#i miss the warmth of a good song that speaks to my soul

[heonie-ween]

.

[navstuffs]

No Ordinary Love

Pairing: Leon x SuccubusFemale!Reader

Summary: Leon Kennedy is addicted to you.

Warnings: songfic, SMUT, touch-starved leon, needy!leon, reader does feed on him

Author's Notes: hello! this fanfic is so important to me due to the song that inspired me to write: No Ordinary Love by Sade. if you don't know Sade, please go and listen to her. it was super hard to edit this fanfic cause the song is so freaking good and i kept getting distracted. anyway, reader is a succubus, but she might not be a "proper" succubus, i will adapt for my writing needs. this fanfic might have a prequel (how they met, after re2 events) and a sequel, so we shall see. i hope you enjoy!

leon's masterlist

"I gave you all the love I got I gave you more than I could give Gave you love"

It is late when Leon Kennedy knocks on the familiar door after just landing from Spain. He is exhausted, with images of the last days tormenting his head. Ada. Ashley. Luis's death. As a loop, he sees their faces over and over again. He shakes his head, trying to focus on the door before him and the person who will open it. Some part of him knows he shouldn't be there, something deep inside his soul is telling him to leave, he doesn't deserve you, but when the door flies open, all thoughts inside his head disappear.

Everything else disappears around him.

There is no more Ada. No more Ashley, Luis, or even Leon S. Kennedy. Only you.

"I gave you all that I have inside And you took my love You took my love(...)"

You wear an oversized black shirt that goes just above your knees. Your beauty always seems to leave him breathless because no one should look this stunning. It is unfair. Leon forgets how to speak and how to act. He is just a rookie all over again. The hopeless rookie who met you years ago, desperate for some comfort, any comfort after Racoon City. Only you matter right now. Shit, he hasn't realized how much he missed you. Your touch. Your kisses. Your warmth. 

"Do you know what time it is, Kennedy?" You yawn, crossing your arms. Understandable, he woke you up in the middle of the night. You had all the right to be angry if you wanted; Leon feels like shit about it, though he couldn't wait until the morning to see you.

"Yes. May I come in?" His voice way is softer than his usual tone, but again, he is different when it comes to you. He is not the same person around you.

Your eyebrows arch, surprised, and Leon notices your nipples harden against your shirt. Perfect.

"I don't know. Can you?"

"When you came my way You brightened every day With your sweet smile(...)"

Please, let me in. Please, Leon begs mentally, and you smirk as if listening to his silent pleas. As if you could read his mind, knowing precisely how much he needs you.

"Please?" Leon murmurs, looking at your bare feet, not believing how fragile his voice sounds.

Not after all those things he had killed or everything he had gone through, he would still be clay in your hands. It didn't matter how many times he saved the world or how many he killed, you would still be the one who put Leon on his knees, this invisible force pulling him for you. 

Leon doesn't know what would happen to him if you deny him. He might die as a thirsty man who got close to the oasis but failed to drink the water. Or got so close to the sun and burned himself before touching it. All those thoughts rush through his mind before your feet finally, finally give him passage, and Leon thanks mentally for your benevolence.

Leon starts walking into your house before you stop him, hands on his chest. You stare at his expression for a second, and Leon's heart beats so fast that he finally feels like living again.

"You don't look well. Was it hard this time?"

Leon's mind flashes with everything that happened to him in the last couple of days. He doesn't have to say anything: you know Leon better than anyone. You nod as if reading his mind again, closing the door.

"I will take care of you. Come."

"Didn't I give you All that I've got to give, baby(...)"

Leon's mind drifts away. He would lie if he said he didn't like the taste you left on his body, his heart, on his soul. You were like a drug, the strongest he had ever tasted. 

"Leon."

Oh, how much he missed your moans. Your desperate sobs of his name as he pushed his cock inside of you, as a madman. There is nothing, nothing in this world that would separate you from him. 

"Leon."

"I keep trying for you There's nothing like you and I, baby(...)"

He doesn't know what happens when he is inside of you, a feeling he can't describe. It is different from everything he tried before: you delight him. You keep him there while you take away the pain, sadness, and anything he had inside. You amplify all his senses as you empty them. He watches as your boobs bounce and your eyes light with a strange glow, but he doesn't care. Leon only cares about being yours.  

He moans a lot, too: he begs. Begs for you not to leave him, begs you to stay with him forever, and implores you to love him. Tells you there is no else for him, except for you.

Leon can feel you are close, and he trembles under your power, trying to match your thrusts. All he can focus on is how tight you are squeezing him now, how delicious you look on top of him, how much he loves being yours, being loved by you.

"This is no ordinary love No ordinary love"

When Leon cums, his vision gets hazy. He holds your ass down rougher than he would want, so you don't move. He likes to feel his seed inside you, his eyes rolling to his head.

Leon Kennedy ceases to exist to exist again only because of you.

When you fall to his side, Leon can't move. He never moves after cumming inside of you, that feeling of you squeezing tight, taking all that he has. Leon feels your gentle hand taking his hair from his sweaty face, kissing his lips, and savoring it. He moans in your mouth, grabbing your hips with the bit of strength he still has. 

"Feeling better, Leon?" 

Leon nods, his big blue eyes begging him not to leave you. To stay with him forever. He is more exhausted than when he arrived, but he is grateful. You smile compassionately, the strange glow in your eyes slowly disappearing, laying your head on his chest. 

"I lo-"

"Shhh, Leon. You have to rest now. Everything will be okay in the morning. Sleep, my love."

As a command, you watch Leon Kennedy sink into darkness. You sigh, listening to his heartbeats, the sensation of satisfaction and fullness in your veins not enough to dismiss the tiny feeling of worry you had before. Or the happiness when you saw him. Or the feeling that he belongs to you and only you. There were too small to consider but not small enough to ignore. You shake your head and find yourself foolish as you make circles on Leon's chest. Now, after all the years, was not the time to get sentimentalist. You fall asleep, ignoring the sensation of comfort of being in Leon's arms.

"Keep trying for you Keep crying for you Keep lying for you Keep flying and I'm falling

And I'm falling"

[imightgetbetter]

heart and soul

please be very kind with this one. i've been watching so many interviews where matty talks about mental health and i had a bit of a rough go myself today and i just thought about how this would go, and so, here we are. i hope you're taking care of yourself today.

Gentle fingers dance along your back, kneading into your skin every so often as you sink into his warmth, your fingers tracing over the tattoo inked across his chest. His lips are tucked into your hair, and the air is still, eerily quiet for a night when you’re home and haven’t had much to do. Usually, you would be in the kitchen, a playlist on the speaker and one of you cooking dinner, a bottle of your favorite wine cracked open to share. Nights like those, they were much more than nights like these, but at this moment, you genuinely wished you had the energy to be downstairs.

“Are you hungry?” Matty asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He lifts his head slightly to look at you, nodding to himself when you shake your head. “Have you eaten at all today, darling? You have to eat. I need you to eat.”

“Not hungry,” you murmur, pulling the blanket over your shoulder and tucking yourself further into hiding. His other hand is dragging along your arm, rubbing over your skin gently. “You can go eat if you’re hungry.”

“Not going without you, darling. Think that you know me better than that by now.”

He’s right, you do know him better than that. Matty has always reacted the same on days like this, days where your anxiety is more than anyone should bear, and you can’t physically get yourself out of bed. In your younger years, Matty would come over and spend the day in your room with you, distracting you with stories of band rehearsal and writing and how he couldn’t wait for the day your stories about him could be read by him. He always argued that you heard songs much too soon, but he couldn’t read your writing. He never meant it maliciously, and the excitement you could see behind his eyes always kept you writing. In the years you lived thousands of miles apart, there would be a text every morning, ‘Good? Bad?’ He would nervously wait for your reply, waiting to see if he would be clinging to his phone all day or would give you space to get your work done. And in the last several years, where you two were rarely apart, he’s learned exactly what you crave on days like this, the way to break you out of it.

“Going to take a shower when this episode is done. Okay?”

Knowing that it’s not a question, you nod quietly, swallowing thickly and trying to work up the courage to speak, to say anything. Your voice feels heavy against your throat, like if you utter the tiniest word, you’ll become sick. “Okay.”

“I missed you all day,” Matty hums, turning his phone upside down and ignoring the call coming through. He couldn’t imagine anything that would matter as much as this, right now, as getting you on your feet and moving around. He wouldn’t ever turn away from you in a moment like this, not when you have seen him at his very worst, not when you’ve held his hand through the darkest moments of his life. He is your best friend, your partner, and he would never act as anything less than such. “Got a good writing session in. I did steal that line you wrote, by the way.”

“I want writing credit, Matthew,” you say, squeezing his hip and tilting your face slightly to give him the tiniest of smiles. “Can you tell me which line you stole?”

“Ah, a smile. That beautiful fucking smile of yours. I’m so in love with you. I need to see you smile every single day for the rest of my life. I can feel your smiles in the deepest parts of my heart. It’s like a breath of fresh air.”

“Matty,” you say, hiding your face in his chest and sucking a deep breath. His body smells like it always does, like home, like your person. Around you, the room is quiet, the television going quiet as the episode ends. “The episode is done.”

Matty brushes a stray strand of hair away from your forehead. “Are you ready to get out of bed for a bit?”

“Are you coming with me?”

“I would like to,” he says, cupping your cheek softly. His touch is so sweet, always so gentle. He always knows exactly what you need, exactly how to approach you. He’s always known, from the first moment you became friends all those years ago. He’s so familiar, and safe. “I’d also like to kiss you, if that’s okay.”

And with that, you understand what he means now, when he says that he feels your smile in the deepest parts of his heart, because hearing him say that, hearing him ask such a simple question but a question that you know is rooted in his care and affection for you, makes your heart feel so warm, and you feel it everywhere. His love is in your heart, where your chest feels tight and swollen. His love is in your cheeks, where your skin feels hot. His love is in your hands, where your skin feels electric every time you touch him. His love is in your brain, where you never feel like a weight to carry. His love is everywhere inside of you.

Nodding silently, Matty sits upright and grabs your cheeks, kissing you delicately, as though the slightest touch with cause you to break. Although sometimes it feels that way, that you might break, there has never been a moment where you would feel broken with him. With Matty, you’re you, all of you, no matter what that looks like.

“I can feel your kiss in the deepest parts of my heart and soul,” you repeat to him, leaning your forehead against his, your hands holding his wrists on your face. You don’t want him to let go, to move. There’s warmth between you, between the intimacy of the moment. “I can feel your love everywhere, no matter how I’m feeling.”

“That’s the line,” Matty smiles, rubbing his thumbs along your cheeks, and you realize what you’ve said, the line that he stole. “I can feel your love everywhere, darling. No matter where I am, what I’m feeling, or who I’m with. I can feel your love everywhere.”

