from your front.

“Don’t tickle,” you giggle quickly, placing your hand on his wrist and pulling it out from underneath your top.

“Sorry,” he smiles down at you, “didn’t mean to.”

He hand resumes its position on your hip but after a few minutes of stillness it begins to wander once more, this time up your side towards where your bra creates a small fold of skin, and you rush to sit up away from his grasp.

“Everything okay?” he asks, shocked by the sudden movement.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, I need some water. Want anything?”

“I’m good thanks sweetheart,” he smiles warmly.

When you get to the kitchen you rest your hands on the side and straighten out your arms with a sigh as you tilt your head down to look at the ground between your feet, but all you see is your stomach protruding from your clothes; the excess chub standing too far from your body in your opinion. Weight could be put on so easily with you and yet when it came to losing it it was an uphill struggle that never seemed to go anywhere or last very long, and you couldn’t stand the thought of Gwilym seeing or feeling your wobbly bits. You eventually look up then head over to the sink for some water, but Gwilym clears his throat from the doorway, making you turn to face him with a forced smile.

“Hey!” you grin.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine!”

“It’s just… I saw you standing there, you looked as though you were about to cry. Whatever it is you can tell me (Y/N),” he reassures, walking towards you and placing his hands on your wide hips.

“I… er...” you step back from his hands as your mouth opens and closes, trying to find some excuse.

“It’s like you don’t want me near you.”

“No! No, it’s not that,” you sigh, dreading the thought of pushing him away so much that he’d leave, “please believe me when I say that it’s definitely not you.”

“What is it then?” he frowns with concern, “I’ve really fallen for you (Y/N) and every time I try to be tactile with you, you flinch away from me.”

You back yourself in a corner as your shaking hand tries to put the glass down on the side, and you realise you’ve got to tell him or else he may give up on you completely. You wanted him to touch you so badly, yet you couldn’t stand it when he actually did it, and there had been a few moments where things had got a little heated but you’d swiftly put a stop to them even though your body yearned for him so much.

“No matter how much I want you to touch me, I can’t stand the thought of you feeling my extra weight,” you admit quietly, unable to look him in the eye.

“What?” he asks with a bemused furrow of his brows, “but you’re perfect, what are you on about ‘extra weight’?”

“You haven’t seen what’s underneath my clothes,” you scoff.

“I don’t need to see it to know it’s already perfect, it’s part of you so how could it be anything less than amazing?”

“Gwil, seriously, it’s-”

His lips cut you off gently, unable to hear you talk in such a way about yourself for a second longer; he truly meant it when he said that you were perfect, he adored the way you filled your clothes, especially when your thighs, hips and bum were hugged by those jeans of yours but even better when they swayed seductively from side to side in one of your dresses, and that pouch on your stomach that you were forever trying to hide under baggy tops was something he’d been dying to kiss from the beginning, only ever getting fleeting glimpses of that forbidden soft skin that was always being concealed. You’d never allowed yourself to believe that you could be loved exactly as you are so naturally whenever Gwilym had tried to touch the parts of your body you despised you quickly put a stop to it, and when you saw him watching you walk around the house in something that showed your legs or was a little tight around your stomach, you always assumed he was disgusted at the sight and never let yourself think that his looks were ones of love and desire.

He breaks the kiss before you get the chance to push him away then takes your hand and slowly leads you towards the bedroom, “I’ve thought a lot about what’s under those clothes you know...” he begins when you enter the room, “and do you want to know what I’ve concluded from those thoughts?”

“I don’t know if I want to hear it,” you worry as he sits down on the bed and tugs your hand gently to get you to settle next to him.

“Oh (Y/N),” he sighs, placing his other hand on top of yours so it’s sandwiched between his, “I so wish you could see what I see. I wish you could see the beautiful woman sitting next to me who has the most infectious laugh with such a delightful smile to go with it, utterly bewitching eyes, such wicked sense of humour, a creativity streak that never fails to amaze me with whatever she comes up with, and who has so much intelligence that I’d never get bored of conversing with her.”

You smile at his words but look away shyly, still unable to believe it was you he was talking about, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“And you know what I really wish you could see?” he pauses as you shake your head, “I wish that you could see just how gorgeous you are. The way your nose wrinkles up with an embarrassed smile when I give you a compliment melts my heart every time I see it. When you reach up to get something from the cupboards in the kitchen and I see your stomach, I positively ache to touch it and kiss that silky skin. Every time you wear one of your dresses I can’t help but be spellbound by the way your body moves in it; your hips swaying so irresistibly that they almost steal my attention from the sweet dimples on your thighs that my fingers wish they could glide over.”

Your anxious eyes scan his sincere gaze for some sign of a lie or even a hint of uncertainty but they fail to find it, and you frown slightly as you realise that he’s actually telling the truth about how he feels.

“You think that?” you question, just to make sure.

“I’ve thought that since the day I met you,” he nods, bravely moving his top hand from yours and placing it on your thigh gently.

You let his hand settle on your leg even though your brain is telling you to swat him away, but your fingers twitch and he feels the knee jerk response before meeting your eyes and checking you’re okay with him to continue. His hand moves ever so slowly up your thigh in a moment you’d only ever dreamt of happening before and although you’re unsure of whether you’ll be able to let him explore your entire body, you try and enjoy the feel of his touch that you’d been longing for.

“Can I take them off?” he asks, his eyes flicking down to your jeans then back up to your gaze.

You nod in response and he kneels down on the floor, taking his other hand away from yours as he carefully undoes your button and fly zip before you stand and allow him to tug the waistband down, peeling the fabric away from your skin inch by inch until you step out of them and he smiles up at you reassuringly.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers as you take a seat once more and his fingers spread across your now bare skin.

You close your eyes at the feel of his delicate finger tips exploring your thighs, and as he moves upwards he lays sweet kisses in their wake which causes a response between your legs.

“Do you want to move up the bed?” he asks when he lifts his head.

Again all you can do is nod in answer to the question, the ability to form a coherent sentence escaping you completely, and you shuffle your way up covers then quickly get underneath them to hide again. Gwilym smiles at your action, knowing that he was lucky you’d agreed to letting him take your trousers off in the first place, and his jaw drops open when you wriggle around underneath the duvet then lift out your knickers which are dropped onto the floor with a shy grin.

“Are you sure?” he asks before biting down on his lower lip.

“I’m sure.”

It doesn’t take him long to undress and slide underneath the duvet to be next to you after slipping a condom over his ever growing length, and he begins to kiss you as his hand wanders along your thighs again, this time moving in between them as you spread your legs apart. His fingers work you for a while as your tongues dance around one another slowly and one of your hands travels down to massage his sack, earning you a moan that’s strong enough to break the kiss and have his head drop onto your shoulder.

“Oh (Y/N),” he groans, “I’ve got to be inside you.”

You take your hand away from him as he slides his fingers out of you then he moves on top and settles between your legs before gently easing himself inside as you whimper beneath him, and when he can go no further he looks down at your flushed face with an adoring smile.

“May I?” he asks, pinching the fabric of your vest top.

Your eyes grow wide with fear at the prospect of having to show your stomach and he notices your hesitation straight away, but you begin to slip the straps of your vest off your shoulders and unhook your arms from them before taking off your bra so all he can see are your breasts.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

“It’s perfect, you’re absolutely stunning,” he replies, then begins to move his hips, gradually building a steady rhythm.

Your hands run up his arms that are holding him steady either side of you then they make their way to the middle of his chest and into the thick hair that’s scattered so beautifully across it before moving down to his stomach and back up again before settling around his back where your finger tips press into his skin as he pleasures you. His eyes are mesmerised by the way your breasts are bouncing with each movement he makes, and when you notice this you take one hand away from him to play with your nipple.

“(Y/N), oh my-” he pants as he watches you tease both of them into hardened nubs right before his eyes.

“Oh Gwil!” you gasp as he increases his pace.

He manages to dip his head down and flick his tongue across your breasts before your lips meet in a desperate and sloppy kiss that’s more saliva and teeth than anything else, and as your bodies begin to shine with sweat and the sound of skin against skin gets that little bit louder you let his name fall from your mouth over and over again while you hold him against you and his teeth graze your neck as he’s first to orgasm. He stills inside you for a couple of minutes then leans up on one arm as he gets to work on your sensitive spot, running his thumb around it then pressing on the bud with varying pressures while his member lays inside you, ready to feel your walls clench around it. It doesn’t take long for you follow his lead as your hand wraps tightly around his wrist when the sensation almost becomes too much, and he lazily moves in and out of your entrance to feel you tighten and release.

“My irresistible woman,” he smiles as he pulls out and takes a moment to look down at what he can see of your body, “can I just… a tiny glimpse,” he pleads as he eyes your covered stomach with his hands clasped together.

“The smallest,” you agree, lifting the hem of your vest only a couple of centimetres.

“It’s even better than I imagined,” he gasps with a grin, leaning down immediately so he can run a line of kisses along the pouch of tummy, “and so soft, oh god, I could kiss it all day!”

