#peanut writes

[peanut-in-the-goal]

first dates

“Jamessss!” Sirius whined, rolling up and rolling down his sleeves for the fourth time. He had done his eyeliner and finally picked an outfit. James sighed, he was laying on his stomach in his four person bed, watching through the open door of the bathroom as Sirius stressed over how he looked in the mirror. He pushed his glasses higher up on his nose, and rolled out of bed. 

He came over to Sirius, stood behind him in the mirror and fixed his sleeves for him. He looked over Sirius’s shoulders and met his eyes in the mirror. 

Sirius sighed, “You think it’s going to go well?” 

James huffed out a laugh. “Padfoot, this is Remus we’re talking about.” He grabbed a brush off the counter and started running it through Sirius’ hair. “Remus who you’ve shared a room with for the past four and a half years. One of our best friends. He knows you, he’s seen you, and quite frankly he’s been pining over you for the past 2 years. He wouldn’t be going on this date with you if he had thought it was a bad idea. And I'm sure you wouldn’t either, hm?”

Sirius hums in response. “I guess…” he starts. He shakes his head and turns to face James, and James places the brush back on the counter. “But what if it doesn’t go well?”

“Then you go back to just being friends. If it's awkward and uncomfortable then you just go back to how you were before. I highly doubt one uncomfortable night will make things really change between the two of you. If you try it and it doesn't work then that’s okay.”

Sirius nods along, a small smile playing at his lips. He turns back towards the mirror and nods, “Okay,” he says, “okay. Thank you, Jaime.”

James smiles at him in the mirror, “it’ll go well Pads,” he reassures him. Sirius smiles back, going to fiddle with his hair. Half an hour later, and a lot of light hearted banter, his hair is up and he’s ready to go. James pats him on the back and walks him to the girls stairs. The wolf whistles at Sirius as he leaves back to his door, laughing when Sirius goes red and yells back in mock offense. 

They had charmed the stairs a long time ago, it had taken an insane amount of magic and research, but they had finally made it so boys can go to the girls dorms and girls could go to the boys as long as they didn’t have i’ll intentions. 

Sirius took a deep breath. In and out, in and out. He starts walking up the stairs. He’s okay, he has this, it’s just Moony. His Moony. That thought still brings butterflies to his stomach, a tug of protectiveness sparking in him and painting a faint blush over his face. He was dressed in a black button up, the top three buttons left open, sleeves rolled up and bunched around his elbows, shirt tucked into his black slacks. He was dressed nice, but a casual sort of nice. His hair was tied up in a loose bun, half up half down, held with his wand sticking through the middle. Holding a small arrangement of flowers in one hand, he raised his fist and knocked on the door with the other. 

—

Remus was looking at the outfits he brought that were laid over Lily’s bed. His left arm crossed over his chest and his left rubbing over his mouth. 

“I’m not sure Lils,” he mumbled. So far they had decided on a pair of brown corduroy pants. He had a few sweaters, a cardigan, two sweater vests and a short sleeved collared shirt to pick from. Lily had decided yes to the collared shirt, but they were debating what to put over it. He had tried a couple things already, vetoing the cardigan and two of the sweaters already. 

“Try this,” Lily said, picking up a light green sweater and throwing it at him. Remus souttered when it hit him in the face. He glared at her as he put it over his button up and Lily hid her grin behind her hand. He turned to look in the full sized mirror that the girls had in their dorm before shaking his head no. 

Lily nodded, “Yeah I agree, this one bunches weird,” she said, trying to adjust the way it sits on his shoulders. He took it off and added it into the vetoed pile. 

Next she picked up an oversized deep blue sweater vest with an argyle design on the front. Remus tried it on and looked in the mirror. He looked at Lily and smiled, “This is the one,” he said softly. Lily nodded in agreement, a smile gracing her lips. 

Not much was down with his hair, it was short and fluffy, his amber eyes staring back at himself in the mirror. He went for a pair of socks with hippogriffs on it and his ratty old grey converse shoes from home. 

Running his hands through his hair one more time, he started getting his things together. A sack of knuts, sickles, and a few galleons, along with his muggle camera that his mother had given him in first year. Every time he went home he would save his photos to his computer, another courtesy of having a muggle mum, before coming back to take new photos. 

—

At exactly 3 o’clock he heard a knock on the door. Today was a Hogsmeade day, and Siriud had finally asked Remus out. 

“Okay.” Remus breathed. “Okay! This will be great, it’ll be fine, it’s going to be fine,” he said, looking at himself in the mirror, bending over to see himself close up. He was messing with his hair a bit more before he heard Lily laugh at him. Not unkindly so much as amused. 

“I’ve never seen you this nervous over a date,” she said, smiling. Remus groaned, standing up fully and looking at her. 

“Shut uppp,” he complained. She giggled. 

“It’s kind of cute.”

“Shut it,” groaned, head tipping into his hands. He heard another, more timid knock at the door. “Oh shit,” he said, going to open it. 

Sirius stood on the other side with a soft smile on his face. “Hi Re,” he said. Then he raised his hand, holding a bundle of daisies and blue salvias, no doubt picked from the herbology greenhouse. Remus beamed back at him. 

“Thanks Pads,” he said. They stared at each other for a moment before Lily cleared her throat awkwardly. They both startled, “Ready to go?” Remus asked. Sirius nodded and they headed down the stairs together, Remus mouthing the words thank you to Lily over his shoulder. He magicked his flowers upstairs and to their dorm, having them rest on his bedside table. 

This is uncharted territory for the both of them, not uncomfortable, just new. To be honest, Sirius can’t imagine a world where he would be uncomfortable around Remus. 

The two made their way down the moving stairs and out of the castle, speaking and joking to each other. McGonagall gave Remus a knowing look when the two handed in their permission slips, Sirius’ having forged his parents’ signatures since third year. If McGonagall knew, she never said anything. 

“Have fun boys,” she said, sparing them less than a glance before she turned to the next people in line. Sirius stared wide eyed at her before looking at Remus, who looked like he was trying to stifle his laughter. 

“Does she know? Do you think she knows?” Sirius buried his face in his hands as they started walking to Hogsmeade. “Oh my god she totally knows.”

Remus laughed, letting his hand fall to the small of Sirius’ back, guiding him through the crowd. Sirius’ face burned red, but his lips twitched into a smile and he couldn’t help laughing too. 

“She definitely knows,” Remus agreed. 

“Ugh,” Sirius whined, “Now she’s gonna look at us weird in class Moony!”

Remus’ head tipped back when he laughed this time, and Sirius couldn’t help but think that he was beautiful. He walked a little closer to Remus, and Remus’ hand fell to Sirius’ hip, rubbing circles into it a few times before dropping it. Halfway through their fifth year, Remus was taller than all the other marauders. He was nearly 6 feet tall, while Sirius was still stuck at 5’7. Perfect height for Remus to rest his arm on his shoulder, which he did. 

“She’s not gonna look at us weird Padfoot, she won't care,” he said. 

“But Mooonyyyy,” Sirius whined again, “She’s gonna do the thing.”

Sirius pouted, actually pouted at him. Remus could not keep the grin off his face. 

“She’s not going to be mean Padfoot.”

“I know that, of course I know that. But she’s going to do the thing with her eyes. Like she’s making fun of us,” Sirius stepped away from Remus a little, waiting for his hand to drop off his shoulder before grabbing it with his own. He didn’t look at him as their fingers interlaced, but he couldn’t hide the way he was beaming. 

Remus huffed a laugh, “Okay fine, I guess I know what you’re talking about,” he said. “But to be frank with you Pads, I don’t really mind if she does.”

“Yeah?” Sirius asked, looking at him. 

“Yeah,” Remus replied. Sirius’ smile turns soft, close mouthed and his lips curling up at the ends. 

“Okay,” he said quietly, and readjusted his grip on Remus’ hand to hold on tighter. 

They continued their walk to Hogsmeade, stepping through the snow and realizing just how bad of an idea this was to wear converse. Remus’ socks were wet and his shoes were an entirely different color from when he left Hogwarts. 

I’m lucky I'm a wizard, he thought as casted a drying spell. They finally made it to Hogsmeade, staring down at all the shops lined up next to each other. 

“Where do you wan-“ Remus cut himself off with a laugh, Sirius was already dragging him off by their still entwined hands. He brings them to Honeydukes, pushing open the door and navigating through the busy store. 