[wandering-winchesters]

Grief

Summary: The reader loses her grandfather and eventually seeks comfort from Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,576

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Death, Casket, Grief & Sadness

A/N: This was written mainly for me. The man in this story was based on my grandfather and the memories recounted are my own. I understand if this is not the type of story for you, but it helped me in my grief. Love always x

In the span of two minutes, in the early hours of my otherwise normal Wednesday morning, my world changed forever. Blinking away the fog of sleep, I reached for my phone that was ringing loudly on the nightstand. My cousin’s name was flashing on the screen, a number of missed calls showing in the background a signal of a bigger issue. I hurriedly accept her call, clearing my throat to enable my voice to speak louder than a whisper. 

“Hello?” The words that would follow would break my soul in ways that I didn’t know possible. 

“He’s gone, Y/N. He passed this morning.” Anything said after that I didn’t hear, I couldn’t process that my grandfather was gone. The call was ended and I sat frozen still tangled in my sheets. The warmth of the blankets no longer enough to replace the chill that had overtaken my skin. Before I knew what I was doing, I climbed out of bed and grabbed my duffle. Beginning the process of packing the bare necessities to get by, the need to get to him was suffocating and pressing in on me like a vice. 

Not twenty minutes later, I closed the door to the bunker quietly behind me. I double checked that it was locked, before climbing into the drivers seat of my truck and throwing my bag into the passenger seat. I shot Sam and Dean a quick text, letting them know I was leaving for a few days and not to worry, even though I knew the text would not be enough to convince them of such. The reality of the situation still had not settled, I knew he was gone, but it just didn’t seem possible. I have hours of road ahead of me and focusing on his death was just not an option. The drive crawled by, every mile felt like ten. Every minute an eternity. I was greeted by family, friends and an overwhelming sense of grief. Yet no tears fell, anger was prevalent and boisterous, denial following in its sharp footsteps. Every intended encouragement of “He’s in a better place,” or “He’s no longer in pain.” Only aggravated my anger. Those words meant to comfort and ease my pain, only ignited it further. Everything I saw in his home, reminded me of the good old days. The times spent in the woods bird watching, or in his workshop creating something new and beautiful. The nights where he would sit and hold my hand, singing songs from when he was younger. I found his journal, read the words he had written and saved them for another time the pain too much to bear. 

I had many missed calls from the boys, their texts growing more and more concerned as my silence grew greater. Their demands for an explanation only made my desire to ignore them more prevalent. Even though, I knew deep down they were just concerned for my safety. The days passed quickly, the funeral looming closer and closer. The grip that grief had on me was looming, it was as a reaper themselves had their icy hands wrapped around my lungs and throat. 

Funeral homes were something that I frequented, many of the cases with the Winchester men ended up in a morgue or a funeral home. I had seen countless dead bodies, in many different forms. However, the morning of the funeral walking into the funeral home, seeing the man who raised me was so very different from every time before. There were many people who loved him that came to show their support, a blur of faces and a mass of stories, he had been so very loved. Yet every minute I stood there was soul shatteringly painful. It was exhausting, my body ached almost as much as my heart. I resorted to every self soothing technique I knew, bracing myself for the next person in line that was waiting to share their grief with me. Yet I survived, I made it through to the end. Everyone else had gone home, yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave his side. I could feel his presence surrounding me, embracing me. I bite my lip, holding back the sobs that have been at bay for days now. The ache in my chest so great it brings me to my knees. 

I am caught off guard by familiar strong hands gripping my waist, fully supporting my weight. Dean’s cologne wafts over my senses and the smallest amount of relief floods over me. 

“You don’t have to keep hiding your pain, sweetheart. There’s no shame in crying.” He whispers, tugging me back against his body and wrapping his arms around me. I am so overwhelmed and confused as to how he came to be here, that his words go almost unheard. 

“How did you know I was here?” I ask, clearing my throat to relive the ache ever so slightly. 

“I pinged your phone, found your location and checked the local paper. I figured there must be something going on, especially if you told us you were leaving but then wouldn’t tell us where or why. I found his obituary and drove straight here. I’ve been outside for the last few hours, I wanted to give you space. I noticed everyone else leaving, but didn’t see you. So I came to find you.” His voice is soft, comforting and it awakened the sadness within me that I had refused to allow space for until this moment. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes and silently began to fall. 

“Dean, I-I didn’t want you to see me like this, the weak, crying side of me.” I said, my voice cracking slightly as I spoke. My cheeks heating up as they turn bright red. 

“Y/N, I know it hurts. It’s okay to cry, I’ll be here to wipe your tears, sweetheart.” He says, his thumbs rubbing circles into my skin as he continues to hold me tight against him. I take a couple of steps towards the closed casket, Dean close behind me, his hand securely placed on the small of my back. I rest both of my hands on the lid to the casket and let every emotion free. Before I can stop it, a sob leaves my lips, tears are falling hard and hot. I have never cried like this, I have never felt pain like this. The guttural reaction it pulls from me, is something that I have never experienced before. My vision is blurred by the tears collecting in my eyelashes. The mascara and eyeliner I had applied earlier in the day, surely streaking black remnants down my face. 

“I couldn’t grieve him, De, I had to be strong for everyone else. They were all relying on me to plan this and put everything together. I didn’t have the time to grieve and now I have to say goodbye. I’m not ready to say goodbye.” I get the words out between sobs, turning to bury my head in Dean’s chest, swallowed up in his embrace. He immediately wraps his arms around me once again, his head coming to rest against the top of my own. His lips brushing against my hair as he murmurs words of comfort, pressing a kiss every so often. 

“I’m here, I’m always here.” He whispers once I pull away, he brushes my hair out of my face and caresses my face with his thumb. It’s not until that moment, that I see Sam, he’s sitting silently in the corner of the room. Waiting to offer comfort, but not wanting to encroach on Dean and I. The second our eyes meet, I burst into tears once again. The ache in my chest heavy, surely if I were to die of a broken heart this is what it would feel like. Sam quietly crosses the room and pulls me into his arms, his embrace just as warm and welcoming as Deans. 

“I am so sorry for your loss, Y/N.” He says, his grip tightening momentarily before he lets me go. Dean offers me his hand and I gratefully accept it, allowing him to guide me outside. I steal one last glance at the closed casket and follow him closely. 

“Can I drive you home, sweetheart?” Dean asks, hesitating outside of my truck, his eyes soft and concerned. I nod, not trusting my voice to give a verbal response. He helps me climb into the passenger seat of my truck, and gently shuts my door. I let my head fall back against the seat and my eyes flutter shut. I hear the drivers side door open and feel the truck shift as Dean climbs in and adjusts the seat to his liking. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just didn’t know how.” I open my eyes and glance over at him as he starts the truck, he gives me a small smile and extends his arm resting his hand on my leg. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I understand completely.” We ride in silence for awhile, my mind a constant rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions. My tears have stopped and everything other than my thoughts are quiet. There is rain hitting the roof of the truck, the tires are crunching against the gravel, but the only other sound is Deans fingers lightly tapping against the steering wheel of the car, keeping rhythm to whatever song is playing in his head. 

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, breaking the silence. I hesitate, trying to gather my thoughts into an actual sentence, instead of the dark depression that is swirling around in my head. 

“Just remembering, the good times.” I say, a small smile breaking the surface of my lips. 

“Care to share?” He asks, his eyes flitting back and forth from the road to my face. I chuckle softly, the memory in my mind floating through my head as an image. 

“Okay, so you remember how my grandparents were together? My grandfather was always super flirtatious towards my grandmother? Well, this one time she was in a bad mood and he was trying to get her to laugh. So he took two balls of yarn, from her knitting project, stuffed them under his button down t-shirt and proceeded to parade around as if he had really big boobs. My cousin and I found it hilarious, my grandmother on the other hand was pissed. Well, for a few minutes, until she finally relaxed and laughed about it. I have the picture printed and hanging in the bunker?” Dean laughs, the clear and deep sound pierces the air around us and I relish the way it hangs in my ears. 

“Do you have anymore you want to talk about?” He asks again, a slight twinkle in his eyes. I think for a minute, weeding through the memories in my head, some more clear than others. 

“One time, after he got sick, he had this woodworking project that he wanted to do. He had all of these buildings on the farm filled to the brim with different types of wood, all different colors and ages. We spent no less than four hours, walking around so he could find just the perfect pieces for his project.” 

It went on like this for awhile, I talked and Dean listened. He let me go on about how my grandfather would always shift the car into neutral when stopping at a stop light, how he would eat cranberry mousse on top of his pumpkin pie at thanksgiving. How he would sing my name as a greeting anytime I called him, or sing the numerous different old jingles from old toothpaste brands or other household products. How much I loved to hear him talk about anything and everything, from the weather to the stock market. The time when I was little, that he took me to a Poinsettia greenhouse that was a four hour drive and he just loved every minute of it. He was just so special and everyone loved him. 

I grow quiet again, the rawness of my grief pulsing within me. Through all of this, exhaustion is creeping up within me. I scoot over the bench seat, getting as close to Dean as the truck will allow and rest my head against his shoulder. My intention was not to sleep, but just to close my burning eyes and seek the slightest comfort. 

However, I fell asleep. Only realizing this when Dean opened the door to the truck and eased me into his arms.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I open my eyes slightly and he shushes me. 

“It’s okay. you needed it, and you looked too peaceful for me to wake you up. Close your eyes, I’ll bring you to bed.” He says, pressing a kiss to my forehead and tucking my head beneath his chin. I do as he says, closing my eyes and allowing the sound of his breathing and the smell of his cologne to overwhelm my senses. I can hear him cross the threshold of the bunker, whispering something to Sam who had driven the Impala back. He makes his way to my bedroom, gently kicking the door open with his foot and closing the distance to my bed quickly. He gingerly sets me down on the sheets, pulling the blankets up over my skin. I open my eyes once again, taking in the sight of the tall older Winchester in front of me, grateful for his friendship and the love he has shown me in this dark time. “Get some sleep, sweetheart, I won’t be far.” He presses another kiss to my skin and turns to leave my room. Fear grabs hold of me and before I can thing, I speak. 

“Dean, will you stay, please?” I whisper, a sob clawing its way out of my lungs. He sighs, not a sigh of frustration, but of empathy. He nods silently, climbing in beside me and gently tugging me against his chest. He wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss against my forehead. 

“It’s not gonna hurt like this forever. It will always be there, but your life will grow and it will hurt less. I promise, Y/N.” He says, stroking my skin gently. The comfort leeching from him, something I needed from the day I got that phone call. I let my eyes fall closed, trying to block out every thought and just exist in this very moment, surrounded by a man who would do anything for me, who would love me unconditionally and always let me be true to my emotions. 

Dean was right, life went on. Even though some days, I wanted it to slow down more than anything, I wanted the world to stop so I could just exist in my grief. I wanted to go back several years before, take more pictures, listen to more of his stories, take more videos of him singing. I longed to hear his voice just one more time, ask him one more question. Instead of focusing on what I couldn’t do, I focused on what I could do. I noticed the birds more, some of his favorite creatures. I watched more sunrises and sunsets, embracing the beauty around me as he would have done. I will always remember the days we had together, I will always long for more. For now though, I will grieve. And that’s okay. 