“Gwilym!” you laugh, pulling the hem back down again to cover it up, “shut up you handsome fool.”

“You’re perfect,” he sighs as he comes to lay next to you, his arms cuddling around you quickly before you could slip out of bed to dress.

“Nah, but you are,” you whisper as your arm stretches across his broad torso.

Hi! I’m not feeling very good about myself so uh, I was wondering if I could request fluffy smut with Gwil and an anxious and self-conscious reader, their first time together? And he’s really romantic and reassures her how beautiful and sexy she is I love your writing.

@painthatiusedto @winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @the-baby-bookworm @chlobo6 @drivenbybri

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwil lee #gwilym x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee smut

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sugarandspace · 4 years

Text

Hold me tight

AO3

Magnus doesn’t hear Alec come home. He’s only alerted of his presence when Alec sets his briefcase down in the living room. The noise makes Magnus’ eyes snap up and he takes note of his husband who’s looking at him with worry in his expression.

“Everything alright?” Alec asks tentatively.

Magnus stands up from the armchair he’d been sitting in and sets his almost full drink on the table next to it. He’d stopped after the first sip when he’d realized that it didn’t taste like it was supposed to, it wasn’t a relaxing drink at the end of the day but rather a sad attempt at it.

What he has in front of him now is a million times more tempting.

Wordlessly, Magnus steps closer and brings his arms around Alec.

Alec returns the hold immediately. His arms go around Magnus’ waist while Magnus’ hands rest over Alec’s shoulder blades, pulling the other man closer. Magnus leans his face against Alec’s shoulder, breathing deeply for the first time in what feels like days. The scent of Alec is comforting, and Magnus does his best to focus on that, letting it chase out all the stress his head has been occupied with.

In that moment, Magnus’ world consists of Alec's scent, his strong arms around Magnus’ waist, his solid body against Magnus’ front, and the feel of warm skin that's covered by the button-down shirt that Magnus can feel under his palms. Magnus’ fingers curl up slightly - enough to feel more but not enough to form fists.

The pressure in his chest eases a little with each breath he takes and his muscles slowly let go of the tension that lingers in them. His thoughts slow down and it’s finally quiet.

Magnus tries to step in closer but finds he’s unable to do so. They stumble a little but Alec is sure and steady, not letting them fall.

As he continues to take in deep breaths almost synced up with the steady movement of Alec’s chest against his, one of Alec’s hands starts to wander. The other stays where it was, gently pressing at the small of his back, a steady source of warmth through the silk shirt Magnus is wearing. The other moves up and down Magnus’ spine, comforting in its simplicity, the repetitive motion helping Magnus relax further.

There's a prickle of tears behind his closed eyelids, a sign of thinking too much for too long and of long-overdue relief.

Magnus has no idea how long they stay like that, quiet in the dimly lit loft where the only sound that can be heard is the quiet tick of the clock on the wall. It’s longer than a normal hug for sure, but this situation calls for something more than a normal hug and he’s glad he doesn’t need to explain. He’s immensely grateful that Alec doesn’t pull away, but instead lets Magnus soak in the closeness and the comfort it brings.

Eventually, Magnus pulls back, feeling slightly silly. The feeling disappears however, when he looks Alec in the eyes and doesn’t see a trace of amusement there. It’s not like Magnus was exactly expecting Alec to mock him or make fun of his weird clinginess, but some insecurities are deep-rooted. It’ll take some time for it to sink in that Alec is as much a tactile person as Magnus is, and he understands that sometimes the best comfort can be found from a long tight hug, that leaning your whole weight against someone and trusting them not to let you fall can do wonders to fix a mind that’s going too fast.

They are not in a hurry when they hold each other.

Even now they still keep some of the contact, Magnus’ hands cradling Alec’s elbows while Alec’s hands rest on Magnus’ biceps.

“Thank you,” Magnus says quietly. The moment feels too gentle for loud words and Magnus isn’t willing to break it yet. He knows Alec understands what he means when a small smile crosses his husband’s lips, and Magnus can guess the reply he'll get before Alec even opens his mouth.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Alec says, his tone equally gentle. “Not for something as simple as this.”

“I know,” Magnus says. It’s not like he thinks Alec might consider this a chore or would require a thank you as a payment for a service, but it’s more about Magnus wanting his husband to know how much he appreciates this, how much it means. “I wanted to.”

Alec replies with a soft kiss placed on Magnus’ cheek, his warm lips lingering there for a few seconds.

Magnus’ eyes flutter closed and it takes a moment for them to open again after Alec leans back, his mind blissfully slow and quiet for the first time in a too long time.

He opens his eyes and breathes in deep.

This is something the stress and anxiety can’t take away from him, he thinks as he looks at Alec. He has this to return to at the end of the day, and while it doesn’t erase the other things that need his attention, it captures it for long enough that for a second, it’s the only thing that matters.

#shadowhunters #malec #alec lightwood #magnus bane #malec fic #my writing #i've been staring at this for too long #but hey #here's a fic that's basically just one big hug #....#it's been A Week okay?

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5oclockcoffees · 3 years

Text

Fahrenheit 451

With school turning out more runners, jumpers, racers, tinkerers, grabbers, snatchers, fliers, and swimmers instead of examiners, critics, knowers, and imaginative creators, the word 'intellectual,' of course, became the swear word it deserved to be. You always dread the unfamiliar. We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against. So! A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man's mind. Who knows who might be the target of the well read man? Me? I won't stomach them for a minute. "When did it all start, you ask, this job of ours, how did it come about, where, when? Well, I'd say it really got started around about a thing called the Civil War. Even though our rule-book claims it was founded earlier. The fact is we didn't get along well until photography came into its own. Then motion pictures in the early twentieth century. Radio. Television. Things began to have mass. And because they had mass, they became simpler. Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books leveled down to a sort of paste pudding norm, do you follow me? Picture it. Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations, Digests. Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending. Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. I exaggerate, of course. The dictionaries were for reference. But many were those whose sole knowledge of Hamlet (you know the title certainly, Montag; it is probably only a faint rumor of a title to you, Mrs. Montag) whose sole knowledge, as I say, of Hamlet was a one-page digest in a book that claimed: now at least you can read all the classics; keep up with your neighbors. Do you see? Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there's your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more. Speed up the film, Montag, quick. Click? Pic? Look, Eye, Now, Flick, Here, There, Swift, Pace, Up, Down, In, Out, Why, How, Who, What, Where, Eh? Uh! Bang! Smack! Wallop, Bing, Bong, Boom! Digest-digests, digest-digest-digests. Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man's mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters, that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought! School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts? Empty the theatres save for clowns and furnish the rooms with glass walls and pretty colors running up and down the walls like confetti or blood or sherry or sauterne. You like baseball, don't you, Montag? More sports for everyone, group spirit, fun, and you don't have to think, eh? Organize and organize and super organize super-super sports. More cartoons in books. More pictures. The mind drinks less and less. Impatience. Highways full of crowds going somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, nowhere. The gasoline refuge. Towns turn into motels, people in nomadic surges from place to place, following the moon tides, living tonight in the room where you slept this noon and I the night before. Now let's take up the minorities in our civilization, shall we? Bigger the population, the more minorities. Don't step on the toes of the dog-lovers, the cat-lovers, doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs, Mormons, Baptists, Unitarians, second-generation Chinese, Swedes, Italians, Germans, Texans, Brooklynites, Irishmen, people from Oregon or Mexico. The people in this book, this play, this TV serial are not meant to represent any actual painters, cartographers, mechanics anywhere. The bigger your market, Montag, the less you handle controversy, remember that! All the minor minor minorities with their navels to be kept clean. Authors, full of evil thoughts, lock up your typewriters. They did. Magazines became a nice blend of vanilla tapioca. Books, so the damned snobbish critics said, were dishwater. No wonder books stopped selling, the critics said. But the public, knowing what it wanted, spinning happily, let the comic-books survive. And the three-dimensional sex-magazines, of course. There you have it, Montag. It didn't come from the Government down. There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship, to start with, no! Technology, mass exploitation, and minority pressure carried the trick, thank God. You must understand that our civilization is so vast that we can't have our minorities upset and stirred. Ask yourself, What do we want in this country, above all? People want to be happy, isn't that right? Haven't you heard it all your life? I want to be happy, people say. Well, aren't they? Don't we keep them moving, don't we give them fun? That's all we live for, isn't it? For pleasure, for titillation? And you must admit our culture provides plenty of these. Colored people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. Serenity, Montag. Peace, Montag. Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the incinerator. Funerals are unhappy and pagan? Eliminate them, too. Forget them. Burn them all, burn everything. Fire is bright and fire is clean. [There was a girl next door. She's gone now, I think, dead. I can't even remember her face. But she was different. How? How did she happen?] Here or there, that's bound to occur. Heredity and environment are funny things. You can't rid yourselves of all the odd ducks in just a few years. The home environment can undo a lot you try to do at school. That's why we've lowered the kindergarten age year after year until now we're almost snatching them from the cradle. If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war. If the Government is inefficient, top-heavy, and tax-mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it. Peace, Montag. Give the people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year. Cram them full of non-combustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely `brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change. Don't give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy. Any man who can take a TV wall apart and put it back together again, and most men can nowadays, is happier than any man who tries to slide-rule, measure, and equate the universe, which just won't be measured or equated without making man feel bestial and lonely. I know, I've tried it; to hell with it. So bring on your clubs and parties, your acrobats and magicians, your dare-devils, jet cars, motorcycle helicopters, your sex and heroin, more of everything to do with automatic reflex. If the drama is bad, if the film says nothing, if the play is hollow, sting me with the Theremin, loudly. I'll think I'm responding to the play, when it's only a tactile reaction to vibration. But I don't care. I just like solid entertainment." We always talk about 1984 and Brave New World as the dystopias we are living in today, but Ray Bradbury´s book, written in the early 50s, is scarily accurate, describing perfectly and especially the last three/four years.