“Where’re you taking me, sweetheart?” Remus asks, the pet name slipping out easily. Sirius can’t hide the blush that spreads over his face and down his neck, and although Remus lets out a slight laugh, he doesn’t mention it. 

“I’m buying you chocolate Moony.” Sirius says, then for extra emphasis, “Duh.”

“Woah, woah, wait- what?” 

“Very good alliteration Moony, but that doesn’t quite make sense. Wanna try again for something more coherent?” Sirius grins at him. Remus stares at him in shock. 

“You know what alliteration is?” He asks dumbly. 

“Oi! I take muggle studies!”

“I’m surprised you listen to be entirely honest.”

“Hey!” Sirius squawks. A few heads turn, Sirius sticks his tongue out at the closest person. 

“You’re like a little kid,” Remus laughs. “A little kid in a candy shop.”

“Yep!” Sirius says, popping the p. They end up in front of a trolley with all sorts of chocolate treats. “Now pick something Moonykins.”

“I’m really okay Sirius, you don't need to buy me anything.” Remus tries, but Sirius just talks over him. 

“Nope, nuh uh, i'm getting you something and you love love love chocolate so i'm getting you chocolate.” Remus is looking at him with a stuck expression, something Sirius can't quite read so he adds on, “Please Rem. If it makes you feel better the money came from my parents, and I love spending it on things they don’t approve of.”

Part of Remus feels that in any other circumstance he should be offended by that, his dates parents not approving of him even though they’ve never met, but hearing that Walburga and Orion Black don’t approve might be one of the best compliments ever. 

Renus fakes a groan, acting like it is more effort than it is to grab his favorite chocolate bar off of the trolley, and Sirius grins. And if he grabs two more when Remus isn’t looking, then that's none of his business. On his way to the register he snags a cauldron cake for himself as well. 

As Sirius pays, Remus looks around the crowded store. Through the store window he can see James and Peter walking with Lily. Dorcas and Marlene had their own date, leaving Lily to her own devices. She agreed to hang out with the other two marauders as long as James didn’t hit on her. Over the past 4 years she had become quite close to the boys, and she’s grown to not totally hate James’ presence. 

“Okay!” Sirius cheered, he held a small paper bag with the Honeydukes logo on the front. “Where now?” 

Remus hummed. Hand in hand they left the store, walking down and looking at the shops. He pulled Sirius toward the three broomsticks. “It’s cold, I want hot cocoa,” he said. 

Sirius beamed at him, “Of course you do, you’re Moony. Haven’t gotten your chocolate fix today, have you?” He teased. Remus huffed, depositing Sirius at a small table for two in a quiet corner by the window. With a quick, “I’ll be right back,” Remus had gone to order their drinks at the counter. He came back a few minutes later, saying that they’ll bring their drinks to them. 

So far the date was going pretty well if Remus said so himself. They were both having fun, talking and laughing like always. No uncomfortable or awkward lulls in conversation. It felt right, the two of them together like this. Sure they were best friends first, but maybe they could be more than that. 

Sirius loves Remus’ eyes. The way they shine in the sun, the small specks of gold in his light brown. He doesn’t think he’s ever really gotten to look at Remus like this, open and warm and he was allowed to look without giving his silly little crush away. 

Sirius has a necklace on. A small silver chain that loops gracefully around his neck and down to his chest. Sitting at the bottom is a silver moon. His nails are painted back and he keeps fiddling with it, rolling the pendant between his fingers and running them through the chain. And Remus can’t stop looking at it. Because that necklace, that moon, it’s him, he’s Moony. Sirius’ Moony if he’ll have him, and he can’t fight the smile that breaks out over his face. Sirius is smiling back at him, his foot lightly tapping Remus’ underneath the table. Sirius laughs, and it feels like they haven’t stopped laughing and smiling and joking since they left Hogwarts. 

This wasn’t hard. Not awkward or uncomfortable or grasping for something to say to fill in the inevitable silence that usually comes with a first date. This is easy and light and to Sirius it feels like the home he’s always wished for. His safety and warmth coming from somebody, not somewhere like he always thought it would. He can’t find it in himself to mind much though, not when he sees the way Remus’ eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles, or the way his freckles dance across his face, and Merlin even his scars look beautiful, Sirius thinks. 

He can imagine himself in a million different worlds with Remus, but he can’t imagine a single one where he isn’t the most beautiful man ever. 

Sirius found his person in his best friend. His world, his home, and place to give all his love. And he feels like he’s bursting at the seams with this need to share all his adoration for Remus but he isn’t quite sure how to put it all into words. How do you tell someone that you grew up with that you love them from their hair to their toes, from the freckle that laid right but their right eyebrow all the down to the scar that wrapped around their ankle. How do you tell someone that’s held you after nightmares and helped you burn letters from your mother and always gave you one of their sweaters on the way back to Hogwarts after a trip home. How do you tell someone like that you love them and appreciate them and would cross the ocean for them, build mountains, get the stars for them. How do you convey so many thoughts and feelings of love and thankfulness into words that mean something? Something that sounds worthy to be heard and like you mean. A simple thank you isn’t enough, a simple i love you, a hug, those aren’t enough. Not when Remus deserves the entire world, not when his smile is so contagious that Sirius can’t help but be in a good mood. 

This may only be their first date, but Sirius has known Remus, really gotten to know him, over the past 4 and a half years. And Sirius knows that he loves him and never ever wants to lose him. 

He figures that one day, with time, he’ll figure out how to tell him. How to show him that he tells Remus he means it. That Sirius would personally lasso down the sun and keep it below the horizon if it meant Remus could sleep longer if he asked him to. Sirius would do anything if Remus asked him to, willing to go the lengths of the world if it meant Remus’ smile never left his face. 

But Sirius can’t convey that in so many words, he can’t convey that in any words really, so instead he steals one of Remus’ legs and traps it between his own under the table. He looks at Remus and hopes he understands that he’s having one of the best days of his life. Remus looks at him the same way, and Sirius’ gets the feeling that he understands.

It’s not long before Rosmerta, and young witch in her early twenties came over to the two, bring their hot chocolate. It wasn’t uncommon for Sirius to flirt with her while she was behind the counter, laughing and joking and being charismatic. She always laughed him off, and Sirius never actually planned for it to go anywhere,not sure he wanted it to, but they had become a sort of easy friends. He smiled at her, toothy and cricked, and bright. He winked at her as she put their drinks down.

“Thanks Merta!’ He cheered, reaching for his cup.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said with a wave of her hand. She smiled despite herself. She stopped and really looked at the two boys in front of her, the linked feet under the table, the lack of the other two boys who are usually with them, the fact that they were dressed nicer than usual. He smile widened a little bit more, fully taking in the two. Remus ducked his head and blushed.

“Your guys’ drinks are on the house tonight,” she said. Sirius grinned at her and Rosmerta winked at him as she walked away from their table.

“Oh merlinnn,” Remus groaned. Sirius laughed at him.

“Oh come on, Moonyyy. We just got free drinks.” Sirius joked.

“Yeah, she probably gave us free drinks because you didn’t hit on her today.”

“Hey!” Sirius pretended to pout on him. “I’ll have you know that anyone who gets hit on me is extremely lucky!”

Remus hummed in agreement. He raised his mug to his lips. “Hmm. Does thatmean I’m going to get lucky today then?” He raised his eyebrow at sirius, cocky, and then choked on his drink laughing at Sirius wide eyed stare. He truly looked like a deer in headlights. Maybe he should have been the stag and not James. 

“Wh-wha-what?” Sirius spluttered, before composing himself. “If you’d like that then of course my favorite, perfect Moonykins.”

Remus laughed again, shaking his head as his eyes closed from laughter. It was a good day. Reaching into the Honeydukes bag on the table next to him, Sirius pulled out a keychain with a pawprint hanging from it. He slid it across the table, not saying anything but looking at Remus hopefully. 

Remus loved it. It was gold with smaller black details. He raised his eyebrow at Sirius for further explanation, but picked it up and examining it in his hands. “What’s this?” He prompted softly.

Sirius huffed, twisting his hands together in his lap and squeezing Remus’ leg from where it was trapped still between his own.

“I saw it hanging by the cashier. I thought it was nice, and er, that you may like it? Anyways I bought it for you and if you don’t like it then it’s fine! I can alwa-,” Sirius rambled. 

“I love it Pads,” Remus cut him off. “Thank you.” Sirius stuck his tongue at him.

“You’re welcome Moooooonyyyy,” he singsonged.