Tag List: @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

@hunterscabin This contains some memories of my grandfather, I hope you will read them. <3

[jinbedreams]

Exposed Bone

Pairing: Brook x Jimbei One Piece, Fishbones Content: General Audience, old man crushing Word Count: 944

Note: God I never write fic, so this is barely anything, but Brook and Jimbei seem to have made enough noise in my brain that I had to change that. I blame @badly-drawn-doflamingo for making me think about fishbones. Maybe I will write more of this at some point. ~~~~~~~

Brook is a conundrum, a soul with no body, a body with no flesh, a mind inside an empty skull, and no heart in his chest. Yet he lives, somehow he lives, he has no choice. 

He also feels. His emotions weave through him, with no skin to shiver through and no muscles to clench they can overtake him like a wave. Where else does his music come from but his emotions? How else does he know he is truly alive without them? He has no belly to laugh from but he laughs all the same. He has no chest to ache with sadness but he aches all the same. No tear ducts to weep with yet it is impossible to prevent the flow. 

He feels purely through his soul, and sometimes if he does not think too hard he can almost feel his flesh sing with these emotions too, like a phantom limb all over him. 

He avoids thinking about the absence of the warmth of touch on his skin at all times. 

He spent 50 years alone, his bones picked clean and smooth, he cannot change what has happened. He is simply grateful he is no longer alone. 

“That’s beautiful” 

If Brook had eyelids he would have opened them but instead his gaze simply refocuses on the big blue shape that has moved in close to him here on the top deck of the Sunny. 

“Yohoho” Brook chuckles as he pulls his violin out from under his chin.

“Thank you Jimbei” he smiles (he can do nothing but smile in these bones) 

“Is that a new . . ah, piece ? that you’ve been working on?” Jimbei asks, his deep baritone voice rumbles and not for the first time does Brook find himself wondering if Jimbei would ever consider putting those big lungs to use in song. 

“I suppose it is” Brook inspects the instrument, plucks at a string with a bone pick of a finger. 

“I was simply going with the flow, I suppose” he says thoughtfully 

“Ah” Jimbei nods “I know all about traveling the flow . . “ 

Brook cocks his head curiously towards Jimbei, sensing he is missing something from the way the fishman spoke. 

“Helmsman joke” Jimbei smiles, an obvious reference to one of Brooks recurring bits, and then laughs. 

That glorious big belly laugh, his face turned up, eyes scrunched up, rows of sharp teeth on display. It’s one of the most intoxicating laughs Brook has ever heard and he never tires of it. 

“Jimbei you kill me” Brook teases as he laughs. 

Their laughter peels off as Brook turns to lounge against the railing Jimbei is leaning forward on. He picks the violin back up to tuck it under his jawbone and pluck it for tuning. 

“Oh, but wait, I already died,” Brook chuckles. 

This time Jimbei only smiles, a soft look. Brook redirects his gaze from the fishmans face before he can identify the moment that soft look turns to pity. He’s not sure if it will but he would rather not take the chance. He hears Jimbei take a breath as if to speak and braces himself for the concerned lecture, wise and careful, the way he has heard Jimbei advise Luffy and many others before. 

“Play me another” 

Brook turns to look at him again, unsure if the surprise is readable on his blank emotionless skull of a face. Jimbei is still smiling, open and gentle and bright, like a calm ocean at sunset. Brook busies himself with the G string immediately, trying to recover from being set so suddenly and unexpectedly adrift by the expression. 

“Of course my good sir!” Brook slips into an exaggerated character of himself, hamming it up as the merry musician of the Thousand Sunny. It’s safer there, when he is less himself and more of a performance of himself instead. Why would he explore his feelings when he can just let the Soul King express them for him. He strings out a merry tune for Jimbei, an old song about a drunken fisherman catching a mermaid for a wife, neither of them sure which one drinks more like a fish. It only occurs to him halfway through the song that this is a rather old one from before he died and could possibly be considered uncouth in Fishmen society today. 

However when he glances over at Jimbei he sees the man smiling with genuine amusement and laughing at the funniest moments. This is both a relief and also a curse as the sight of that smile sends goosebumps across his phantom skin. He takes a deep breath to steady his phantom lungs between verses and finishes off the song by pushing off the railing and dancing with aplomb. 

“Oh I enjoyed that very much” Jimbei chuckles and applauds with gusto. Brook does a few deep bows, in a very becoming and gentlemanly manner. He tries to remain composed but the sight of Jimbei so joyful has him almost twitching from the overstimulation. All these emotions with no body to express them. It almost feels like he wants to jump out of his skin . . oh but it seems he already has. 

Instead he decides to put his violin back into its case, taking care to tuck it into the shaped depression, laying the bow by its side. He finds himself considering how bonelike it is for this instrument to be compressed safely inside a perfectly shaped casing. He must have paused noticeably because he hears Jimbei ask, 

“Everything alright?” 

“Why yes of course! I simply grow tired of playing for the moment, perhaps instead we could have some tea?” 

“I would like that”

[saintescuderia]

excerpt from my notes app #053

spotify comment word limit exceeded

hello. 

so i've actually drafted something that i will record you before i send the link to your mixtape. i'm actually reading off of it right now. it’s a bit long and sappy so just bear with me. 

i guess it was just because i was thinking about how i always loved the good old days when we used to record mixtapes. and i mean literally record mixtapes. people would record themselves speaking between each song with a ‘this is how you make me feel’ or a ‘this song reminds me of this night’ or whatever it is. i've always loved that we used to do that. and i miss that sense of permanence, the tangible object of a thing, whether a CD or a cassette, that contains songs carefully selected that someone compilated just for you. your very own tracklist. just between you and that person. and, of course, the voice recordings to go along with them. 

because even though we still have these little voice recordings in our texts… well, when you get a new phone and everything is gone. then again, we can make a whole case about how this is life! and everything changes! and nothing is permanent! i mean, what do people still do with those mixtapes we made back in the day? do they still have them? do they still use them? 

i have made many a playlist for many a people. i have also made mixtapes. i downloaded songs from youtube with good old clip converter and then transferred them onto a blank CD disc. a legitimate mixtape. and it’s funny because every single person i made a mixtape for… well, they’re gone from my life.

but, who knows? maybe the songs i gave them stayed with them? maybe. just maybe. who knows. can’t regret these things. though, i must say, i came into a point in my life where i was sick and tired of making mixtapes for people. 

no, not even mixtapes. but playlists. 

why should i give my songs to people, why should i share these pieces of my soul to people who will inevitably leave? i mean i saw no point.

it was just a interesting time and, i mean, we both said each other that we both ended up in each other's lives in a time when we kinda needed the other. because you came and we connected and, honestly, you remind me what warmth and hope feels like. 

i know you're going through a tough time a lot has happened and you burnt out and it may feel like you can barely keep it together… but let this music soothe your soul. i choose a bit of a mellow start for that reason. then we move into some funky tunes and then it mellows out, but to some bedroom tunes. then, of course, it finishes with SWEET. because me drunkenly screaming out the lyrics to that brockhampton song was what started this.

however, if only one of these songs sticks with you… then that's all that matters. of course you may hate all of them. just tell me and i'll be your personal algorithm and give you more of what you like and what didn’t. i won't be offended. i’ve learned to stop taking these playlists too seriously. 

because, in the end, people may come and go but music always remains. it’s the same those three or four minutes. those seconds don’t change. we do. 

and if i get the chance to share some with you then that's the most important thing. 

even if just for now.

[imaaa]

Dear Imaaa,

you know, had we lived in the same city I would have given you this letter in person. however, this is not possible for now so here's a typed letter that I'm writing to you on this very precious occasion that is your birthday. So for a couple of minutes just assume  that I'm standing in front of you holding your tiny miny hands in my tiny miny hands and saying all this to you. My heart is already smiling and Imaaa I have a request, please don't hold your smile or laugh while I'm speaking my heart out, and sorry in advance if this letter doesn't serve you the purpose it is written for cause I'm no friends with expressing my thoughts out loud.

So, Imaaa it's your birthday. Pleasantest birthday my dear Imaaa, hope you take a rest from your schedule and look after your heart and mind, hope you don't stress over anything, hope you play some songs that soothe your soul and rejuvenate your surroundings and hope you meet and spend time with your loved ones and have some delicious food while laughing and having a good time, hope nothing bothers you today and you don't occupy yourself with any particular thing that troubles your mood. Sending you a bouquet of sunflowers and roses with a note .

Imaaa I don't know how you pronounce your name but I believe however it sounds, it sounds cute and adorable just like your appearance on Tumblr. (I had to mention Tumblr this is where I found you and I'm glad I did)

How often do we meet someone and feel like we have known them forever ? Not often right?  I remember scrolling through some posts on tumblr on a random day and finding my mind and my eyes stuck on this one post on 'letting go' and also  instantly fighting this urge to read more of such writings  and then never wanting to scroll back.

Imaaa how do you do this? How even? Sometimes all of a sudden i go through this craving to open tumblr and read all of your phenomenal  write-ups  cause Imaaa I have said this before and let me say it as many times as I can when you write, you write as your words have a life breathing inside them, you write to give those mere 26 alphabets a purpose to exist, a purpose to make people feel emotions they weren't aware of yet, you assemble them and create a rhythm it's incredible Miss Imaaa. It's miracle which you perform.

Imaaa I pray  you clear your exam and get back to writing cause we all miss you. I miss you. Daisy misses you. Tumblr misses you.

Once again, HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY MY LOVELIEST IMAAA HAPPIEST HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY 🌻🌻🌻 KEEP SMILING KEEP SPREADING LOVE AND WARMTH✨

ps: i didn't intend to stretch this letter so long but heyyy I couldn't stop myself hope you don't mind.

Your fangirl

Sky(with love and sunshine)

every year, on my birthday, something happens that doesn't go well. every year there's something that makes me want to have this day pass as soon as possible because my fate with birthdays hasn't been good. and maybe that's why i wanted YOU to wish me because i knew i needed someone to remind me of love on my birthday. i read your wish at 2 a.m. and i cried while reading it. it's the first time, i cried HAPPY tears on my birthday. usually, i shed the painful ones. this time i didn't. although i didn't have a very happy day but today was the kind of day when i came to some realisations that were important. anyway. sky, i will always be grateful to my life that it made me meet you. you make such a huge difference in my life. genuinely, i am so lucky to have you. you make me so happy, and i love you so much for that. not going to lie, yours is THE best wish i received today. and i will keep on coming back to it. do you realise how fortunate i am to have received this SO WELL CURATED letter that's written with so much delicacy? like you put your heart into it to pour as much softness as you could. i am unable to express my gratitude in the way i want to, but please please know that you're my major highlight of this 21st birthday. and IN SO MANY WAYS yours birthday wish SAVED this day from getting ruined. i kept on reminding myself that as long as i have people like sky, i don't have to focus on the ones to whom i don't mean much. i love you sky, thank you for coming in my life and choosing to bestow so much warmth onto me. out of all the days, today was the day i needed it the most. (i am sorry for responding so late, i wanted to have a calm mind to sit down and form a proper reply.)