#Fahrenheit 451 #Ray Bradbury #1984 #Brave New World

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vendeavendea · 4 years

Text

I Forgive You

I wrote another fanfiction which I didn’t want to share online, but I was talked into it, so here it is.

It’s also on AO3 with some additional notes.

Summary: Catra's been thinking a lot about having a private talk with Entrapta, so when, a few days after the removal of Horde Prime's chip, Entrapta shows up in her room with the intention of checking on her healing progress, she instantly agrees. CW for brief mentions of emotional and physical trauma.

I Forgive You

After that one time when she'd removed Horde Prime's chip, Catra didn't really have any other chance to talk to Entrapta in private. They normally didn't even see each other outside the control room where everyone gathered from time to time to share a meal or just chat or have a good laugh about meaningless little things such as how much Wrong Hordak admired that awful pink nightshirt-wannabe piece of cloth Adora had found in the ship's storage room while looking for supplies for dinner, or how much Bow freaked out after realising that Glimmer had been using one of his three-branched arrows as a fork ever since she'd been on the ship. Entrapta barely ever left the control room, and usually she wasn't alone in there, and Catra didn't want anyone else to be around while talking to her, but for some reason, she failed to understand why, she didn't want to ask her to come to her room either. She tried to convince herself that it wasn't because she was scared. Why would she be scared of Entrapta? She'd helped her by removing that chip and setting her free from all those horrible visions of Prime she'd been having while being part of his hive mind. She'd been nothing but nice to her, even after everything that'd happened between the two of them back in the Fright Zone. There was definitely nothing scary about Entrapta. So Catra told herself that she didn't ask her to come to her room simply because the things she wanted to discuss with her were not important.

Either way, when one day, right after she woke up from a nap, Entrapta just casually turned up in her room with a bunch of various tools peeking out of her pockets, babbling something about a checkup she needed to carry out on her condition after the removal of the chip, first "for the experiments log", and then "just in case", Catra found herself agreeing instantly without questioning her. She didn't even care what exactly this so-called checkup would involve. As long as it served as a good reason for her to talk to Entrapta, she didn't mind whatever she was planning to do to her.

"Do I need to take off my top or anything?" she asked timidly.

"Oh, no, don't worry about that," Entrapta assured. "Just stay sitting on the bed and do this." She stretched out her arms to the side, and Catra copied her hesitantly. Entrapta grinned then grabbed her voice recorder and held it to her mouth with a lock of hair while removing her gloves and tucking them into her pocket.

"Follow-up on experiment number 982, exactly 124 Etherian hours after the extraction and deactivation of the chip," she dictated to the recorder while walking round Catra and observing her thoroughly, first from a comfortable distance, then getting closer and closer. Catra warily kept following her with her eyes. "Subject gave permission to carry out a checkup examination on her recovery progress and the possible physiological effects or repercussions."

Catra let out a quiet groan. The only repercussion she could think of would be the annoying nightmares she kept having ever since Adora had brought her here, but she doubted those were something Entrapta would be interested in, and even is she was, there was no way she'd be willing to share them with her.

She suddenly shivered when she felt Entrapta touching her shoulder from behind, right below the sleeve of her top, and running her fingers through her fur. Her touch was gentle and careful, but Catra couldn't help remembering the crawly feeling of Horde Prime's hand resting right at the same spot, and the memory made her feel queasy. She shuddered and tensed her muscles, hoping that Entrapta wouldn't notice.

Even if she noticed, she didn't comment on it. She pulled back her hand from Catra's body and lifted up the voice recorder again. "Subject's fur is dense, shiny and smooth, just like healthy feline fur is supposed to be." She turned to Catra and moved closer to her face, so uncomfortably close that Catra started to feel an urge to pull back, but she forced herself to sit still and let Entrapta examine her eyes and her nose. "Open your mouth wide!" Entrapta instructed, holding the voice recorder away but keeping some of her hair on the record button. Catra obeyed, her tail waggling nervously as Entrapta was glaring at her teeth and her tongue. "Ocular, nasal and oral mucosae and teeth are all intact." She grabbed her wrist and pressed two fingers somewhere round the base of her thumb. "Pulse is slightly fast but within the normal range. By examination, no anomaly detected in vital functions, but for this, subject's confirmation is also necessary," she said to the recorder, then she turned to Catra. "Does your body function normally? Any significant changes? Digestion? Respiratory system? Nervous system? Have you noticed anything unusual?"

"I don't think so," Catra replied. She suddenly thought of how different and less awkward this would be if it wasn't Etrapta being this close to her, carefully checking each and every bit of her. She imagined a pair of blue eyes running over her body, golden locks of hair floating gently in the air... She blushed, shook her head and swept that goddamn thought away, right when Entrapta got behind her and lifted herself up with her hair to check the back of her neck where Horde Prime's chip had been embedded earlier. She held the recorder back to her mouth with a lock of hair while leaning closer.

"Visible cicatrix is observed in the place of the removed Horde chip," she noted, gently touching the scar with the tip of her hair. Catra winced and groaned. She didn't really feel any pain, but it was still very unpleasant. "Slightly sensitive to tactile input, but not unusually so." She looked at Catra's face again and grinned cheerfully. "Okay, great, we're done. Thanks for your cooperation." She put her recorder away and moved back from Catra's bed using her hair, but she didn't get too far away. Catra looked up to her face, unsure of what's next.

"Is that all?" she asked.

Entrapta nodded. "Yup. You are completely healthy."

"Well, it's... good to hear that," Catra replied shily. Of course she was healthy after She-Ra's powerful healing magic and finally getting rid of that horrible chip. She didn't even understand why Entrapta'd thought this whole examination was necessary. Not like she actually cared, she'd only agreed to this for her own reasons. For a moment, she studied Entrapta's face before she started to speak again. "Um, can you please stay? Just... for a little while," she asked, though Entrapta didn't really seem to be keen to leave anyway. "We kind of... haven't really talked much... in a while."

Entrapta sat down on the bed next to her, quite close, but not close enough for their bodies to touch, and stared at her with an intrigued smile on her face.

"So, do you want to talk about something in particular?" she asked curiously, making Catra blush so hard that she had to look away.

"Yeah, sort of..." she answered, staring at her own hands resting on her knee. It took all her willpower to lift her head back up and face Entrapta again. "Look, I... I really am sorry. For... You know. Everything. I know no matter how many times I say it, I can't make it right... but... I'm sorry."

"Oh." Entrapta seemed to be a bit confused, but she was still smiling. "We've talked about this earlier, remember? I've told you I forgive you."

"Yes, I know," Catra replied quickly. "I just... don't understand why you don't hate me."

"I'm not sure I'm following your logic," Entrapta blinked, scratching her head. "Do you want me to hate you?"

"No, that's not..." Catra started, but then she suddenly swallowed the rest of the words. She sighed and turned away again, blushing, her tail swinging nervously behind her, slightly touching one of Entrapta's pigtails once, then quickly moving the other way. Of course, she shouldn't have expected it to go so smoothly. This was Entrapta, after all. Catra cleared her throat and looked up again. "No. I don't want you to hate me. I just don't get it. You... forgave me so easily."

"All the others did, too," Entrapta pointed out, absently playing with the tip of her pigtail.

"Well, yeah..." Catra clenched her fists on her knees, and her tail was moving even faster behind her back. They all really did forgive her, didn't they? She slid her fingers against the back of her neck where she could feel the scar left by Prime's chip. After all that they'd been through, after all that she'd done to her, to all of them, was it really that easy for her to gain their forgiveness? Even Adora's forgiveness? Did she really deserve to belong here with them just because after all those terrible decisions, she'd done one single good thing in her life?

Entrapta slowly got up and took a few steps towards the door. Catra was following her with her eyes, thinking that she was about to leave, but she stopped just a couple of inches away from the entrance.

"I don't know about them, but I know how it feels when you want to belong somewhere so badly, and you're trying real hard, but it's not enough," she said quietly. She was still facing towards the door and away from Catra, her pigtails seemed to be quite tense, slightly lifted from the ground in a curved position, as if she was ready to wrap them around herself, but they didn't move. "I believe people who do their best deserve a chance. And a second chance as well. Because we all make mistakes. I know you're a good person, Catra."

