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writing-havoc · 1 year

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A Moments Pain

♡ Summary: Kaz thinks you get shot with him while running from the Stadwatch. Imagine his surprise when you're fine

♡ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader

♡ Fandom: Six of Crows, Grishaverse

♡ Warning(s): Blood, Guns, Drugs, Alcohol, Gunshot wound, Self-harming behaviour (only mentioned)

♡ WC: 4.7k

Soulmate au time! Pain sharing <3

This is a pain sharing soulmate au where your soulmate can feel your pain and they can feel yours.

Reader is a Squaller in this and as usual, gender neutral

Hope you enjoy <3

Please excuse any grammar and spelling errors

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Soulmates have a very particular place in Kerch conversation.

There's those that believe soulmates are a concept and reality directly bestowed upon humans by Ghezen himself as an ultimate act of trade. That there is nothing more holy than finding your soulmate and sharing your life together, because the pain you trade daily is a piece of Ghezen permanently part of your being and can be offered back as a sign of your faith.

These people share pain every day, purposefully pricking their fingers and smiling when their other feels it too, thanking their Saint for their life and the opportunity they got to trade this pain directly and receive it in full.

Then there are others that see it as a slight against him, that it's an easy way out and that soulmates were fabricated long ago before the time of Ghezen. That in order to be seen and heard by him you must put in the work to do so, to volunteer and offer your time till you're covered in sweat, tears, and even blood, and only then will you be worthy of the pay and recognition you're earned and deserved.

These people see using your soulmate as an offering as cowardly and lazy, and not as a true sign of faith, but more like a mockery.

It's a conversation you can't escape if you live in Kerch, especially Ketterdam.

Kaz can count on two hands the amount of times soulmates have come up in conversation under a different light than that. And it's almost always brought up by Jesper trying to poke fun at Kaz for not finding his, or Nina who talks about how Ravkan culture handles it much differently (Matthias tags along on said discussion to butt in about Fjerdan soulmate rituals but its only ever on the tail end of the conversation).

It doesn't concern him, not finding his soulmate. He doesn't think he even wants to meet them, to see the face he's caused to have suffered so much pain over the last decade and will continue to cause them for as long as he resides in the Barrel.

Their anger would be understandable, but he hates that he feels any guilt about it at all.

He had to do it to survive. The pain he's been through and the scars left behind are reminders that he's still alive and breathing, that he still has fight left in him. He will not be made to feel sorry for that.

So, perhaps its not that he feels guilty, but that he hates the concept of being forced to feel guilty for something that he's proud of, for something that's necessary.

Now matter how many times he has this conversation with himself, he always comes to the same conclusion and never feels any less guilty than he did before.

"Eat my arse, Jesper!"

"I will!"

He sighed, opening the door to the Crow Club and allowing it to shut behind him. A cacophony of sound assaulted his ears, people talking amongst themselves and dice and cards slapping against velvet covered tables. A bar towards the back brandished in dark wood and brightly glowing lights was at the focal point of his attention. It was like his ears had some horrible ability for picking up his crows voices. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Jesper, Wylan, and you were huddled together, chairs pulled away from their evenly distributed spots in front of the bar. You were talking animatedly, your hands flying in directions that he's not sure made the story clearer or more confusing the more you went on, but the two men in front of you seemed to be following just fine.

"... coming out the building, smoke blows in my face and I swear I met Ghezen himself." You leaned into the dark wood, resting your head on your hand.

"As if he'd want to meet you personally." Jesper snickered at the way your jaw fell open, Wylan laughing when you lunged out and swatted at Jesper.

"Not the point!" You hollered, giving a good shove to his arm before pulling back.

Kaz clicked his cane against the ground, standing not three steps to the left of your chair. "If Jesper has to take sick leave its coming out of your paycheck."

You turned to face him, a wide grin adorning your face. "Ill make sure to only beat him to the brink of qualifying for sick leave."

"Bold move discussing your plans in front of the boss like that." Wylan chimed, hooking his pinky to Jespers.

"Kaz doesn't care so long as the job gets done." You turned to the man behind the bar and held up a finger, ordering your regular.

He clenched his jaw, giving you a hard glare. Yet he felt his heart twist. "I would still prefer to have Jesper in optimal working order, Y/n."

"Fine, I won't touch him anymore." You said as your drink was handed to you. You inclined your head at the bar man, giving a silent thanks as you downed half of it in one go.

There was another thing about soulmates that's more unknown. Not really unheard of, but it's not discussed.

Fatal attacks don't have the same physical affects on your soulmates, neither do life altering diseases, bone breaks, or limb losses. But they aren't unfelt. It'll be a long lasting piercing pain in some cases or nerve damage depending on the placement, but nothing ever as extreme as what your partner experiences.

In cases of poison, the effects are similar but not a direct match.

If the poison makes you tired, your soulmate will also tire. If the poison chokes you alive on your own spit, your soulmates mouth will salivate uncontrollably. If the poison makes you bleed from every orifice and your skin melt off your body, your partner will ache all over, maybe even bleed from scabs, cuts, and scars that should have no reason to be bleeding.

Alcohol is technically a poison of sorts. Toxic. Once your partner drinks, you'll feel it too. But it's entirely dependent on your own tolerance.

Kaz's tolerance isn't excellent, but he's certainly not a lightweight. You, however? Huge lightweight. With the portion of the drink you just downed you'll be inebriated within fifteen minutes tops, stumbling on your own feet and apologizing to light posts upon running into them. He only hopes your soulmate has a higher tolerance than you do.

He has seen you become such a way at the hands of your soulmate twice. Both times you had thought you were dying.

"Tomorrow we've got a job." Kaz pipes up. "Be ready at seven bells. Pack very light."

You groaned. "I wish you had told me that before I downed half of this."

"Im telling you now before the whole of it is gone."

You put the glass to your lips, staring at him as you drank the rest.

There's no way you'll be up in time tomorrow.

-----

He was kind of right.

After very faintly stumbling back to the Slat because of his soulmate feeling the need to get inebriated, he sat at his desk and finished whatever paperwork he could before preparing for the next day's mission.

Somewhere while doing so he fell asleep, and when he awoke the next morning at six bells he immediately went about making sure everyone was ready.

Inej had her knives and was actively packing any other essentials on her person, Nina and Matthias were still sleeping, but the latter was stirring as Kaz cracked the door open, Wylan was in the process of waking himself up while Jesper snored under a pile of blankets, and you were... kind of awake.

When he checked on you, you were sitting on the edge of your bed, sleeping pants rolled down to just above your knees while you stared with glassy eyes at the wall opposite of you. The window was open, streetlights barely making their way through the glass, your face glowing in the soft light.

He stepped fully into your room, walking closer to inspect your figure. He's not sure you're even blinking until you do so, eyes moving separately from eachother in a way that's oddly frog-like.

"Y/n." He called firm and gentle, waving a gloved hand in front of your face.

You hummed, moving your head slow like syrup to look up at him, eyes syncing up. "Morn'n, Kaz."

He ignored the way his name sounded on your sleepy tongue, afraid of the palpitations punching his heart. "Just making sure you're getting ready."

"'m good. Changin' righ' now." You put a hand on your bare thigh, looking to your left at the clothes you laid out for yourself.

Dark, natural, and earthy colors made up your shirt and pants aside from a bright white pouch which held stimulant capsules. You would need one later. A pair of lace up boots was at the foot of your bed, along with a jacket and belt that sheathed a knife Kaz had gifted you a few weeks into your time with the Dregs.

"It's half past six bells," he said, voice softer than he was intending. "Hurry it up."

You hummed, pushing your thumb under the waistline and pushing them down, pooling them around your ankles. Kaz took that as his cue to leave, closing your door softly behind him.

For a moment he allowed himself to pause, thinking with his hand gripping the creaky knob. Your morning voice, bed hair, soft eyes- it made his head /spin/. If you weren't hungover and running on four hours of sleep you would have cared more and that knowledge was sobering enough that he could let go of the handle, cane clicking on the ground as he walked back towards his office.

While the Kerch had plenty of different opinions about how to utilize your destined partner, there is a long standing opinion that most natives held above all else: you do not deviate from your soulmate.

Because while there are those who believe using your soulmate as a way to trade is simply lazy, they're also the ones that tend to believe that deviating from them is a form of cheating and you'd be robbing someone else from a happiness they deserve to achieve.

The only exception to this would be if you found out your soulmate is dead. But who's to say your soulmate isn't already dead and you're searching for someone that no longer exists? It's a trap. No matter what you'll either be shunned or disappointed.

He's never heard your opinion about soulmates. He knows you have one, as you're often complaining about how much they get hurt, but you never participate in the talk. You either excuse yourself or sit back in your chair, promptly passing out before a question can be thrown at you about it.

The only one that's ever been able to get you to answer a question about it was Inej. And your answer was incredibly vague- or rather, simple.

She had asked your thoughts on the Kerch interpretation of soulmates and their usage. Your answer was, "I guess it makes sense" and following a shrug, that was the end of it.

Kaz never thinks about it. Except for when he does, which seems to be a lot recently.

He stepped forward, and cursed his leg when a flash of pain soared up his shin and into his thigh. He stepped down the stairs wrong perusing his thoughts.

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut caught his ears. "Fuck my soulmate." You came storming out of your room, fully dressed and considerably less tired than before. He wasn't that distracted, was he? "Doesn't know when to stop fucking around." You stormed past him, making extra careful to keep a distance as you walked down the stairs.

There was something a little off about your gait, but you were faster correcting it than he was at putting the pieces together for once, so there's not much he could infer.

Walking down the stairs, everyone emerged from their respective rooms and gathered at the center of the Slat. Like magic, the bell clock chimed seven bells.

Kaz looked at his team, scanning them over with a faint nod. "Right on time."

"Don't want to be at the receiving end of that cane of yours this early in the morning." Jesper commented. You snickered, Nina and Inej smirking at him while Wylan and Matthias took it upon themselves to school their expressions into fond smiles.

Kaz checked his watch. "We have half a bell to get to the Zelver District, let's move."

------

"I cannot believe that you thought seventy-seven and thirty-three made a hundred." Wylan states incredulously. "It's appalling, actually."

You snort. "Easy there with the fancy words, Mister Dictionary. In my little fourteen year old mind it made sense."

Jesper barks out a laugh. "Who taught you to do math? Even I know it's a hundred and ten."

"Bugger off why don't you!" You give him a lighthearted slap with the back of your hand to his arm, to which he hardly flinches and ruffles your hair.

His own head itches. He takes off his hat and fixes his hair, ignoring it.

The job had gone off without a hitch, which was good for everyone's spirit considering the last few weren't as lucky. Spirits were lower than he would have liked, so the twenty thousand kruge in his pocket and diamond necklace in your pouch were perfect for raising everyone's morals.

You did, in fact, end up needing to take a stimulant capsule soon after they left. Even with the added aggravation from your soulmate, you just couldn't stay awake.

He makes a mental note to watch you more closely. He's seen what those stimulant capsules can do to your impulse control, and he would like for you to cut down on how much you're taking them if you could help it.

He has every bit of confidence in you that you wouldn't take more than necessary, but the tired mind is an enemy that which he never likes to take chances with. The last thing he needs is for you to accidentally grab two instead of one and be so jittery that you end up getting them all caught.

Actually, the more likely scenario would probably be you realizing your mistake soon after you've made it, and taking yourself out of the mission, leaving your spot empty as Kaz tries to reconfigure everything on the spot to accommodate for a lost asset. And, on top of that, worry to Fjerda and back about if you'll make it to the Slat safe and with minimal damage.

It's exhausting. He doesn't want to take them away, because today goes to show that they're incredibly helpful if taken properly.

But everytime you do his skin feels like it's on fire and his heart pounds just a little bit harder. It feels like something is trying to claw its way out of his skin, right between his shoulder blades.

A little something clicks in his mind, then.

A gunshot rings out into the night. The group flinches for a moment, and then they're all taking off in a sprint.

"Who's shooting at us?!" Jesper calls out.

"No idea and I don't want to find out!" You yell, overtaking nearly everyone just behind Jesper.

The both of you split into separate alleys, everyone else scattering as well given Kaz's signal. He follows behind you, intending on splitting up even further up the passageway, but doesn't get to when it comes to his attention the route he was going to take has since been blocked up.

He needs to get newer intel, very, very quick when he gets back to the Slat.

"Do not shoot to kill!" A member of the Stadwatch comes into sight on the opposite end of the alley. "We need information!"

Apparently they needed intel as well.

"Up!" Kaz hooks his cane to your pants, yanking you back and around the back of a house with a very thin walk space between its walls and the canal.

Steel bars jut out of the back, leading up to a balcony. You climb first, nearly slipping a few times in your haste to get up. Dirt falls into his eyes, but he blinks them away as he climbs just behind you, his cane now clipped to his belt.

You waste no time picking a direction and run, leaping over wobbly shingles and skating around metal smoke shafts in a movement that Kaz can only call dancing.

Kaz damn near falls in love all over again, and actually does so when he hears your delighted giggles under the shine of the moonlight. He's right behind you, just barely keeping up with his bad leg, and the sound makes his chest... /bubble/.

Several other gunshots ring out, the sound of bullets hitting metal like notes on a piano.

Kaz moves to the far side of the house, away from the sight of the Stadwatch and leaps to another building, his good leg coming in contact with the slick roof. His boot squeaks as it slips off, his leather gloves grabbing desperately at the shingles.

"Let go!" He heard from below.

Without a second thought, he went limp.

A gust of wind hit his back, knocking the air out of his lungs for a moment. And just as quickly he was on the ground, your face staring over him.

You chuckled. "Rather fucked up trust fall, I'd say."

"I trust no one." He spits without venom, hauling himself up. He unclips his cane, leaning on it.

"Okay Kaz." He can hear the sarcasm in your voice, but he diverts his attention in favor to the gunshot wound that splits through the meat of his arm.

You jolt too, yelling in pain. In a fit of anger, you slam the Stadwatch into the wall with your wind, the air pressure shifting and making his ears pop.

He doesn't bother to check if they're still moving, running unevenly to the nearest crow owned business and slipping inside and through to the backdoor.

He has to get you back. Who knows what kind of bullets they were using or what kind of damage it did. Healing isn't Nina's strong suit, so the least amount of damage and less time wasted the better.

The moment Kaz is in the Slat he's ushering you into the medical room, cursing you for your stunned state. He only had so much ability to maneuver you lacking an arm and using a glorified stick.

"We need to wait until Nina gets here." He hissed as he closed the door behind him, shucking off his coat and placing it on the chair next to the table.

"Kaz." You say, voice small.

He quickly whipped his head around, mind going through every possibility.

Too much blood has drained from your body. You're too weak to hold yourself up. Your body functions were shutting down one by one in favor of your heart and brain.

Before his mind could launch into a plan of how to keep you alive, tourniquet above the wound perhaps, he saw you weren't in any pain at all.

Not even a speck of blood on your shoulder.

He limped over to you, wondering if he was beginning to hallucinate an oddly terrifying yet comforting fantasy where you were fine. Maybe he was the one dying. But the throbbing pain in his shoulder and the pounding of his heart told him that he probably wasn't.

"You're fine." It was meant as a question but came out as a statement.

"I'm fine." You whispered in the same stunned silence. "Although I am a bit sore."

It's you. It's you it's you it's /you/.

The door bursts open, making you jump back. Nina begins to rustle around the room, instructing Kaz onto the table, but he just cannot look anywhere but you.

How fucking insane is that?