[sunnywalnut]

You still miss me, don't you?

Or do you mean what you said?

You should, shouldn't you?

It's all in my head.

This noise, these words, thoughts rushing through my mind.

What do I know? What if it's time?

To set it down. To disappear. To leave you be, my little deer.

Wish I'd known better. Wish I'd stayed away. Wish I'd been worse. Wish you'd gone astray.

Take two steps back, I'll take the leap.

I'll never know how much you speak.

About me, about us, perhaps none at all.

Wish I knew better. Wish I'd known at all.

What you meant to me. What I meant to you.

Wish I'd known how to fix it, before you turned blue.

Now here I am, empty and yearning.

For something I'd known for less than a year.

The taste on my tongue, your touch on my soul.

Wish I'd known better.

Wish I knew now.

Did you know what I do?

That I see you come through?

Each message you send. I wait for more.

I want you truly. I do adore.

Wish I'd known better.

Wish I knew now.

Wish I could tell you.

Wish I knew how.

Are you really better off without me?

Did you love me as you claim?

Or am I just here?

Just something to maim?

Watch me tear myself apart, take in the show.

For you, for you, for you.

Only for you.

Till each bit of me is gone.

Till there's nothing left.

Maybe then you could see.

Then you could see.

The true matters of the heart.

Broken and bleeding, but all yours.

All yours.

Pretend your hands aren't bloody.

Just as mine are before.

A cycle of hurt, of pain.

Sleepless nights, tear stained pillows and broken voices.

Do you still think of me?

Do you sing songs in that shattered voice of yours?

Ballads that I'll never get to hear. Eyes I'll never get to stare into again. Losing myself.

Wish I'd known better.

Wish I'd known now.

Wish I could fix it.

Wish I knew how.

Shitty poetry, thrown on a screen.

Waiting for you to tell me.

Was it all a dream?

A dream, a dream..

That's how it started, a dream.

All in my head, a voice, a touch, a smile, a hug.

A dream, a dream..

That's where you'll stay.

My little doe eyed deer.

A dream, a dream..

My crowded mind.

Warmth among the chill.

A dream, a dream..

Now I wait, my heart empty.

Dreaming up a story.

Where I never left.

Where you could stay.

Where we were good.

And I knew the way.

But that's all it is.

A dream, a dream...

And I dream away.

[lets-talk-spirituality]

hey ☺️ can I have a reading of soulmate I love to know what they are like and if you pick up any details about them.❤️ 🤖 Thanks 🙏

It’s crazy to me that out of everything we could ask the universe, most people are most concerned with their soulmate, not their own career or their goals or soul purpose. Very interesting. I feel like that speaks to the seeming lack of love on the planet.

All that said. I’ll see what I can pick up. Not sure if you are the same anon who asked if the person you think is your soulmate is, but if so, that message still stands. And it’s part of why it’s taken me a long time to get to this reading.

I’m hearing standard office sounds, sounds on the computer typing, deep sighs, dreary, boredom, nice office, high up in a sky scraper, working in a shared office environment, I feel like this person works in stocks or finance, a lot of stress with the economy, this feels like London, they work in international finance and I don’t think they are British, maybe Australian (I heard that accent), I’m not sure if they are happy but I think they are good at what they do, people seek them out, they have good insight, they are decisive. Nice watch, crisp clothes, they do well but it’s blasé (that song by Ty dolla sign is coming up) access to materialism but doesn’t feed anything, they have the nice house and job and everything they asked for but it’s not fulfilling. Deep down they always wanted to do something else, athletic or outdoorsy, I’m seeing surfing and sailing which would make sense if they’re from Australia. I think they want a different lifestyle but the one they are in provides for them and other people they love so they feel it’s a sacrifice they must make, the well being of others or their own happiness, they chose others. They feel drained, I think they miss the warmth and sun, seasonal affective disorder.

Anything to say soul mate?

Not really. (Melancholy) Everything’s just as it should be going. I’m on track for a promotion, maybe even can open my own firm or be a partner at a firm one day (They are standing looking out a window over the bustling city, arms crossed) Everything I’ve asked for, I got (sounds hollow, what’s missing?) Nothing is missing, it’s just when I asked for this, I didn’t think it would feel like this, everyone with money looks happy, they’re partying and yachts and I’ve done some of that but I just, idk feel disillusioned I guess (you can still change your mind) I know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. The pandemic was crazy financially but it’s all going to shit. I’m doing fine enough, I could finally go sail the world and just disappear for awhile but I worry, I worry that I’ll regret it one day. Stuck in the in between, if I jump I could die but I can’t just stand here anymore. I need to take a leap of faith. If you aren’t shitting, get off the pot.

Goddess Guidance Oracle

Abundantia—prosperity “the universe is pouring its abundance out to you. Be open to receiving.”

This dissatisfaction is a gift from the universe because it is allowing for a new direction, the more we hold onto to the old and outdated ways of doing things, the more we block our only ability to evolve and find abundance (tingling wings, I told y’all 2023 is abundance based).

Yemanya— Golden Opportunity “Important doors are opening for you right now. Walk through them.”

You can help your soulmate by saying yes to opportunities that present themselves and by following the quiet hunches of your heart. It’s a wild goose chase, keep chasing.

Focus on your goals and passions, not your soul mate. If you want to see breakthroughs, you have to break through. Stop doing the same things and expecting change.

[cpknightly1]

Hello Surgy Buddies!

I'm hoping you are all well and going home for the Holidays.

The next time your nurse comes in the room, tell her you demand to speak with your ELF.

Busy, busy, The Holidays coming. Since the house has been redone and looking great, Christmas has Hurled all over the place. Lights, Garland, Tree etc. Even the dogs are confused. I absolutely love this Holiday. I tend to do silly elf like things. Like buying the car behind me at Starbucks their order. Hehe. Looking for the grumpy people around who just need to connect with another person with conversation. Hoping not to annoy them further. LOL

Giddy about the gifts I got for everyone. I like to make things mostly. But don't have my workshop set up as of yet.

Yes, still working on new books, when there's time. Car alternator went out (sigh) BIG COST.

Finally sold my car that had been sitting in the driveway. Taking care of big chunks of to do's on my list.

I've always handled problems in leaps and bounds. But this past year has been very difficult. I don't know about your passed year. Did you have little..very little annoying problems happening often?

Plus being a woman men tend to think you don't know what they are talking about. I love shocking them into reality. Hehe.

I reflect on being away from family and friends. Without the one I adore. Yes. Very much.

The new year brings much more good change. And I hope for all of you too. Those in pain, with loss and struggling. I send prayers.

There's one of my favorite Christmas songs please listen to it. "My Grown-up Christmas List" by Amy Grant or Natalie Cole. Also a very special one called. "Merry Christmas Darling". I adore you and miss you. I cannot tell you how much. Even skipping Dr's appointments to get other things done. I've always believed that if you keep fighting and trying you can beat many obstacles. Sometimes you're exhausted and tired. Please keep trying. I get in my car and scream my head off. It helps to relieve what steam your holding in.

Watch your stress. Especially now. So much we expect of ourselves. Why? Ahh..the "perfect" Holiday. When is the last time your holidays were perfect? Little things, details are really quite beautiful. The small things. I'm sorry but we don't need $300 shoes do we? Try thinking of the most wonderful Christmas you ever had. Keep it warm inside. My favorite gift was a plastic Vet bag. I could treat animals.(symbolically)

I hope to be in here more often too. For all of my followers please stay healthy-safe-and filled with joy this Christmas. I'll be thinking of you. And truly hope you find that warmth inside.

1000 years and Forever I have loved you..my one twin soul"

"I will be here" xoxo

Always,

Chris

🌹❤️🙃

[insomniumstella]

road trips and the multiverse | SWEET SUMMER NIGHTS 

bucky x reader

summary: late night talks about the multiverse on a road trip to Tony’s lakeside cabin or let the vacation begin.

warnings: Bucky is very much in love, but is that a warning?

word count: 865

author’s note: this fic is a part (1) of my SWEET SUMMER NIGHTS collection of feel-good stories if you’re in need of more Bucky and y/n on lazy summer days. also, highly recommend listening to Bye Bye Miss American Pie while reading

“I love you.” The booming sound of his voice cut through the soft music in the background, and y/n turned her head to look at him. She caught notice of Bucky’s playlist before glancing at his face. 

“Bye Bye Miss American Pie?” The girl chuckled after reading the song’s name.  

Bucky stared straight ahead as they drove down an empty road in the middle of nowhere. It has been two hours since they’ve left the compound, but y/n could stare at the evergreen sea of trees for two hours more. The full moon hanging above cast a warm glow on the scenery beautifully. Every so often, her bones would freeze at the idea of a wild animal running out into the road, but she trusted Bucky with her whole heart, thus, even the fear was a thought so distant, it didn’t stop y/n from enjoying the moment. Besides, Bucky’s presence has always been a source of comfort. A source of warmth. 

“Natasha told me about it.” Their eyes met for a swift moment before she was looking through the old chevy’s window again. 

“Mmmh.” Though the mmmh sounded a little annoyed, both knew the girl wasn’t jealous of the redhead. Perhaps once upon a time, y/n had been jealous of Natasha’s flirting abilities, but nothing much beyond that. Besides, she trusted her boyfriend and friend too much for her mind to buzz with the ugly emotion that went by the name of jealousy. 

“Mmmh.” Bucky teased, placing a warm hand on her left thigh. “Open the window.” He said after a while, so she did. 

The air outside felt different than usual. That kind of air one could only experience during the summer. It was sweeter and lighter, and felt somewhat like a promise of good days to come. It was comforting too, erasing bad memories of the previous seasons as soon as it entered the system. If she didn’t have Bucky, y/n would say that summer’s air was the single best thing this life had ever given her. 

“I love you," placing one hand on top of his, she stuck the other hand out of the window, "forever and always.” 

“Two years of forever and always, countless years of forever and always to come.” Bucky’s voice dripped with admiration and affection, and love. “If the multiverse is real,” he got silent as y/n softly laughed at the memory of Stephen Strange explaining the multiverse to her lover, “I hope I fell in love with you in every single timeline.” 

Is the multiverse real? That was a question y/n couldn’t answer as it was far beyond her field of expertise, but there was one thing she was sure of — if it was real, she’d do anything to find Bucky Barnes in every timeline the universe had to offer. “Oh, James.” She turned her head in his direction, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “I only hope there’s a timeline in which you never got hurt.” Her hand rested on his shoulder. “A timeline where you’re happy and at peace even if that means I’m not in it.” 

“Not possible.” Bucky shook his head, catching y/n’s stare. “I could never be happy in a timeline without you in it.” It was an honest statement Bucky would forever stand behind. “Could never be at peace either.”