"I've hurt you," Catra muttered.

"Yes you have," Entrapta nodded. "And I won't forget that. But when I lived with you guys in the Fright Zone, for the first time in my life, I felt home. And I won't forget that either."

Catra snorted. If Entrapta had really felt home in the Fright Zone, that was definitely not because of her. She'd never done anything to make her feel that way. Scorpia was the one who'd cared about her feelings, who'd treated her like a friend, who'd really appreciated all her hard work. Scorpia and...

"Oh, come on, we both know it wasn't me that made you stay with the Horde," she grumbled, and Entrapta suddenly turned around, her welding mask covering her face. Catra didn't even remember seeing her pull it down.

"He was there on the ship, too, wasn't he?" Entrapta asked.

It was so obvious who she was talking about, but Catra was speechless. She shivered as the memories invaded her brain, the agonising pain in her whole body, the horrific sounds of her own screams echoing in the room, melding together with the chanting of the clones all around. The hopelessness, the numbness, the emptiness. How was she supposed to tell this to Entrapta? How was she supposed to tell her that she'd witnessed Hordak go through the exact same thing just because she'd reminded him of who he really was? That she hadn't done anything but stand there and watch Prime torture him? All this after separating him from Entrapta, probably the only person he'd ever truly cared about. Catra flattened her ears and buried her face behind her knees. Everything that had happened, it was all her fault. How could she ever truly accept Entrapta's forgiveness for what she'd done to her and Hordak? Do you want me to hate you? Maybe her real answer was yes. Because that was what she deserved. And there was nothing in the whole universe that could change that.

"Leave," she hissed quietly. Entrapta didn't move an inch.

"You've seen him, haven't you?" she asked desperately, almost begging. "Please, I need to know wha—"

"I said leave!" Catra snapped. The hair all over her arms was spiked, her tail was wagging restlessly, and she tried so hard to keep her body still, but she knew that Entrapta'd already seen how strongly she was trembling. "You've done your little experiment on me, now go and mess with the ship or something!"

Instead of obeying, Entrapta stepped a bit closer and settled herself on the floor in front of the bed. A pink screwdriver fell out of her pocket and rolled away with a soft clinking sound. It was close enough that if she'd wanted, she could have easily grabbed it with her hair to pull it back, but she didn't care at all. She was just sitting there quietly, looking down at her own knees through the glass of her welding mask.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you might know what happened to him... But I shouldn't have asked you about what you've seen there. I didn't consider your feelings and the fact that you may be traumatised by what you've been through, and this was very selfish of me."

Catra couldn't see her face behind the mask, but hearing the way her voice cracked was enough for her to realise that maybe she wasn't the only one who'd seen this pointless checkup as nothing more but an opportunity to talk to Entrapta in private. Maybe Entrapta had been doing the same, maybe she'd made up this whole thing just to get a chance to ask her about Hordak. And Catra couldn't blame her. Sometimes, even back then in the Fright Zone, she'd caught herself admiring Entrapta's courage and strength. She knew so little about emotions and relationships, and yet it seemed to be so easy for her to just open up and be honest about her own feelings. After all that love and forgiveness she'd given her, Entrapta had the right to get the answers she was looking for. She deserved to know the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

When Entrapta got up and started to walk away, Catra reached out, trying to grab her arm. She wasn't fast enough to do that, but at least she managed to catch one of her pigtails, making her stop.

"It's not selfish to worry about a friend," she said quietly, suddenly thinking of Adora again. "Listen, there's no easy way to say this." She sighed and slowly let go of Entrapta's hair, which, instead of dropping down, stayed in the air in the exact same position. "But I want to be honest with you."

Entrapta walked up to her and sat back to the bed while using her hand to lift up her welding mask, revealing her face once again. Catra had never seen her eyes shine so eagerly before.

"Is he okay? What did he do to him?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Last time I saw him, he..." Catra swallowed loudly, her fingers tightened into a fist. She was desperately trying to find the right words, but the memories flooded her again, and they were too fresh and too realistic, making it almost impossible to think clearly. "I... On the ship, there was this... creepy pool full of some weird goo, and he was... I was..." The screaming and chanting in her head grew louder, and she could almost feel that bright greenish liquid burning her skin. Sharp pain shot through the back of her neck, and she shivered, her fur spiking up.

"Catra, it's okay," Entrapta said softly. "You don't have to go into details if it upsets you."

Catra took a deep breath, nodding gratefully.

"He was brainwashed," she whispered, absently raising her hand to touch the scar on her neck. She hadn't wanted Entrapta to ever see her this vulnerable, but now she just couldn't care anymore.

To her surprise, Entrapta gave her a light smile when their glances met. Her eyes were full of sadness, and yet, her gaze was strangely hopeful.

"But he'll be alright," she said, her tone almost interrogative. "I mean, Adora's brought you back, so there has to be a way to save him, too, right?"

Catra found herself smiling back at her. She herself still had no idea how exactly Adora had managed to snap her out of Prime's control, but she definitely knew the person who'd be able to do the same for Hordak. After all, she'd witnessed what he'd been like after getting separated from Entrapta. A spark of guilt flared up inside her, but she didn't let it overcome her. She could feel awful and hate herself and blame herself all she wanted later when she'd be alone, but not right now. This moment was Entrapta's, not hers.

"Yes," she nodded. "He'll be fine. Just... don't give up on him, okay?" she added, remembering Adora's words, the words that had given her so much strength to fight for her own free will back then.

"I would never give up on him," Entrapta replied.

"Good."

Catra got up and walked to the wall to pick up the screwdriver Entrapta'd dropped earlier, and as soon as she touched it, she heard Entrapta's voice behind her.

"Catra," she said quietly. Catra looked back at her. "Thank you for telling me all this. I really appreciate it. I know it was difficult for you."

Catra tensed her fingers around the screwdriver, then handed it to Entrapta.

"It's the least I could do fo—" Before she could finish the sentence, two tiny arms wrapped around her body, softly but firmly, followed by a blanket of violet hair, and all the rest of the words she was about to say suddenly got lost somewhere in her throat.

"I'm sorry, I'm not as good at hugs as Scorpia," Entrapta muttered into her chest.

Catra's mind went completely blank, and she couldn't move a single muscle. Part of her felt like this was too much, she wanted Entrapta to let her go and leave, but another part was longing to hug her back, to accept all that love and affection she was offering her. But she couldn't. She was just standing there still, breathing heavily, not knowing what to do or say.

That is how Adora found them a few moments later, when she entered Catra's room. As soon as she noticed she was there, Catra's eyes widened and she flinched in Entrapta's embrace, who pulled away just enough to see what was going on, but didn't release her. Catra blushed hard and looked away, wishing it had been anyone, anyone else instead of Adora who'd walked on them. But Adora didn't seem to be bothered at all.

"Ah, there you are," she grinned. "I've been looking for you two everywhere. Glimmer's just found a really weird First Ones' board game in the back cabin, and we're about to try it. You wanna come and join us?"

"Oooh, what kind of board game?" Entrapta asked happily, letting go of Catra so suddenly that she lost her balance for a second and nearly fell over. "This is so exciting! I've never played a board game with non-robots!"

She bounced out of the room, and Adora walked up to Catra, reaching out her hand towards her.

"Come," she said, smiling. "It's going to be fun."

She knew it wouldn't last long, but as they walked out of the room hand in hand, Catra felt like no amount of guilt could surpass the gratitude she felt for having these wonderful people, her friends, around her just when she needed them most.

#She-Ra #She-Ra Reboot #SPOP #entrapta #entrapdak #catra #adora #catradora #my fanfiction

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sweetbitterpdf · 5 years

Text

compte à rebours I (2.1k words)

chapter one (of two): ‘joyeux noël, lucas’

christmas fic / drunk eliott / pining lucas

---

There’s something about this time of year that brings warmth, wherever Lucas goes.

Everyone seems to slow, if only slightly. And that may be the fatigue that comes with the early sunsets— which Lucas isn’t immune to, either— but the slowness is something that he welcomes. His life seems to be getting more and more hectic, with every year that passes, and so moments of respite are something that he treasures more and more.

He also treasures moments like these, though— surrounded by his friends, wearing his tackiest, largest sweater, with just enough alcohol in him for his limbs to have loosened a bit, for everything to be a little funnier than usual. He’s chatting with Imane, about how close they are to finishing terminale, about how eager and anxious they are about finally being done.

“—Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Imane says, placing a hand on Lucas’ shoulder. When Imane is tipsy, she gets more tactile, more touchy and Lucas— tipsy or otherwise— loves it. “Idriss is here.” Lucas hums, confused.

“Okay..? I’ll go talk to him—”

“No, Lucas.” She leans in close. “Idriss is here, and Sofiane,” all of a sudden it hits Lucas, all at once— he knows where this is going. “And Eliott.”

He knew where Imane was headed, but his breath catches nonetheless.