A little more banter and another few mugs of hot cocoa later, and it was started to get dark out. Kids were starting their walk back to Hogwarts, and the snow was dying down.

“Ready to go Pads?” Remus asked. Sirius nodded, finishing off his mug and picking up the Honeydukes bag. As they walked back to Hogwarts, hand in hand, Sirius had never been this type of happy. One that didn’t feel like was going to end when the night was over, that had his insides feeling warm and fuzzy. He loved this, he loved today, and he couldn’t wait to love more days like this in the future. He looked up at Remus.

“I had fun,” he said instead. Remus smiled down at him, 

“Me too?”

“Enough fun to go out with me again?” Sirius asked. Remus nodded.

“Definitely.” 

There weren’t a lot of people like there were when they went there. Instead of bustling friend groups and loud laughter ringing up and down the trail from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts, there was quiet. Their foostepsmaking sound as they sunk into the snow, a group of three girls walking a little ways in front of them, probably a few further behind them as well as everyone trickled out at their own pace. 

“In fact,” Remus started. “I had enough fun to ask if you wanted to be my boyfriend”. Sirius absolutely beamed at him.

Remus leaned down a little, Sirius standing up as high as he could. They stopped walking, pulling off to the side.

“Of course, Moons.”

And Remus smiled against Sirius’ lips as he kissed him. Short and sweet, but it left Sirius’ heading spinning all the same, smile gracinghis face as he hugged Remus. Sirius practically skipped all the the way back, an extra hop added to his step, fingers interlaced with Remus’. 

Neither could keep the smiles off of their faces. Coming back to the school McGonagall could see the way they both glowed with happiness. And despite her usual stern face, her heart soared in happiness because both Remus and Sirius deserved so much more than what the world had given them, and maybe, just maybe together they could give each other the world.

[theholypeanut]

Aye Haikyuu era, time to look like my kin Satori (also I have a satori fic in my WIPS, will happen… at some point)

[becca-e-barnes]

I’m literally drooling over the thought of sensitive Bucky whimpering and whining while fucking your tits and thighs he’s so pathetic and needy all he wants is to make you feel good and to fill you with his cum even if it overstimulates him

Okay, tit fucking is great and all but thigh fucking is SO underrated in my humble opinion. Could just be the fact I've got a small chest though lmao

It's so fun when you're already really into it and the insides of your thighs are all slick. I feel like Bucky would lose it, getting to see your face and look in your eyes and enjoy your body.

It's a nice one to do while laid on your side, facing each other. Although the angle isn't quite right for him to slip inside you, it's fun to explore the other ways your bodies can steal pleasure from one another.

"This isn't going to work, sweetheart." You can't help but laugh, having already tried everything you can think of to make the height difference work. There's no way to keep this romantic and intimate in that position because there's just no chance of aligning your bodies properly to allow him to press inside you.

"Maybe not. But it feels nice anyway." His eyes flutter shut, gliding his dick over the smooth, soft, warm insides of your thighs, encouraged by how slick and easy your arousal makes the movement.

You adjust yourself to bring your other thigh on top of his length, closing him in on both sides.

You're wet enough that friction doesn't impede his movement too much and there's something oddly romantic about it. Maybe it's his hand smoothing the back of your head or his other hand up your back, pulling your body closer to his.

It's so intimate, watching his face as he whines your name, rutting senselessly against your thighs. The little flush to his cheeks is beautiful and you can't resist kissing the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. The thick duvet on top of you both, coupled with your combined body heat means the room is far hotter than you'd planned.

You take a second to reach between your bodies, spreading your wet folds and readjusting his length, letting him drag his cock against your neglected clit with each stroke and oh, that's pretty mind-blowing.

"O-oh my God." He whines, desperately fucking himself against your wet cunt, rather than into it. It's a different kind of pleasure to being inside you and while they're not comparable sensations, it doesn't stop this from feeling fantastic.

"Fuck, that's good." You groan, rolling your hips to meet his. Your fingers dip between you once more, gathering some of your slick arousal, using it to glide your fingertips over the underside of his shaft and over his balls.

"Holy shit, that's - fuck." Bucky's hardly got a coherent thought left in his head. He's closed in on both sides by your wet, soft thighs and now your fingers are giving him a different sensation underneath while pressing him against your soaked sex.

"I know, baby. Feels good, doesn't it?" Your fingertips trail lightly back and forth over the underside of his shaft, focusing on the inch or so beneath the tip.

"I can't... I need to cum." He groans, thrusting frantically, clinging to your body to keep you close. Within a few seconds, you feel his dick pulse under your fingertips, his cum coating the inside of your thighs in hot, thick, messy spurts.

He doesn't waste a second, kissing your forehead before kissing your neck and whispering "Good girl. Now let me watch you get yourself off with my cum on your fingertips."

[anonymitie]

[duuhrayliegh]

equal and opposite (consequences, pt. 2)

a/n: first of all, yall really showed out with the comments and reblogs on the first part of this so THANK YOU SO MUCH like i haven't written anything that i felt was good in months so to have such an overwhelmingly positive response to that post felt amazing!!!!

if you haven’t read part one, i highly recommend checking that out first!!!!

anyway, i hadn't originally intended for this to go anywhere else, but as i've said before bartender!bucky & peanut just wouldn't go away so here we are!!! i hope this lives up to the expectations and if we want more PLEASE LET ME KNOW I LIVE TO PLEASE

“Can you please just sit down? I don’t understand what’s happening to us!”

“That’s the problem!”

He throws his hands above his head out of exasperation. They land on his hips as their new resting place and he levels you with a frustrated glare. A glare. Apparently, you’re not worth the energy it takes to filter the emotions from his tone or expressions. That luxury must be saved for his plethora of mistresses.

“You don’t understand me anymore!”

“Understand you?”

Going home has become harder and harder. Despite desperately wanting to fix your marriage, it seems your efforts might have been in vain. No matter how hard you try, your husband has made every effort to avoid having a real conversation with you. To say you’re at your wit's end would be generous.

“Yes! Coming home to you is too stressful for me. I’m in the office all week and then I come home to a wife who doesn’t put in any effort to make herself desirable for me.”

Your jaw dropped, as did the wooden spoon in your hand. His words float through your head on repeat. That voice you used to love, the same voice that vowed to always love and cherish you in his wedding vows. Now, you’re cooking for a man you don’t know.

“Then why stay with me? If I’m so clearly not what you want, why stay?”

There’s a drawn out silence that is accompanied by softly heaving breaths and the simmering pot of homemade spaghetti sauce.

“You’re what I want in a wife. You just don’t understand my needs in the way that Shelia does.”

Your blood boils. Shelia—the latest girlfriend in a string of girlfriends. How dare he? You turn to the stove and begin clicking everything off. You fume while gathering your purse and keys to a home that you no longer feel welcome in.

“This is why I didn’t want to get into this. You’re too emotional and I knew you’d play the victim whenever I’m suffering too!”

You roll your eyes, refusing to engage because you’ll only hurt yourself more. Instead, you pry the door open and slam it shut before trekking off down the hallway.

You don’t have a plan, all you know is that you need to get out. You’re lucky that you were wearing a hoodie and jeans whenever you started getting into it with John. It’s not the first time that you had to get out, so you’ve learned over the past few months.

Wind whips against your cheeks when you exit your apartment building. You pull your hood over your head and start walking aimlessly. You reach for your phone and dial the first number you think of.

You never stop walking, street lamps lighting the sidewalk with a pale yellow light. There’s an irritating sting starting behind your eyes that you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t have to listen to the trilling of the phone line for long before it’s interrupted.

“Commando’s. How can I help you?”

The music in the bar is loud enough that you can clearly make out Steve’s divorced dad rock playlist. A rush of relief shoots down your spine and you breathe a sigh while enjoying the subtle ambiance through your phone speaker.

“Hello?”

It’s only then that you realize you’ve been on the phone for the past thirty seconds without saying anything.

“Bucky?”

“Peanut?”

“Hi, uh--I didn't have your number and I didn't know who else to call."

"Hang on, Peanut. I'm here, hang on." Suddenly the music is reduced to a bouncing bass line. "Are you okay?"

You continue walking, breathing in the stale air of the city as you debate your answer. For the most part, sure, you're okay. You’re not physically harmed in any way, just a deep emotional hurt that persists through the stark cold of the air around you. But if someone looked twice, or you spend more than half a second around someone you're comfortable with, that answer wouldn’t hold water.

"The wheels, Peanut, I can hear them. I need you to answer me. Are you okay?"