No one could ever make the man feel the way y/n made him feel. Her soul was so magnetic and mesmerizing, and powerful that it had silenced all of the pain and the suffering he had gone through. An eerie sensation would fill his body every time he thought about it, so he didn't allow himself to think about it much. She had managed to bury every ounce of regret swarming his brain, and for that, he'd be forever grateful.

“What if-” She began speaking, but Bucky cut her off. 

“No. Not possible.” He shook his head in disagreement. 

"Let me finish. What if there was a timeline where you were a famous actor, and I was just a regular girl? A timeline in which we were never destined to meet at all?" 

“I'd find you." Bucky sighed, glancing at y/n before focusing his attention back on the road. "Don’t even question it.” 

“Alright.” The girl gave in, smiling. "You'd be a terrible actor anyway." 

A familiar truck suddenly zoomed past them, but y/n couldn’t make out the numbers on its license plate. She could, however, figure out the reckless driving style belonging to none other than Natasha. The redhead must’ve been going way above the limit to catch up to the couple. 

“We should race them.” Bucky’s voice was filled with mischief as he stared at the car with Steve and Natasha in it. 

Is the lecture from Steve worth it? If he was scared of Natasha’s city driving, he might end up passing away from her driving in the middle of nowhere with Bucky on their tail. 

“Yes.” She laughed, imagining the captain’s terrified expression in all of its glory. She wouldn’t get to see it, but just the sight of it floating around her brain was enough to solidify her answer. “We should.”

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Black T-Shirt

Captain America and The Winter Soldier

Pairing; Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary; Bucky in that black and tight T-Shirt has you in desperate need to have his dick in your mouth.

Word Count; 1588

Warnings; NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, cursing, language, dirty talk, pet names, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female), Daddy!kink, face fucking, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note; sorry that the beginning is literal trash! I just didn’t know what in the hell to write leading up to the big event lol. I hope you all enjoy regardless <3 Minor spoilers to TFATWS 1x04!

Main Masterlist || Bucky Barnes Masterlist

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Credit @ brucelangley for the wonderful gif

Watching Bucky in that tight, black t-shirt all day had your mind in other places than the mission. Places of sin and pleasure as your mouth was watering in need to have his dick in your mouth at the way the shirt clung to his muscular body. But the busy day of finding Karli and the Dora Milaje threatening to come for Zemo gave you no time to pull him somewhere to the side for him to bring you to your knees and to suck him off.

Until the Dora Milaje arrived at the place you were staying, and all hell broke loose with spears and arms swinging everywhere, which resulted in Zemo’s escape.

“Get your stuff. We're leaving in 20 minutes to find him,” Sam ordered the two of you. 20 minutes? That was more than enough time to get what you wanted out of your boyfriend.

“Come here.” You took his hand and rushed the two of you into the bedroom where you could carry out your little mission. “What is it? Where's the rush?” Bucky questioned when he saw the rush you were in.

“I need you.”

He caught on pretty quickly in what you needed when your hand was placed just above his bulge. Your soft and pleading eyes were begging for him. How could he ever say no to a face like yours?

“Get on your knees, and I'll give you what you want so much doll.”

There was no trace of hesitation in your soul as you sunk to your knees in front of him and looked up as innocently as you could muster.

The belt buckle being undone by him was like sweet music in your ears. When he pulled down his jeans with his underwear, you came face to face with his throbbing cock that was full and erect for you only. The need for him to be in your mouth was just as great as your need for him to use your mouth to the fullest. Fuck, he looked so beautiful as you peeked up at him through your lashes.

When he went to pull off his shirt as well, you stopped him immediately. “No, keep it on.” The way the shirt clung to his muscular body had your core scream in need. The print of his abs could be seen from how tight it was. His biceps teasing to burst out any second from the tightness of his short sleeves had your tongue peek out to wet your lips.

He traced your lips with his thumb, and you gave it a light kiss before you allowed entrance for him. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked and swirled your tongue on his digit, making a groan emit deep from within him at your mouth being so obedient to him.

“Let's put that mouth to good use, shall we kitten? Are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?” He asked as his hand found its place at the back of your neck to encourage you on.

Oh, Daddy? So he was in that mood now. Then you knew he was going to use and abuse your mouth to the fullest.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

Your hand wrapped around his base as you looked up to him for permission to continue. The slight nod of his head was the signal you were looking for.

You opened your mouth to let your tongue trace his throbbing vein on the underside of him. The feel of you on his most sensitive part had him shudder at the feeling your tongue was giving him.

Your tongue swirled at the head of him. It ended with a light suckle to his mushroom tip like it was a delicious and tasty lollipop.

That was enough teasing for him. He needed more, so his hand at the back of you pushed your mouth more on him. All the way until your nose met his base, your tongue teasing his length as you managed to take him in fully. The feeling of him so deep in your throat made you cough around his entire cock. The vibrations felt wonderful on him as it made him shiver down his spine.

He needed more. With his hand holding your head in place, his hips thrust quick and sharp into your mouth, taking all it had to offer.

“You take me so well, doll. Such a good girl for me.”

He kept his dick deep in your throat at all times, fucking it to his liking, bruising and abusing it to the fullest, until you showed signs that you needed a break which he kindly let you have.

He couldn't help but hiss out at the loss of you around him, already missing having you on him. It was something he never could get enough of.

Your lips were swollen from the actions Bucky laid on you, and your eyes were watery at him tickling the back of your throat with every thrust of his hips. All in all, you were a beautiful mess for your Daddy, and he couldn't stop praising you for being so good to him.

The saliva from your mouth was trickling down his length, and it made you hungry to taste him again and again. You could never get enough of him in your mouth—the place where only he belonged.

His cock twitched when you looked up at him through your long lashes, and he couldn't help but wrap his fist around himself, making quick strokes to hurry up the process of cumming in your mouth.

“Show me that pretty tongue.”

Sticking it out for him like he asked and giving it a wiggle, he laid his head on the tip of it. Switching between tapping his head on it and making sinful strokes on himself.

The image of him looking so in control and dominant where he was standing tall and towering over you had your clit tingle in delight. You couldn't help yourself when you undid your pants some so you could snake your hand in your panties and give it the attention it so desperately needed.

“Look at you. Such a needy little thing. Needing to touch yourself while you suck me off.” His movements ceased to a halt. It was his way of saying it was your turn now to continue where he left off.

You took him in your hand to jerk him off as he did just a moment ago. The focus was on his red and sensitive tip. Your other hand was working on yourself to bring you to orgasm as well.

“Does it feel good, Daddy?”

“So good, kitten. Keep going.”

His eyes were closed shut, and his head leaning back some at the pleasure you were bringing him with your expert hand.

When you felt like he had enough, you let him in your mouth again for him to do as he pleased. His sounds of pleasure increased in volume as he fucked your warmth.

Encouraging flicks of your tongue were given to him as he fucked your face raw to his liking. Using your mouth for his pleasure, and you loved every second of it.

He was going to cum in your mouth; you could feel it, see it, and you wanted nothing more than have him shot his delicious seed down your throat. He twitched in your mouth and his muscles tensed up in preparation to let himself go. You were close to finishing as well as your hand was working on your clit.

He pulled himself out again, much to your disapproval, as he once more wrapped his fist around himself, making quick strokes.

“Open your mouth and show me that tongue.”

Doing as told, you opened wide for him to empty his cum on your desperate tongue. Your eyes were large and innocent when you looked up at him.

He was so close. His hand was losing the steady rhythm that he had. His vibranium one went in your hair to pull hard, making you emit a yelp at the pain.

“Fuck, I'm cumming, kitten. Cum for Daddy as well.”

The coil in your stomach snapped as his loud, and heavy grunts filled the air as he came all over your tongue and lips. Ropes of him decorating it so beautifully like an expensive artwork at the museum.

Once both of you came down from your high and he emptied himself entirely on you, he took a second to admire his work. Proud of how beautiful it looked.

“So pretty baby girl, Now swallow all of it.”

You closed your mouth and swallowed his load with no second thoughts. It was ingrained in you to do so. Like it was second nature. You showed him your empty mouth, which made him let out a satisfied groan of approval.

His thumb traced your lips to collect some of the remaining cum and pushed his digit into your parted lips for you to suck him clean.

“Such a good girl for me.”

A few seconds later, there could be heard a knock on the door and Sam's voice speaking from outside.

“Look, I don't know what the hell you guys are doing in there, but we need to leave, like right now.”

You and Bucky stifled a laugh at knowing that Sam most likely knew what was up with the two of you.

“Come on.” He helped you to stand up on your feet. “Let's get cleaned up, and then we have to leave.”

Credit @ firefly-graphics for the wonderful divider

Thank you for reading <3 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated if you liked it! As well as a reblog to share it with others!

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[helaintoloki]

Everybody Loves Somebody

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight language, themes of insecurity, angst, pining, slow burn (kinda?), eventual fluff, over 5k words in length

notes: it’s finally finished! this took forever but I swear I put my entire soul into making this as perfect as it could be. I’ve never used this format before in my writing and it was challenging but also super fun so hopefully you guys like it :) (also yes the title and the fic somewhat is inspired by the Dean Martin song)

summary: Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

Sunday

Three quick raps on the apartment door force Bucky to kick back the covers and sluggishly rise from his spot on the floor. He’s exhausted, but his recognition of the evenly spaced knocks on the wooden frame has him feeling compelled to answer, and so he does. Too tired to notice the television is still droning on in the background, Bucky idly wraps his discarded blanket around his form to shield his vibranium arm before opening the door to greet the old man standing on the other side.

“Rough night, huh?” Yori greets with a knowing smile.

“Something like that,” he replies with a tired, lopsided grin. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I set you up on a date,” the man says casually, as if setting Bucky up on dates without his knowledge and against his will is a common every day occurrence, and it is. “Saturday evening at six.”

“What— A date? Yori—“

“She’s a nice girl, very pretty. I think you’ll like her.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Bucky tries to interject, but Yori is already halfway down the hall before the super soldier can get another word in.

“You’re meeting her at the Italian place down the street!” Yori calls behind him. “She likes sunflowers!”

The old man’s shouts are sure to have woken up the entire fourth floor by now, but Bucky is too busy trying to process the jumble of information that has been thrust upon him so suddenly and so early in the morning to care. The last date Yori had sent him on had ended in disaster; Bucky wasn’t ready to get back out on the field, a stable relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. Surely no one in their right mind would stick around once they found out the truth about the man, and if they did it would only be a matter of time before the constant nightmares and extra baggage that came with dating the ex-Hydra assassin sent them running for the hills. But Yori meant well, Bucky knew that, and he also knew he owed the man more than he could ever give him in return, so if sitting through another painfully uncomfortable date would make him happy, then Bucky would just have to suck it up, put on the nicest shirt he owned, and charm his way through another awkward dinner.