Lucas knows how cliche it is, to have a crush on one of his best friend’s brother's best friends. A dynamic that complicated is the stuff of some trasy rom-com. He knows, and yet he can’t stop himself. The sort of association that they have with one another means that they end up at many an event with one another— and have for years now— even if they barely speak. That doesn’t change that fact, though, that every time Lucas sees Eliott, every time they speak, every time Lucas so much as hears something new about Eliott, he falls for him more and more.

And, in his current state, he had never thought that Eliott would be here.

“Oh.” He hates the blush that he can feel spreading across his cheeks, when Imane laughs at him.

“And I heard that he’s been asking about you.” Lucas resents the fact that Imane knows exactly which of his buttons to push, to get him going. He doesn’t believe her, if he’s being honest. Beyond making small talk here and there, Eliott has no reason whatsoever to know that he exists.

“Me?” Why would someone like him ever ask about someone like me?

“Yes, you. So I suggest, if you want to take your chance, tonight wouldn’t be a bad time to do it.”

“I will, if you do.” Luckily for him, though, he knows exactly what makes Imane tick, as well. The only thing more cliché than a complicated and intricate acquaintanceship is falling for one of your brother’s best friends— and fall Imane has. However, rather than her signature scowl— the reaction Lucas was expecting— a shit-eating grin spreads across her face.

“Well, Lucas, lucky for you, I already did.” Her tone is momentarily bold, before quieting down once more, wary of the people around them. “We have a date next week.”

“Imane, what the fuck,” Lucas jumps— full-on jumps out of drunken excitement— before enveloping Imane in a hug, which she indulges, for once. “You didn’t tell me! Why aren’t you with him now, then?”

“Hey, I’m telling you now,” There’s the Imane sharpness that he knows so well. “And I just… I don’t want the whole world to know about it, you know? It’s our business. And I don’t want people to talk, but we’re going to hang out a bit later.” Lucas nods, unable to hide his grin. Imane rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning as well.

“I get it. My lips are sealed.” Though, he can’t help pulling her into another quick hug. “Seriously, though, Imane that’s incredible. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you.” Not even a moment later, though, Lucas is being shoved away. “Now, though, it’s your turn. At least go and talk to him.” He scoffs yet again, rolling his eyes.

“Fine.”

As he sets off to search for Eliott, he hears Imane call, “Text me if you need to be rescued!” And shoots her a thumbs up, before wandering out of the kitchen.

Lucas does a lap of the entire main floor of the house, trying to appear as casual as possible. He says hello to people here and there, engages in some small talk a couple of times, before he finds himself in the kitchen, where he freezes in his tracks.

Eliott is sat on the counter, and the way he looks steals the air from Lucas’ lungs. His sweater is green, and it brings out his eyes. He looks so soft that Lucas wants to greet him with a hug, wants to nuzzle into him and stay there for as long as possible. His hair is fluffed up, his cheeks rosy.

And when their eyes meet, Eliott’s entire face lights up.

“Lucas! Hi!” The thing about Eliott is that he smiles like the sun. He can light up the room— light up the world— with it. He hops off the counter and hugs him, and the way he hums contentedly makes Lucas’ heart hammer away in his chest.

“Hey.” Lucas responds, trying to appear as unaffected as possible.

“Hey, Lucas,” Idriss greets him as Eliott pulls away, going back to his spot, leaning against the kitchen counter. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good— what about you?” He comes closer to Idriss, and he’s clapped on the shoulder in greeting

“Oh, you know, same old, same old.” Lucas glances over, seeing that Eliott is swaying gently where he stands. Idriss takes his shoulder, to steady him. “You’ll have to forgive Eliott here, he’s had a few too many ciders.” Eliott pouts at Idriss, and Lucas’ breath catches in his throat.

“Have not!” Eliott’s tone can only be described as a whine. He’s never heard Eliott whine before. “I’m fine.”

“Fine, you say?” But just then, Emma’s voice rings through the house.

“Everyone into the living room! It’s movie time!”

“Come on, then, Mr. Fine. Let’s see how far you can get without bumping into anything.” Eliott only scowls in response. But then his face changes immediately, back to the big, excited, puppy-dog eyes from before.

“Lucas, will you sit next to me?” Idriss and Sofiane laugh as they leave the room, and that only gives Eliott the chance to get even closer. Lucas wills himself to calm down— to be abe to focus on anything other than the boy he has sort of a cripplingly large crush on, asking him to sit together. He feels like he’s in grade school, with the way he’s reacting. “Please?” He asks with all of the energy of a seven year old on a field trip.

“Sure.” Because who is Lucas to refuse?

They make their way into the living room, with the rest of the group who’s been hanging out. Eliott wobbles slightly as he walks and so Lucas slows his pace, walking beside him to make sure he doesn’t fall over. The smile that Eliott gives him in response is blinding— one that Lucas can’t bear to look at for too long.

When they get into the living room, Idriss immediately springs up, giving up his seat. He pulls Sofiane along with him.

“Come on, Sofiane,” He says, yanking him by the arm, “Do your drunk friend and his plus one a solid.” Lucas’ face goes hot, when he’s referred to as a plus one to Eliott.

“My drunk friend owes me one, then!” Sofiane argues, though he lets himself be pulled.

“I’ll let him know, once he’s sober.” Idriss turns to Eliott, patting the newly vacant spot on the couch. “Eliott, sit here.”

“Aw, Idriss.” Eliott coos, plopping down and pulling Lucas with him. “Thank you!”

“Lucas,” Sofiane calls. When he looks up, both he and Idriss smile, as if they know something that he doesn’t. “Take care of him, okay?”

---

They’re not far into the movie when Lucas feels Eliott shift a bit beside him. He pointedly makes an effort not to look over at him, and fails quickly— especially when he feels Eliott lean into his space, against his shoulder. At first, Lucas thinks it’s because Eliott has fallen asleep, but he’s started a bit, when Eliott speaks.

“Mm, you’re so comfy and warm.” A moment later, though, Eliott’s looking up at him, and Lucas’ breath leaves his body when he sees how big and beautiful Eliott’s eyes are. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah— yeah.” Lucas has to swallow hard, to regain his bearings. He pats his arm gently, “All good Eliott, don’t worry.”

“I’m glad.” And then Eliott is nuzzling back into his shoulder, reaching a gentle hand up to keep himself settled there. He’s quiet for another moment, then— “Hey Lucas?”

“Yeah?” Their eyes meet once more. Eliott’s face breaks out into a smile, but there’s something about this one that feels more private. It makes Lucas blush, all over again.

“Thank you.” And with that, Eliott falls quickly asleep, curled into Lucas’ side.

---

He only wakes up as the movie ends. If the speed at which his rights himself, sitting up straight, distancing himself an acceptable amount from where Lucas is sat, Eliott has sobered up considerably, as well.

“Sorry.” He says

“It’s all good.” Lucas offers up his most sincere smile. “It was nice.” And it was, all fantasies about a universe where they do such a thing on a regular basis aside. Eliott smiles back at him, and they share a moment, quiet and private, before Imane breaks Lucas out of his momentary reverie.

“Lucas, help me tidy up?” She asks. Lucas suspects ulterior meaning, somewhere in there— especially because this isn’t even Imane’s house.

“Yeah.” He gets up from the couch quickly, following Imane. He has to use every ounce of his strength to not glance back at Eliott as he goes.

“So, success?” Her voice is low, as they leave the room, going into the hall.

“What?” He asks, confused. Imane rolls her eyes.

“You and Eliott, you seemed cozy.”

“Oh, ah, no.” He shrugs. “He’s just a cuddly drunk.”

“And it just so happens that he chose you to snuggle up to?” She grins at him suggestively, and he scoffs. He can’t read into this— he won’t let himself hope that there’s something more, there.

“I guess so.”

“Lucas, how is this the single most obvious thing in the world, to everyone but you and him?”

“What is?” Apparently that wasn’t a good question for him to ask— Imane’s expression tells him that he’s on the verge of receiving a punch in the shoulder.

“That he’s into you!” She’s so loud that she’s nearly yelling. Alexia and Arthur glance at her as they make their way out of the house. “And that you’re into him!” Lucas nearly claps a hand over her mouth to silence her. He nearly tells her off, for being so loud about something that he wants so badly to keep private. “And that you two would be really good together, if you can get over yourselves. Take it from me, Lucas, sometimes getting over yourself is exactly what you need.”

“You’re right.” He huffs out a sigh. When is Imane not? “But I just don’t know where to start.”

“Well, first of all—”

“Lucas?” She’s interrupted by Eliott, as he steps into the hall. He smiles softly when he sees him. “I just wanted to say goodbye, before I left.” His stance is straighter now, more sure. Lucas flushes again. He’s received far too much attention from Eliott tonight to be safe. There must be some lethal dose, of attention from someone you care about— and he must be approaching it.

“Oh, okay.” They stand there, in yet another charged silence. Imane clears her throat, breaking the quiet that had settled between them, and they both look over at her. She shoots a quick glance upward, and when Lucas looks up, he sees mistletoe, hung at the top of the doorframe.

