kcrosenbach

[squeeb-art]

This meme except I get to choose the characters to smash my art block. Fun game, tell me what you think what I’m like (for better or for worse) based on these guys.

Friend-endorsed: "I don't know nausicaa or roxy but the rest are very accurate i think"

[simsadventures]

Mellow Hearts

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky take a vacation by the ocean, happy to just spend some quality time together by the beach. 

Warnings: fluff, smut (MUST BE 18+ TO READ THIS STORY)- lovemaking, sweet and tender you guys, nothing animalistic this time

Word Count: 1186

A/N: Some shorter Bucky action for my lovely followers. This is also a super late fic for my friend’s Laura’s @imanuglywombat​ writing challenge #uglywombat4Kchallenge, where I picked the song by Nick Murphy- Talk is Cheap (Talk is cheap my darling/ When you’re feeling right at home/ I wanna make you move with confidence/ I wanna be with you alone,) and the moodboard Beach, which is the picture for this fic. Anyway, enjoy my lovely people, and once again, congrats Laura for reaching such an amazing milestone. 

Bucky Barnes Masterlist __ Masterlist 

His heart beat against your skin, and you couldn’t believe this was happening. Life had been hectic in the past few months, and there were rare moments you and your man could spend together, let alone together for longer than 24 hours. So, the chance of going on a vacation for a week, where you didn’t have to worry about being called to a mission and not seeing Bucky for a week minimum. 

To have him in your arms now was priceless. It was the whole aura in the room that got you going ever since you arrived. The hotel was situated near the beach, so much so that you could taste the salt in the air coming from the ocean when you opened up the French windows. Bucky mentioned multiple times that you tasted a bit salty, but that he enjoyed it immensely because it was something new. And he was all in for trying novelties with you, especially when it came to you and the taste of your skin. 

Seeing Bucky in this new environment, where he didn’t have to be the Sargent, always alert and ready to fight any danger that would come his way. But here he was calm and in peace, smiling freely and not caring about his diet like he did back in New York. He was his best self when he was out of the team, and you often wondered if it weren’t better for you two to just retire after so many years serving the world, and leave for some quiet place wherever he would like, and just live happily there. 

But Bucky thought it was too soon after all that had happened with Thanos, and you let him call the shots because you really didn’t mind either. What you did mind, however, was when he wasn’t rested and happy, and so you pushed on Sam to just let you two off the hook for at least a week so that you could get your strength back. And as even the always-blind Sam saw, Bucky needed to get his mind back into peace, so he let you two go. 

That’s how you found yourselves on the coast of Spain, sitting on the bed by the open balcony door, staring deep into each other’s eyes. 

When you woke up that morning, you felt quite sore from the escapades of the previous days, both in the room and, quite dangerously, even on the beach and in the sea, because, as the trip showed, Bucky was quite the exhibitionist and the idea of getting caught thrilled him to the bone. You didn’t mind some semi-public action either since you knew Bucky and his super-hearing and super-strength would hear anybody actually coming near you and would carry you to safety. 

Bucky was worried that he hurt you from the low moans escaping you in the morning, but you relentlessly assured him that you were okay, just a little sore here and there. When the information finally hit his brain, he realised he didn’t have to go sex-free for the day, and the mood changed quickly. But unlike all the other days, when you two acted almost purely on animalistic instinct, this morning you craved a deeper connection. 

Sitting on top of Bucky who was sitting as well with your legs entangled around his torso, you threw your head back as Bucky’s hips moved from left to right, creating friction on your sensitive clit that you so needed. He always knew what your body was asking for and was very quick to deliver. 

Sweat was glistening on your skins, and in the light of the early morning sun, Bucky looked more beautiful than ever. And you were sure to tell him over and over again. 

“You’re so handsome like this, Buck. Fuck, if you could only feel what my heart feels. It’s so full when I’m looking at you, your pupils blown and your lips just a little redder because of my kisses. You look so happy, and my heart literally swells my love,” you moaned as you ground your hips against his, and Bucky hissed in pleasure. You could even feel his cock do a little jump at your praise. 

It was a long time ago that you found your spot boy had a praise kink, and you used that to both your and his advantage. Every word of love you said was the truth, which made it that more alluring to Bucky. 

“Fuck, doll, you’re so beautiful like this, riding me gently and just staring in my eyes. I feel like I’m staring right into your soul, and do you know what I see? My home. We don’t need to speak, because I often feel like talk is cheap, but I know you, and I know your heart, and you are my home. Fuck, I love you so much!” Bucky was speaking through his teeth, the pleasure taking over his speech, but you appreciated his effort. 