Out of the potentially millions of people that exist just within the distance between the southern colonies and Fjerda, you're here.

He didn't stop looking at you, because you're fucking /here/, even as you left out the door, tripping on your way out.

He needed to talk to you.

Soon.

Now.

The moment Nina began to give him the go ahead he was hopping off the table and into the crowd of the Slat, doorknob hitting the wall.

Where were you?

He brought his hand up to his mouth, pinching his skin between his teeth just below his glove. A stunned yelp sounded over the crowd, heads turning up the stairs. Kaz felt his entire stomach tumble.

The steps groaned beneath his steps as he walked up them, doing his best to keep them even with some semblance of normal despite normal being thrown out minutes ago.

He was trudging through the Slat without his coat or cane, shirt torn at the shoulder, and a throbbing wrist that he just bit with little to no care about who seen or felt it besides you, and everyone found it weird.

But this entire situation was weird.

His arm ached as he pulled himself up the last few stairs by the railing, limping to the next set of stairs to his attic office.

And there you were, rubbing the inside of your wrist with your eyebrows knit, looking every bit as stunned as you were when you came face to face with reality.

"You bit me." You whined.

He took a moment to get his breath back into his weeping lungs. "I didnt bite you. I bit myself."

"But you may as well have bit me." You stood up, moving to the side.

And there really wasn't any arguing with that logic was there? You felt it just the same as he did.

Fuck.

/Fuck./

His heart continued to pound and pound on his chest as he, much slower this time, walked up the stairs, keeping tabs on his leg as he did so. There was no complaint from you as you followed close behind.

The door was unlocked when he got to it.

He turned to you, raising a brow.

The floorboards creaked as you rocked on your heels, looking away from his prying eyes. "I thought better of it only after I unlocked it."

"Usually makes no difference to you whether it's locked or not." He swung the door open, heading for his desk chair. "You walk in and sleep in my chair as much as you please."

It took you a moment to respond, the door clicking quietly. "It didn't feel right this time."

Ironic, considering you're literally destined to be with him if the universe has any say.

He stood beside his chair, remembering the last time he caught you fast asleep in it, legs dangling off the arm. Did you not want that ease with him?

It isn't unheard of for a person to reject their soulmate. Usually it's done when they have found a chosen partner rather than a destined one, or when they simply don't believe in that way of life.

Maybe that's why you don't say anything when the topic comes up.

His body feels heavy, utterly exhausted at the thought. The thought to beg comes to mind briefly before he puts it back on its leash and ties it to a pole.

Perhaps you don't want him, even if the universe or whatever it is dictates that you do.

"I can see that mind of yours working," you say, "and it's not what you think."

He grinds his teeth for a moment. "It would help rule some stuff out if you'd have been more open about the topic in the past."

Fuck the universe, he's allowed to be petty.

Your voice is tired and almost disappointed when you say his name next, and it makes him completely regret his words.

You sit on his desk, body angled towards the open window he loves and hates so much.

It's too drafty. Reflects too much light. Opens awkwardly. But it's warm and coats your skin like honey in the evening and tickles your face with your baby hairs in the early morning. It let's you slip in at the most awkward times when he's changing but also let's you in when he needs you most, even if you don't know it.

The window is always locked.

He taught you how to pick it.

"My parents are soulmates." You begin, Kaz lowering himself into his chair. "But they don't like eachother."

That does well to get his attention.

"Everytime the tie between them was activated, it was always on purpose to hurt the other." Your temple moved, teeth grinding. "When one would threaten to leave, the other would beat themself senseless. And when they really got angry at eachother, they'd almost kill themselves and then turn on eachother with knives and bottles.

I've heard stories of how it is to lose your soulmate back where I grew up. It's described as a nothingness. What was once there when the connection was really, really made disappears like it was never there, and leaves a dark, heavy feeling in its place."

You sighed, hand rubbing your chest. "I think that's the only reason they never actually killed eachother. They didn't want whatever they had, no matter how fucked up it was, to disappear."

He thought for a moment.

"You never spoke about it because you don't want to end up like them."

Your eyes squinted, lips pursing. "Yes and no." A rhythm came to life from your boot, legs swaying and hitting his desk. "You're right, but I also don't want to feel that feeling, that nothing. I don't know if it's true, if the grief takes that much of a hold on you, but I don't want to find out. Not now. Not ever." You looked at him then, eyes like glass and tears barely pooling on your lower lashes. "Not if it's you."

It hits him all at once.

The obvious realization that is that you /want/ him.

And the even more breathtaking realization that you really, really love him, and have loved him long before you knew.

Isn't that perfect?

You looked back to the window, and everywhere else, hand swiping underneath your eyes.

He tapped the table next to you, gathering your attention.

"I don't..." He licked his lips. "I don't want that either... if it's you."

He fucking hopes you get it. That he has loved you too. Before now. Before the lockpicking. Before the chair. Before the window. Before the bullet. Before the biting. Before. And has for a long time since.

Your mouth hangs open, lips shuttering just a little before you close it, biting the pink skin. "Okay." You whisper, head bobbing up and down. "Okay."

"One question, though."

"Um..." You clear your throat. "Shoot."

"How did you manage to go this long without knowing it was me considering my one true constant of pain?" He props his bad leg out, wiggling his foot a bit.

You laugh, a stark contrast from the pervious mood. "If you want me to be honest, I... completely forgot what leg is your bad leg?"

It's the truth, he can tell, yet the fact that it sounds more like a question gets a half chuckle out of him. "I assume you don't know how a cane works?"

"Well I wouldn't say /that/." You try to defend yourself. "I know it helps you walk I just... never knew what side it was supposed to go on."

He can't stop himself from smiling, then. Small and private. "Cane goes on the stronger side to aid the injured side when you step with it. It becomes a third leg."

You snort immediately, and he sighs. "Childish."

"Oh come on! You did that to yourself!"

"Y/n." He said.

"Yes?"

"You're insufferable."

You hopped off the desk, slipping the diamond necklace from your pouch and around his neck. "At yet you're stuck with me."

He touched one of the diamonds, watching you fall into the chair in front of his desk. "Not as much of a problem as you hope it is."

All tears gone, you get settled into the chair, perfectly warm and content in his company.

He loves that he feels the same.

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Tags:

@b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @a-candle-maker

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows x reader #six of crows x y/n #six of crows x you #six of crows fanfic #fanfic #blood tw #gun tw #sh tw #drugs tw #alcohol tw

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ascendthisday · 11 months

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By The Time I Knew I Truly Loved You

Pairing: Steven Adler/Reader Word Count: 800~

Info: No Smut, Fluff, Happy Ending, Emotional, Mentioned Drug Use, Post-Stroke, /reader in a way that you can imagine just about anyone as the narrator its VERY vague

Summary: The month I knew I truly loved you was cold. It was 1996, sometime around October, but after the stroke, every day seemed to blend together. I begged with God, pleaded that you'd wake up and remember how to live; to function.

Authors Note: another old one from ao3 because i have a bunch of shit i never reposted!! this was the first gnr fic i posted so yay for that, hope it isnt TOO corny

The month I knew I truly loved you was cold. It was 1996, sometime around October, but after the stroke, every day seemed to blend together. I begged with God, pleaded that you'd wake up and remember how to live; to function. I prayed that you'd remember to speak overnight. Everything was so hard now. We- you, communicated grunts and grumbles of vague words to which I would sob over in the middle of the night. We slept in different beds. Other people were always in our home because you needed caretakers, and yet I convinced myself to hold on.

The week I knew I truly loved you was hectic. You were frantic for God knows what reason, clawing at floorboards and yourself. I watched your mop of hair get more and more matted day by day as you adamantly opposed brushing it. You smelled of musk, a smell I once relished and showered myself in by wearing your clothes while you 'recovered' in the hospital. We had five different caretakers quit that week, so I had to resort to begging in the newspaper. Eventually, I found someone new, but what would have happened if I hadn't? One day, I realized you wanted your stash. You still had something, left forgotten in the floorboards, and you were determined to find it even though you had no memory of where it may be. We had to rip our home apart, piece by piece, to make sure you didn't find that stash- if it even existed, and yet, I convinced myself to hold on.

The day I knew I truly loved you, we had let the sunlight waste as we spent the whole day 'fighting', if you could even call it that. It was like arguing with a stubborn child, even though I knew you didn't mean to be childish. We sat at the dinner table; you at one end with a stack of blank notecards and a pen, me at the other with only my voice and frustrations. You had taken to writing so much better than you had to speaking. So far, this was the only way we had somewhat fluent conversations since the stroke. It was horrible. I missed the silly way you poorly serenaded me with love songs. I missed the joking debates we held together, arguing on why one superhero was wholeheartedly superior or something along those lines. I missed when I didn't have to monitor everything on the TV because your therapist told me anything could set you off into another relapse. I missed when it was just us in the house with no needed caretakers, and yet, I convinced myself to hold on.

The night I knew I truly loved you, I stormed away and sulked in what used to be our bed. You had knocked on the door at two in the morning. I groggily opened it to ogle at your disheveled form. You stood there; pajama pants barely hanging onto your skinny hips, a broken hairbrush outstretched in your hands, hair tangled to your ears with another restless night, and a quivering lip paired with the glossiest eyes I had ever seen. My eyes had pricked with tears when I saw you, really saw how scared, lost, and small you were. I spoke not a word, simply let you crawl into our bed. I needed no more convincing, I chose to hold on and never let go for as long as I could.

The moment I knew I truly loved you, I had just finished brushing out every knot and tangle from your mane as you sat between my legs. You turned toward me and stared for a couple of minutes before beginning to climb out of bed, but I stopped you. I needed you. You needed me. So, I simply held you. I held you for hours. Then, with as much force as you could muster you muttered three words that changed me.

"I love you."

The moment after I knew I truly loved you, I shrieked and sobbed so loud I swore the neighborhood shook. I tried to steady myself with the burst of pure joy that overwhelmed me, but I was over the moon. I wept and wept as I held your head to my chest and repeated how much I loved you, too. Those were the first words you spoke to me for months. Finally, you pulled away and I was met with your beautiful smile. It was so different, though. It was no longer a smile that showed for when you got your high, it was a show of love and gratitude. God, I was so lucky to have held on.

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missvixen87 · 1 year

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#kelly nickels #la guns #1980s #80s #hair metal #glam metal #80s rock #sex drugs and rock n roll #rock never dies

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ilovediifs · 2 years

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#rockstar gf #rockstar #rockstar aesthetic #groupie #rocknroll #80s rock #90s rock #70s rock #classic rock #groupie love #sex drugs and rock n roll #whiskey a go go #sunset strip #motley crue #guns n roses

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hartbreak-motel · 1 year

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It's ok to call out your faves when you think they're in the wrong. Don't let anyone make you feel like less of a fan for doing so. Criticism does not equal hate.

#stan culture is a hell of a drug #mötley crüe #vince neil #tommy lee #mick mars #nikki sixx #guns n' roses #axl rose #duff mckagan #slash gnr #izzy stradlin #steven adler #fandom discourse #stan culture

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cambria-writes · 2 years

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I haven’t been writing for over two years and I’ve been spending the most of the past 72 hours working on this and like two other fics so like. Please be nice. Also I only proofread this like, maybe twice, so if there are still any mistakes or typos, please let me know! I’m almost done with the next chapter, so if we’re all lucky I’ll be able to post it next week. I figure that a weekly upload schedule should probably be feasible for me. Guess we’ll see! pairing: eddie munsonx reader rating: PG13 for now, each chapter rated individually warnings: there will be hella spoilers for S4, lots of swearing, guns, minor injury and blood, drugs (just weed my dudes), alcohol, reader deserves her own warning actually, use of canadian english is also its own warning word count: 3,323

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖊: ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯 ℭ𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

March 20th, 1986

It’s annoying, having to wait like this.

Your leg is bouncing under the table and you can’t help but absently pick at the table’s flaking paint. You’d est up to meet after you were off work, which more or less coincided with when he got out of class. Which was apparently a bit earlier than you’d anticipated; you’ve been killing time at this stupid picnic table in the woods for almost half an hour now.

You’re about to cut your losses and prepare an apology call when something catches your eye, further off in the woods. It’s not like it’s eerily quiet; if you pay attention, you can hear squirrel scrambling up trees and birds flying around. But there’s something about that vague almost-shape you saw in the woods... You feel the hairs at the back of your neck rise. That’s probably a bad sign, right? You should probably leave. I should definitely leave.

“Sorry for keeping you wai–”

You shriek and clean fall off the bench with how fast you turn around.

“Fucking shit Ed! God damn warn a girl, holy shit!” You scream, catching your breath and brushing leaves off of you when you stand. “You scared the living hell out of me!”

Eddie raises his hands up in surrender and takes a few steps back. “Woah there, my bad. Didn’t mean to scare you. You alright?”

The genuine concern makes you groan and you drop yourself back onto the bench you’d fallen from. When asked, you were going to lie and say your shifts are work were just getting a bit aggravating, but it was a bit harder to justify being that jumpy.

“Dude, I don’t know. I’ve just been having these nightmares for a while and it’s been freaking me out,” you explain, putting your arms up on the table and resting your head on them. “I’ve been getting shit for sleep and it’s like I’m seeing things.”

“I’m pretty sure drugs are gonna make that worse, not better,” Eddie says slowly, leaning forward on the table after placing his box down. “You wanna, like... talk about it?”

You scoff and turn your head away. There was no way you were going to try and even begin to describe the fucked up shit that’s been playing in Technicolor in your brain the past few weeks. Nevermind the stuff you’re pretty sure was a dream but aren’t entirely convinced about.

Like that time you spotted Harrington and fucking Robin Buckley, of all people, in a movie theater together. Looking and acting absolutely blitzed out. That has to have been some kind of hallucination, because as soon as the movie was over you couldn’t see them anywhere.

Or that time a few years ago when Will Byers went missing and those kids–his friends, probably?–took to the streets like a band of thieves, looking for all the world like they were heading straight for the lab. No one else ever mentioned them or even gave any indication they’d seen a group of prepubescent boys taking up a whole street with their bikes and an ungodly time of night. So you just kind of assume you’d... dreamt it up, or something.

You’ve had weirder dreams.

“I appreciate the offer to be my impromptu therapist, Munson, but I think it’d just make me feel worse,” you eventually answer, sitting back up and running your hands down your face. “I just need whatever you’ve got that can knock me out. Shit you gave me last time barely got me to sleep like, an hour.”

Eddie audibly winces and crosses his arm.

“I hate to say it, but you might be better off with beer.”

You groan theatrically and let your head slam back down on the table. Slam it a few more times for good measure. Eddie hastily shoves his hand under your forehead.

“Hey there, woah, woah! Knock that out!”

“You’re shitting me right? I can’t do this anymore, Ed, I feel like I’ve actively gone insane,” you whine, bringing your hands up to the back of your neck. “You’re my best bet, no way I can see a doctor for this. I’ll get locked up or worse.”

There’s silence for a bit, before you hear the closure for Eddie’s box pop open. You sigh in relief and raise your head, pulling the hair out of your face. He’s not taking anything out, though; he’s putting something back in before closing the box again.

“Wait no, come on–” you start, but Eddie interrupts you with a hand help up.

“Ah, give me a second, I’m getting there,” he says, shoving his other hand in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. The small bag of weed he pulls out looks thoroughly and profoundly unremarkable.

“Dude I literally just said–”

“Have you always been this impatient, woman? Relax, this is from my,” Eddie pauses to clear his throat and leans forward with a grin. “Personal stash. Should be strong enough for you.”