Eliott’s eyes flick down toward his lips, and Lucas thinks his heart is about to beat its way out of his chest. He leans in— because who is he, to disobey the laws of Christmas?— and a shiver runs down his spine when he notices that Eliott is leaning in, too.

But then, at the last possible moment, Eliott turns, pressing a gentle kiss to Lucas’ cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Lucas.”

And then he’s gone.

#skam #skam france #skamfr #elu #lucas x eliott #elu fic #for a little while i wasn't thinking i would get this finished for my self-imposed deadline of midnight #but i did; with over half an hour to spare!!#this one took me a couple days; so it's a fairly quick one #there WILL be another chapter i promise!!#mywriting;

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avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

Not So Different - Chapter 4

Not So Different: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 896

Rating: G

Square filled: @happystevebingo - First Kiss

Warnings: None

Synopsis: When Steve Rogers comes across you liberating hens from a battery farm his initial reaction is to arrest you. He certainly wouldn’t assume that the woman who he initially pegs as a criminal might not be so different from him after all.

Chapter 4

Steve was having trouble keeping away from you. It was strange really, he was no stranger to danger and on the scale of dangerous activities your minor levels of civil disobedience, breaking and entering, and theft was nothing compared to what he did in his day to day life. Stealing a puppy from a puppy mill wasn’t really up there with jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

Yet there was a danger about being around you that he couldn’t keep away from. Maybe he was addicted to danger? It added up. Why else did he keep running headlong into trouble the way he did?

And you were trouble. Over the next few months of knowing you, he picked you up from the police station 3 times, he bailed you out one of those times, he saw a news story about a monkey being stolen from a lab and the very next day you had a new monkey at your property, and he’d shown up to your property twice only to have you show up just behind him, screeching in like you were being pursued by the cops. Which you probably were.

He knew it was a mistake to keep seeking you out. He knew that one day you were going to get caught doing something and there would be no bailing you out of prison. He knew that if he kept spending time with you either one of you was going to get hurt or he’d end up running into one of your causes and it would end up affecting the Avengers things because really, Steve agreed with what you were doing. He just wasn’t sure where the line was between where you were wrong and where you were right.

He liked that he was learning these things from you. Maybe he had enough that he had to worry about in the state of the world, but he didn’t like being ignorant. More than that though, he just liked being around you. From your most passionate moments about justice in the world to the most relaxed when you were taking care of your farm. It was like you were that perfect balance of exciting and a little bit dangerous, and perfectly normal.

He liked you. Even if it was doomed to end badly, he couldn’t seem to keep away.

“$1000,” he said as he walked out of the police station with you. “$1000 you cost me.”

You laughed and nudged him. He loved when you did that. The simple familiarity that had grown between you. He was no stranger to that kind of casual physical affection. All his friends were quite tactile. Natasha was a hugger. Sam liked patting him on the back. Bucky liked to throw him in a headlock. Bruce was known to patting him all over and shaking him when he got very excited about something. Clint and Tony were both known for smacking his ass because they thought it was quite hilarious to make him blush. None of those made him feel the warm tingle he felt when you just casually bumped him with your shoulder or rubbed his arm. “Quit complaining. You know I’m good for it.”

“Yeah. I guess you are.” Steve agreed. “What was it this time?”

“You’ll be proud of me. I didn’t break into, steal, or damage anything. I was just part of a protest of a circus. The charges won’t even stick. We’re allowed to protest.” You said.

Steve pressed the button on his keys to unlock his car. The car's lights flashed accompanied by the chonk of the locks shifting. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come. I bet I could have easily convinced Sam, Bucky, and Natasha to come too. Clint as well. Clint is no fan of the circus.”

You both got into the car and started to buckle yourselves in. “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen doing things like that. I mean… you’re Captain America.”

“Yeah and I stand for what’s right. Maybe elephants being kept in small enclosures like that and the whole training thing you told me about isn’t the right thing to do.” He said and started the car. “You have to make a stand when things are important.”

You smiled at him. A soft and affectionate smile that seemed almost more in your eyes than the slight upturn of your lips. “Yeah, you do.” You agreed. “Thank you, Steve.”

You leaned in to kiss his cheek and as your lips brushed over his skin he turned his head. There was the smallest hesitation from both of you, as your lips touched on his and all around the world seemed to stop.

He was about to pull back and apologize. It was an obvious mistake. Neither of you had meant to kiss. Not actually kiss. Only you tilted your head and your lips parted.

He kissed you slowly, his lips slowly caressing yours and his tongue coming out just a little to trace over the corner of your mouth. It was everything you always hoped a first kiss would be. Your hand on his jaw. Your thumb stroking his cheek. His skin prickled like an electrical charge ran from you and through him.

As you pulled back a soft floating feeling blanketed him. He was done for and he didn't mind one bit.

// NEXT

#happy steve bingo #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #not so different

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tuppytuptup · 5 years

Note

7 or 29 with fiveya for the kiss prompts please!

#29 A kiss… as a promise.

Kiss Prompt List. Cannot guarantee any timely responses lol.

Sidenote: This is barely edited but if I didn’t post it now I was never going to. Contains some adult themes. Also, I really enjoyed reading people’s comment tags on my other work, it’s very encouraging so thank you!

Five knows what he wants. Has known since he dropped out of the sky in a crackle of blue and the sight of her safe and whole had rushed him harder than the ground from the fall.

But Five isn’t a fool, hasn’t managed to survive this long by simply denying unpleasant truths and the crux of it is that Vanya will not have him, not as he is.

He left her world at 13, a child, and returns to her as such. This gangly, pubescent body; it’s ingrained in her now, no matter his actual age. Her breath will never quicken in his presence, her heart will never stutter at his most innocent of touches.

Five has had 45 years to become accustomed with the fact that the sweet sister he had left behind was no longer a girl. Hasn’t been since his filthy fingers grasped at her book like a lifeline, tracing her features on the back cover in a pattern that wore the paper down so quickly he’d had to settle for just looking lest he lose her image forever.

Him? As much as Vanya treats and talks to him like an equal – Five has little doubt that she has not once ever considered him a man.

She smiles softly and hugs him tightly, will seek his company out before all their siblings and speak more freely. These are the affections gifted by a sister, gifts that twist his stomach to know she gives them to her brother, her confidante, while Five’s blood runs hot at the barest of glances.

If he were better, less selfish; Five could be that for her. Her brother, her confidante. He compartmentalises so well, you see, he could just as easily tuck those feelings away, hush hush, never to see the light of day.

But Five has suffered too much and lived too long just to end up not getting everything he’s ever wanted. And he wants Vanya. Her time, her body, her love, her everything.

And it helps, that Vanya already loves him. He just needs to get her to want him too.

So he waits.

He waits and he waits, planting seeds as he goes.

Vanya doesn’t notice when he starts to stand a little closer, doesn’t blink when instead of calling her name for attention he starts catching her by the elbow or tugging at her wrist gently. Small steps. Nothing that would cause any alarm, gestures that can still be brushed off as the actions of a brother if not for the way he burns for her in the dark of the night.

All Five wants is for his touch, his presence, to be embedded so deeply into her normal that the absence of him will be felt more keenly.

His body is 16 the first time he’s bold enough to place a hand at the base of her spine, ushering her in away from the cold. She furrows her eyebrows but otherwise makes no comment and something inside him purrs at her easy acceptance.

He’s a full head taller than her now, his features beginning to sharpen handsomely as he hoped they would, the apocalypse leaving little time for vanity. It’s isn’t enough though, still too young by miles and he grows impatient – one taste and his palms are still itching to make a home of themselves in the curve of her spine.

But recklessness already cost him one future with her – he’d be twice the fool to tip his hand so quickly. Patience may adorn him like an ill-fitted suit but Five can still wear it all the same.

Cumbersome, but rewarding. Another year passes and Five learns the taste of her skin, following Allison’s lead he kisses Vanya on the cheek in farewell as they both make to leave her apartment.

She tastes like salt, of warmth and chances missed, and when Five pulls away both his sisters regard him curiously.

“Was that not okay?” he ventures, pitches his voice a touch towards vulnerable. There are many hidden benefits to inhabiting a younger body - knees that don’t creak for one – playing naïve and innocent and getting away with it is another.

“Oh no, it’s fine… just a little unexpected,” Vanya chuckles, fingers twiddling delicately with her ear. It’s a nervous habit, one that’s carried on from childhood, for when she’s secretly pleased about something but doesn’t feel confident enough to say.

Five leaves her apartment with a grin, teeth feeling sharp. To keep up appearances he attempts to kiss Allison farewell on the street below but is soundly rejected.

“You don’t fool me, old man,” she admonishes, amusement clear. Five’s grin only stretches wider.

Alone in his room that night he takes the memory of that afternoon and sets it to loop, revisiting the scent of her freckle stained skin, how soft she felt against his lips. He has a history of intimacies tucked away safely that he likes to bring out and thumb over to his hearts content – he paws over this new addition with rough abandon, scrabbling at his belt buckle until he can finally take himself in hand, her name like gospel from his lips.

It’s perverse, perhaps, but counterpoint - it’s been four years since Vanya has overwhelmed his every waking thought and he is starving.