Bucky's voice is soft and grounding. Your heartbeat starts to match the steady baseline of the bar's music.

"I'm okay?"

Bucky's soft laugh echoes through the phone speaker, "That sounded like a question more than an answer, Peanut." He then pauses and sighs, "What did he do now?"

You suck in a sharp breath, debating on how to answer his question. The lead weight that had previously settled in your stomach begins to lessen as you hear Bucky’s voice.

On the one hand, Bucky has become the person you feel the most comfortable with. You don't have anyone close to you in the city because you moved out here to support John's career. Your family is on the other side of the country, and it's not like you've had a whole lot of time to build a support system here.

On the other, Bucky didn't sign up for this. He didn't sign up for a broken wife that isn't even his! You have no connection to him outside of becoming a regular at his bar and forming a possibly misguided attraction.

“Peanut? Come on back to me."

“Sorry, Buck. I just—“ you trail off, not entirely sure how to handle yourself.

“Don’t worry about it, Peanut Butter.” You laugh softly at the lengthier version of your nickname while he continues talking. “Look, how about we meet somewhere so we can talk?”

“Aren’t you working tonight though? I can just come to the bar.”

No matter how appealing Bucky’s offer is, you don’t want him to risk his livelihood for you. You aren’t worth that, not really.

“Not anymore, Pea. You’re more important to me. The guys here can handle the bar while I leave to take care of my Ps and Qs.”

You giggle again, unsure of where he comes up with these iterations.

“There she is.”

The words are murmured low, as if he was just speaking to himself. As if it’s a remark not meant for public consumption, just a murmur of his adoration.

“There’s a little hole in the wall on 115th and North. It’s called Winnie’s. Meet me there and you can talk for however long they’re serving coffee.”

"Don't diners always serve coffee?"

"They sure do. And Winnie's is a 24-hour diner. Which means," There's a loud shuffle on his end of the phone and then his voice cuts through. "you can talk to me for as long as you want, Peanut."

"Thank you, Bucky." You aren't as loud as you meant to be, but you know he hears you when he hums before you end the call.

Shoving the phone in the pocket of your jacket, you search for street signs.

And now you stand in front of Winnie's, a sixties diner straight off a movie set. Bright neon illuminates the street below, bathing you in a turquoise light that you're sure is not at all flattering. The front door is encased in chrome and vinyl covers the seating throughout the restaurant.

You push through the front doors and spy a large jukebox on the left side of the building. There's no host stand, so you peer around the seats in search of your bartender.

"Welcome to Winnie's. hun! Just take a seat, we'll be right with ya!"

An older woman yells from behind the bar top. Her graying hair is pulled into a neat bun at the base of her neck and you're just about to read her nametag when you hear a familiar voice.

"Peanut! This-a-way!" Bucky stands from a booth in the corner, grabbing your attention and everyone else in the restaurant.

A bright blush colors your cheeks as you make your way to his booth in the corner. The linoleum floor of the diner becomes increasingly interesting the closer you find yourself to Bucky. To be completely truthful, you've never seen Bucky outside of the bar, so this is a jarring, but welcome experience.

He's still wearing those annoyingly large boots and tight white shirt that never fails to distract you when you're sitting on the twirly bar stools. His metal arm is on full display, the gold in-lay catching the light as he twists a straw wrapper into a tight spiral.

Bucky stands to greet you once you reach the booth, leaning toward you and wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your breath catches at his sudden body heat, but you waste no time in curling your arms around his torso.

"This might be the dumbest and most obvious question, but," he pulls back from the hug and gestures toward the seat across from him, "how’re you doing?"

A stifled laugh escapes as you settle into the worn vinyl seat. Instead of answering, you pull a less-than-convincing smile that you know Bucky can see right through. Evidenced by the fact that he laughs sarcastically at the look of it.

"Yeah, thought as much."

"It's just all becoming too much, I think."

An older woman brings two coffee mugs to the table, gripping a half-full coffee pot in her other hand. You stop yourself before you divulge anything in the presence of strangers. You don't need to burden another random stranger with your problems, Bucky is more than enough.

“Who's your friend, Jamie?"

Bucky smiles while introducing you to the woman. He extends the same courtesy to you, placing the name of the woman in front of you.

"Peanut, this is Winnie. She's the owner and operator of Winnie's diner."

Bucky pours a healthy dose of sugar into your coffee mug and then drops a spoon into it before pushing it across to you. You're in the middle of taking a large sip of the hot drink when Bucky continues talking.

"She's also my mother."

“Oh!"

He laughs as you sputter, completely phased by his nonchalance about introducing you to his mother. To be fair, you don’t really know Bucky outside of him being a great listener and mixologist. Winnie laughs and talks with the both of you before politely excusing herself to take care of her other customers.

“Your mother?”

Bucky leans forward and locks eyes with you.

“I’m so sorry. She wasn’t meant to be working today, but you would have met her one way or another.”

There he goes again, that dizzying nonchalance that bleeds into every word he speaks. Your mouth opens to speak, but you're still in a state of stunned that has you stumbling on your words.

"I'm just kidding, Nutter Butter." Bucky laughs and you hum while picking at your cuticles.

"Sorry, just took me by surprise."

"Clearly."

Bucky glances at your hands that are resting on the table and shifts around his side of the booth. There's a brief moment of silence as you mull over what Winnie has said.

"Did she call you 'Jamie'?"

Bucky lets out a loud laugh. One of those laughs that sounds like the feeling snuck up on everyone, including the person laughing.

"That's what you focused on, Peanut?"

You're smiling more in the past five minutes with Bucky than you have in the past five months with John. Bucky stops shuffling and then removes his coffee cup from the saucer it sits on. He slides the tiny plate toward you as you talk.

"Thank you for meeting me, Buck. Like I said, I think I'm just getting too tired of his bullshit. He really came at me today with the attitude that this is all my fault." Bucky nods as you continue speaking, "As if I'm the one who asked for an open marriage."

Bucky reveals a Ziplock bag and dumps the contents of it into the saucer in front of you. You're just about to start a rant when he nudges a salty shell into your hands. You glance down for half a second before getting the ball rolling.

"John asked for this! He's the one that's causing all this... this turmoil in our relationship. I haven't gone on a single date! I haven't caused a single issue. All I've been trying to do is understand things from his point of view, but he won't even give me the time of day to do that. I can't even suggest something like marriage counseling because he runs out the door the second he sees me enter a goddamn room."

You stop to take another long sip of your coffee while Bucky sits back and lets you rant at him across from yet another counter. You can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, clearly holding back from saying something.

"I don't even know what to do anymore!" You huff and shove your hair over your shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Do you want my honest opinion or do you want me to just be here for you?"

"I want you to be you."

"Okay." Bucky nods, you crack open yet another peanut and place the shell on a napkin next to the plate. "I think you should start considering divorcing ol' Johnny boy."

"I can't do that."

Your response is immediate. Too quick to be healthy really. The shell of the peanut cracks between your fingers, revealing the salty perfection inside.

"Alright, divorce is off the table. How do you feel about separation?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It goes against everything I was raised to believe. I was brought up under the idea that the person you marry is the person you stick next to no matter what."

"Even when that person isn't extending the same courtesy?"

"I just--" You sniffle, peeling open yet another peanut. "I just want to be loved, Bucky. I don't understand what I did to make him look for love and affection from someone other than me."

Bucky reaches across the table and covers your hand with his, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles soothingly. You found yourself in this same position three months ago. It was when Bucky first told you of his interest in dating you.

To be perfectly honest, you were about two slow blinks away from folding into his arms then. Nothing's changed. You're still half a second from completely melting for the man before you, but you can't get over the fact that you're married.

"Peanut, you may never understand his reasoning. Especially when he won't sit down and explain anything to you. I think you should do what's in your best interest. If you don't want to divorce or separate, then you need to surround yourself with people who will give you that love and affection that you need."

A soft lull coats the pair of you and you allow your eyes to lock with Bucky's. What you find there shocks you.

Pity is something that you never, ever want to experience, but with a shitty situation like your marriage, you've come to expect it. Every time you glance in a mirror or catch your reflection in a store window, or even a puddle of water, you find your own eyes layered with that sickening sadness that accompanies self-pity.

However, in Bucky's clear blue eyes, you find nothing but determination. Determination for what is the question you're now faced with. In all reality, Bucky has no dog in this fight. He has no reason to be helping you the way that he has. Bucky's expressed interest in you, sure, but that doesn't constitute going to the lengths that he does.