“Are you saying you’ve been selling me baby’s first drugs until now?” You ask, crossing your arms. Eddie places a hand to his chest in mock offense and scoffs.

“I’m shocked and offended you would ever think so lowly of me. I thought we were cool!” You can’t help but at least chuckle at that and put your hands up in defeat.

“No, you’re totally right, my bad. I know you would only provide me with the finest wares. I had a moment of weakness, beg your forgiveness.”

Content with your playing along and the accompanying apology, Eddie pulls out a grinder from the box, rolling papers from a back pocket and gets to rolling. When he doesn’t immediately make a move to start a conversation, you decide to drown out the buzzing in your head yourself.

“How’s the Hellfire campaign going? Aren’t you having the party come up against a lich?” Eddie smirks and nods.

“Yeah, Vecna. They still have no idea though, they all still think he’s just a myth. I can’t wait to see their stupid faces when I tell ‘em he’s still alive when I tell them.”

“They’ll riot, I hope you know,” you laugh lightly, putting your chin in your hand on the table. You’d only sat in on one or two sessions, back when Eddie had been the youngest member of Hellfire. But if the theatrics and hysterics of those sessions were anything to go by, these guys got very emotionally attached to their games and characters.

“They can riot all they want, they’re gonna have to let the dice to the talking for them,” Eddie says, carefully rolling the ground bud into its paper. You open your mouth to say something, but stop yourself when you hear it.

The distant but unmistakable sound of a grandfather clock chiming.

“Ed,” you first say, apparently too quietly for him to hear. “Eddie. Hey, Munson,” you say, faster, tapping your hand on the table to catch his attention. Your eyes, meanwhile, are scanning the pathway you’d both come down for any movement. “Tell me you heard that.”

Eddie freezes and slowly brings his hands down to the table. When he doesn’t move or say anything, you turn back to him. His expression is... upsetting

“Dude no, don’t look at me like that,” you plead, leg bouncing under the table again.

“Depends what you heard,” he replies slowly, bringing the joint back up to his lips so he can seal it.

“I-I don’t know, like the chime of a grandfather clock? That thing they do every hour?”

Eddie shakes his head as he twists the end of the joint before putting it down on the table between you.

“I’m gonna be real with you, I don’t think this is gonna help you. You’re kind of starting to freak me out a bit, and that’s saying something.” Even the attempt at humour can’t really take the edge in his voice you refuse to acknowledge is a hint of fear.

“I’ll take my chances,” you mutter, reaching for the rolled joint with one hand and pulling a zippo lighter from your jacket pocket with the other. Thanks to Eddie’s rolling, it doesn’t take long to light up, and you can take your first actual drag almost right away. Your head already feels clearer by the time you take your second hit.

“Jesus slow down, you’re gonna suffocate,” Eddie cautions, reaching a hand out but not quite reaching you.

“If it knocks me out it knocks me out my guy,” you reply smoothly, blowing the smoke in his direction. You take a third, smaller hit before passing the joint over.

You can’t tell if it’s the weed that made it stop or if it stopped all on its own, but you’re relieved to find you can’t hear the stupid clock chiming anymore.

“...look,” you start, absently picking at the threads of a hole in your pants. “It’s not because I don’t trust you–”

“Hey, no, I get it,” Eddie says, cutting you off, passing you the joint back after a second hit. “No one wants to confide in the town freak, totally–”

It’s your turn to cut him off when you stand and reach over the table to slap him over the head.

“I told you to stop saying that shit, Munson!” You drop back down heavily onto the bench and take what’s maybe a bit too big of a hit from the joint before passing it back over. “I know I’m like, always the first person to say that if you think everyone else is the problem then you’re probably the problem but,” you take a second to cough lightly and clear your throat before continuing. “In this instance I think it’s perfectly justified to say that literally everyone’s an asshole to you for no damn reason.”

“It’s not for no reason,” Eddie replies lightly, and a bit too easily. “I run a cult, my dad’s in jail, I live in the bad part of town–”

“Yeah and none of that is your fault!” You frustratedly stomp at the ground under the table. “Come on! You don’t even actually run a cult. God forbid kids have fun doing shit, right? Jesus christ, don’t take that shit on for yourself!”

The joint burns between Eddie’s fingers and he just... sits there, staring at you like you’ve just confessed to murder.

“What. Why are you looking at me like that? You know I’m right!”

“Well, sure, I know that,” he replies, leaning back a little bit and taking another hit from the joint. “I’m just wondering what’s gotten into you that you’re this...” He gestures at you with both hands. “Whatever this is you are right now.”

“Whatever this is?“ you scoff, crossing your arms. ”Upset? Pissed off?“

“I was going for ‘slightly more unhinged than usual’ but that–yeah that works too.”

You twist your tongue against your teeth. You could probably talk... a little bit, right? You can probably spin it as just a weird run of the mill nightmare thing. Which just happens to involve people you happen to have seen around town when no one else did.

“It’s just...” you start, and when Eddie passes you the rest of the joint back, he leans his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands. “I’ve been having nightmares about people dying, man,” you whisper, taking the last hit from the joint before stubbing it out underneath the table.

“Like, people you know people? Or just random dream people?”

“People I know people,” you confirm, resting your head against the table gently, this time. “There’s–man, I really don’t know if I should be telling you this,” you groan, bringing your hands up over your head. “There’s like, your whole Hellfire club there dude. I saw Steve Harrington get like, half eaten alive once, that was fucking miserable.” You take a second to breathe. Thankfully, all Eddie does is fold his hands on the table and let his head rest on them.

“Are Harrington and that Henderson kid close at all?” The question is out of your mouth before you can think much about it. Eddie sits up straight and leave his palms face down on the table. When you look up, he’s got a brow raised at you.

“I guess? When I first picked him up, Henderson couldn’t shut up about him,” Eddie say, exhaling sharply like he’d found something funny. “Still doesn’t shut up about him actua... hey, are you good?”

No, you’re in fact very not good. There’s no way, right? There’s no way that what you saw was real, right? There’s no way there’s a weird blip in the spacetime continuum that let you see Dustin Henderson freaking out over a very bloodied and injured Steve Harrington?

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” You say weakly, turning around and away from the table to put your head between your legs.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie mutters in a panic, and you can hear him trip over himself trying to get around the table do you. “You need a ride home? I can drop you off at the corner or something, you really don’t look too good.”

You wave him off to shut him up for a second, a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to control your breathing. Thinking about this kind of shit on an empty stomach and with a severe sleep deficiency wasn’t the greatest idea.

“I’ll be fine,” you eventually say, though a bit too quietly and not very convincingly. You try again. “I’m good. I just need to sleep.”

“Come on,” Eddie says, waving at you to get up. “I’ll take you home.”

You agree, with burning eyes and lungs that feel too small. You let Eddie help you into his van and close the door behind you. He does you the courtesy of keeping the volume low on whatever radio station he’d had one, and even if it’s not exactly warm out, lets you keep the passenger window down.

“You can drop me in front of my place,” you say, once you’re a few streets away. “My brother plays dungeons and dragons too, so they’re pretty acutely aware it’s not a satanic, baby-sacrificing cult.”

“You sure?” He asks, glancing over at you and gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. Your attempt at humour clearly didn’t work. “I don’t want to–”

“Just shut up and take me home, damn.”

Eddie still stops three houses away. You notice that he doesn’t leave until you’ve unlocked the door and turned around to wave him off. You think you see him nod before he pulls a u-turn and drives off.

Blessedly, no one’s home yet; your parents are still both up in Canada for some business trip your father needed to do, and your brother likely skipped town to go see his girlfriend for the weekend. Which gives you free access to your dad’s beer stash, entirely obviously hidden in the mini fridge in the basement, behind the old couch your mom’s been promising to reupholster soon.

You still close and lock your bedroom door just in case, after making sure the back and front doors were both locked, chained and deadbolted.

You’re half asleep in bed, trying very hard not to think about the nightmares that have been showing up with undesirably increasing frequency, when you feel it happening. A weird kind of pull that makes you feel weightless for a second, makes your stomach feel like it just up in your throat.

When you open your eyes, everything is dark and thick vines are covering your bedroom window from the outside.

“Shit, no, no no no,” you mutter in a panic, jumping out of bed and running to the window. What you can see through the vines is exactly what you’ve come to expect from this place. Ash falling from the sky, ominous red lightning in the distance. And a damp, cloying cold that makes you feel like you’ll never feel warmth again.

Swearing under your breath, you run down the stairs, through the kitchen, down into the basement and in the far back of your dad’s workshop. Having turned eighteen over a month ago, you’re blessing your lucky stars your dad decided to give you the combination for the gun safe. Nervous fingers keep missing the right digits, but you manage to get the damn thing open after a few tries.

And there it is: the family’s prized Winchester model 23, with several boxes of ammo at the bottom of the safe. You’re clumsy when you loaded up and almost drop the entire open box of shells, but eventually you get the thing locked and loaded. You’re about to head upstairs with just that and the shotgun shells, but turn around and grab the handgun before bounding back up the stairs.

This isn’t entirely unusual by now; you’ve seen this place every time you’ve had nightmares. Being an active participant is new, though. You’ve never been able to move around or touch anything, always a passive observer of goings-on.

It doesn’t sit right with you.

You sit cross-legged in the corner of you room, wedged between a wall and the edge of your desk. You have a clear line of sight to your window–not that you think it matters much with how absolutely covered it is–and your bedroom door, which you’ve pushed your bookcase again. And you wait.

You’re counting your blessings with being able to check your watch for the time, having apparently fallen asleep with it. Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. You hear things outside, in the distance. Nothing close by. Somehow that puts you on edge even more. Check the time one more time: you’ve been holed up in your room for nearly fourty five minutes now with literally nothing happening.

You lean the shotgun against the wall next to you and get up to pace around your room. This isn’t normal. You screw your eyes shut as hard as you can and try to open them slowly, a trick that usually helps to wake you up. But it’s not good; you’re still in the twisted, decayed-looking version of your room.

Growling in frustration, you go back up to your window to see if you can spot anything out on the streets. But somehow, the vines have covered even more surface and you can barely make out the outside at all. You slam your fist against the window to–

Oh no. Did those vines just move?

Just as you wrap your hand about the Winchester, you feel something wrap around your ankle and pull. You’re winded as soon as you hit the floor, can feel your skull hit the hardwood. Whatever it is starts to drag you towards the door–and ultimately, you assume, down the stairs and out the door–you twist around to see what it is that has you.

And it’s a vine. A fucking vine.

You don’t really think too long or hard about it. Take a deep breath, bring the gun up, aim about two feet beyond the tip of your toes, and pull the trigger.

The gunfire makes your ears ring and feels like it blinds you for a second, but when you look down you can see you’ve successfully shot the vine off. What was around your ankle falls limp to the floor.

“Oh my fucking god, what the fucking hell,” you say to yourself, standing up and looking around. “Where are you? Show yourself!”

Stupid. God what a stupid thing to say.

You bring the shotgun back up and switch between aiming at the window and the door.

Strange, you hear, and it’s both like there’s a voice inside your head and like it’s resonating everywhere all at once. You don’t belong here.

“Fuck you, buddy!” you spit, spinning around wildly in your room. “I didn’t choose to be here!”

Then leave.

Text divider my natasharomanovf

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic #fix-it fic #dungeons and dragons #fuck the season finale we're retconning the fuck out of shit #mention of drugs #mention of alcohol #guns #vecna #no y/n #second person pov #hey if anyone wants to beta read for me hmu #ravenloft

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myersesque · 1 year

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ok, more coherent post for you (spoilers for ep1 of the show AND the entirety of the first game):

i LOVE how they're handling the realism in this show so far, especially in regards to joel. everything from giving him n tess a slightly more realistic job (there's no way in hell they'd sneak in and out of quarantine zones Constantly without getting caught, and weapon smuggling somehow strikes me - an inexperienced person who has never held a gun before - as less believable), to actually acknowledging that what happened in the prologue was traumatic (not just through his nightmares, but the flashback he experiences at the sight of the guard's flashlight and gun, the less-than-wonderful coping mechanisms e.g. substance abuse, his tendency to lash out when upset), to even just showing him as A Normal Person before he becomes the protagonist (not just because it's sarah's pov, but because we see him eating breakfast and talking about his job and making dumb inside jokes long before there's a single infected on screen). as a professional joel miller enthusiast, i really appreciated how much it seems like they're trying to flesh out his character (as wonderfully-written as he always was, video games can't have cutscenes upon cutscenes of exposition and character development lest they bore the player), and his relationships with other characters (tess being the most noticeable for me - their relationship felt more heartfelt and genuine to me than it ever did in the game, though perhaps that's a personal taste thing).

my favourite bit of casual dialogue that i feel rlly meant a lot to joel's character was sarah remarking that she fixed his watch because "you'd never do it for yourself" - because joel, as much as he nearly forgets it before meeting ellie, is not nearly as selfish as he sometimes seems. he'd never fix his watch on his own, because he'd rather use the money on sarah. he'd never let the fireflies keep ellie, because he'd rather let the world - including himself - rot than let them hurt her.

tl;dr, i absolutely love this interpretation of joel so far. i can see areas where some people (especially those who wanted an exact replica of the games) might dislike him, but i for one could not be happier rn

#also? rlly like pedro's joel voice #it's higher n raspier than troy's but it suits him and i still fully believe him as joel so who cares #og #fav #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo spoilers #spoilers #joel miller #also:#drugs tw #alcohol tw #guns tw

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sortofanobsession · 1 year

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Will o’ the Wisp - Ch. 7 (Umbrella Academy WIP) Diego x Reader slow burn

Author’s note: Another chapter. Events of Episode 1x06 The Day That Wasn't. Rough Translations are at the end. Enjoy.

So as it goes, Y/N = your name. Y/N/N = your nickname. Reader pronouns She/Her.

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

Primary Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Female!Reader (Slow Burn Season 1)

Series/TUA Masterlist

Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 8

Word count: 4k+

Content Warning: Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Drugs, Withdrawals, Mentions of Death, Knives, Arguing, Sibling Rivalry, Guilt, Cussing/Swearing, Canon Typical Neglect, Manipulation, Violence, Angst

Chapter 7: Nothing That Matters

“Oh, good,” Luther says as he sees Klaus. “You're up. We need to talk. You, me, and the others. So meet me in the living room. Like, now-ish.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a real rager,” Klaus replies. “But my schedule's already chock-full.”

“Yeah, no time for that,” Luther says. “The world's ending in three days.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N stares at him as Allison gives out the coffee she brought for everyone.

“Three days?” Allison repeats.

“That's what Five said,” Luther tells them.

“The old bastard did mention the apocalypse, come to think of it," Klaus says. “He just left out the part about how soon.”

The glow around Y/N shifts, intensifying before seeming to pull tighter around her. She rubs her arms. She thinks about everything she has talked to her brothers about in the past few days and consciously pulls the Wisp in to try and hide her feelings better than she has in the past. She and Five used to be close. It's not until she feels Diego next to her that she looks at him. “I thought it was drunk hyperbole,” she tells him.

“We all did,” Diego assures her.

“But can we trust him? I don't know if you've noticed, but Five's a little…” Allison asks, whistling and gesturing that he is cuckoo.

“Our little psycho,” Klaus chuckles.

“He was pretty convincing,” Luther notes. “If he wasn't trying to stop an apocalypse, those lunatics wouldn't be chasing him.”

“That's why they were after him?” Diego asks.

“Yeah.”