Kissing Vanya in any capacity is a boon of which he’ll never surrender. Good mornings, goodbyes, goodnights – she showed him an iota of leeway and Five milks her goodwill for every last drop. His brother baulk at his sudden expression of affection while Allison makes no comment.

Five is approximately 64 years old and his body 19 when Vanya finally looks at him with a hint of something in her eyes.

Sleeping over at her apartment isn’t a regular occurrence, his self-control isn’t that good. But the manor had been loud and distracting with all three of their brothers there at once and his dissertation due date looming so Vanya’s little kitchen table seemed the safest bet for some piece and fucking quiet.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He does remember waking to soothing fingers combing though his hair, tucking some of the longer strands behind his ear. Vanya’s told him twice that he needs a haircut but he’s been too busy to find his way to a pair of scissors.

She startles when he peels his face off her kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Five waves her off, stretching out the kinks in his back with a satisfied grunt, the sound of cracking up his spine music to his ears. It’s only when he turns to ask her a question, arms still reaching for the ceiling that he notices her gaze dip down. The button-up he’s wearing must have come untucked during the night – her eyes stay glued to the sliver of stomach his stretching exposed, the fine hair there that Klaus once called his ‘happy trail’ fully on display.

When he imagined this moment, and yes, he did, often – he imagined the satisfaction, the lust. He imagined that vile, feral thing that resides in his chest to free itself from the confines of his control and crow in triumph, claiming its spoils with tongue and teeth.

Five watches as her eyes dart away, the deep bob of her throat as she swallows thickly. He spies the soft pink rising in her cheeks, just dusting the edges of her crow’s feet that have deepened charmingly over time and thinks, softly, tender: how lovely.

Five kisses her good morning a little lower this time, somewhere close to where he knows the dimple of her smile resides, lingers perhaps just a moment too long. He hears her hiccupping breath and tells himself: just a little longer.

All he has to do as continue as he has, tactile and present, brushing too close, kissing too softly – and watch as her gaze darkens for him day after day.

Five is going to get everything he is ever wanted.

He can wait.

He has time.

#fiveya #look if you don't think Five would lowkey act like a predator when trying to seduce someone #than that's ok because we don't have the same h/c #but this is my h/c #and I just wrote 1k of trash about it #fiveya fic #tuppy natterings

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onceuponsomechaos · 5 years

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Missing Pieces Chapter 19 - The Key

Thanks to the flu hitting right after the holidays, my muse ran away to avoid catching it. Thankfully, lovely readers leave long comments sometimes, which make the muse return so finally finish and have another update. :)

Chapter 19 - The Key

Summary

With Collins captured and Henry gone the rest of the night, Killian takes a risk to help Emma remember.

----------------------------------------------- Emma had way too much time to think while she waited for the cops to officially process Collins.

Time she spent staring at Killian as he leaned casually against the wall opposite her chair, intentionally far enough away she couldn’t give in to temptation. His shirt was thankfully buttoned back to its usual height, but even in the horrible fluorescent lighting he still caught the eye of every person who entered the room.

I have to maintain some type of professionalism.

They had both settled into a contemplative silence that should have been awkward, especially after the vitriol Collins had spewed at her in the cab until they’d silenced him.

The guy had erupted when Emma joined them, although given Collins’s attacks, it had less to do with being caught as she slapped the handcuffs on, and more about her doing it before he’d had alone time with “the Captain.”

Killian’s obvious fury only seemed to arouse Collins, encouraging him to continue.

That was until Killian pulled a roll of duct tape from the voluminous folds of his coat. “Perhaps this will help, love. I’d silence him with my hook, but I’m afraid he’d quite enjoy that.”

But as the precinct took its sweet time, the awkwardness failed to materialize—we really do make quite the team—and any existing tension was of the sexual kind.

Emma couldn’t stop reliving the searing look in Killian’s eyes after she’d kissed him...

I thought he was going to take me against the wall of the coat closet.

I blame the rum. There’s a good chance he’s drunk. Or at the very least, more tipsy than I’ve ever seen him before. I was starting to believe he was immune to alcohol somehow.

Yeah, but you didn’t even drink that shot of tequila. What’s your excuse?

Can you blame me? The man is dressed to sin and according to pages ten through fourteen, Killian is really, really good at fulfilling desires.

If you don’t stop staring at him you’ll get yourselves arrested for indecent exposure or lewd conduct.

By the time Emma finally received the receipt for her skip thirty minutes later, she had mostly distracted herself by creating a list of five things she needed to do in the near future.

Add duct tape to her list of bounty hunting supplies. She needed a roll for her purse and to see if there was a mini, travel-sized version she could hide with her handcuffs when she wore honey trap dresses.

Find out when Killian had learned about duct tape and how the hell he fit a regular roll of it into his jacket pockets. Also, how many pockets did he have in that thing?

Buy Killian some very frumpy cloaks or shirts or maybe some ugly sweaters to wear outside of the apartment. Maybe some lightweight ones for summer, or baggy long sleeved T-shirts. Nothing with a vee neck or buttons he could leave undone when out in public. Just… because.

Stick to the book analogy and see if Killian knew the contents of any of the missing chapters, then find a way to use it so she could stop feeling like an amnesiac or crazy person.

Collaborate on pages ten through fourteen, and if that didn’t help them remember more, get creative and see if the déjà vu kicked in.

Since Emma planned on having Killian to herself the rest of the night, she could procrastinate items one through three on her list until Henry was back. Item four was where she should logically start, but what if she triggered one of Killian’s headaches? Would speaking in fictional hypotheticals really be enough to keep him safe?

It did work earlier this afternoon.

Yes, but…

But you’re horny and ridiculously turned on?

It’s not just that...It was that her body had somehow remembered a past with Killian when her mind believed he was a stranger, constantly compelling her to break whatever ground rules she tried to set. It was how if she went too long without his physical presence, aka the recently discovered Killian Kryptonite Effect, any memories or moments referring to the truth of such a past faded away completely.

I am so sick of forgetting, of the damn fog, of letting someone screw with my head!

Emma and Killian could talk about their stories all night, but even if he magically filled in the earlier parts of her book, what was to keep her from forgetting them again once she went to work? Or to sleep in her bed? Wouldn’t those bits join everything else she’d learned and continue vanishing?

Kissing Killian and sleeping next to him were physical things. The Kryptonite Effect didn’t work over the phone, it was 100% physical. The more tactile her contact with him, the longer she remembered.

So, what, if you taste and touch all of him, you won’t forget again?

Something like that.

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Due to tumblr formatting nightmare (I hope I caught all of the issues in trying to post here), continue reading on Ao3 or ff.net

#onceuponsomechaos #Missing Pieces #Captain Swan fic #CS fic #CS fic rec #captain swan fanfiction #CS #cs canon divergence #Killian Jones #Emma Swan

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dailyaudiobible · 4 years

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10/05/2020 DAB Transcript

Jeremiah 4:19-6:15, Colossians 1:18-2:7, Psalms 77:1-20, Proverbs 24:23-25

Today is October 5th welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it is a joy and a privilege and an honor to be here with you today as we move into this workweek as we take the next step forward together in the Scriptures, the…the grand adventure that we find ourselves on as we move through this year together. So, we’re reading from the New Living Translation this week. Today Jeremiah chapter 4 verse 19 through 6 verse 15.

Commentary:

Okay. So, Psalm 77 is what we read today when we were moving through the Psalms portion and man there's not a better argument for why we should journal our way through the Bible and maybe even through our lives. And we’ve talked about journaling a number of times as we move through the Scriptures. We see the president kind of set with the monuments and the piles of rocks that would be stacked up. What is being portrayed here is a way of remembering what happened so that what happened isn't forgotten. And we see a deep soul cry in the Psalm today. “I cry out to God. Yes, I shout out.” And let’s think about it. When do we cry out to God? I mean we…we can cry out to God if we are in a sense of worship. Mostly we cry out, like shout out to God because we are done, like because we are overwhelmed, we are cooked crispy, like everything feels like it's falling apart and we are suffering and it's agonizing and so we cry out to God. And this is the psalmist Asaph today, “I cry out to God. I shout O that God would listen to me. When I was in deep trouble I searched for the Lord. All night long I prayed with hands lifted toward heaven, but my soul was not comforted.” Oh…there’s such honesty in that. We should all be able to understand where this is coming from. It's just that Asaph actually gives voice to this. These thoughts, these kinds of things, these are the things we stuff. We just keep them inside. It’s like, “I could never…never say that out loud.” I mean…some…some of us are good at just telling God how we feel but usually this is the kind of sentiment that we…we just go like, “yeah, you’re just being a big baby. Suck it up, move on.” But the psalmist asks some really penetrating questions and likely they are questions we have asked. “Has the Lord rejected me forever? Will He never again be kind to me? Is His unfailing love gone forever? Have His promises permanently failed? Has God forgotten to be gracious? Had He slammed the door on His compassion?” Asaph is giving voice…like I just read this out of the Bible. This is ancient. People have been having these kinds of feelings for thousands of years wrestling through these. Like we might think we wrestle through these things when we try to say them but it's just like a new phenomenon? This is not true. This has always been going on. So, Asaph kind of concludes, “this is my fate. The most-high has turned His hand against me.” Have we never felt that way before? It usually goes away, right? We get some context, we get some perspective, but in the moment that feels so true. So, what does Asaph do? Like, he’s poured his heart out. He's been brutally honest about what he's feeling like. But what does he do? I continue to quote the Psalm. “But then I recall all you have done O Lord. I remember your wonderful deeds of long ago. They are constantly in my thoughts. Can't stop thinking about your mighty works.” Okay, so in the moment where we feel like everything is falling apart, we get pulled into a hurricane basically and we are just being pummeled if we have nothing to remember, like if we can't remember God's faithfulness. And this is what Asaph is essentially teaching us. “Then I recall all you have done. I remember your wonderful deeds of long ago.” And, so, as we move through the Bible, but also through our lives to be able to write down…and it can be a religious like tradition where it’s an every day thing, it can be a once week thing, it can be a once a month thing, whatever, but just to kind of chronicle our own journey in our own hand after some fashion gives us literally the written testament of God's faithfulness in our lives. So, when we find ourselves in those moments where we’re just totally gettin’ leveled, to be able to remember God's faithfulness when we can't see or feel it is a game changer. And we see this borne out in the Scriptures.