"I just want you to be happy."

"Do you think you could make me happy?"

"Absolutely."

You nod while popping the last peanut into your mouth and wiping your hands off on your jeans. You stand unceremoniously and then hold your hand out to Bucky. He stares at your outstretched hand in half-baked shock and then jumps at the opportunity.

"See ya later, Ma! Love ya."

"Will you be home for family dinner?"

"Nope, gotta take my Peanut to the ballgame!"

Bucky rushes you out of the diner and pulls you to a heavy-looking motorcycle. You laugh as he pries open one of the saddlebags on the bike. He reveals two helmets, one white and one black. Both have sleek features with a face cover that reflects Bucky's sharp features.

"What?" His laugh that follows is full of nervous energy as you continue to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"It just--" You snort quietly, "You would drive a motorcycle."

"Oh yeah? And why's that, Peanut Brittle?"

You wave your hand as if you're circling his whole body and shrug while smiling your ass off.

"You just gestured to all of me."

You both break into a fit of laughter, only for Bucky to break it off and unclip the chin strap of the white helmet.

"Well, does safety also fit with..." he does the same gesture as you, "all this?"

Bucky gently rests the helmet on the leather seat of the motorcycle and then leans over to you.

"You might want to pull your hair back. Trust me I love your hair down, but whenever you're riding it's easier in the long run."

"Oh, okay." You begin to pull your hair back when you remember that your hair tie is on the counter at your apartment. "Actually, I think I'll suffer the consequences."

Bucky glances at you and then asks, "You need a tie?"

He prompts you to turn around and he quickly coaxes your hair into a neat ponytail at the base of your neck. You turn back to him with wide eyes, your hand reaching back to check the hairstyle.

"Come on. I've got plans, Payday! I've got ideas to romance ya!"

You laugh while Bucky beams and puts the white helmet over your head. Once it's secured, he swipes the visor up and boops your nose. You scrunch it in retaliation and he shakes his head at you. He grips the sides of your helmet and tilts your head to the side. A loud Bluetooth signal sounds and a robotic female voice informs you that the device has been connected.

"So, basic rules of the bike. I lean, you lean." He taps on the side of the helmet he just fiddled with. "This is a microphone, so we'll be able to communicate without the visors being up. Don't be afraid to squeeze if you feel a little wobbly. I promise I can handle whatever you give me, Peanut."

You flush at his words, thankful that you're already wearing the helmet so he isn't privy to the bright red coloring overtaking your cheeks. Bucky slips on his own helmet and mounts the bike in one smooth motion. His hands glide to the handlebars and then he turns to face you and jerk his head in the opposite direction.

You release a deep breath and give yourself a mini pep talk before placing your hands on Bucky's shoulders. The difference between them keeps you grounded as you swing your leg over the back of the motorcycle. His voice shoots into your ears, a breathy fuck me that wasn't meant for your ears.

"You ready?"

This question is at a normal level, and you respond in kind. The bike roars to life beneath you and you jolt toward him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist tightly.

"Hold on tight, spider monkey."

You giggle and interlock your fingers above the waistline of his jeans. Now, you can feel every breath he takes, every minuscule contraction of his muscles from every movement he makes to control the beast between his legs. You try to take steady breaths in order to control your heartbeat and match Bucky's, but the faster he goes, the faster your heart beats against his back.

City lights blur past as you find your rhythm behind Bucky. The more comfortable you get, the looser your grip becomes around him. He takes you through downtown with all the newer, hipster restaurants inhabiting the busy streets. Bucky begins to slow and you look up to see his profile illuminated under the bright red of the traffic stop.

His feet rest on the ground beside the bike, holding it upright while it rumbles idly. Bucky leans back into you, his hands moving from the handlebars to your thighs. He traces the skin that's exposed by the rips of your jeans. The loose material allows just enough space for his fingers to burrow beneath and trace meaningless patterns into your skin.

Butterflies make themselves known in the pit of your stomach, along with another slightly less prominent heat building at his touch on your skin.

"We're almost there, Peanut Brittle." Bucky's voice is melodic through the microphone. You could fall asleep listening to him read a phone book.

The bike thunders to life again as Bucky releases the clutch. More buildings fade as he continues to steer the two of you down the less traveled streets.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere fun!"

He laughs at your little groan. Surprises aren't necessarily your favorite thing, but if it's Bucky, maybe it'll be tolerable.

Suddenly, Bucky drops his right hand from the bars and indicates his next turn. The pair of you lean in that direction slightly as he slows into a parking lot of a roller rink. The sign for the Rockin' Roller Rink has a bright yellow arrow blinking toward the building at the base of its billboard.

He rolls into a parking spot near the entrance and pops the kickstand out to steady the bike. You peel yourself off of his back and rest your hands on your thighs while taking in your surroundings. Bucky slips his helmet off and then turns his torso to face you.

"As much as I love you on my ride, Peanut, you have to get off first."

You flush red beneath the visor and quickly dismount. However, in your rush to get off, you don't realize how unstable your legs are as they bear your full weight after the ride. Bucky's hands shoot out to your waist as he remains on the bike, a wry grin on his lips.

"Sorry, should've warned you about that." He stands in front of you and dusts off your shoulders before deciding that you're okay. "It's because of the riding position when you're on the bike. If you aren't used to that, it can be a little jarring the first few times."

He takes your helmet and then removes the keys from the ignition. Bucky bends at the waist and hooks his key carabiner to your belt loops.

As he straightens to his full height, he remarks with a wink, "Plus, the vibrations don't help much either."

You squawk unattractively and smack his chest with the back of your hand while he belly laughs. His metal hand hovers over your lower back as he guides you into the double doors of the roller rink. While he pulls open the door for you, you think about all the times that your husband has failed to do even that act of basic decency.

You shake your head as you walk in, determined to put him out of your mind. That is until you remember the one stipulation of your open marriage--you both have to disclose when you go on dates. Your mind drifts to all the unanswered texts he's sent you about his various dates. Little quips that accomplish nothing but remind you that your husband sees you as less than. A relationship that he no longer has to put effort into and hasn't for some time now. You take your phone from your back pocket to shoot John a quick text, a sour look overtaking your face as you do.

On a date, be home later. You’re quick to swipe your phone onto do not disturb and shove it back into your pocket. You aren���t ready to face the hypocrisy that John will manage to cook up.

"You okay, Peanut?" Bucky's voice clears everything. All the swirling doubt, the immense turmoil that you feel when you think of John, everything negative is wiped when you focus on Bucky.

Perhaps that's also an issue. Maybe you need to be single instead of dating. Maybe you need to love yourself before anyone else can effectively love you. What if that's the real issue? The real reason why John had to seek affection outside of your marital bonds. Maybe it was because you were so unloveable to the point that it was more effort to work through your issues than find an effortless partner somewhere else.

A cold finger taps your temple causing you to blink harshly and refocus on the man before you. This man who's become your safe haven, your harbor in this horrific storm that is your marriage. The man who brings peanuts to his mother's diner because you called him to meet up. The man who knows you better than your husband who you've known for half your life.

"The wheels," your bartender reminds you as he pulls you to the side of the room. His arms envelop you until all you can process is biceps, one cold and one warm. Bucky's cheek rests against your head and you can't find it in yourself to stop from melting into his touch. "How about this," he shifts away from you just enough to meet your eyes, "you just take it one hour at a time?"

"One hour?" You ask, brows furrowing skeptically at the concept. You've never been someone who just focuses on the thing in front of you. Your whole life you had a plan--get married, have kids, and secure a stable home life. Although, now that you think about it, your way isn't really that effective. What has your way got you? A decaying marriage, no kids, and a job that you tolerate at most.

"Just one at a time. Nothing can be that daunting if it's one at a time." He smiles big and leans forward, "And let's face it, your first hour is going to be spent watching me almost bust my ass on rollerblades."

You giggle and look at the ground, only for Bucky to lift your face up with a finger on your chin. He stares deep into your eyes, making you think if you stare long enough, you'll meld into one. His grip changes so that most of his fingers cup your jaw, allowing his thumb to trace your bottom lip. His metal finger tugs downward on your lip, releasing it from the hold between your teeth.

"That's definitely one of my current favorite noises you make." He struts off to the front counter, you trailing behind with a confused look on your face at his dopey smile. The implications of his comment seeping into your bones causing a deep heat to light in the pit of your stomach.