“What did Five even see?” Allison asks Luther.

Luther hesitates, “Uh... Apparently, we all fought together against whoever was responsible.”

“And he didn’t tell you, Y/N?” Allison asks.

“No, he told me that he had it handled, and he’d tell me if it didn’t work.”

“I guess it didn’t work,” Diego states.

“Okay.” Luther says awkwardly as he stands up from his seat, seemingly wanting to move on. “So, here's the plan.” Luther begins, “Uh, we go through Dad's research…”

“Wait, what?” Allison asks. “Hold on, hold on.”

“Maybe I should try and find those assassins. I can-” Y/N starts.

“We need a plan first,” Diego tells her.

“As I said, Dad’s research,” Luther tries to explain again.

“Wait a tick, wait a tick, wait a tick.” Klaus asks. “What actually happened the first time around?”

“Yeah." Diego agrees. "What are you not tellin' us? Come on, big boy, spit it out.”

Luther sighs and mumbles an answer. “We died.”

“What was that?” Allison asks him.

He coughs and clarifies. “I said, uh, we died.”

Y/N reaches over without thinking and grabs Diego’s hand. He grips her hand tight. It is too quiet as it seems to sink in.

Diego tosses a knife in the air and catches it like a nervous habit behind the bar. Y/N has her elbows on the bar in front of them and rubs at her temples. He watches her closely as she leans heavily against the surface.

"No, we need to figure this out."

"Is it just us?"

"It's everybody."

"In the house?"

"The whole planet?"

"No, outside the house."

"Everyone died."

"Wow," she breathes and startles slightly when she feels a hand on her back. She looks up to find a slightly concerned-looking Diego glancing from her to the entryway where Viktor and Leonard now stand. She follows his gaze and immediately strengthens up. Diego's hand stays where it is. She finds it oddly comforting. She isn't used to people showing up and her not noticing through the Wisp. Her brothers might be right, and she is pushing it too far. She leans into Diego without thinking. He doesn't seem to mind. He just shifts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her in tight against his side. On instinct, she pulls the Wisp in as much as she can to dim her glow and lets Diego sort of shield her from the stranger now in the room.

Viktor gives her an odd look at how she practically shrinks into Diego's side before shifting their gaze to Diego's stern look and then to the others.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"What's going on?" Viktor asks.

"It's a family matter."

"A family matter. So you couldn't bother to include me."

"V, we-" she tries but gives up as the others start. She just leans further into Diego.

"You're okay. I got you," he whispers to her, nearly against her temple, before he turns back to watch the rest of the group.

"No, it's not like that," Luther tries.

"We were-"

"Don't let me interrupt," Viktor tells them.

"Wait."

"I'll fill you in later when we're alone," Allison tells her.

"Please, please, don't bother,” Viktor says. “And I won't either."

"Viktor, that's not fair."

"Fair? There's nothing fair about being your brother,” Viktor looks at them all. “I have been left out of everything for as long as I can remember. And I used to think it was Dad's fault, but he's dead. So it turns out you're the assholes."

“Ouch,” Klaus says. They all feel it.

Y/N leans her forehead against Diego’s shoulder and wishes the ground would just swallow her whole. They all feel guilty. Diego doesn’t like that feeling, so he does what he does best, focuses on something else. Something he can do. Like running his hand along her arm to anchor her. To give her something else to focus on too.

“Viktor’s just angry,” Diego whispers. “You always tried, but Dad never let him in on what mattered.”

“Doesn’t matter, V still hates us,” she says, but it comes out mumbled on his shoulder.

"I'm gonna go find Viktor and explain," Allison says.

"No, wait, there isn't time."

At that, Y/N just closes her eyes and basically gives up holding her own weight. She knows Diego has her. The Wisp is still hidden away. And she takes a moment to just embrace the dark. One moment of weakness won't kill her. She misses the confused look from Klaus and the concerned one from Luther. "Get on with it," Diego mouths, holding her tight as best he can with his good arm.

"We need to figure out what causes the apocalypse," the discussion starts again.

"Now, there are loads of possibilities. Nuclear war, asteroids.” Everyone seems to be at least somewhat focused.

She just listens.

“But I'm thinking this is about the Moon."

"Right? Dad must have sent me up there for a reason,” Luther agrees. "And I was giving him daily updates on the conditions, I sent field samples."

"The first thing we need to do-is find his research."

"Hold on. Hold the phone," Klaus interrupts. "We all died fighting this thing the first time around. Remember?”

“Klaus, shockingly, has a point,” Diego says. “What gives us a win this time?"

"Five. Last time we didn't have him. We weren't all together. This time, we'll have the full force of the Umbrella Academy. That's what we need."

"So, where's Five now?"

"Nowhere I've found," she says as she finally opens her eyes and lets the Wisp form. She attempts to strengthen her resolve. They have too much to do. It’s selfish for her to put all her strength in Diego. He has his own fight to finish.She moves to stand on her own.

"Well, he had a plan to change the timeline," Luther informs. “He'll be back soon."

"I'm going after Hazel and Cha-Cha," Diego says as he pulls away from her now that she has it more together. She smiles sadly. She knew he’d say that.

"What, right now?" Luther asks.

"Hell, yeah. Three days. I'm losing light by the minute."

"Wait, Diego," Luther tries to stop him. "Look, I know you wanna avenge your friend, but we got a bigger problem here."

"She wasn't just some friend. If I'm gonna die, I need to know I killed those bastards first."

"It's not about Dad," Diego says.

"It's not about me."

While Diego and Luther argue, Klaus looks at Y/N

“You okay, Sunshine?” Klaus asks.

“Just a bit tired,” she admits. “How about you? You look a little green around the gills.”

Klaus chuckles. “No need to worry about me, Sunshine.”

“Wanna take a nap like the old days?” she asks.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” Klaus smirks. “But raincheck, there’s something I need to do.”

“Okay.” She huffs a laugh.

"The longer I wait, Hazel-” Diego continues to argue.

“You don't have to do this alone,” Luther tells him. "I know how important this is to you."

"Stop making it about you." Diego glares.

"I'm coming with you," she says since she couldn’t convince Klaus to rest. Maybe she could help keep Diego out of trouble.

"You're staying here," he tells her.

"Not happening," she shakes her head.

"Not up for debate," he insists. "You're exhausted, and you didn't even notice Viktor got here. Your guard is down because you need sleep. Fin de la discusión."

"Klaus? Klaus?” Luther looks at Klaus as he starts to leave. “Klaus!"

Klaus is caught. "Yeah! Sorry."

"So, what?” Luther affronts. “You're giving up on the world, too?"

"Yeah, pretty much.” Klaus nods. “Yeah. Mm-hmm."

"So that's it. You're cool with us all dying in three days? I can't believe it."

"It's just us,” Luther looks at Allison, but Allison already has her mind made up. He can tell she does. “Oh, please, not you, too."

"I have to book a flight back to LA. If this happens I have to be with my daughter, custody be damned. And you said it yourself we need the full force of the Academy to even stand a chance.

I'm sorry, Luther."

Luther looks over at Y/N.

“I’m here, Luther. I’ll help, but Diego’s right. I’m no use to anyone if V and her friend could get the drop on the Wisp. Anyone can. Just give me a couple of hours to rest up, you find that research, and I’ll help you go through it. Or I can search once I’ve gotten some sleep.”

“Fine,” Luther relents.

“It’s a few hours, and then I can get back to going at lightspeed. I’ll be able to literally speed this process up. So, wake me up when Five gets here, or you find anything. Okay, big brother?” She gives his forearm a squeeze to attempt to reassure him.

“Yeah, okay, I will.” He agrees. He notices Allison raising an eyebrow as she gathers her things.

“We get gruff, and she gets off easy?” Allison smirks, but there is a hint of hurt to it. “Since when is she your ‘little sister’? Or is it because you’re Number One and she’s Number Eight?”

Luther is confused for a second by the strange look. “She says it because I’m literally huge now. She thinks it’s funny, and it’s not mean, not the way she means it. It…solidarity? I don’t know. It’s- she wanted me to know I’m not the only that can’t hide who they are. She can’t just turn the glow off. She means well. But that’s not important. She’s right. She needs sleep. She’s the only other person that has been trying to get everyone on the same team. And honestly, she keeps Diego in line better than anyone else. She’s trying to help, probably too much. And that’s more than anyone else is willing to do. That and her plan actually works and could benefit all of us. I don’t see anyone else trying. Or staying.”

“Rude,” Allison says. “But point taken.”

Y/N goes to get something to eat and is absolutely shocked to see Grace.

“Mom?” she smiles.

“Y/N, are you alright? You look tired.”

“I am, but you’re back. That’s great. Diego will be so happy.”

Grace smiles. “How can I help you?”

“It’s fine I was just going to get a snack and take a nap.”

“Sit, I will make you something to eat,” Grace tells her.

“That’s not necessary, Mom, I can-”

“If you truly are tired, then I must insist,” Grace states. “It’s for your safety. Can’t risk our little ray of sunshine.”

She knows better than to argue with Grace. So she sits at the table and waits. Grace starts to make her something to eat. She smiles when Grace sets a bowl of fresh oatmeal in front of her.

“Something hearty that hopefully won't upset your stomach while you rest,” Grace tells her.

“You always know just what we need,” she smiles up at Grace. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime, Y/N,” Grace returns her smile easily. “I am happy to help.” She listens to Grace tidy up the kitchen as she eats.

“I hate this room,” Diego says.

“Oh, it got me high enough. I picked it clean of anything of value after Daddy kicked the bucket.

That's it, tighter and higher. Ooh. Ouf! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Fine.”

“Ooh! Aah! - Aah!”

“If I see a boner, I'm out,” Diego tells him. “End of the world and you wanna get sober all of a sudden. Don't get me wrong, man. Good by you. But I'd think you'd wanna pop every pill on the planet.”

“Oh, the thought did cross my mind, believe me,” Klaus admits, “but there's something I need to do, and the whole pesky thing doesn't seem to work unless I'm sober.”

“Is this is about conjuring the one you lost? What was her name?”

“His name was Dave,” Klaus says. “We soldiered together in the A Shau Valley in the Mountain of the Crouching Beast.”

“Well, Dave must have been a very special person to put up with your weird-ass shit.”

“Yeah,” Klaus agrees. “Yeah, he was He was kind, and strong, and vulnerable, and beautiful.

Beautiful. And I was foolish enough to follow him all the way to the front line.”

“You fought in the shit?” Diego is a bit shocked.

“Oh yeah, baby.”

“How'd they let you do that?”

“Let me? War couldn't take enough bodies. Please. Including his.”

“Hey, look at us,” Klaus says. “Loggin' in some quality bro time before the end of the world.”

“Yeah, might as well.” Diego admits. “Everyone I like is already dead.”

“Ah, yes. The lady cop.”

“Yeah.”

“Mom, too. I let them both down. So here I am. Alone with you.” Diego pats Klaus’ shoulder.

“You still have Sunshine. Doesn’t Y/N count?” Diego doesn’t answer. He just turns to leave.

“Ah, shit!” Klaus curses.

“What?” turns around to ask.

“I need to pee.”

Y/N changes course on her way to her room when she hears voices in what is usually just a quiet storage area of the house.

“You know, no, I,” She hears Klaus say. “I think I think this was Whoa. Wait.” She hears when she is closer to the door. “I think this was a bad idea.”

“What is-” she asks herself but stops.

“I just I should have had just one last hit to ease me into it. That's all I need.”

She sighs.

“No, no, no.”

“I'll be right back,” Klaus says.

“I don't think so,” she hears Diego say.

“That's not how it works, Diego.”

“Nope,” Diego's tone confident. “Sit down.”

“Diego, listen,” she hears Klaus beg. “Just listen.”

“Sit.”

“Just listen.”

She moves closers when she hears Klaus coughing and groaning.

“Sit your ass down. Sit down. Sit down.”

“Nope.”

“Stop it!”

“Nope!”

“Get off!”

“Get…Get off! Get off!”

She couldn’t stand it anymore, she rushes in. “What the fuck?!” She stares in shock at the scene before her. Diego is tying Klaus to a chair.

“Sunshine!” Klaus shouts. But Diego doesn’t stop. “Damn it, Diego! - Damn it! Stop it!” Klaus puts up a fight. She goes to stop him.

“STAY PUT!” Diego shouts at Klaus. She slaps Diego across the face the moment he turns to her so he can explain. Both Diego and Klaus freeze, stunned by what just happened.

“EXPLAIN NOW!” she demands.

“He asked me to!” Diego shouts as Klaus goes to get up. Diego moves to stop him.

“STOP!” She shouts. “Just…stop.”

“Tell her,” Diego demands of Klaus.

“Sunshine, I-” Klaus starts. He eyes the angry red tint of the Wisp.

“The truth,” Diego instructs. When Klaus doesn’t say anything, she looks at Diego.

“He asked me to tie him up so he could sober up and would be able to summon the guy he lost.”

“And he changed his mind?” she asks.

“I’m right here,” Klaus grumbles.

“He’s an addict, of course he’s going to fight it, he-”

She held her hand up to stop him. “Okay, just…” she weighs her options. None of them seem anything short of painful or distressing. “And you both agree this is the only way?”

“He said it was," Diego explains. "And he agreed the first time I tied him up. Then he had to pee.” She sighs and rubs at her temples. If Klaus had admitted that this is how it needs to be. It might be true. She knows how he is with these things. She gets why he asked Diego. He knew she wouldn't have done it. She caves too easily when Klaus begs. She just hates to see her siblings suffer.

“Okay,” she relents and waves at Diego. When it’s clear she might actually let Diego finish, Klaus starts begging again.

"Seriously?" Klaus stares at her. "Come on, Sunshine, please."

"If you told him this was the only way," she says. Diego takes it as the go-ahead to keep tying Klaus up.

"Don't you love me?" Klaus tries, his eyes on her.

"Of course, but if I-" she starts, but Diego isn't having it.

"Don't put this on her," Diego scolds. "You asked for this. She offered you a nap and probably cuddles like when you were kids. You said no. You said it has to be this. We already went over this."

“Listen, listen. Listen to me. Listen to me. I can conjure her for you,” Klaus tells him. His sister gapes in shock. “Patch! I can-”

“Don't use her name like that, okay?” Diego half snaps. She looks between them, unsure if she should step in and just end this entire situation.

“Sunshine, please,” Klaus looks up at her.

“Diego, maybe-” she starts.

“We all know he can't conjure shit until clean,” Diego says to her before turning back to Klaus. “I don't wanna see her until I can tell her that I buried the bastards that killed her.”

“Please. Please, Y/N, Diego. Please. Please.” Every alarm is going off in her head to help him.

“Trust me, Luz, this is probably the safest way to do this. He can't hurt himself this way,” Diego tries to assure her before again turning to Klaus and holding up a bucket. “This is for next time. Puke, pee, whatever you need. Multipurpose. See?”

“Diego…” she starts, but he stands up and grabs her wrist, and tugs her towards the door.

“He’ll thank us later.”

“Y/N! Diego! Guys, please come back! Diego! You prick!”

Diego doesn’t let her go until they can’t hear Klaus shouting anymore.

"Luz," he starts as he sees her looking back the way they came. "You have to trust me. Trust him."

"Maybe I should use Wisp to-" she starts to walk back, but he cuts her off.