Prayer:

Father we thank You for the ability to write. We thank You for the ability to articulate. We thank You for the ability to chronicle Your faithfulness in our lives and we thank You that this has been done in the Scriptures, not only as a model for us, but as something we can look at and say, “okay. Honesty is coming off of these pages and leading me into a true place that can really help me.” And, so, we thank You for that. And Father as we do chronicle our lives as we do write down the things that are going on, may they be exactly that, a place to return to say, “O, I thought I was going to get destroyed in that situation but I'm still here and I remember that fear and I remember being agonized over all that. But I’m reading these pages and remembering but I see that I'm still here. You were faithful. You brought me through.” We thank You for the ability to do that. This is what the Bible does for us over the course of thousands of years. But we have our own story to tell, our own story with You. And, so, come Holy Spirit as we continue…as we continue to write the story of our lives, or maybe as we just begin to start to write down some of the days and some of the happenings and some of the things going on in our lives. Come Holy Spirit, lead us to create a testament of our own, a testimony of Your faithfulness through our lives. We ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it’s the website, it’s where you find out what's going on around here. So, stay tuned and stay connected.

Check out the Daily Audio Bible Shop where there are resources that are available for this journey including resources for what we just talked about, journaling. We have our own Daily Audio Bible journal that we have developed over the years and it’s perfect for writing in. And we also have writing stuff like the Black Wing pencils that I…I use on a daily basis. As I’ve said over the couple of years that we've had this, there’s something tactile, something real about sharpening a pencil and writing in my own hand my own life. There is something to that to giving it honor and enjoying the process. And, so, there are resources in the Daily Audio Bible Shop exactly for this. So, check those out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link on the homepage. I thank you, humbly and profoundly for your partnership. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer the mail, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the red button at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253. And that is it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Good morning Daily Audio Bible. So, I just heard the news Ms. China, Mr. Ben, we have the same last name, Brown that’s awesome! Congratulations to Jill Brian in the whole Hardin household. God bless you. Heavenly Father, thank You that You have given us Your written word, the word that these…this family has been anointed by…by Your hands and the words of…of Your mouth the theirs and to our ears over the years casting the bread upon the water and reaping great harvests. I ask You to bless this new baby and their parents and their grandparents and their children and their children for generations to come. Lord You said that children are an inheritance from You and that blessed is the man whose arrow…they’re like arrows that are shot out into the world and blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. So, I pray that…that just as Brian and Jill have trained their children up in the way that they should go they are training us up and the legacy is and amazing one and it’s just from God because of God because of the abiding presence of the Lord Jesus Christ in our hearts that we would seek Him daily and share this together. Lord I remember meeting China when she was 12 at the Wind…the Wind Farm café and Max was out riding his skateboard in the parking lot and Tyler was doing the audio and Christian was there. Just thank You so much for this family. I pray bless them. And thank You that the followed Your commission from Adam and Eve.

Hello family this is Demetri I’m calling from Oregon. Some of you might remember I called regarding my marriage, my wife, and everything that’s been going on with that. My wife did apply for divorce even though I told her I didn’t believe in divorce and I will not go for it. I received the paperwork and the court date is set for…for the beginning of November. I’m staying faithful to God and believing that He’s in control and He’s gonna do what…what is best for both of us. I pray and continue to pray that restoration is what’s gonna happen, but I believe that God can use this situation even if through divorce He can…He can restore us anyway. So, I pray and ask you family to continue praying for my wife, continue praying that that she will seek Him, she will find Him, and she will do the right thing. Thank you, family for…for always being there for me and Brian thank you for this amazing platform. I’ve been with you guys for about five years now and I don’t plan to stop anytime soon. So, if you can pray for my wife, pray for me to not lose hope, not lose faith, to continue relying that God is in control I’d really appreciate it. Thank you everybody for your prayers and for always being there for me.

Oh China and then and baby what wonderful news you had today and I listened to your dad earlier and it made me remember how my husband and I felt when our baby girl finally told us that she was pregnant and it turned out she had a baby girl too. We were just walkin’ on air and when I knew I was pregnant back then we didn’t know the sex but that first Christmas, and I want to warn you, brace yourself, every time we would sing Christmas carols I would just have tears streaming down my face because I was so happy and so humbled that I was going to the same thing that Mary went through to have Jesus. And, so, oh, you know that so many prayers are with you and with this baby and take care of yourself. We love you. We love Ben we love the baby. God bless you. Bye.

Hi family this is his little Cherry in Canada and I want to pray for Kim in Texas, her husband, and their family. Daddy, it’s wrong what’s happening. I can only imagine Your fury over the suffering that’s happening, and the injustice and I pray God that You would do battle on behalf of what’s right and what’s true. You love everyone involved. But I pray for Kim and her husband and their children. I pray that You would rebuke the devourer, that You would silence his lies, that You would expose him as if he’s suddenly naked in front of everyone, that he would be dismayed, turned back, that he would run screaming into the night, into the darkness that he himself has created. May he fall into his own traps and be foiled. And Lord Jesus I just pray that You would vindicate those who are in the right, that You would put a stop and an end to all the plans and purposes of darkness for Kim and her husband and her children and that they would be delivered in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Heavenly Father we just thank You and praise You because You are worthy You are worthy of our highest praise You’re worthy of our best You’re the one who supplies our joy Lord and so we thank You. We thank You for this awesome news that China and her husband Ben are gonna have a baby. Thank You for that. We needed that. We so much needed that. And how appropriate Lord with the Psalm that You picked that we saw the wicked succeeding in the world and everything going to pieces Lord, but You cause us to remember Your faithfulness Lord and You’ve done it through this __ through this beautiful thing that we get to share together as a family Lord. You are good. You’ve always been good even in the beginning of this year You were good. Throughout the year You are good. And thank You Lord for returning our attention to that goodness Lord. So we praise You and we ask that You extend Your healing hands over this child, that You protect the baby, keep the baby safe, watch over the mother, the Father, the grandparents, aunts and uncles Lord. Heavy blessings upon them Lord so they can bring this child to term healthy and strong that we again as a community can continue to give You the praise honor and glory that You deserve Lord. You are a faithful God, You’re a loving God and You’re a true God and we thank You we thank You we thank You. And all praise honor and glory belong to You. This is Byron out in Florida. Brian, China, Jill, Ben, everybody. Congratulations. So excited for you all. God is so very good. Amen.

Hey Daily Audio Bible does Paul from Houston and I wanted to call to pray for James the Mighty Warrior from...called in on the September 29th asking for prayer. He’s been…you said you that you’ve been separated two years and I’m not sure that you…that your wife was trying to move on and just wanted to pray for you with all the people and totally understand what you’re going through and just want to pray for peace Lord. I ask Lord that You would be with James marriage Lord, that You would bless him. God, I ask Lord that You would open the eyes of…of him of his wife. Lord I thank You for being with them. Lord I ask Lord that You would just see the different things that…that…that Your Holy Spirit would just guide their steps Lord, that You would be in the middle of…of what’s happening Lord and I ask Father that Your presence would be made known and I thank You Lord that as James seeks You Lord I thank You Lord that You would just bless him and be with him just give him wisdom help him to see things clearly. Help him to have the eyes to see and the ears to hear and help us all to have the eyes to see and ears to hear to know what direction to take and what steps to go and which way to go right or to go left or to go straight or to backup. There’s…there’s all these things God that we just need we need Your help and we’re just praying for my brother that You would be with him and just bless him and keep him and put Your angels around him. Lord I thank You Lord for just giving him peace in the middle of the storm no matter what’s happening. God, I ask Lord that You would just direct his steps in Jesus’ name. Love you guys. It’s Paul from Houston. Take care.

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