As you approach the teller, Bucky's already disclosed his shoe size for the rental pair of skates. The teenager behind the counter makes a bored grunt at the instruction and turns to you, waiting for your size before they trot off to fill the order. Once again, you're left alone with your bartender.

You lean against the raised platform, shoulder digging into the overhanging lip of the counter. During this brief moment of solitude, you take your time taking in Bucky. He really is a mountain of a man, coming in at six-foot-five inches of corded muscle and steel, he's really nothing less than impressive.

His hair just brushes the top of his broad shoulders, though you hardly ever see it down. He always manages to have it tied securely at the base of his neck. However one time, you remember walking into the bar only to see Bucky behind the bar, as usual. Except his hair was bundled on the top of his head. Little wisps of hair fell from the looser hold, framing his forehead and neck. On top of that, he was wearing a red henley that was at least two sizes too small with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his differing forearms in the dim light of Commandos.

It's safe to say that during those few hours you spent with Bucky looking like that, you were a little slower to respond. What's interesting though is that Bucky looks nothing like John. You always thought that John was your ideal man. Based on who you married, you would have assumed you'd be more attracted to Steve than Bucky. Instead, you find yourself lacing up a pair of rental roller skates, that might give you athlete's foot if you're not careful, with the imposing dark-haired man next to you.

"Why bartending?"

The question floats between you as you take the floor. Glistening hardwood reflects the bright neon of the strobe lights and your image beside Bucky. You watch as he glances down at you before refocusing his attention on the path in front of him.

"Well, if I'm being honest, I kind of stumbled into it." He wobbles dangerously as he speaks, hand jutting out to grasp yours in an act of safety. "Shit, sorry." He apologizes sheepishly but makes no move to drop your hand.

You giggle beside him, butterflies awakening from his act of self-comfort, a feeling you haven't felt since your relationship with John began. Bucky squeezes your hand, straightens his back, and pulls you around the rink.

"When I was discharged, it wasn't so much as bartending as it was the ownership of the bar. It gave me a chance to gain some semblance of control back." He stares off into the distance as he speaks as if he's reciting words he said time and time before. You peer up at him, waiting for the rest of his explanation.

Even though you've known Bucky for as long as you have, neither of you has really delved too deep into your pasts. To say you know next to nothing about Bucky's time in the military would be generous. You hum while you ponder his answer.

"Does that need carry into other aspects of your life?"

It's a genuine question, something to move the conversation along because you honestly want to know more about the man beside you. The double entendre of the question doesn't process until you see Bucky blushing beside you with a wry grin. Your eyes bulge, words stammering out of your mouth without finding their full forms.

"Oh-- uh, n— that's not wh--" Your eyes drop to the ground beneath you, the sleek wood reflecting the neon disco of the roller rink lights.

Bucky chuckles beside you, slowly rubbing his thumb against the knuckles of the hand he still holds. He steers the pair of you to the side of the rink, locking you against the slightly sticky bannister with his strong forearms. You quickly level him with a questioning stare as he leans forward and takes a deep breath, undoubtedly getting a strong whiff of your soft vanilla and cherry perfume.

“I’m trying to be very good for you, Peanut. So I’m going to say this once and then we’re going to continue with our date and it isn’t going to come up again until you bring it up yourself.” Your nod is almost imperceptible, but considering how Bucky continues without consequence, you figure he was just mentally preparing himself for his next comment.

“I am enamored with you. I want to have sex with you. I have fantasies that revolved exclusively around you. However, I’m not putting any pressure on this relationship or you. I understand that you need time to process your grief and your marriage, but just know that I’m more than happy to help you through the process and I certainly hope that I’m the first one you go to once you get to a place when you feel confident enough to explore your sexuality.”

You flush at his words, a hot streak racing up your spine before settling in your cheeks, blossoming them into a heavy shade of crimson. Bucky’s left hand comes up to your forehead, brushing away a strand of hair out of your face.

“But not only that, I want to have a relationship with you. I want the late night cuddles. I want the early morning breakfasts. I want to come home from the bar and take a shower with you. I want to wash your hair. I want you to massage my shoulders after a long day. I want to host Saturday barbecues with you for my family and our friends. I want to drive you to the bookstore and regret driving the motorcycle after you get so many because I just can’t say no to you.”

Bucky’s hand drifts down your arm, tracing the soft skin, taking his time to lace his fingers with yours. He pulls you away from the ledge, leading you two into the hustle and bustle of the roller rink. A smile stretches across his features as he tugs you along, a slow steady silence backed by the bumping base of the house music. You fumble with who to respond to him, but you eventually decide that no words are necessary. You know that yiu’ll be able to discuss things further later, you allow yourself to fall into the comfortable company that is your favorite bartender.

Time passes by at a rate you aren’t able to fathom. One moment you’re skating circles around Bucky, laughing as his arms jut out to his sides, steadying himself as he sways and wobbles. You flit out of his reach for a beat only for his arms to wrap around your waist, bringing you to his warm front. You squeal as you clutch his arms, the difference in temperature providing a level of comfort that you’ve been craving for months now.

You tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, his long hair tickling the apples of your cheek. Soft puffs of air hit your face as he peers down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. He remains stoic, only his eyes giving you any indication that he wants more out of your current embrace.

“Attention all Rockin’ Roller Rink patrons, the rink will be closing in ten minutes! Please return all skates and other rentals to the front desk before leaving.”

The voice over the loudspeaker startles you causing you to jump in Bucky’s embrace. He tightens his hold on you, ensuring that you don’t topple over on your wheels. You breathe out a heavy sigh creating a slight distance between you.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Bucky is quick to follow you to the benches on the side to you could change your shoes so you can return the skates. You’re sure to take out your phone from your back pocket before sitting down. Against your better judgement, you swipe across the screen to turn off the silencing option. The screen illuminates and dozens of notifications flood the screen and you cringe. You shouldn’t feel bad, yore only doing what constitutes an open marriage. You sent the text, that was all that was required of you, and let’s be honest even that was more than what John deserves. Bucky leans back, shooting a glance at your now busy phone.

“Wow, he sure doesn’t miss a beat, does he?”

“Yeah, I’m sure everything he’s texted me the past two hours has been entirely supportive and not at all condescending or hostile.” Sarcasm bleeds into your words, making Bucky chuckle under his breath.

“Oh, ol’ Johnny boy? Nah, he’s nothing but a big old softy who knows that he’s only getting it as good as he’s giving it.” You huff at the comment just as your phone begins to buzz on the tabletop.

A groan leaves your mouth, slipping out before you can filter it. Bucky eyes you as your finger swipes the call button to accept. You haven’t even gotten the phone to your ear before John’s voice carries through the speaker, shouting expletives and derogatory remarks about you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re on a fucking date right now? I can’t believe you!”

Your whole body cringes, and you rush to shove your shoes on to take the call outside. You leave without saying a word to Bucky, unable to look him in the eye while the supposed love of your life berates you over the phone.

“John, I don’t know what you’re upset about.” You tried to remain calm while he carried on. “I followed the single rule that you set in place.”

Bucky takes your free hand and leads you to his bike, leaning against the seat while he watches you pace in front of him. Your once smooth features are now ridged and tense, worry lines aging you ten years the second you get on the phone with John. Your forefinger and thumb find home on the bridge of your nose, pinching the bone there to prevent the sudden headache. You finally stop in your tracks, stomping your foot out of exasperation and then steel your voice.

“I refuse to allow you to speak to me this way, John. You’re the one that opened our marriage, I’m simply following the precedent that you set. I honestly have no idea what your issue with this is.” Your eyes dart to Bucky, “Now, I don’t feel comfortable coming home when you’re speaking to me like this over the phone, so don’t wait up. I’ll come home when you cool off.”

Tears begin to rim your lash line as John continues to shout his lungs bloody. You refuse to meet Bucky’s eyes as you lower the phone, thumb hovering over the end call button. A dark metal palm extends your way, a silent ask for the phone that you don’t have the strength to deny. Bucky watches you as he brings the phone to his ear, listening to your husband’s rant.

“This is completely fucking ridiculous! You’re my wife and I demand you come home and we talk this out like adults. You’re being so unreasonable, right now. And the fact that you think it’s acceptable to text me you’re on a date instead of asking if you could go on one? Who the fuck do you think you are? It’s best you remember who you belong to. You’re so in for it whe—“

Bucky laughs, your head shoots up, eyes locking with his for the first time since you’ve evacuated the roller rink. The laugh is a short, sardonic laugh. One you’ve never heard him make before, almost as if he’s using it as a throat clear. Your breath catches in your throat, knowing how John reacts to being challenged in any capacity.