"To what? Make sure he stays in the chair while he begs and prods at your psyche. He will say anything in that state. You heard him. He already questioned if you loved him. And we all know you do. Because you have always looked after him. He will tear you down, and you'll end up hurting. And he'll sober up and then feel bad, I would hope. He'll apologize, and you will forgive him, but ultimately, you'll both be more broken and worse off than you started. Or you cave, he gets high, he still ends up hurting you, and none of us can do anything. So I'm going to stop you now because I don't want any of that. Not for you. Not for him. This is what he wants. To see Dave, to be able to use his powers for something other than the shit dad made him do. I know you are used to saving him, but if we survive all this, he needs to be able to do this all on his own." She looks back down the hall.

"But he-"

"Hey," he grabs her chin gently with his good hand and turns her to look at him. "This sucks for you after what happened. You thought you lost him. I know, but it'll be good for you too. You won't have to worry as much if he is sober and can handle things better."

"Okay," she agrees.

"Good," Diego pulls her into a one-armed hug.

"But are you okay?" She asks when they pull apart.

"What?" He looks at her. "He didn't make it easy to do one-handed but-"

"He brought up Patch, and earlier, you said-"

"I just want to find the assholes that killed her-"

"And shot both of us," she adds.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten," he grumbles. "And we don't have much time to do it."

"Want me to look for them?"

"Not yet, but if it comes to it, I'll let you know."

"Okay."

He makes sure she actually goes to her room before he heads downstairs to leave. He is shocked when he runs into Grace.

"How are you walking around?" Diego asks Grace.

"One foot in front of the other," she replies easily. "Why? How do you do it?"

"Mom, I - What's the last thing you remember?"

"Oh, let's see," she begins. "March 21st. Sunset was 7:33 p.m. Moon was waxing crescent. Dinner was Cornish hen, rice, carrots."

"Mom, that happened over a week ago," Diego tells her. "Do you remember anything else?"

"No. Not until I made breakfast earlier for Y/N," she admits before adding. “I suppose that's odd.”

“You made breakfast for Y/N?” He asks. His sister hadn’t mentioned it. Then again, she had been focused on Klaus when she found them. He can’t really blame her for not mentioning it. But it was odd.

"She looked so tired, but she was headed off to her room to rest when she finished. Is she not there now? I should check-”

“No, Mom, she’s there. I just left her there.”

“That’s good. She needs her rest,” Grace says before shifting the topic. “I wonder what the weather is like today. It would be nice to go to the park."

"Dad, never let you off the grounds," Diego tells her. Grace grips his good hand.

"Your father isn't here anymore," she says, hinting she knows more, but Diego doesn't notice, or if he does, he doesn't care.

"You can do whatever you want, Mom," he states.

“Unless you’d rather wait for your sister?” Grace offers.

“No, no…she needs her rest,” he nods. “Let’s go.”

He takes her for a walk in the park, where no one can hear them.

"Dad was wrong for keeping you locked up all those years. I should have said something. We all should have."

"There's something else that needs to be said, Diego. Pogo and I, we've been lying. Lying to all of you."

*Five resets everything, and it’s back to earlier in the day, 8:15 a.m.*

Diego keeps Y/N tucked into his side and ignores the odd looks he gets from their siblings. He really doesn't care.

"We all died fighting this thing the first time around." He feels her tense against him as Klaus reminds them. "Remember?"

"Klaus, shockingly, has a point," Diego says. "What gives us a win this time?" He moves to block her from the violent swirling portal and pulls a knife to face any threat that comes through. Five drops out of the portal and onto the bar with a briefcase. Diego feels her grip tighten on his shirt.

"Je-Jesus!" Allison startles.

"You guys, am I still high," Klaus asks. "Or do you see him, too?"

"Five?" Y/N asks as she moves out from behind Diego. "What happened?"

"Five, where have you been?"

"Are you all right?"

"Who did this?

Five steals Allison’s coffee after getting down off the bar.

"Irrelevant." Five says. "So, the apocalypse is in three days. The only chance we have to save our world is, well, us."

"The Umbrella Academy," Luther adds.

"Yeah, but with me,” Five states. “Obviously. So if y'all don't get your sideshow acts together and get over yourselves, we're screwed."

"Who cares if Dad messed us up? Are we gonna let that define us? No." Klaus shakes his head, seemly agreeing with what Five has said. Five continues. “And to give us a fighting chance to see next week, I've come back with a lead."

"I know who's responsible for the apocalypse,” he tells all of you. “This is who we have to stop."

"Harold Jenkins?” Allison reads.

“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?" Diego asks.

Translations:

"Fin de la discusión." End of discussion.

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thedeviousdevilxx · 2 years

Text

Here’s my reading guide for all things Guns n Roses;

Steven, Duff, and Slash’s autobiographies. (Matt Sorum’s too if you wanna lol)

Mick Wall’s Last of the Giant’s bio

Stephen Davis’ Watch You Bleed bio

Marc Canter’s Reckless Road (amazing photos!)

not completely necessary but interesting read’s

Vicky Hamilton’s autobio, Appetite for Dysfunction

Mick Wall’s Unofficial Axl Rose bio (it does contain much of what LofG has)

#Guns n Roses #what's fascinating is reading the three autobios and seeing the variation of accounts to certain events #like these guys were high or drunk so much how reliable is their memory when memory at the best of times is still very unreliable #Mick Wall is a music journalist who covered them from the 80s onwards dunno about Davis but his book was still good #but I am someone who supports reading as many accounts as possible for a fuller picture #also I should warn they do cover heavy topics like SA/abuse/drug abuse/mental-health problems/death by overdose #I was very disturbed by a lot of things that happened to Steven as a youth #like so many adults failed him as a child/teen holy fuck

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bassboostedfeelings · 3 months

Text

We've been dancin' with Mr. Brownstone He's been knockin', he won't leave me alone No, no, no, oh, he won't leave me alone

I used to do a little but a little wouldn't do it

So the little got more and more

I just keep tryin' to get a little better Said, a little better than before

I used to do a little but a little wouldn't do it

So the little got more and more

I just keep tryin' to get a little better Said, a little better than befor

#tw depressing stuff #love #h #tw drugs #allein #drugs tw #flowers #relatable quotes #poetic prose #poetry #guns n roses #brown #brownstone #Spotify

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ascendthisday · 11 months

Text

That Time

Pairing: Duff McKagan/Steven Adler

Word Count: 4,600~

Info: No Smut, Fluff, Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Drug Use, Overdosing, Songfic, Teeth, Smoking, Blood, Nosebleed, Kissing, Almost death

Summary: “Duff! Look at this!” Steven squealed, his blond mop of hair shaking with his exaggerated nodding as he pointed at the pavement with excitement. He had run a few yards ahead of the other man, so Duff had to jog to catch up with him. Duff’s obnoxiously loud chained belt jingled against his leather pants every thickly soled step he made. “Huh,” He hummed as he stared down at the concrete, touching hips with the drummer, “that’s weird.”

Authors Note: been a busy busy bee lately, sorry for not posting! getting back into the general glide of things though, so expect more in the next few weeks!! this is old, but good nonetheless

Hey, remember that time when I found a human tooth

Down on Delancey?

“Duff! Look at this!” Steven squealed, his blond mop of hair shaking with his exaggerated nodding as he pointed at the pavement with excitement. He had run a few yards ahead of the other man, so Duff had to jog to catch up with him. Duff’s obnoxiously loud chained belt jingled against his leather pants every thickly soled step he made. “Huh,” He hummed as he stared down at the concrete, touching hips with the drummer, “that’s weird.” On the ground sat two yellowed human teeth. They were wedged in the crack between the sidewalk's concrete panels, surrounded by weeds and grass that had managed to shimmy their way into the crevice. It was almost as if they had been pulled directly from the root with their long prong-esque legs still attached. Steven folded himself in half, his leather jacket sliding up his shoulders and his wild mess of hair curtaining around his face, and swept the teeth into his hands.

“Ew, man! Gross!” Duff groaned as Steven tucked the teeth into the back pocket of his jeans. “Hey, you never know when you might need some teeth. Maybe they’ll be my good luck charm- or something like that.” He giggled as he stared at himself in the reflection of the bassist's sunglasses. “Maybe, or they’ll give you AIDs.” The taller man retorted. Steven frowned, pulling the usual grin he sported off of his mouth immediately. Duff knew how he felt about those jokes; his history, why would he say that? The tooth discussion didn’t linger on much longer, though. Instead, they walked back to their home, the ‘hell house’ in all of its glory, clouded by an awkward aura of- well- something indescribable.

Hey, remember that time when we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth?

That aura tugged down on their shoulders until they wandered into Steven’s rather unclean bedroom. It wasn’t disgusting- more so an organized mess. Things were piled up in thick hills along the floor, but had you asked Steven to bring you even the tiniest pin, he could find it in seconds. He was just special in that way. “I’m sorry,” Duff mumbled as he wrapped himself around the smaller man. His warm body heat seeped through his own t-shirt and Steven's layers of leather and cotton. “‘s okay,” Steven murmured back as he took a handful of steps toward his mattress, twirled himself- and Duff around, and fell backward on top of the lanky man. “Oh!” Duff huffed as the wind was knocked out of him. He sputtered out stringy waves of blond and lightly shoved Steven off of him. The drummed grinned and rolled himself onto his side, propping his head up onto his hand.

“I’m bored. Let’s play a game!” Steven whined and playfully batted his eyelashes at the man. “Whaddya thinkin’ of?” The bassist responded as he pulled off his sunglasses and placed them atop his head. “Kiss me. Kiss me anywhere except my lips.” He grinned. Duff gave him a little smirk, pushed Steven over, threw his lanky legs over his waist, and began to assault him with kisses while straddling him. He kissed along his shoulders. Then, pulled up his shirt to pepper soft pecks against his fishnet-covered ribs. Next, his navel. As he slid lower and lower down the drummer's body, his kisses trailed onto his jeans and down his thighs. Floaty giggles echoed around the room as Steven relished the feeling of Duff’s chapped lips against his ankles. “Don’t- Don’t kiss my toes!” Steven yelped between flurried hiccups as Duff got closer and closer to the skin that was concealed in his dirty Converse.

Hey, remember that time when my favorite colors was pink and green?

Duff obeyed and kissed his way back up Steven's body, trailing directly on top of the previous kisses he had left just mere moments ago. Unlike his previous endeavors, Duff kissed past his shoulders and danced his way down his arms, one at a time. He placed sweet little pecks to the respective heart and drumstick on each shoulder when the time came. Steven let out soft little puffs of air as his heart dramatically thumped against his ribcage. Sure, they were intimate in a lot of ways, but something about this was different. It was almost romantic. Duff trailed through his downy arm hair and to his thickly decorated wrists. “Pink,” Duff whispered, holding one of his thin wrists in his palm, “and green.” He pulled both wrists together and held the colors side by side. “Our favorite!” Steven cheekily smiled at the bassist.

Duff blushed, remembering that the thin twine bracelets had originally been a matching set shared between the two of them, but the thread was too itchy for Duff, so Steven settled on wearing both of them. The jewelry was originally bought by Slash, a gift that he had justified with a snarky remark along the lines of 'If you guys wanna act like a couple so much, you should go ahead and be part of a pair,’ which was backhanded yet sweet. A lot of things Slash said were like that, twisted in some way or another. Duff didn’t even really like green that much, but he knew Steven loved pink, so he compromised. Since then, Steven had been convinced that green was his favorite color ever. He never complained. The bassist grinned back at him as he placed a final kiss on Steven's fingertip. Then, he pulled away and sat upright, just for a moment. As soon as he was fully up, he was back down with his lips centimeters away from Stevens. The drummer squeaked and blinked his eyes. Hard.

Hey, remember that month when I only ate boxes of tangerines?

So cheap and juicy!

Tangerines.

“Do you think I’ve earned a kiss on the mouth yet?” Duff hummed as his breath ghosted against Steven's lips. “Your breath tastes like oranges- no, tangerines! Are you doing that thing where that's all you eat again?” Steven let out a nervous chortle as he jokingly licked at the air. Duff dramatically threw his head back and groaned. “That was one time, man!” He hissed as his sunglasses slid off of his head. “Damn it.” The older man groaned and awkwardly grasped around the area behind him. Unfortunately for both of them, the area behind Duff happened to be Steven's waistband. “My dick!” he yelped, shooting forward at the sudden pain that raced through his torso. Duff didn’t have time to react to his sudden screech Steven lurched forward and smacked his head straight into his nose.

“Fuck!” Duff exclaimed and slid back while desperately holding his nose. Big tears bubbled over his waterline immediately. “Oh- baby, shit. I'm sorry. Let me see.” Steven rambled as he sat up and pulled away his worn hands. Duff nervously combed his fingers through his blond hair, smearing red through his gold and black mane. “Is it bad?” He whimpered. “No, it’s um, it’s fine. You’ll probably just have a little bump or something.” Steven desperately stumbled over his words. He knew Duff’s nose would most definitely leave with more than ‘just a little bump,’ but that wouldn’t make anything better. His hands shakily wiped away the blood from his upper lip. “It’s fine,” Steven reassured him and wiped a little bit of crimson away and onto Duff’s shirt. His tears puddled into dark spots on his already black shirt. It didn’t even hurt that bad! He wasn’t sure why he was crying. The bassist nervously wiped his clammy hands onto his leather slacks, leaving a trail of wet condensation on his thighs.

Hey, remember that time when I would only read Shakespeare?

“It’s not bad, I swear. It’s kind of silly!” He awkwardly chuckled and held Duff’s head in his palms. “Silly? Kind of like your Shakespearean phase?” Duff grinned through his soft tears and bloody nose, a little bit of both haphazardly dripping into his open-mouthed grin. Steven nodded and pressed their lips together. His calloused fingers swept away his blubbery tears before loosely intertangling his fingers to the roots of his black-streaked blond hair. Duff let out little puffy moans into his mouth, occasionally shaking the both of them with little hiccuped sobs. Copper, iron, and whatever other metallic tastiest were out there flooded Steven's mouth. It was gross, but so were they! Their tongues lightly teased against either one, not fighting for dominance but simply prodding against each other. Steven pulled away with a sweet slightly rust-colored smile.

“Exactly. Just like when I would only read Shakespeare.” Duff smiled back and let out a shaky sigh. The bassists’ palms found themself lightly rested upon his chest, running through his coarse chest hair through his fishnet top. The drummer chuckled at the contact, shivering at his warm hands against his cold skin. His slightly dirty fingernails drew deep swirls along his skin. Steven sighed and pulled off his leather jacket, throwing it off into the mess that was his room. It smacked against the carpet with a thick thump. They sat there, staring into each other's eyes. “I think all the blood loss is making me stupid,” Duff murmured, “stupider.” He pushed his head into the crook of Steven's neck. “Hey! If anyone here is the stupid one, it’s me!” Steven chuckled and placed a kiss on the side of Duff’s mouth, lightly pulling his head away from his neck with a fistful of hair. The crusted blood on his upper lip awkwardly began to dry and crack as Duff became more talkative, but he still looked gorgeous. He never looked bad, not to Steven at least.

Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Parliaments?

“I need a smoke.” Duff sighed. “Oh! Oh- I’ve got you, man.” The drummer grinned, shoving the lanky man off of him. He scrambled toward the headboard of his bed- or where it would be, had he had one. Steven shuffled through the gunk shoved between the wall and his mattress before triumphantly pulling out three different cigarette boxes and a baggie. “Take your pick.” Steven placed his assorted white boxes- and bag into Duff’s lap. He hummed back and stared at the random smokes. “How did you end up with such a variety?” He snorted, picking up the Parliament lights first. The light blue stared back at him as he knocked back the top of the box. “Oh- every time I hook up with a chick at her place when she goes to piss, I hunt for cigarettes and whatever else I can find. Normally, they don’t say nothing!” Duff fished his lighter out of the pocket of his slacks and plucked out one of the white tubes. Tucking it safely between his teeth, Duff flicked his lighter one, twice and successfully inhaled a lungful of smoke.

Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Marlboros?

Sour grey fled from Duff’s lips as he exhaled. Steven leaned over and pulled out the red-dipped Marlboro box. “Lemme see your light.” He grunted, putting out a flat palm toward Duff and grabbing at the air. Duff chuckled and dropped the piece of purple translucent plastic into his hand, exhaling little puffs of smoke. “So, what's in the bag?” Duff questioned, holding the opaque plastic up and giving it a little shake. “Huh. I dunno!” Steven shrugged and lit the cigarette held haphazardly between his lips. The orangeish filter peeked out from his mouth. “How the hell do you not know? Can I look?” The older man spewed questions at him, already tugging off the rubber band that kept the baggie closed.

His sudden wonder at the drummer's baggie of secrets made him want to get up and bombard the bassist with every ounce of love he had, but for some reason, he wanted to come off as cool. He didn’t know why. Duff had seen him at his absolutely dorkiest moments. Steven just nodded, pulling the cigarette from his lips to puff smoke at Duff. “C’mon, it’s a surprise! Don’t play bored, you wanna know what's in it just as bad as I do.” He giggled and waved the accumulating cloud of smoke away from his face. Stevens' cooled facade broke at the bassist's ever-so-sweet chuckle, making him also burst into ever-so-familiar giggles.

Hey, remember that time when I was broke?

I didn't care; I just bummed from my friends

Bum bum bum bum bum

Duff finally got the stubborn baggie open and was instantly excited by what he saw. A loose mixture of random cigarettes and joints freely blended among each other. “Oh! You know what, that’s where I put all of my random shit. Most of it is like- hand rolled and homegrown and all of that organic shit.” Steven explained as he snatched the bag from his hands and pulled out a rather pathetic looking joint. “Some of our peers cannot roll for shit! Not saying who but his name may or may not rhyme with uh- Paxil Hose.” The drummer giggled and placed one of the tan, thinly rolled joints in Duff’s palm. “Oh, damn. That is plain sad, man.” He mumbled as he examined it between two fingers. Haphazardly, he ashed his cigarette on Steven's mattress, to which he groaned but remained wordless, and placed the joint between his now empty lips. The paper was ever so slightly unraveling on the side, so Duff licked out a small line against the rolling paper. Steven grinned at the thin smell of weed that hazed around the room as Duff brought his lighter to the twisted tip of the joint.

Duff inhaled a thick gasp of smoke and held it in. One, two, three. Then, he exhaled a small handful of coughs. “Shit. This shit is… Jesus! Nasty.” He sputtered and placed the blunt between Steven's v-shaped fingers. The drummer pulled the cigarette from between his lips and carefully slotted it between Duff’s lips. He gently and carefully enclosed them around it. The familiar, safe tobacco clouded his mouth as he inhaled. Steven took a thick mouthful of smoke from the joint. Duff was right, it was like- putrid. God, what the hell kind of dank did Axl have in his possession? “Fuck! Ew.” He coughed and groaned while ruffling his hands through his wiry mane. The slowly burning joint inches just a centimeter too close to his hair and burnt away a few hairs before Duff noticed. “Steven- Steven!” Duff yelped, swatting at his hair. “You’re gonna fuckin’ catch yourself on fire, man.” He chuckled, wiping away at the singed hair near his temple.

Hey, remember that time when you OD'ed?

“Fuck. Is it cold in here, or is that just me? It’s like- I dunno- I can’t breathe. Somethin’ on my chest.” Duff slurred, flexing his quickly numbing fingers. “You okay?” Steven questioned, spitting it out. A thin sheen of sweat licked across Duff’s clammy skin. He felt as if his brain was leaking from his ears. “Duff?” Steven questioned and grabbed his face with one hand. “Dude- speak to me here. You’re freaking me out.” A big nervous smile crept up upon his lips as he gripped Duff’s shoulder. Duff didn’t respond. Instead, his head just lolled off to the side. When the fuck had he passed out? “Duff!” He hissed. “Duff, get up. This isn’t fucking funny.” He smacked the side of his feverish cheek, desperately waiting for his eyes to flutter open. But, they didn’t. He was still breathing small shallow breaths. His heart was still thumping under Steven’s palm, which had snaked down to his left breast to feel his heartbeat because, well, Steven didn’t know where the hell a pulse point was!

“Axl! Slash! One of you get the fuck in here! Get the damn phone!” Steven screeched, his brain finally catching up on the fact that Duff had overdosed. It was weird because Steven wasn’t overdosing. Had he not taken the exact same shit? He felt fine, barely even high. So what the hell had happened? He truly didn’t know. Finally, Axl skittered down the hallway, dressed only in a big graphic shirt, his red boxers, and tube socks with their shared janky Motorola DynaTAC in hand. “What? What? The hell is happening?” He groaned, sleep-laced voice croaking mid-sentence. His fists rubbed at his eyes for a moment. “Oh. Shit.” He cursed, taking in Duff’s slightly blue drool-coated lips. It’s almost as if he was snapped away. Axl feverishly punched in ‘9-1-1’ into the phone as he muttered under his breath.

This freaked Steven the fuck out, more so than he already was. Big fat tears rolled down his rosy cheeks as he held the bassist to his chest. “If you die, I’ll kill myself just to kill you again.” He hiccuped into his blond hair while Axl grumbled out their address to the operator on the other end of the phone. “Hey, Stevie, roll him on his side, will ya? Thanks.” Axl barked as he shoved himself into a pair of jeans, the phone still propped up to his ear with his shoulder. “No- no not you, my roommate. Why would I tell you that?” He groaned at the phone, his voice becoming quieter and quieter as he receded into the other end of the house in search of his sneakers. Steven sat there, silent. Simply waiting. Luckily for him and Duff, when the men plucked out their home from the many selections they were given they chose the one closest to the local emergency room. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared sometimes.

Hey, remember that other time when you OD'ed for the second time?

The door was opened and Duff was gone before Steven could think about it too much. He saw the paramedics. He knows they flashed a light in his eyes and murmured something about ‘fentanyl' while ushering him onto a stretcher. He knows that he told them too much about Duff- like that he had seven siblings and that his favorite color was green while frantically showing these strangers his bracelets. Axl had come mid-rant and told Steven to go put on his shoes- despite him already having them on so that he could actually give them Duff’s information. During this, Steven ran circles around the house, desperately looking for something- anything to do. Then, it clicked. Paper. He licked the paper. Steven wasn’t sure he had ever run so fast. “Axl- he- the paper! Duff licked it.” He blubbered, grabbing the ginger man by the shoulders. Axl grunted and placed his hands on Steven’s shoulders, mimicking his pose. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Slow down, calm yourself and tell me in the car.” The vocalist spoke, rubbing Steven's shoulders. This was probably the nicest he had ever been to Steven.

The drummer scrambled to get in Axl’s janky Chevrolet Cavalier. The two of them rushed to the car. Though Steven was quicker in his movements, Axl moved with just as much urgency. Axl didn’t bother to get buckled. It was a short ride and hell, they were already going to the hospital anyways! With the speed he rushed to get buckled, Stevens' fishnet shirt got buckled in with him, the belt interlacing between the wide diamonds of thread. He ripped the shirt out of it, leaving a wide hole next to his ribs. The car was technically new, yes, but the thing was a fourth of the original price because half of the parts had already been stripped for cash. So, it barely sputtered to life. They weren’t quite sure how it was still running. Axl drummed his palms against the wheel as he backed out of their driveway.

“Okay. Spill.” He sighed out, pushing softly on the gas. The car couldn’t go a mile over 30, or it’d die on them. “So- um, y’know that one joint you gave me a few weeks ago?” Steven nervously wrung his hands. “Excuse me? The one that went fucking missing? You asshole! You told me you didn’t touch that shit when it went missing!” Axl screeched. “Okay failure on my behalf to mention that. Oops. Anyways- um do you know where the weed- or the paper came from?” He sheepishly continued, staring at Axl’s clenched jaw. “I dunno- some chick. Sophia or something.” He groaned, sensing that he knew exactly where this was going. “Okay well, Sophia was out to get you or something because it was starting to unravel in his hand n’ then he licked it and- I think he felt fine when he took a hit, and then he was all hauled ass up!” Steven rambled as the car screeched to a halt. The parking job was shit, neither of them had even really realized they had gotten to the hospital yet. “Shit. Shit. Okay- fuck! We’re here.” Axl hissed as he backed out of the car, Steven shortly following suit.

Well, in the waiting room while waiting for news of you

I hallucinated I could read your mind

They didn’t talk during the walk inside, nor did they talk while Axl explained their situation to the sweet old receptionist. Thick honey-like tension dripped from both of them. Not only was Duff quite literally in the hospital, but Steven also had sticky fingers! In his defense, he didn’t mean to steal it. Sometimes, you’re just a little absent-minded. It happens to like- everyone. No Biggie. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Axl finally spoke with a heavy sigh. “I dunno,” Steven replied as he picked through the handful of magazines on a side table. Truth be told, he could care less about whatever celebrity drama was happening right now, but what else could he do? They were quite literally sitting ducks. The receptionist had told Axl that she’d call out his name as soon as she knew Duff was conscious and visitable, but for now, they should just wait. For a while, sitting down was fine.

Then, this dull poking sensation in Steven's buttocks got unbearable, so he stood up and fished whatever it was out of his back pocket. “My teeth!” He grinned, holding the yellow enamel in his palm. “What the fuck!” Axl yelped as he stared down at the two teeth that sat in Steven’s palm. “Me n’ Duff found ‘em earlier. I think they’re lucky.” He smiled, giving them a small shake. In reality, if they were anything, they’d be unlucky. How else could he explain that his best friend overdosed mere hours after they discovered them? It’s fine. Axl didn’t need to know that! “You’re fucking gross.” He grumbled, throwing himself down onto one of the hard plastic waiting room chairs. It was Steven’s turn to get up and pace back and forth. He rubbed the teeth around in his palm as he burned a hole in the tiles. Occasionally, his converse would let out a grotesque squeak which was followed by a large grey scuff across the floor and he’d mutter out a sheepish apology. His feet never stopped moving. With his teeth in hand, Steven prayed for the first time in years. Unfortunately, his mind wandered too often to have a focused prayer session.

‘God if you hear this, can you get Duff out of this god-awful place already? It smells so fake- sterilized? Is that a word? Thanks. Could you imagine if I could read Duff's mind? That’s crazy. I bet he’s dreaming about screwing some broad or something. I wish I had arm candy as often as he did. I want candy. God- please grant me the wish to have even just a dollar in my wallet. I want a Snickers bar, dude! I’m tired. Anyways- back to Duff. When he gets out of here, you should give us some cash to go to Burger King or something. Hide it under the couch, if you’re even listening. Thanks, God.’

That was Stevens' exact thought process. Thank God for simple-minded men, such as Steven Adler.

And I was on a lot of shit too, but what I saw, man, I tell you it was freaky

“Michael Andrew McKagan? Is there someone here for a- uh, Michael Andrew McKagan?” A nurse in polka-dotted scrubs questioned. Axl raised his hand, got out of his seat, grabbed Steven by the wrist, and led him through the white hospital hallway. “Doctors, man. They make me so nervous.” Steven hissed, using his free hand to wipe his hair out of his face. “Oh, I can tell. You’re soaked in sweat.” Axl grinned back, just as sardonic as ever. He sputtered. Steven wasn’t actually sure how Axl knew where to go. Either Axl could actually read people's minds, or Steven had just zoned out on the part where the nurse told them where to go. It’s probably the latter. That vague, sad crying noise that every hospital seemed to have echoed around the stark halls as they reached the door. The drummer felt nauseous but, hey, someone else in the facility probably felt worse! So, he didn’t feel as if his situation was all that bad after all. I mean, unless you count almost killing your best friend as bad, Then it was horrible.

“I’ll let you have your little sappy moment, try to make it quick, though. On the way home, we can grab fast food or something.” Axl coughed, standing outside the door like a guard dog. Maybe God had listened, after all. Steven stood still for a moment as he grasped the cool metal doorknob, just gazing at himself in the reflection. He looked like a mess, at least he did from the awkward angle that the silver knob was at. The slightly burnt spot in his hair looked more obnoxiously obvious. He shoved the teeth back into his pocket. Finally, he pushed the door open. Duff looked- well, better than expected, but still rough. “Steven!” He croaked from his spot in the bed, raising his IV’ed arms at him. The idea of a hug from the bassist was ever so beckoning, but terrifying at the same time. “I’m not gonna break, probably, c’mon man!” He grinned. Steven mimicked his beam and rushed at the man. A blur of blond hair, denim, and fishnet stormed across the floor impossibly fast. The two of them giggled as they became entangled with each other. “Are you crying?” Duff mumbled into his wild hair.

“Man, shut up, Michael.”

“Don’t call me that! Asshat.” Duff teased. Steven didn’t even know his name was ever anything other than Duff, he didn't look like a ‘Michael’. “You look like shit, sorry about y’know,” Steven paused as he stared up at him, “everything.” Duff just smiled down at him and reassuringly rubbed his back. Whoever had cleaned him up had wiped away the crusted blood on his upper lip. His lips were more red; properly colored. He looked alive, once more. “It’s whatever. I was already a little wasted when we left the house, anyways. Whatever the hell was in that joint did not mix well with the shit I had already taken.” He giggled, resting his chin on top of Steven’s head.

“Axl’s here, y’know? He cried a little bit, I think.”

“Oh, like this is the first overdose he’s witnessed in this band!”

Freaky.

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ellemj · 4 months

Text

Strawberries

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Request by @cherrywinedarling: fuckboy!Bucky, sex pollen.

Summary: Bucky, the man with a long list of girls on his roster, gets exposed to a sex pollen in the field. Will he fuck the first girl he calls or the girl he's wanted for the last two months?

Warnings: profanity, sex pollen (dubcon), fingering, unprotected sex, fuckboy!Bucky, size kink, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 7.5k

A/N: Special thanks to @cherrywinedarling for submitting such an inspirational (fcking hot) request and coming up with the entire plot of Bucky being unable to get himself off with a random girl, and only being able to get what he needs from reader. Lowkey loved writing this. And thanks as always to @littlemiss-yeehaw for pre-reading and catching some errors.

Twice. No, maybe it was actually three times. Definitely three times. Bucky can remember being exposed to different versions of HYDRA’s sex pollen three times before. Each time was strictly for experimental or torture purposes rather than being done with the intent of breeding super soldiers, but it happened three times, nonetheless. So, this would be number four.

Bucky lets the cool water from the shower faucet splash over his face for a minute before beginning to scrub his skin with a wet, soapy cloth. He tried to tell you that it wasn’t anything to stress over, that he’d keep his distance from the rest of the team on the quinjet and then lock himself in his room once you were all back at the compound, but you insisted on doing things the right way. He didn’t have to take an order from you, but he did. He shot you a frustrated look before making a crude comment and trudging off to the safehouse bathroom to take a shower like you’d told him to.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, don’t keep me waiting too long.” Bucky had said it with a smirk as he stood in the living room of the safehouse and stripped his shirt off with ease. But that smirk was gone the moment he shut himself in the bathroom and turned on the faucet. He’s been through this three times before but it was never enjoyable. It’ll start out as a sort of general discomfort, maybe some body aches and chills as his temperature rises slowly. Then it’ll progress to cardiovascular symptoms: his heart will begin to race, he’ll hear the thumping sound of blood rushing in his ears, his blood pressure will spike. In a normal person, the dangerous spike in blood pressure would be enough to cause a stroke, but Bucky’s vascular system has much more elasticity than a normal person. He’ll be fine. It’s the third stage of the drug’s effects that will really drive him mad. He’ll begin to feel the undeniable urge to fuck.