And he was right, you were each other’s home no matter where you found yourselves. This was more than love; this was the complete conjunction of souls. Each move he made was felt not only in your pussy but also in your heart, because of the way he looked at you. Like he would do anything for you. His actions spoke louder than the words, and each thrust of his hips sent you both closer to your climaxes. 

What Bucky saw in your eyes was taking his breath away. You were confident in your love for him, which you conveyed with each little kiss, each little nip at his lips and his neck. Your eyes showed him how deep your love ran that it was interlaced with the very essence of you, and when the realisation hit him, that you were utterly and entirely his, most probably forever, he came with a loud grunt and stutter of his hips, triggering your own orgasm so much, so you shouted and fell into his open arms, where his erratic but happy heart awaited you. 

“We should take time off like this more often, doll, I think it suits us,” he said to your hair, and you chuckled at the relaxed expression on his face when you looked up. 

“Yeah, I think making love three times a day on a daily basis does suit us,” you smirked, and Bucky pinched your side but still laughed with you. 

“We should hit the beach soon if we want to catch some good spots, doll,” Bucky mused, and you just hummed, not really sold on the idea of leaving the comfort of neither the room and Bucky’s arms. He tried to make a move towards the bathroom, but your arms held him so tight he gave up the idea of leaving very shortly after feeling your arms locking behind his back. You wanted him near, and he would give you anything you asked for. Because he would do anything to be with you alone, and he wished this vacation never ended. Maybe leaving the guns behind wasn’t such a bad idea. 

Taglist in reblogs (trying to make these tags work!! Ugh, Tumblr!!)

[scudserved]

Meat (prologue)

1770 words, warnings for: animal death, graphic murder, blood, gore, and cannibalism. also hand holding

MEAT

When I was eight years old, the collected families of Brewer street had a cookout where they bought a live grown pig, unbeknownst to me later to be killed and consumed at said cookout.

At the time it was a novelty, me and the rest of the neighborhood kids playing rowdy and noisily around the pig, who was kept in a small fenced-in area in the Maron's backyard. There it ate like a king, all the hay and hand-fed apples a beast could desire, all the pets and occasional slipped-in dog treat it accepted like a champion hero coming home from a battle hard-fought. We cherished the pig, us kids, who had commonly agreed to name it Brewster after the street we lived on and a long-forgotten tv show the adults were familiar with.

No one really was blind to the fate of the creature that become our temporary pet that hot summer weekend, and if they were, like me, deep in their heart of hearts they knew something was to good to be true. I will never forget standing on the middle rung of the fence in the early summer's eve, fireflies parading around in somber farewell as my uncle Joe raised the .32 caliber rifle and shot the animal straight between it's pleasantly dull eyes.

My childhood was shattered that day, I think, not because I didn't know it was coming, but that deep down I did and refused to face the facts of the matter. To me the pig would be there forever, a local legend, a neighborhood pet, feasting to it's heart's content and growing fat on the crops of the fall. But it was not to be. They roasted him on a spit upside down like some kind of ghoulish saturday morning cartoon, and when it came time to partake of our fallen friend no one would refuse the delicious call of the pork. None save for me, who closed my eyes and turned my head away in solemn remembrance of my tragic companion. They say that childhood dreams die young, and mine died right there on the picnic table in the Johnson's front yard as every ounce of meat was devoured, digested, or packed away in freezers for another time when one had a craving for a good old ham.

It was the deceit of the matter which concerned by, not that they had kept the pig's true purpose obfuscated to my young mind, but to the event of keeping a thing alive and happy just to look it in the eye and murder it. That this was the fate of all pig kind did not occur to me much, it was just another mysterious facet of life how hot dogs and breakfast sausage came to be on the grocery store shelves and on my plate. I am sorry to say that I did not swear of all pork or meat from then on, though my cause would have been righteous if it had occurred to me to do so. At the time I must have known I was part of the problem, but figuring, like most rationed humans who don't have enough pity or kindness in their black hearts to forgo flavor over humanity, I kept on eating animal product when it was on offer, never considering the consequences or the fate of the animals I consumed.

It was not until years after the fact, when I saw one human being partake of another in the manner one would a particularly juicy hamburger that I thought otherwise of my habits. 