“Now, I don’t know who you think you are, talking to my Peanut the way that you are. But I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure, you aren’t going to be speaking to her that way ever again.”

It’s another thing about Bucky you’ve never experienced. His tone. It’s dull, lifeless, but full threats that made your skin grow cold and your spine stiffen. You knew Bucky would never cause you harm, but those who hurt the people he loved? The same respect isn’t extended.

“And who the fuck is this?”

“I’m the guy.”

He’s eerily calm, the type of calm you’ve never seen him. You’ve been a distant onlooker while he deals with rowdy bar guests, having to throw out drunk customers who reached their limit and then some. But this… this was something else. John is still yelling, sure to be disturbing your neighbors earning you yet another noise complaint, possibly the one that gets you evicted from your apartment.

“What guy?”

“The guy that’s going to rip your spine out through your throat if you threaten my girl again.”

The world stills. The noisy streets of Brooklyn fade as you search Bucky’s eyes for any semblance of a joke. His eyes have darkened, latching onto yours with a depth that you’ve never seen in them. He reaches for you, pulling you in between his legs by your belt loop. You can hear the stammering on the other end clearly, John’s never had anyone stand up to him with such sincerity.

“If you’re done being a pussy, I’m a little preoccupied. If you’d like to continue this conversation, you may do so anytime at my bar. Howling Commandos. You can Google it and me in your free time. Right now, I’m on a date and you’re interrupting it and disturbing my girl.” Bucky’s hand snakes around your waist, pressing his chin to your chest while maintaining eye contact with you. “Now, apologize to her.”

He switches the phone to speaker mode, allowing you to hear the weakness invading John’s voice. All the while, Bucky’s eyes never leave yours. Your body melts into him, his warmth something that you didn’t realize you were craving. John stammers on his end of the phone, eking out excuses as to not apologize. Bucky clears his throat once more, the action causing his Adam’s apple to bob against your breasts.

“Apologize, Johnny boy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Three monotonous beeps echo out into the silent parking lot. Wind whips against your cheeks, igniting a shiver through your body. He shoves your phone into his front pocket before wrapping his other hand around your waist. Bucky shifts again, pressing his forehead into your stomach instead of staring up at you. Your arms come up around his shoulders, burying your face into his soft hair.

“Thank you.”

Bucky says nothing in return, squeezing your middle before pulling back to meet your gaze.

“Let’s go, you can stay at mine.”

He pushes against your hips so he can reposition himself over the bike. You’re quick to stop him, remarking something about him just taking you to a hotel for the night. He cuts you off before you can fully finish your sentence.

“I’m sorry Peanut, but you surely don’t think I’m about to let you spend the night at some sketch hotel by yourself. And I’m certainly not going to let you go back to that apartment with that temperamental skeeze of a husband you have.”

“Let me?” You back up, resting your hand on your now cocked hip.

“Peanut.” Bucky stares up at you, “I didn’t mean it in that way. I’m sorry. I’m only saying that I want you to be safe and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you in either of those environments. I would be much for comfortable if you came home with me so that I could protect you.”

You shoulders relax, in the back of your mind, you know that he didn’t mean anything by it. John always sets you on edge, and it’s unfair of you to put those emotions onto Bucky.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just… John.” Your sentence trails off, no ending really needed because you know that Bucky understands.

“Come on. Get on, Peanut Butter. We aren’t far from my place.”

You mount Bucky’s bike, his left hand immediately going to your thigh, his fingers threading themselves between the rips of your jeans to feel the soft skin of your knee. The ride to Bucky’s apartment is quiet, the rumbling of the motorcycle beneath you is powerful and steady. Every chance he got, Bucky would slip his fingers into the rips of your jeans, aching to be close to you in every way possible. You lean forward, resting your helmeted head against his back while he drives.

If there was one thing that you never would have guessed, it’s that Bucky Barnes would have pale green wallpaper in his apartment. Not just a pale green, he proudly declares that it’s agate green, the color he spent weeks painstakingly debating between that and nurture green. You giggle as you toe your shoes off at the front door, quietly taking in his personal space.

The exposed brick melds with the dark countertops in a way that’s almost soothing. The pendant lights above the island cast a soft glow over the open floor plan. Bucky turns to face you, peeling off his leather jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the door. You catch his eyes, only to be distracted by the wall of bookshelves on the far end of his apartment.

“Oh my god, Bucky I had no idea you were so interested in reading.”

He laughs, shoving his hands in his front pockets while walking behind you as you approach the stacks of books he has scattered throughout his home.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading. When I was deployed there wasn’t much to do other than read. I had my Ma send me all different kinds of books, from new releases to her favorite classics to stuff my little sister was reading in school.” He stands beside you, shoulder to shoulder as you glance up at him. “Guess I never kicked the habit, though there are worse vices that a person could have.”

You hum, refocusing your attention on the books, but only for a second as Bucky reaches his hand out and leads you up the stairs to the lofted bedroom. Bucky’s comforter matches the green walls that sits behind his TV. Not only that, but his pillow cases vary from overly fluffy to soft silks. The mixture of textures and fabrics is almost too much for your brain to comprehend. You’re about to question it when Bucky returns to your line of sight, a dark Henley in one hand and a pair of boxers in the other.

“I don’t have any pajamas for you, but you can wear these.”

He’s almost sheepish as he presents you with the clothes, a light blush casting over his cheeks. It’s so interesting to interact with him. At times, he’s the most suave man you’ve ever met, and at others, it’s like he’s a lovestruck teenager who’s just got their first girlfriend.

You thank him and follow behind him as he leads you to the en-suite bathroom. Just as Bucky begins to explain where everything is, he bends down to the bottom cabinets and retrieves a spare toothbrush.

“Planning for extra company, huh?” You joke while poking him in the side as he stands next to you in the doorway.

Bucky’s tongue peaks out of his mouth, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he stares down at you. His eyes do that thing again, the same thing he did just before he laid out his feelings for you earlier. Your breath catches in your throat, is he leaning closer? Are you inching toward him? What are you doing?

“Bucky,” the tension breaks, a dam of emotions behind held back by your dedication to your marriage. “I feel like I should explain.”

His hands rest on your shoulders, quick to silence your worries. He leans forward, dotting a quick kiss to your forehead. Bucky lingers, the soft press of his lips shoots warm and fuzzy feelings through your bones.

“Tomorrow. You’ve had a long night. We can talk about everything in the morning.”

A weight of anxiety lifts from your shoulders as you watch Bucky begins descend the stairs, lush blankets and pillows in hand. You turn back to his room, allowing yourself to sink into his private space.

You peel back the duvet and sit on the edge of his mattress, unsure if you should fully dive into his being. If you’re quiet enough you can hear Bucky downstairs, shuffling on the couch in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

Your eyeline floats over his bedside table, the lamp atop it casting a pale yellow glow over the entire room. The surface next to you is covered in items that are unequivocally Bucky—a worn copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth, a leather bound journal, the few gold rings that he something adorns his digits with while bartending. His rings clink against each other as your fingers drift over the cold metal.

Among his assorted objects is your phone on his charger. The light pink case is slightly out of place, but not enough to be obnoxious. You smile to yourself while lying back in his sheets.

You really do owe him an explanation. Bucky deserves more than some broken woman who’s in a shitty marriage. He deserves the world and then some. All you can offer is a somewhat clear thought process.

You think on John’s actions today. He really showed you his true colors. You start to wonder if he really cares about you or if just cares about having a wife. If it’s the second one, why does it have to be you?

You flip to the other side, now facing the back wall of windows. Your mind is about as calm as the city right now. New York is never quiet, even this far out in Brooklyn. You’re never safe from the light pollution that constantly blocks out the beauty that is the natural night sky.

It makes you long for your hometown, the wide open spaces with vast fields of nothingness that stretch for miles on end. Maybe it’s time you pay it a visit. It would be nice to escape the hodge podge of a life you’re currently living.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you force yourself to slow your breathing. Distantly you can hear Bucky begin to snore, a low monotonous sound that you cling to. For the first time in months you feel secure. Your muscles decompress, your brow unfurls and you allow yourself to truly relax.

With everything that’s going on, Bucky deserves more. You deserve more, but that can all wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow. That’s a good thought.

[brenshor]

Enid: Stop giving me kongs filled with peanut butter!!

Wednesday: But you like peanut butter

Enid: That's not the problematic part and you know it!