As you carefully piece together the gun that you’ve just dismantled, cleaned, and oiled, you’re lost in thought. You’ve done enough research over the years to know that HYDRA worked overtime to come up with various chemical compounds that would induce a near primal sexual drive in super soldiers. They wanted a sure way to grow an army of super soldiers over time without having to go through the process of wiping countless minds clean and reprogram them. You almost audibly laugh when you think about the irony of Bucky Barnes being exposed to one of those very sex pollens on your mission today. Bucky Barnes, the man who lately seems to be attempting to catch up on his eighty-something years worth of celibacy, has been exposed to a chemical compound that will make him even more insatiable than he’s already known to be. You have to wonder if he’s secretly thrilled that he has the drug coursing through his veins now.

“You’re not gonna go help your friend out with this?” Sam’s voice rings out from somewhere behind you just as you’re reloading your gun and sliding it into the side holster of your tactical pants. You laugh lightly, shaking your head as you begin packing up the last of your belongings from the kitchen table.

“He’s fucked every girl he’s met since he finished therapy, I think he has a long list of people who can help him out when we get back home.” Though there’s a lighthearted tone behind your words, you’re serious. Bucky’s been a ladies’ man since he stopped seeing Dr. Raynor for mandatory therapy sessions, and not just your average good looking, single bachelor type of ladies’ man. Bucky’s a fuckboy. Sure, he seems to be respectful about it. He doesn’t lead girls on, doesn’t make them think there’s ever a possibility for something more than one or two nights in his bed, and he leaves them all satisfied. But he’s still a fuckboy.

Your words didn’t hurt his feelings. Bucky can’t fault you for being perceptive. He really has fucked almost every girl he’s met in the last couple of months. Hell, he would’ve fucked you too if you’d just given him a chance. That’s how you ended up becoming friends. He tried like hell to get you into his bed shortly after you were assigned to the team and moved into the room next door to his, but you were adamant that you weren’t looking to be a notch on his bedpost. However, instead of telling him to fuck off, you put up with his shit and even seemed to have a good time doing so. So, you ended up being the only female friend of his that hasn’t been tangled up in his bedsheets.

Although your words weren’t necessarily hurtful, Bucky still finds himself a little bothered. He was just about to join you and Sam in packing things up and getting ready to head out when he overheard your conversation and swiftly turned back around, quietly shutting himself in the bathroom once again. You’re right, he does have a long list of people who can help him out when you get back home. God, you’re always right. If he wasn’t so inexplicably drawn to you, he’d probably hate you. But being friends with you is one of the few things that keeps him from comparing his life now to his life eighty years ago. The girl from the bar last week, that’s who he’ll call when he gets home. She was pretty. She had a nice smile, eyes that really drew him in, and she was easy to talk to. She could definitely be the solution to the problem at hand. The more Bucky thinks about her, the more he realizes she sort of reminds him of you. Shit. He’s done that too many times in the past month, brought home girls that seem so familiar but it isn’t until he’s fucked them that he realizes they remind him of you. Why the hell does that keep happening?

---

It’s just an hour later when you’re all arriving back at the compound. Sam excuses himself to go brief Fury and a few other higher-ups on everything that went down during your op, while you and Bucky head for the main tower, each of you ready to unwind in different ways. As you take the elevator up, your eyes wander over to Bucky, who stands to your right. His cheeks are flushed pink, a few stray strands of hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck with his flesh hand like it’s sore to the touch. He acted like being exposed to a sex pollen was just another day at work for him, but you know him well enough to know that at the very least, he’s uncomfortable right now.

When the elevator doors slide open to let you both out into the main room of the living quarters, Bucky doesn’t even wait to let you off first like he usually does. He steps in front of you and exits quickly, walking a little faster than usual to get to his room down the hall. Maybe that’s what makes you feel bad for him, or maybe it’s the fact that he feels like he has to pretend like he’s unbothered in front of you and Sam instead of telling you how much it sucks to have such a vile chemical compound wreaking havoc within his body.

“Do you need anything?” You ask softly as you pass Bucky in the hall and near your own door, just a few steps beyond his. The sound of your voice breaks his focus and he drops his keys at his feet. Bucky stoops down to retrieve them and then turns his full body to face you from five feet away. You work on unlocking your own door, but cast a sideways glance in his direction. His usual smirk is notably missing, and a stormy, hard-to-discern look has taken its place.

“If I do, I can call one of the girls I’ve met since I finished therapy.” The words are like ice: cold and jarring, sending a chill down your spine. He overheard you and Sam earlier. You don’t know why you feel like a kid sitting in the principal’s office, not when you’ve teased him over his fuckboy ways for as long as you’ve known him. It shouldn’t have bothered him that much considering it was true. Why do you feel like shit for having said it now? More importantly, why does his response to your question feel like a rejection?

When Bucky steps into his room and shuts the door behind him, you hear him seal himself in with the resounding metal click of a lock. If only he’d known that a deadbolt wouldn’t keep you away.

---

You’ve just finished showering and getting yourself ready for bed when you hear the familiar sound of Bucky’s door opening and closing down the hall, followed by two sets of quiet footsteps heading in the opposite direction. Two sets of footsteps? Bucky must’ve called for one of his late-night guests a little early tonight, to help with his situation. You’ve lived next door to him for a couple of months now and if you’ve learned anything, it’s that the man has stamina. So, for one of his guests to have arrived and left in the short time that it took you to shower and pull on some pajamas, something must’ve gone wrong.

Bucky stands with his back pressed against the cool metal wall of the elevator and his arms crossed over his chest as he mentally kicks his own ass. He couldn’t go through with it. He called the girl from the bar, the one who reminded him of you. He invited her over, took her upstairs to his room, gave her a mind-blowing orgasm with minimal effort, but the moment he heard her cry out his name, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep with her. She sounded nothing like you, not even similar enough that he could’ve imagined she was you.

“Thanks for coming over on such short notice, it was good to see you.” Bucky forces himself to break the silence in the elevator. When his eyes land on the girl standing a few inches to his left, she offers him a genuine smile.

“Of course, I had a good time. I wish you would’ve let me make things even though.” She says, referring to the way Bucky had gotten her off but then briskly offered to walk her back downstairs. He nods slowly, tracing the backs of his teeth with the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, maybe next time.” There won’t be a next time, not when he’s stuck thinking about how hard it was to imagine the girl being you. A few minutes later, Bucky’s guest is riding off into the night in the car he called for her. He’s left standing in front of the tower, feeling the full effects of the sex pollen as he enters the peak hour of its activity. There it is, that undeniable urge to fuck.

You’re sitting in an armchair by your bedroom window, munching on a bowl of strawberries that you settled on as a late-night snack, when you hear one set of footsteps coming down the hall. It’s the sound of Bucky returning to his room alone. You have to wonder if the sex pollen decreased his stamina. It must have, otherwise his little guest would’ve been here for at least another hour or two. You make a mental note to research that in some of the old HYDRA files tomorrow, out of sheer curiosity. As you sit there in your chair, licking a drop of strawberry juice off of your bottom lip, you can’t help but wonder what the hell Bucky’s doing. By your calculations, he should be experiencing the worst of the sex pollen effects right now, yet he’s alone in his room. You remind yourself that he doesn’t want your help, that he doesn’t need your help. You tell yourself that he probably took care of every urge he had with the girl that he invited over earlier, and then you try to focus on your snack and the TV show you have playing quietly on your TV.

When you hear the distant sound of a pained grunt coming from the other side of your bedroom wall, every muscle in your body goes rigid. You quickly pause your show and set your empty bowl on the small table beside your armchair. Only a few seconds go by before you hear another grunt, followed by the sound of what you surmise is Bucky’s fist colliding with something in his room. Before your mind has a moment to attempt a rational thought process, your feet are carrying you out of your own room and down the hallway to Bucky’s closed door. Your fist is rapping against his door softly at first, knowing he’s awake and you don’t have to be very loud for him to hear you. No answer. You knock again, a little harder this time, hoping he hasn’t stroked out from a spike in his blood pressure. Still, no answer. The third time you knock, you use the side of your fist instead of your knuckles, and you bang on his door so hard that you feel it rattle on its hinges.

Bucky heaves a deep sigh before unlocking the door and pulling it open, knowing you’ll be standing on the other side of it. Just the sight of you has Bucky’s already hard cock twitching in his sweats and he has to avert his gaze, choosing to look over your shoulder instead of right at you.

“I would’ve answered the first time if I wanted to talk to you right now.” Bucky says coldly. A chorus of go away’s play on repeat in his mind as he wishes with every fiber of his being that you’d do just that.

“You didn’t sleep with her, did you?” One look at Bucky’s disheveled state, his messy hair, the sheen of sweat making his chest and abs gleam under the dim lights of the hallway, and the way his breaths are coming in much more shallow than usual, tells you that you’re right. Bucky meets your gaze for a brief second, and his eyes give you the answer his mouth won’t. He didn’t sleep with her. “How bad is it?”

“I’ve been through this before.” Bucky reminds you, running a hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. You’re standing in front of him wearing a pair of gray joggers, a little cropped tank top, and a light cardigan over your shoulders. He knows that tank top well. If the lighting was a little better, he’d be able to see straight through the thin fabric of it. God, he needs you to leave. “Like I said earlier, if I need help, I have people I can call.”

“You called someone and it clearly didn’t help, Bucky.” Just the sound of his name leaving your lips has him biting the inside of his cheek.

“Go to bed.” His tone is authoritative now. But of course, you’d never take an order from him. Especially not when he’s so obviously miserable. Your eyes drift down his torso, taking in the sight of the super soldier that stands before you nearly drowning in a chemically-induced state of arousal. You don’t really know why it pains you to see him like this, why it pains you that he keeps rejecting your help, but you’ve had enough. When you continue to stand in front of Bucky, defying his order for you to go to bed, he drops his hand from his hair and narrows his eyes at you. As you make eye contact with him, an unfamiliar warmth begins to spread along the surface of your skin. Maybe that’s what made you do it, maybe the warmth is what made you start taking your clothes off. You don’t really know what it was, but once you started you knew you wouldn’t stop.

Your fingers begin carefully tugging on the drawstring of your joggers, loosening the tied knot as you look into Bucky’s conflicted blue eyes. You continue watching him as his gaze darts down to the motion of your hands, his eyes widening as he realizes what you’re doing.

“What can I do to help?” You ask the question in a whisper. It’s obvious what you’re offering and it has Bucky’s mind racing. He’s wanted you in his bed since the day he met you, but you never gave in to his chase. He’s sure that you’re only giving in now because you think that he needs you to, because you’re ever the kind, helpful girl next door for him. You’ve finished untying the drawstring of your pants and you’re letting the cardigan slip off of your shoulders, baring even more of your skin to him, when Bucky has to stop you. He reaches out with both hands, catching the soft fabric of your sweater in his hands and pulling it back up to cover your shoulders.

“You can go to bed, that would be really fucking helpful.” Bucky rasps. The fingertips of his flesh hand graze over the skin of your shoulder as he sets your cardigan back in its place, and the contact sends a fresh wave of primal need throughout his body. That wave of need is quickly followed by a horrible ache that forces him to draw his hands back to his sides and clench his fists.

“Bucky, stop rejecting me.” A sudden boldness comes over you and you find yourself placing both palms against his chest and pushing him back into his room. He doesn’t fight you as you take two steps inside and shut the door behind you, letting the room engulf both of you in near-darkness.

“Rejecting you? You’ve rejected me since we met.” Bucky scoffs, falling back to sit on the foot of his bed. He brings his elbows to his knees and lets his head dip down to rest in his hands. He may not be watching you, but he’s listening intently as you strip off your cardigan and drop it in the armchair by his window.

“Yeah, I wasn’t going to sleep with the guy who slept with everyone. But now we’re friends, and I’m not going to sit next door while you suffer through this alone.” Bucky dares to sneak a glance at you through his hands. You’re standing a foot in front of him, now in just your sweats and tank top, with your hands on your hips. God, your hips. He’s imagined holding onto those hips while he fucks you from behind so many times. His eyes flutter closed as he lets out a groan. “Bucky, please.” You saying please in such a circumstance is what breaks him.

When Bucky pushes himself off of the foot of the bed and comes to stand only a few inches in front of you, you take half a second to wonder if you’ve just opened a dangerous can of worms.

“Think about what you’re offering.” Bucky’s voice is shaky, but his gaze is hardened as he looks into your eyes. “This isn’t just some favor between friends.” You stay quiet for a moment as you run through the scenario in your head. You imagine going through with it and having sex with him, fulfilling his needs and lessening the pain that he feels from the sex pollen. You imagine the sun rising in the morning and the two of you pretending like nothing ever happened. Why does that last part make you feel uneasy? The idea of sleeping with him tonight doesn’t seem to bother you in the least, but the idea of going right back to normal tomorrow doesn’t sit so well with you.

“I think it’s better if we don’t think about it.” Without letting another thought through your mind, you grasp the waistband of your joggers and begin pushing them down your thighs. As more and more of your skin is revealed to Bucky, his heart rate picks up and his breath hitches in his throat. When you stand up straight in front of him, with your joggers now lying on his bedroom floor, he has to bite his bottom lip to keep from grabbing you and throwing you down on his bed. You can see the wheels in his mind turning as he overthinks this. It’s the thing he’s wanted since he met you, being offered to him on a silver platter, but he can’t stop thinking about how this could ruin the most real friendship that he’s had since Steve. You do the only thing you can think to do to break him out of his thoughts. You step forward and take both of his hands in yours, guiding them up to your face. When his palms make contact with either side of your jaw, his thumbs are quick to begin caressing your cheeks, as if the gentle touch is instinct for him, as if the two of you have done this countless times before. “I said don’t think about it.”

His blue eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation, but he finds none. So, he takes the leap. Bucky leans in and closes the gap between the two of you, his lips finding yours in the darkness. With the first brush of his lips against yours, your eyes flutter closed and you’re at his mercy. You part your lips to accept him, feeling a rush of heat travel through your body as he sucks on your bottom lip gently. You didn’t expect a kiss from Bucky Barnes to be so gentle. You expected it to be hasty, used as a means to an end rather than for the simple pleasure of kissing. But Bucky kisses like it’s as vital to his being as breathing. His tongue glides along your top lip slowly, feeling his way into your mouth before fully tasting you. As soon as his tongue tangles with yours, he pulls back, his hands still cupping either side of your face.

“You taste like strawberries.” He says, licking his lips as he peers down at you with narrowed eyes. Blush creeps into your cheeks, you can’t tell if he’s saying that as a good thing or a bad thing with the hard-to-read expression on his face. Another lick of his lips and a smile begins to tug on the corners of his mouth. “You taste like strawberries.” He repeats, going back for more. This time, you experience the less gentle kiss that you initially expected from him. He wastes no time in sliding his tongue back into your mouth and letting it work in tandem with yours. As he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his vibranium hand slides down and wraps around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible. His flesh hand ghosts over your jawline, along the side of your neck, and then you feel him wrap it around your throat just lightly enough that you notice it. Something about having his hand around your throat sets a fire ablaze inside of you, and before you know it, your hands are flat on his chest. You almost wish he had a shirt on so you could grip onto the fabric and tug him further into you.