“Sunflowers,” he grumbles to himself, quietly shutting the door before returning to his spot on the cold hardwood floor.

Monday

Monday mornings are gym mornings, early workouts that start at five and end at seven. He promptly returns to the apartment building at seven thirty, eight if he stops for breakfast, then goes to check the mail before heading back to the comfort of his sheltered apartment. He doesn’t receive much other than grocery coupons and an odd letter from the government every now and then, but he’s been told that a routine is good, it’s healthy, so on Monday mornings at seven thirty—or eight— Bucky pulls out his keys and opens his assigned metal box with a sense of indifference.

It’s eight o’clock on this particular morning, and with a half finished cup of coffee in hand the soldier opens the little metal compartment to find nothing other than stray specks of dust and the tiniest of spiderwebs in the top right corner of the box. It’s a familiar sight, but Bucky has learned not to let it bother him by now. Remember James, it has nothing to do with you, his therapist always said. You have to learn not to take things personally.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Bucky murmurs quietly before finally shutting his mailbox with a sigh. Coffee cup discarded in the nearby trash can, Bucky turns to make his trek towards the elevator only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a beautifully familiar face.

Your name is y/n, you live on the fourth floor, and for someone reason you’re always covered in glitter. You’re on your way out the door, art supplies held clumsily in your grasp just begging to jump free from your hold, and despite the rush you seem to be in you still greet the man with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” you chime, honey coated voice filled with warmth and kindness for the stranger. Bucky simply gives you a halfhearted smile in return, watching you walk out the door and wishing he could just muster up the courage to speak to you.

You won the soldier’s heart the day you knocked on his door to drop off a “welcome to the neighborhood” casserole. It had only been his second day in his new apartment, and while he knew some of the other tenants were weary of the mysterious man with the thousand yard stare who had decided to call the building a home, you never once seemed to bat an eye at Bucky or his closed off nature. He had been a little short with you upon your first meeting, his anxiety coming off as annoyance, but still you wore that same kind smile of yours and assured him that if he ever needed anything you’d be happy to help. You were a kind person with a big heart, and Bucky didn’t want to chance snuffing out one of the few lights left in the world, so he let you be. Admiring you from afar was all he let himself have of you, and that was it.

Though, Bucky would be lying if he said you didn’t come across his mind every once in a while. He wondered what you were like, what music you listened to, how you liked your eggs in the morning, if you were an old soul or young at heart, if you’d ever let yourself fall into in the arms of a broken man and help pick up the pieces. It was a pipe dream, but sometimes a friendly smile from you in the morning was enough to get Bucky through an entire day. He hadn’t been with anyone in years, and while he didn’t think he was ready to get back out on the dating scene just yet he knew that if you asked him to he’d take the plunge in a heartbeat. You were an angel, and Bucky would never be able to bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Monday mornings are workout mornings, but they’re also mornings with you.

Tuesday

On Tuesday afternoons Bucky often finds himself in the company of Yori, ensuring the old man stays out of trouble and going out of his way to make sure his newest friend has a nice day out on the town. It isn’t much, and it never will be, but it’s enough for now, at least until Bucky can find the courage to tell the father just what exactly happened to his son on that fateful night. But until then, sushi for lunch will have to do.

He makes his usual trek to the man’s apartment, stomach already beginning to rumble at the prospect of a nice crunch roll, but Bucky’s hunger is soon replaced with nerves at the sight of the woman standing in Yori’s doorway.

You look pretty today, hair haphazardly styled in your rush out the door this morning, colorful stains of dry paint adoring your hands that clutch a bundle of books close to your chest, and a dangly pair of earrings that glint underneath the sunlight pouring through the hallway windows. There’s a smile on your face as you nod along to something Yori says that doesn’t quite register in the soldier’s jumbled thoughts, and the two of you are both too engrossed to notice his lingering presence standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you so much for lending me these. The kids keep me on my toes and I haven’t had any time to settle down with a good book so these were perfect,” you utter gratefully, handing off the pile of poetry books to Yori’s awaiting hands. Names of authors that Bucky doesn’t recognize catch his eye, just as his friend finally catches his presence.

“Of course. I have more if you’re ever interested,” he says before finally addressing the elephant in the hallway. “James, there you are. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Bucky stiffens at the sound of his name, heat immediately crawling up his neck as you turn to him with a friendly smile. Clearing his throat, he steps forward and musters up a meager grin in return.

“Like I’d ever miss Tuesday lunch,” he jokes, a nervous chuckle falling past his lips.

“I guess I better get going. Thank you again, Yori,” you chime with a grateful smile. Then, with your attention turned to Bucky, “Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Thank you...” he trails quietly, mentally kicking himself for his stiff demeanor and wishing he could be less pathetic in your presence just once. Just once and he’d die a happy man.

You leave with a polite smile, turning down the hallway and out of Bucky’s grasp once again. Yori elbows his side.

“She’s single, you know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky replies with a wry chuckle. “You have me set up with one girl already.”

“Right,” Yori notes thoughtfully with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re going to have a nice time on your date.”

“We’ll see,” is all he says in reply, your smile the only thing on his mind as the two men head out for the day.

Wednesday

Bucky has grown to love rainy days, days in which he can remain tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his own home with a relaxing mug of hot chocolate in one hand and some piece of pop culture media he has yet to catch up with in the other. Today’s pick is a book titled The Outsiders, and Bucky chooses to sit upon the windowsill to read the novel.

Gentle drops of rain trail down the glass window, pattering soothingly in a way that makes Bucky fear he may fall asleep. He sets the book aside with a tired sigh and glances out the window with his warm cheek pressed against the cool surface; the city is quiet and the streets nearly empty, and this makes it easier to spot you.

It’s almost as if you’ve been popping up out of nowhere lately, but Bucky never seems to mind. Watch from afar, that was the deal he made with himself, so who was he to complain if you made the task easier for him? He could never have you the way he wanted to because he doubted you’d ever want an unstable old man like him, and even if you did he’d be no good for you. He knew girls like you back in his day, girls with stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves, girls who’d melt in his arms whenever he so much as smiled at them. And yet you weren’t like any girl he’d ever seen; you were an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to spend all of eternity deciphering the mystery of you. But he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

Despite the gloomy gray skies hanging above you there’s a serene smile on your face as you stop to admire the pots of sunflowers outside the building, reminding Bucky he has to buy some for his date on Saturday. God, he was dreading it. Bucky was sure whatever girl Yori picked for him would be nice enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes wish it were you he’d be taking out for a night on the town. A guy can dream, right?

You retreat into a nearby coffee shop when the rain begins to fall harder, and as Bucky turns to his own warm drink he finds that the mug is now cold. Book discarded, he rises from his spot on the windowsill and drowsily drags himself into the kitchen for another cup.

For a moment he thinks sunflowers might surely bring about his demise, and the passing thought brings the smallest of smiles to his face. Only time will tell.

Thursday

“How are you feeling about your date on Saturday?”

The woman stares at him expectantly, pristine notepad resting casually in her lap, pen in hand as a warning, eyebrows raised at the man as he stares down contemplatively at the stitching of his leather gloves. What should be a comforting environment instead only seems to put him on edge, and as the seconds tick by on the clock hung crookedly above the doorway her pen only seems to get closer to the blank page below her. Shoulders sagging, Bucky can only offer a small sigh in response.

“I can’t say I feel too great about it,” he finally says, the tension in his shoulders alleviating slightly as she finally puts the pen down.

“And why’s that?” Doctor Raynor prods curiously.

“I just don’t really think I’m all that ready for a relationship. What person wants to be with someone as screwed up as me?”

“The right person will,” Christina comforts. Your smiling face flashes briefly in his mind in response and he shifts in discomfort— the doctor notices. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the full story here, James. I suspect there’s something else that’s holding you back. Or maybe someone.”

“That obvious, huh?” Bucky retorts with a wry smile.

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Her name’s y/n,” he says, your name falling past his lips in the softest tone Dr. Raynor has ever heard from him before. “I don’t know her all that well, but she lives in my apartment building so I see her around a lot. She’s... she’s really pretty.”

“Well, what is it about y/n that you like?”

Geez, where do I even begin?

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, picking absently at a loose seam on the end of his shirt, “I guess I like how friendly she is. Every time I see her she’s always smiling, she always says good morning to everyone and lends a hand wherever she can. It’s like she goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m not really used to that but it’s a nice feeling. The first time I met her she never even flinched, she wasn’t scared like other people usually are, and even when I blew her off she still made it clear that I was welcome and if I needed a friend she’d be there. That’s the kind of person she is.”

“Did you take her up on that offer?” The woman asks, but by the look on her face Bucky is sure she already knows the answer.

“No...”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” Christina says firmly, “you have to stop closing yourself off from the people around you. Making a friend could really help you, especially if this girl is truly as nice as you say she is.”

“She is,” he reiterates firmly, “and that’s why I can’t be her friend.”

The doctor’s brows furrow with piqued interest at his admission, legs shifting underneath her as she gets comfortable in preparation for what will most likely be a heavy confession. “Can you elaborate for me?” She says. Bucky sighs.

“After everything that’s happened, and everything the world has been through, it just gets harder and harder to find some sort of light in the dark. So when you finally do find it, it’s like you have to do everything in your power to make sure it never goes out.”

“So y/n is a light?” Raynor reaffirms.

“For so many people,” Bucky nods, “and if I try to put myself in the picture I’ll only bring her down. There’s no future with me, and she deserves better than that.”

“How do you know that if you never put yourself out there?” The doctor asks softly, silently stunned by the heavy confession Bucky has entrusted her with; it’s the most he’s ever opened up before.

Pieces of the past dart through his mind, and in the midst of all the heartache and the chaos he sees Yori, the one friendship he’s been able to successfully maintain since his period of healing. The memory of the man is pleasant for a moment, until Bucky is reminded of the basis of their friendship and how one single confession will tear down everything they’ve built together. It doesn’t matter what kind of man he is now or how much control he has over his own life, the Winter Soldier will always have the final say, and nothing will ever change that. Finally, he speaks.

“I just do.”

Friday

“Crap.”

The softly uttered curse sounds from across the hallway and alerts Bucky of his struggling neighbor’s presence. Purse slipping off your shoulder and heavy groceries spilling from your arms, you struggle to maneuver your key into the lock of your front door all while the heat of embarrassment engulfs your body in a suffocating hold. You’re not as put together as you usually are, your belongings in disarray and eyes full of exhaustion rivaling that of his own, your usually meticulously picked clothing replaced by joggers and an old college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big on you, and yet Bucky still finds himself frozen in your presence.

Don’t just stand there, help her you idiot, his mind screams at him, the soldier harshly swallowing down his nerves before taking shaky steps towards you. An orange slips out of the brown paper bag and rolls towards his feet, and Bucky takes it as his in into a conversation.

“Need some help?” He asks with a crooked smile, one that softens at the look of distress clear in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe out before offering a meager smile of your own. “Some help would be great, thank you.”