This was a grisly sight, but I could admit to feeling more than disgust at that moment. A sense of wonderment, curiosity, like a child experiencing something for the first time. Unlike the blissful unawareness exhibited by the pig moments before it's untimely demise, this person saw it coming, and the horror turned to confusion and betrayal was fascinating to witness. I must admit this did not prevent my stomach contents extrapolating themselves onto the pavement in front of me. The nightmare unfolding in front of me was not exactly like the horror movies I had been accustomed to, not false and dramatic punctuated with play-acted screams and gushing geysers of bodily fluid. Instead, the affair was rather subdued, with a dark pool of red accumulating under the fleshy stomach of the back street cop out the slice across his prodigious belly. He gasped wetly and made a number of sounds in my direction that could have been 'help' or 'stop' but the gash in his throat prevented him from formulating words with much sense attached to them. With a vile gurgle he slumped sideways and the perpetrator of the violence descended on him like a murder of crows, biting flesh straight from his meaty neck and tearing the chunks off with abnormally pointed teeth.

This would not be an easy task for someone with teeth like mine, the flat teeth known mainly for chewing plant matter. But humans are omnivores of course, and with an ingenious adaptation like his he was well suited to ripping meat straight from the source. He seemed quite content with his lot, and I made to sprint as fast in the other direction as I possibly could, before he turned to me with wet gleaming eyes and I realized that he was crying.

Him, the attacker, the violent instigator in this situation, with his mouth around the still-pumping blood fountain welling up from his victim's treacea, not at all the tragic or forlorn character he was made out to be. To me, this should have been more reason to run, he was surely truly unhinged, in fact I would have found it more acceptable it he reacted to his kill with no remorse at all, the way my uncle had shot the pig without flinching and the others had eaten it without fanfare. Instead, he was weeping openly as he ate, and he held out his hand to me to gesture in my direction, to call me towards the scene of the crime. Of course I had and have my reservations, and I fully admit I was not in any fit state of mind at the time, mostly likely in shock. But I kneeled beside him anyway and took his proffered hand, holding on as he continued his meal, looking at his misery-filled eyes but not at his mouth below, where the dark deeds he did lay waste to his peaked face.

We sat like that for what must have been minutes, me holding his hand for reasons I couldn't begin to understand, until lights lit up the alley, that old familiar red and blue. There were shouts as I dragged him, dazed, to his feet, the blood dribbling down his front a dead giveaway as to what he had done, the knife in his other hand slick with blood. I was not much better, the red gleaming liquid had pooled around my shoes and gotten on my shirt and hands from being so near to him, touching him, and I knew that for the first time in my young life I was seriously in trouble.

I grabbed his shoulders and shook him madly, trying to get him out of the haze he seemed trapped in. His acts had put him in a kind of limbo, a dissociation only he force could wake him from. He looked back at me finally as if seeing me for the first time, and his blue eyes grew wide, and he grabbed my hand again and took off running, pulling me along like a dog on a leash. I was just along for the ride, unhappy to be there, but now I was in it too, and I had no choice but to force my short legs to be keep up with his longer stride. The night air and the exertion burned at my lungs as we fled, and I truly felt as though I would fall and die. I thought he might keep running anyhow, pulling my arm from my socket comically with supernatural strength as he went. Instead, I found the last bit of energy I had left lingered in me, the flight or fight instinct clicked firmly to flight, and even the baby fat and adult pounds I had packed on after high school could not slow me down from keeping pace with him. We ran into the night, until city lights faded away and we were alone and in an empty field somewhere, crickets singing merrily around us and droning into silence as the late night crept in. There was fog all about, something I am grateful for, for surely it must have hid us from prying us from the roads beyond. There was a forest ahead, and the derelict part of town I knew lay beyond, and that was our destination for the time being. 

This time it was my turn to pull him along, knowing the way to my sister's apartment even with my eyes blindfolded and my sense turned all topsy turvy. He seemed glad to let me lead, never letting go of my hand, as if to be separated was to die. I let him, though his hand was warm and sticky and clammy, and the sweat dripping off both of us was a none too pleasant experience. I swallowed down all my reservations and kept up the miserable silence, until we came to the backstreets of my new neighbor, ratty and run down like my soul currently felt.

"Hey." I said softly, noticing out the corner of my eye he was still crying, just a little. I squeezed my fingers tight around his, having no clue what I was doing or why I was doing it. 

"It's gonna be ok." I said, lying through my teeth. In truth, there was no way it would ever be okay, but sometimes as an adult you tell people things that they need to hear.

"My sister will take care of us." I said, thinking this part was true, though what she saw when she saw us doused in blood I didn't quite know. I only knew that since childhood our principal loyalty had been to each other, and no matter what happened and who or what we brought home, be it wayward kitten or smelly boyfriend, that we would support each other fully. That was our bond as siblings. I pulled him in the direction of home as he nodded, sniffling, and went with into the warm and the light of the streetlamps ahead.