Bucky’s losing his mind. He’s losing his goddamn mind because you’re in his bedroom, your pants are on his floor, and you’re kissing him back. You’re kissing him and you taste like strawberries. The longer you let him kiss you like this, with one of his hands wrapped lightly around your throat and the other resting dangerously close to your ass, the more his fuckboy ways start to evaporate right through his skin. Kissing you for thirty seconds makes him rethink his entire lifestyle.

You’re the one to pull back this time, you pull back the moment Bucky shifts his stance and you feel the outline of his fully erect cock pressing against your lower stomach. This time when you part, his gaze is so much softer. As much as you’re enjoying kissing him, you know that’s not what he needs right now. Taking matters into your own hands, you move past Bucky and sit on the foot of his bed. His eyes follow every move you make.

“Are you sure about this?” He has to ask. He has to know that he isn’t taking advantage of you and your friendship before this goes any further. He isn’t so sure he’ll be able to stop once he’s really touched you, so he’s offering you an out now. When you nod, keeping your eyes on Bucky, he lets out a soft sigh of relief. Your eyes follow him as he moves around the bed to the nightstand and pulls open the top drawer. After pulling out a little square packet and dropping it on top of the bed, he looks over at you once more. “You’ll tell me if I’m too rough?”

“I trust you.” You whisper. Bucky’s eyes darken as his pupils dilate even more and he begins walking back to the foot of the bed, coming to stand right in front of you.

“You trust me.” He repeats the words slowly, savoring them. You trust him. He looks down at you with an even mix of lust and admiration, but you only notice the lust. Raising his right hand up, he tucks your hair behind one ear and then traces a line from the point of your jaw to the tip of your chin with his index finger. Bucky curls that finger beneath your chin and tilts your face upward. The way your eyes pierce his, he feels like you’re looking straight into his soul, like you’re seeing every darkened corner within him that he’s tried so hard to hide. Instead of feeling vulnerable, he feels at home under your watchful stare.

Bucky tilts his head to the side and his eyes flit behind you to the expanse of the bed, signaling that he wants you to move back onto it. You do just that, turning over so your back is to him as you crawl further up on the mattress. A soft groan from Bucky lets you know he likes the view already, and you smile to yourself. You always knew he was attracted to you, but having the extra confirmation now really feeds your confidence. You can hear the rustling of fabric behind you and when you turn over once again to lay on your back, holding yourself up on your elbows, you see that Bucky has tossed his sweatpants onto the floor beside yours. Now, you see your friend, standing before you in only a pair of black boxers. Your breath hitches in your throat when your eyes land on the bulge beneath the thin fabric.

“Oh my god, you’re so big.” Your eyes widen and dart back up to meet Bucky’s. Of course, he has a smug smile plastered across his face.

“You couldn’t have guessed that?” He asks, placing one knee on the foot of the bed as he looks you over.

“I never thought about it.” You find yourself staring at it again, but Bucky blocks your view when he starts crawling over your body.

“You don’t have to lie, sweetheart.” Bucky tsks, resting his body weight on you as he leans in and kisses your neck. You find yourself tilting your head to the side to give him more access, loving the way he alternates between licking and sucking your skin. “God, you taste like strawberries, you smell like strawberries.” Bucky grunts against your neck before sitting back on his knees between your legs. “I don’t think I can wait much longer.” He says quietly, analyzing your expression. You study his face for a moment, taking in his flushed cheeks, the way his chest is rapidly rising and falling, and even the way the tips of his ears are turning pink. His blood pressure is spiking.

You push yourself up to a sitting position and without thinking, you tug your tank top over your head, tossing it on the floor and completely baring your chest to Bucky.

“Fuck.” The curse falls from his lips as his eyes devour your nearly naked body. It takes him a few seconds to compose himself and focus. When you start shimmying out of your panties, he moves to stand on the floor beside the bed, squeezing his eyes shut as he takes his own boxers off. He’s worried if he gets one look at you completely naked in his bed, he’ll start cumming and because of the sex pollen, he won’t stop.

“Look at me.” Your voice is too kind, too sweet for someone so willing to be fucked. But Bucky listens, opening his eyes and meeting your gaze. His hand is fisting around his cock within a second, stroking it as he looks not at your body, but into your fucking soul. “You’re supposed to be letting me help you.” You remind him, fighting the urge to look down at where he’s touching himself. Bucky groans again but starts climbing back over you, his hard cock dragging along the skin of your thigh as he situates himself over you but slightly to one side, resting his weight on one elbow.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Bucky presses a kiss to your lips. It’s a kiss he meant to be quick and reassuring, but neither of you could resist deepening it. So, he licks into your mouth once again, loving the way you taste, and you feel his right hand sliding down your stomach. His fingertips ghost lightly over your thigh at first, testing the waters, but you don’t flinch away. He has to make sure you can take him. He knows he’s big, and he has no idea how long it’s been since the last time you were with someone. When his hand ventures between your legs, you spread them without hesitation, continuing to kiss him with a growing desperation. The moment Bucky lets his fingertips glide along your wet folds, he can’t stop himself from rutting against your thigh. “You’re so wet for me, fuck.” A soft hum leaves your lips but it’s quickly transformed into a moan when Bucky applies pressure to your clit and begins to circle the pads of his fingers over it. Sparks of pleasure ignite, urging you to spread your legs even more and break away from his mouth to take in a gasp of air.

“Bucky, you don’t have to—” You’re cut off by your own cry when Bucky abandons your clit and slips two fingers inside of you, sending them only halfway as he watches between your legs. He’s in awe of you. Your back arches off of his mattress and he’s so tempted to kiss and lick all over your breasts, but he can’t ignore the overwhelming ache in his lower stomach and cock for much longer. He curls his fingers against your walls slowly, turning to watch your face this time. He studies you as your eyes scrunch closed and your mouth parts to let a heavy pant past your lips. You look fucking perfect. He knows the longer he delays his own release, the worse he’ll feel physically. He can already hear the blood rushing in his ears and feels the pain throughout his body worsening with every sound you make, but he wants this to be good for you. He needs this to be good for you. So, Bucky begins dragging his fingers out and then pushing them right back in, over and over again. He works you up to being able to take them deeper and deeper until he can’t push them in any more. That’s when he leans into you and leaves light kisses across your right cheek and temple. You find yourself leaning into his touch.

“I can’t wait anymore.” Bucky grunts, as he pulls his fingers out of you slowly one last time. He wants so badly to lick his fingers and taste you, but he knows that if he gets a taste, he won’t ever be able to get over it. He’d spend every day doing whatever the hell he had to do just to get more. Instead, Bucky slides those two wet fingers over the head of his cock, mixing your arousal with his precum and spreading it down the shaft. He gives it a few strokes, letting his head fall against your shoulder as he begins to feel just the slightest bit of relief inside his body. But it isn’t enough. Bucky lets go of his cock and leans over you, reaching across the bed to grab the condom he placed there earlier. When he rolls onto his back and begins tearing the small wrapper open, you take matters into your own hands.

Bucky damn near feels butterflies when you move to straddle him, bracing your hands on his bare chest as you swing a leg over him.

“Just give me a second.” Bucky grunts, his eyes darting between the half open condom wrapper and where you’re lowering yourself down over him. He gets the condom out of the wrapper but freezes when he feels your dripping cunt grind along the shaft of his cock. “Shit, be careful.” He warns you through gritted teeth. You know you really should be careful. Hell, he’s slept with so many girls just in the last month that you should be using any and every form of protection out there. Not to mention the fact that both the super soldier serum and sex pollen really ramped up his reproductive system, increasing his sperm count and motility like crazy. The man could easily save the human race from extinction if he was the last viable male on Earth. But you’re not thinking straight. You’re not thinking straight at all when you begin grinding down and circling your hips against him, reveling in the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your clit. You drag your hips back and forth as Bucky’s hands move to grip you there, with the unwrapped condom still in his right hand. You can feel that little piece of latex between his palm and your hip. The thought crosses your mind so briefly, but once the seed is planted, there’s no going back. Feeling the condom all rolled up between Bucky’s hand and your hip is really what planted the seed. You want to feel him inside you, without a damn thing in between. So, you grind along the length of his cock once more, but when you near the tip, you continue sliding forward on it and grinding down until you feel it against your entrance, and then you grind down a little harder, angling your hips just right so it starts to slide in.

“Oh my god.” You moan out, letting your head fall back as you reach down with one hand and start fully guiding him inside of you. Bucky can only watch, his grip on your hips getting impossibly tighter. You’ve only taken in the head of his cock when you still yourself, trying your best to adjust to his ample size. You feel a mix of stinging pain and pleasure, but he did such a thorough job of preparing you with his fingers that the sting is minimal.

“I’m not wearing a condom.” Bucky pants, scanning your face as you slide down another couple of inches. He’s nearly halfway in now and it’s taking every single ounce of his self-control to keep from pulling your hips down and making you take all of it. Your eyes flutter open and lock onto his.

“I know.” You pair your two little words with the act of forcing yourself to take the rest of his length. Your clit brushes against the base of his cock and for a moment, you actually think he might be too big for you.

“Fuck.” Bucky groans lowly. His eyes scrunch shut even though he so badly wants to keep them wide open and memorize the way you look when you’re being fucking ruined by his cock. His balls feel so full and heavy, even more so than usual with the way the sex pollen is screwing up his reproductive system, and the fact that you’re the one he’s balls deep inside of isn’t helping. You really should’ve let him put on a condom, but he sure as hell isn’t going to stop you now. Bucky releases his hold on your hip with his right hand and lets the unused condom fall from his grasp, watching as it lands on the bed. When he digs his fingers into the skin of your hips once more, the sensation spurs you to attempt moving. You start with slow up and down movements, only fucking half of his cock, unsure if you could manage the whole thing at once. But when you get a look at Bucky’s face, at the way it’s contorted with pleasure yet restrained as if he’s holding himself back, you know you need to give him more. So, you take a deep breath and begin lifting yourself off of his cock. Bucky’s eyes follow, so focused on the way you leave his cock glistening as you pull off of it. When only the head is left inside of you, you breathe out as you sit all the way back down. Fuck, it hurts when he’s all the way in but you don’t want to stop. God, you don’t want to stop for anything. You go again, trying the movement a little faster this time, earning a soft grunt from Bucky and a few bruises on your hips as his hold tightens more.

“Bucky, you’re too big.” You finally say, after sliding down onto his length the third time. You want to ride his dick and do as much of the work for him as you can right now, but there’s just no way. There’s no way you can pick up the pace and set a good rhythm when he’s so fucking thick and long that you feel him in your stomach every time you sit down. You don’t have the time that you’d need to adjust, you don’t want to make him wait for you to be ready for it. So, you need a new position. Bucky understands immediately. As much as he was loving seeing you fuck his cock all by yourself, his insides are screaming at him to take control and do whatever he needs to do to get himself off.

Bucky eases you down onto his full length one more time, simultaneously hating and loving the way you cringe once you’re fully seated. Then, in one quick, smooth movement, he captures your hands in his and tugs you down to his chest, before rolling both of you over so he’s on top.

“We can save that for next time.” Bucky promises, positioning himself so that the majority of his weight rests on his forearms on either side of your head. As soon as the words have left his mouth, you realize what he’s just said, but he doesn’t. He leans down and licks your bottom lip while you’re lying beneath him, with his cock motionless inside you, as you remind yourself that there will never be a next time. Bucky’s a fuckboy through and through, you’ve never known him to sleep with the same girl twice, and you can’t imagine anything about tonight is going to change that. “Are you adjusted?” He asks, pulling back from your face to look into your eyes. You bend your knees a little and take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you focus on your senses. No pain. You nod your head and let your hands ghost along Bucky’s sides.

“Are you always this gentle and thoughtful in bed?” The question sneaks past your lips before you can stop it, but Bucky chuckles as he begins to pull his hips back, sliding his cock out of you inch by inch.

“You think I’m gentle and thoughtful?” Of course he’d take your question as a compliment. Or…maybe not. Bucky shoots you a mischievous look before biting down on his bottom lip and snapping his hips forward, thrusting into you so hard that your back arches off of the bed and your breasts press up against the skin of his bare chest. He took it as a fucking challenge.

“I take it back.” You whine. You dig your nails into the skin of his back hoping to draw a little pain from him, but truthfully, he loves it. He begins slowly dragging his cock back out of you while you’re wondering how the hell he’s still so composed and restrained. “I thought being exposed to a sex pollen would’ve made this a quick, sort of desperate kind of thing.”

“Is that what you wanted?” Another snap of his hips and you’re filled with his cock again.

“I didn’t say that, it’s just what I expected. Does it not make you feel like fucking the shit out of anyone you can get your hands on?” Your fingers dance up his sides until they’re tangled in his messy hair. Another slow drag of his hips and you’re feeling nearly empty.

“It does, but like I said, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me.” He freezes with his cock halfway out of you. Your own eyes widen at your unexpected request. Where the hell did your filter go? You didn’t even mean it the way it sounds, you just meant that you don’t want him to keep holding back for your sake. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Bucky grunts, clearly turned on by the presumed meaning behind your words. He lowers himself down until his body weight feels like a warm, thick blanket covering every inch of your body. He’s giving you what you want. The talking part is over, you realize, as Bucky lets his forehead fall into the crook of your neck and slides his knees beneath your thighs, opening you up for him even more.

Then, he fucks you. He sets a rhythm and pace so desperate and unforgiving that every thrust causes the mattress to bounce you right back up against him. No matter how much he pulls out, you continuously feel the presence of his cock inside you. Every breath he breathes against your neck, every time his lips ghost over your skin, every needy grunt that meets your ears feeds you like a dose of ecstasy. The atmosphere is reduced to the sounds of skin on skin, panting breaths, and obscene curses and moans falling from parted lips. Bucky fucks you more thoroughly than he’s fucked anyone in the last two months. When he hears your moans increase in pitch and your breaths becoming more and more shallow, he drives his cock into you harder and deeper, making sure his name is the only thing on your mind. You give him no warning when your orgasm begins to tear through your body, but you don’t have to. Your cunt grips his cock so tightly that pulling out to thrust into you is damn near painful, so Bucky begins grinding into you, moving his hips in rhythmic circles. When your breaths begin to come a little easier, Bucky’s own release is threatening to spill over, so he starts to slow his hips and pull out of you. He isn’t wearing a condom and he knows this won’t be a small mess by any means.

But you, the girl next door, the girl who tastes like fucking strawberries, you slide your hands down and grab his hips every bit as harshly as he grabbed yours earlier, and you pull him further into you. An orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train. It wasn’t even the sensation of being inside you that sent him over the edge, as heavenly as that was. No, it was the fact that you wouldn’t let him pull out. The fact that you didn’t even let him wear a condom. The fact that you’re you and you’re so desperate for his cum that you’d hold him there and take it like you had a right to. After three seconds, Bucky’s surpassing a normal amount of cum, and both of you are fully aware of it.

“It won’t stop, fuck.” Bucky groans against your neck as he slowly ruts into you, trying to get himself through his orgasm. “There’s so much cum.”

“That’s okay, it’s okay, Bucky.” You whisper, moving your hands back up to his head and carding your fingers through his hair. “I can take it.”

Shit. He might be in love with you.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #mcu #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier

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