Bucky takes the heavier bags of groceries from your aching arms and returns the orange to its rightful place, allowing you the chance to take your keys and unlock the door. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk in, leaving it open as a silent invitation for him to let himself in. Bucky swallows nervously but wordlessly follows behind; he’s never been in a woman’s apartment before, and the fact that it’s yours makes the experience all the more nerve wracking.

Your apartment is small but personalized, decorated with little knickknacks and houseplants and old family portraits that Bucky does his best not to stare at in fear of being rude, and the vanilla scented candle that burns on the coffee table makes him feel all the more welcome. You drop your purse by the couch with a tired sigh before directing your attention to the man who stands awkwardly in your living room. His hulking figure makes your apartment seem tiny, oddly comforting in a way, but you hold back your giggles and merely guide him to your kitchen.

“You can set them on the counter,” you say with a passive wave before reaching into one of the cabinets for a glass cup. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man says politely as he settles the heavy bags down on the marble surface; as much as he’d like to sit and spend the evening with you, he can’t stay long, or more like he won’t allow himself to stay long. Your movements are clumsy as you down your glass of water, and Bucky looks away flustered as little droplets begin to escape the corners of your lips and dribble down your neck. “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but are you alright? You seem a bit... flustered.”

“Is it that obvious?” You joke quietly, your smile barely reaching your eyes as you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins to say in fear of overstepping, but you merely shake your head in response.

“I’m just a little stressed out. The kids always keep me on my toes, especially now that there’s more of them, and it’s been hard trying to get some of them to readjust.”

“Kids?” He repeats with furrowed brows. He can’t recall ever seeing you with any children, and there’s no sign of any living with you in your apartment. A genuine laugh leaves your lips this time at his response and Bucky tenses uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” you explain with a smile, and everything clicks in Bucky’s mind then. That would explain the constant paint stains and trails of glitter left in your wake, the arts and crafts supplies and stacks of drawings you seem to carry with you everywhere. And here he thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger than it already was— were you even real?

“The effects of the blip have been really difficult for them. It’s hard having to come back to school and see that all your old friends are now five grades ahead of you. I know everyone has been impacted in some way by what happened, but it’s harder for the younger ones to understand. I’m doing my best to make the transition back to normalcy easier for them, but some days are harder than others, you know?”

“Sounds rough,” is all Bucky can manage to say, swallowing his emotions back harshly.

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly, rubbing away the clear exhaustion in your eyes, “but I’m trying my best.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You smile then, a genuine smile, one that makes Bucky weak in the knees, and suddenly it’s as if all the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“I really needed to hear that,” you utter softly, “thank you.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky jokes lamely, but you must like his sense of humor for you let out the quietest of giggles.

“You’re sweet. I like talking with you, but I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

“Not really,” he shrugs with a crooked smile, “I just had some errands to run before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask curiously, brows raising with interest as Bucky awkwardly looks down at your hardwood floor.

“I’ve got a date.”

“Huh, no kidding. Me too,” you smile, and in response Bucky’s heart slowly begins to sink to his stomach. Yori had said you were single, but only an idiot would believe that someone like you could stay that way for long. Maybe if he had taken the doctor’s advice sooner he could be the one you’re seeing instead of the lucky guy that beat him to it.

“I should get going... I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again for the help, and good luck on your date,” you say with an encouraging smile. Bucky swallows harshly in response, a look of longing in his eyes that he hides well with a meager quirk of his lips.

“You too,” he murmurs in response, casting you once last glance before showing himself out. The lock clicks behind him, and Bucky trudges back to his own empty apartment.

Saturday

The dining patio of the Italian restaurant is pleasantly empty, but the quiet stillness does little to help soothe Bucky’s nerves as he waits for the arrival of his date. He probably should have asked Yori what she looked like, what her name was and what she’d be wearing so he’d know what to expect, but the old man had been adamant on keeping the identity of his date a surprise.

“It’ll be better that way,” he had said, “trust me.”

The bouquet of sunflowers sits before him on the table almost tauntingly, their bright colors and sweet scent sending his senses into overdrive. He almost resented them, but then he thought of your smiling face through the window and the tension from his shoulders began to dissipate— if you could be strong and put on a brave face despite all the bad things that had happened in the world, then so could he.

“James?” A meek voice calls quietly, pulling the man from his thoughts. His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the woman standing before him and he swallows anxiously.

“Y/n?” Bucky replies, quickly rising from his seat and cringing at the way in which the legs of the chair scrape harshly across the floor with his sudden movements. Here he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, and here you were proving him wrong with your cute little outfit and styled hair and charming smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my date,” you explain with a sheepish smile. Bucky deflates— not only would he have to suffer through his own painfully awkward date, but he’d also have to sit and watch you get swept off your feet by someone else all in the same night.

“Oh... well, who’s the lucky guy?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh, “I think you are.”

“Me?” Bucky repeats flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Yori was the one who said I should try dating again. He thought it would be good for me to spend some time with other adults since I’m always with my students, and when I said I didn’t really know anyone he told me he’d take care of it for me. All he told me was to come to this restaurant Saturday at six and look for the man with sunflowers,” you summarize before gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “and you’re the only one here with sunflowers so...”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Bucky then at the realization, and he isn’t sure whether he should jump for joy or wait for the ground below to swallow him whole. Finally he had a chance to spend time with the girl who had taken over his thoughts and occupied every available space in his heart, and yet he couldn’t help but feel terrified. A date was a big step up from neighborly conversation in your apartment, and all of Bucky’s hopes of developing something more with you were riding on this one date. Yori knew exactly what he was doing by setting the two of you up, and Bucky had no choice but to be grateful for the man who had bestowed upon him the chance to finally win you over.

“If this is too awkward for you we can just skip this whole date—“

“No, it’s not awkward at all,” Bucky is quick to interject. “I mean, this whole thing is certainly a surprise but it’s a good one. It’s an honor to be your blind date.”

He flashes a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, and he knows then that he’s back in the game— who would have guessed he’d be able to dust off his old moves with such ease? He had to if he wanted any kind of chance at winning you over.

“In that case, why don’t we get out of here? This restaurant is a little stuffy,” you note with a small chuckle, your nerves slowly beginning to dwindle.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?”

The nightlife atmosphere of the plaza square is surprisingly much more comfortable compared to the dining patio, and Bucky considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to witness firsthand the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the light of the starry sky. A nighttime stroll is right up Bucky’s alley, and you both fall into a comfortable step as you talk about whatever topic seems to come to mind. You speak of your students, about how much their smiling little faces have helped you get through the toughest times, how there’s a stray cat who calls the dumpsters behind your apartment building a home and waits for your arrival on trash days because you always bring the feline a special treat. Alpine, you had named it, and Bucky adored that greatly.

The details are vague but you enjoy the stories he tells you of his childhood and the way his whole face seems to light up at the mere mention of his mother and sister; that look dwindles slightly when he speaks of his old best friend, but you pretend not to notice. As a younger man Bucky worked at the docks before serving time in the army, though he fails to mention where he’d been stationed, and now he works for the government. You feel almost giddy to be learning so much about the man you once believed would rather prefer solitude over your company, and as the night drags on and the conversation begins to dwindle you almost wish you could reverse the clock and do it all over again.

“Thank you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, prompting you to halt your steps and raise a brow curiously at your counterpart.

"What for?"

“Taking a chance on a guy like me,” he smiles faintly while offering you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything like this in a while, and the idea of putting myself back out there scared me shitless, but you just make things so much easier. I guess what I’m trying to say is when I’m with you everything comes naturally, and I really appreciate that.”

“Oh,” you utter softly, a sheepish smile of your own gracing your lips as you turn away to admire the scenery around you. It isn’t until now that you notice you’ve stopped before the fountain, the arches of water flowing overhead illuminated by the fluorescent lights below them. A nervous fluttering occupies your stomach and when you finally meet Bucky’s gaze you feel as if nothing else in the entire world mattress other than the two of you in this moment. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of in the same boat, so that just means we can figure this out as we go. Together.”

“I like that,” Bucky affirms with a nod, a look that can only be described as lovestruck taking over his features. Nerves overcome you then as you clutch your bouquet of flowers to your chest, heart thrumming rapidly in your rib cage as Bucky steps closer. The glove that had once shielded his right hand from the cold is now missing as he gently cups your cheek and encompasses you with his warmth. His palm is calloused and rough but comforting all the same, and it takes everything in your power not to melt like putty in his grasp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs quietly as if raising his voice any higher will ruin the moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, swallowing back your nerves, “it’s okay.”

Your softly uttered words of confirmation are all Bucky needs to hear before dipping down and gently brushing his lips against your own. His movements are hesitant for only a moment, and it is only once he’s sure you are comfortable and secure that he moves in for more. Your lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and so sweet, and as your eyes begin to flutter shut and the forgotten sunflowers slip out of your grasp you drape your arms securely across his shoulders at the same moment in which his left hand joins his right in cupping your face as if you were a precious jewel in need of the upmost care.

Nothing exists when you are in each other’s arms, you are safe and sound in your own little world, and as you part to take a breath Bucky realizes then that one kiss is all he needs to know that you are the one he’s been waiting for all his life.

And by god, if you aren’t more than worth the wait.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Quick question sorry if this has been asked before: do you know any Johnlock fanfic where they’re extremely sensual? Like not just making love but just super methodically drawn out and slow and sweet?

Hi Nonny!!

Ahh, because of this ask, I went through my bookmarks to see if I have any listed with “sensuality” so that’s what this list is!! It definitely doesn’t have all of my fics because I have to go back through them and tag them, but in the meantime, enjoy what I started tagging a few months ago when you sent me this ask, LOL <3

As always, add your own fics here, Lovelies!!

SENSUALITY

See also:

Emotional Love Making || [MOBILE POST]

Emotional Love Making Pt. 2

Loved. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 1,231 w., 1 Ch. || First Sherlock POV, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nose Kisses, Morning After, Love Confessions, Morning Cuddles, Emotional Sherlock, Sentiment, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock reflects on his relationship with John. Part 5 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[stargazerinmoksha]

as the ocean and its waves return to the sky. as the rivers run dry, my ink follows. my words they glow better when you’re feeling right. if love makes us feel high, does it mean we finally got things right? like you’re always there, why do you trust me so much? why do you love me like you do? your loyalty is intoxicating, i am spellbound. layered from your first teardrops, a simple struggle between writer and reader, which words were meant for you? which ones were meant for me? the magic of poetry is the illusion of being able to breakdown and describe the abstract. what does it mean when we say i love you? is it something as simple as being able to vocalize it? i love you. it’s that simple. i love you. is it being able to stretch it out? like how we stretch a second into a thousand weeks of i miss you? a moment in time that’s forever missed. forever remembered? forget-me-nots planted deep inside of your memories, such a sweet scent that lingers, that scratches the surface of your thoughts, a song shared between two people, a date on a calendar that keeps us coming back, a text escapes my fingers quicker than i can backspace it, it probably wasn’t a good idea, but i still did it anyway. is it being able to personify it? the love you showed me grabbed my hands and instantly i knew, i would never be the same. something deep and profound like sharing your first moments laughing together, the first time you talked for an hour, but it felt like a few minutes— you knew that you were in trouble. the most welcomed kind. a midnight waltz of fingertips and layers being lifted, a silence shared between two souls unable to comprehend that things don’t always last forever, but fuck, doesn’t it feel like it could always be this way? just like this. a simple memory, the utterance of i love you leaving your lips for the first time, i know i’m a romantic of doomed proportions, but heavy lies the crown of knowing i’ll always be cursed with loving hard. i don’t know any other way to do it. i don’t know any other way to love. i swear it. it’s that simple. i’ve honestly grown past possessions— a free love. one without fear. one without obstructions. one without jealousy. one without envy. one without anxiety and worry. love me like today could be the last time we’ll ever speak, because it’s true. you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. it’s that simple. i love you. and if i love you starts to shape itself as a person, if love has a face, if it has a body, a fragrance, a poem attached to it, lips made to kiss, hands meant to settle the raging sea, fingertips to point to constellations, a mind meant for building castles, a thing made from pure desire, but i’m guilty because the truth is i could never keep you to myself. i see the error of my ways now, love isn’t meant to be found, love isn’t meant to be kept. love is meant to be felt, to be given. love is meant to be shared. love is meant to rescue us from the blues, mix it with the reds left from rose petals of long nights, violet skies shared between the two, a green field of beautifully arranged clouds hanging like a painting near those ocean waves in the bluest of skies— a yellow sun anchoring near that orange warmth you feel in your beating heart. colorless, odorless— a pure ecstasy of laughter and smiling. unconditional love made possible. you helped with that. if i love you doesn’t look like that, then baby i don’t want it. ♡

—deconstructing “i love you”

[hlizr50]

Terms of Endearment

I'm obsessed with Nesryn and Sartaq. And I am not ashamed.

Read on AO3

It had started innocently enough.

When Sartaq had slid his hands around her middle and drew her back into his chest their first night alone after the great victory, planting a kiss to that sensitive bend where her shoulder met her neck. He had seemed to breathe her in.

“My darling,” he’d sighed.

Nesryn had been taken aback, unaccustomed to pet names from him. Perhaps it was because they had fallen in love in the midst of war – not the time or place for terms of endearment.

But as soon as that final battle was over, it was as if Sartaq made it his mission to shower her with affection, praise, and every endearment he could possibly think of.

“My darling,” he had breathed into her neck that first night. It had been surprising, but not unwelcome. Nesryn was not accustomed to intimacy such as this, but she couldn’t deny the feeling of warmth that it sparked in her. Sartaq, so unlike any man she had ever known, made her feel precious and adored. Even when they were both covered in blood and gore.

“Good morning, sweet angel,” he murmured when she awoke in their shared cabin as they sailed back to the southern continent. She huffed out a laugh at him, but he only grinned back and tucked her messy morning hair behind her ear.

“I’m sure there is nothing angelic about me right now.” With a grumble she tucked herself into his chest, allowing her to feel his rich chuckle rumble through her. How fortunate for them that they had this opportunity to just be. That they had survived.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he answered. “Angel.”

Nesryn just shook her head and drifted back to sleep in the arms of her prince.

~~~

As wonderful and loving as Sartaq had been, she had still physically cringed when he called her ‘sweetheart’. So much so that he had pulled back from the embrace he’d so tenderly wrapped her in, instead grabbing her by the shoulders and finding her eyes.

“Nesryn?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Nesryn Faliq, it is obviously not nothing.” The prince reached up a hand to cup her cheek, and she closed her eyes with a sigh and leaned into that strong, comforting anchor. “Don’t hide from me, love. Please.”

She pulled his hand away, grasping it in both of hers. She loved his hands, the strength in them. They had seen battles for his homeland, for the world, and were still gentle against her flesh in those in-between moments when he made sure to remind her how loved she was.

“In Rifthold,” she began with a deep breath. “As a woman trying to make her way up the ranks, I found myself at odds with many a condescending man. Men who felt that a woman didn’t belong in the guard. Men who felt that a woman shouldn’t speak her mind. Men who felt entitled to my affections. And nearly all of them, being creatures of minimal creativity and intellect, would call me ‘sweetheart’ when they spoke to me as if I were nothing more than the dirt beneath their feet.”

Sartaq’s free hand fell at the small of her back and pulled her against him, lips falling against her temple.

“True men recognize and respect strength, regardless of whether it is a man or woman who possesses it. They were fools.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I will remember not to call you sweetheart. But know that you are my love, always, Nesryn Faliq.”

“And you are mine.”

~~~

“There you are, my beautiful morning dove.”

Nesryn turned, rolling her eyes, to find Sartaq striding toward her. He always wore that easy grin that toed the line between confident and arrogant. She hated how handsome that arrogant smirk looked on his tanned face.

“Good morning, your highness,” she answered haughtily. The prince only laughed.

“So formal, my lovely spring flower.” He was close enough for her to swat at him.

“You are insufferable,” she scowled, but her eyes had glittered with mirth.

“Insufferably in love with a stunning warrior goddess.” The prince grabbed her by the hips and leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her lips away from him. He didn’t let that stop him, though, and he simply peppered her cheek instead. Nesryn couldn’t contain her laughter.

~~~

Nesryn hadn’t thought that anything could be more exhausting than her time fighting in the war for Terrasen.

And yet, after a day of wedding planning with Duva and Hasar, she ached down to her bones from pacing. Her eyelids drooped dangerously as she stumbled into the suite she shared with Sartaq. She hadn’t made it two steps in when she was scooped into the prince’s arms.

“Empress of my heart, you look exhausted,” he whispered into her hair. Nesryn groaned.

“I’m too tired to even object to your ridiculous pet names tonight,” she grumbled. His chuckle rumbled through her, warming her aching nerves. She was not cut out for planning a royal wedding. How would she ever be empress?

A worry she would have to put off for another day. She did not have the strength.

“I shall have to take advantage, then, of your helplessness.” Sartaq carried her to their enormous bed. “Windseeker, song of my soul.”

“Sartaaaaaaq. If I didn’t love you so much I would hate you,” she muttered as he set her down, laying her shoulders and head on a veritable mountain of pillows. Instead of circling to the other side, the prince lifted a knee and placed it near her thigh on the mattress and climbed so she was caged between his arms and legs.

“You could never hate me, my beautiful cherub,” he chuckled as she grimaced. Sartaq leaned down and pecked the tip of her nose before rolling onto her other side. A strong hand wound around her stomach and pulled her back against a hard chest.

“I’m beginning to think maybe you just don’t remember my name, and you mean to overwhelm me with affectionate trickery.” Her eyes were already closed, the sensation of his lips against the shell of her ear making her shiver with delight. Damn him.

“Nesryn Faliq. Nieth’s arrow. Former captain of the Adarlanian king’s guard. Princess of the rukhin. Queen of my heart. My future empress –“ he grunted as Nesryn elbowed him in the ribs, but he only held her closer, whispering in her ear. “There will never be enough beautiful words to describe you. But I have never backed down from a challenge.”

~~~

They were to be married the next day. As was customary, Nesryn and Sartaq would spend the night apart. They stood in the middle of their sitting room, her head resting on his chest and his arms holding her against him.

“I shall miss you tonight, light of my soul,” he murmured, raising a hand to slide fingers over her hair.

“Could you not just call me by my name, for once?” The words ground together like stone. She didn’t mean to sound so callous.

“Does it truly bother you, Nesryn? All this time, have you truly hated the way I speak to you?” Sartaq’s voice was nearly as quiet as that day he had first told her that he loved her. That day when they both thought they would never have a chance to see what their future could be. Nesryn took an unsteady breath against him.

“Of course not, Sartaq. Every word that you utter is beautiful. It warms me down to my core. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off. The prince gently unwrapped his arms and pulled back so he could see her face. His warm eyes gave her strength, and his strong weathered hands wrapped around her much smaller ones. “Sartaq… I’m no princess. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding praise for my accomplishments or appearances. They were all expectations, and I knew that – as a woman – if those expectations were not exceeded, even if the margins were slim and the odds impossible, I would be cast out. Left with nothing. I have been a warrior. Royal archer, member of the royal guard, and captain of it. I know nothing of flattering, fancy words or poetic declarations of love.”

Nesryn lifted their joined hands and pulled them against her chest, lowering her gaze to them. “Everything you say makes me feel incredible, precious, adored. Never in my life did I think I could find a future like this, a love so astounding. What bothers me is that I do not possess those skills or gifts, and I fear I cannot give the same feelings to you that you give to me.”

The silence between them… she hated it. Sartaq was always so self-assured and knew exactly what to say, but all she could hear was the sound of their breaths softly escaping. Anxiety rippled through her when he pulled his hands away, but they landed on her cheeks.

“Nesryn Faliq. My warrior’s heart,” he murmured, tilting her face up. She lifted her eyes, lips parting at the heat she saw glimmering in his dark gaze. “I fell in love with you just as you are. I fell in love with Nesryn Faliq, Captain of the Royal Guard. I have no expectations of flowery love poems or lengthy declarations of devotion. I have no need of those things. The only thing I have need of is you. Call me by my name. Call me by my title. Call me an arrogant bastard, if you feel so inclined. So long as you do it with that smile upon your face, with that love sparkling in your eyes, then I will be the most blessed man in all the world.”

Nesryn lifted her hands, fingers tracing up the strong line of his jaw. Her lips tilted up as a slow smile spread across her face. “I can do that.”

“And I call you such outlandish things, pour my heart out to you, precisely because of what you just said. You have spent your life conquering challenge after challenge. And while your skills and achievements are considerable, the world around you was not prepared to grant you the adoration you deserve for it. I strive to make you feel incredible, precious, adored, because that is what you have always deserved.” Sartaq dipped his chin, brushing his lips tenderly over hers. Resting his forehead against hers, their hands cupping each other’s cheeks, he murmured, “And I would be lying if I said I didn’t quite revel in making you blush and rendering you frustrated and speechless.”

One of Nesryn’s hands found his braid and tugged on it, a blush painting her face. But she smiled serenely, beaming at the man who would be her husband in a number of hours.

“I love you, my prince,” she whispered.

“And I love you, Windseeker,” he answered. He kissed her again, not nearly as softly but just as brief. “Tonight, I will sleep with empty arms, and then never again. For the rest of our days.” Sartaq finally pulled away, knowing rest was needed. He backed away, his gaze never wavering from hers. When he reached the doorway he leaned on it casually, crossing his arms.

“Imagine the pet names I will come up with once I can call you ‘wife’.”

Nesryn groaned and rolled her eyes, waving him off as she turned toward their bedroom. “Arrogant bastard,” she grumbled.

The prince’s rich, throaty laugh echoed through the sitting room as she slammed the door.

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