[etherealyoungk]

thoughts about mingyu when you're on your period

this is like the perfect time for me to answer this rn bc i am suffering atm

this man is spoiling you and taking care of you on your period. also would kinda be slightly confused about you being moody and a little snappy to him but will understand and still shower you with love nonetheless.

you're in cramping and in pain? he's getting you a hot water bottle and reheating it for you as many times. "but baby this is still hot", he says when you ask him to heat it again. "it's not hot enough", you say, looking at him, buried under all the blankets. "but..it's still hot", he says, loooking at you confused. "it's not hot enough gyu", you complain and he just nods and comes back a few mintutes later. will also joke about why you're using a hot water bottle when he's right here, saying he'll be your personal heater and just be ready to cuddle and hold you.

craving something? this man is ready to whip up a 5-star course for you. but when you go to the kitchen and find out you don't have any more peanut butter you go back to find mingyu and tell him rather disappointed about the lack of peanut butter in the house. he offers to go buy some but you don't want him to leave and he's confused because you want peanut butter...but you also don't want him to go buy it. so he decides to make you some and it's worth all the praise he gets for it, seeing you happily eat it with a smile.

it's cold so you're wearing his hoodie and you find him sitting in his room doing some work and just pout at him wanting some cuddles. he says he'll come in 5 minutes, he just needs to finish this up and you're curled up in bed, scrolling through your phone and 5 minutes have turned into 30 minutes and you're getting a little moody and grumpy now. after what seems like an eternity mingyu finally enters the room and smiles while you're just glaring at him, ignoring his presence as you look into your phone. "i thought someone said five minutes", you tell, looking at him as the bed dips as he sits down, looking down. "i know, im sorry babe, i got caught up", he tells. "well i don't need cuddles anymore so you can go continue what you were doing", you tell, grumpy, crossing your arms and giving him an annoyed look. he understands you're a little sensitive and moody now. "come on, i know you can't resist my cuddles hm?", he prompts but you just look at him and shake your head. "i don't need them now", you tell again. "but i want cuddles, you'll give me some cuddles?", he asks. you look at him and finally give in. "fine...only because you want it", you tell and he chuckles, quickly but gently pulling you closer, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. "you're so stubborn", he mumbles. "and you're an idiot", you add, still not ready to give in but you were very happy right now because you really did want mingyu's cuddles.

if you're struggling to sleep because of the pain and cramps, he'll rub gentle circles on your back. is more than ready to make you a cup of hot chocolate at 2am in the night and will shush you if you apologize.

[bisexuallsokka]

25 from the prompt list!! :)

25. a kiss as a 'yes'

Zuko can't keep his eyes off Sokka.

This is nothing new, of course. At this point in their years of marriage, preceded by years of friendship that turned into years of dating, Zuko is sure he has spent hours of his life staring at Sokka.

This, though...this is different.

He watched Sokka's brilliant smile all night as he played and talked with his niece and nephews for hours. He saw Sokka running around with them, playing tag and hide and go seek and half a dozen games the kids had invented until Sokka needed to rest his knee and found himself with a lap full of three young kids mere moments after sitting down. Zuko smiled fondly as Sokka read the three of them books until all four of them were on the verge of falling asleep. Zuko saw every hug and forehead kiss he gave the kids as they said their goodbyes, saw Sokka's eyes getting misty at their protest of his leaving, saw the content smile on his face as he drove.

Once they are home and getting ready for bed, Sokka catches him looking a few times until he grins and teases, "Is there something on my face?"

Zuko smiles. "No. I just...I love how much you love those kids. I love them too, of course, but you are crazy about them. It's cute."

"Yeah, well, I can't help it that they are so cute."

"They're getting so big," Zuko says. "Do you ever...miss when they were smaller?"

Sokka shrugs. "I thought I would, but I love seeing their personalities emerge as they grow. It's so funny seeing them act just like Aang or Katara."

"Don't you miss their newborn snuggles though?" Zuko asks.

Sokka eyes him suspiciously. "Obviously. I'm not a monster. Wait, did you-" he starts, eyes lighting up for a moment before he calms down. "Never mind. No way is Katara pregnant, she's told me she's done having kids." He still gives Zuko a side eye, and Zuko laughs.

"She's not pregnant, no. We were talking about something else all night."

"Okay," Sokka says, giving him his full attention, now definitely on Zuko's case. "It has to do with babies?"

Zuko nods, trying his hardest to not betray his nervousness. He's not nervous about what he's trying to ask Sokka, he knows he wants it, but he also knows how badly Sokka wants it, so Zuko wants this moment to be special. Sokka, looking confused, just waits for Zuko to elaborate, and Zuko swallows. "Well, I've been talking with Azula-"

"She is pregnant?" Sokka says, eyebrows shooting up, and Zuko can't help but laugh at the bewildered expression on his face.

"No, definitely not," he says quickly. "She just-- well, you see, she's been...she's a lawyer, yeah? And not the kind that we...but she has connections...she has some good recommendations..."

Sokka looks completely lost, so Zuko stops, takes a deep breath, and says, "She gave me a list of good family lawyers. Ones that have experience with adoption cases."

At first, he thinks Sokka hadn't heard him, he's more still than Zuko has ever seen him in his life. But then, his eyes widen, barely enough for Zuko to notice. Zuko doesn't think he's even breathing.

"This is something that we have talked about but we always dropped it, leaving it for some future discussion because we were busy or low on money or distracted by one thing or another. I know how badly you want kids, and I was nervous about it at first, but now I know how badly I want to have kids with you, and it's been all I can think about the last few times we have been at Katara's, and I swear she read my mind because she started talking about it tonight and everything just feels right, so if you are ready, if you think it's a good time-"

He doesn't get to finish his rambling. Sokka shoots across the room, his hands gently cradling Zuko's face as he looks into his husband's eyes. Sokka's own eyes are wide and excited and so damn beautiful, and he says, "You're serious?"

"More serious than I've ever been ab--hmmph!"

He's taken by surprise as Sokka interrupts him again, this time with a kiss so fierce it honestly kind of hurts. Zuko smiles into it nonetheless, his arms reaching for Sokka's waist to pull him closer.

Sokka's lips widen into a smile as well, and when they pull back, Zuko asks, "So is that a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes, you dumbass," Sokka says, going for exasperated but failing as his tears are overflowing and Zuko reaches a hand up to wipe them away, not registering his own tears until Sokka does the same for him.

[jackhues]

ooh can you do an ig edit of peanut and mama in vancouver? getting ready for the hughesbowl maybe?

takes place dec/05/23, don't forget to like and rb <3

peanut's world au! masterlist

peanutsmama:

liked by austonmatthews, canucks, njdevils & others

peanutsmama: well peanut's been having quite a bit of fun in vancouver! so far, she's convinced her uncles and grandpa jim to let her do something/get something her mother normally wouldn't let her about sixteen times. this includes chocolate croissants, staying up late (while there's no special hockey game), and pizza for breakfast.

just last night, she got all four of them to tuck her in bed. separately.

she's also taking pregame naps with the boys throughout the day, saving up her energy for the game. and she still hasn't decided which jersey she's going to wear, so the boys are trying to fix that... it's been a calm few days for me

view comments

jackhughes: well she's obviously wearing my jersey right?? -> lhughes_06: no she has to wear mine -> _quinnhughes: it's MY home game -> peanutsmama: keep fighting and i'll dress her up in MY jersey

userone: THE MEMES OH MY GOD SHE'S SEEN THEM -> trevorzegras: SEEN THEM? nahh she's got folders and folders of them saved -> jamie.drysdale: she has literal printouts which she sends pictures of if she can't find the meme

canucks: HUGHESBOWL HUGHESBOWL HUGHESBOWL -> peanutsmama: HUGHESBOWLHUGHESBOWLHUGHESBOWL

njdevils: no matter which jersey she picks, peanut's always going to be a little devil (as shown by how she got all of the boys and her grandpa to tuck her in separately) -> peanutsmama: okay you're not wrong

usertwo: best siblings on this app fr

austonmatthews: she should wear a matthews jersey -> _quinnhughes: you already had your time to shine -> marner_93: a marner jersey would be nice too -> jackhughes: gah peach get rid of all these leafs players -> austonmatthews: @/jackhughes it's a little late for that. she had my child -> lhughes_06: I WANTED MICHAEL BUBLE -> userthree: i'm fucking crying what is this -> peanutsmama: @/userthree this is what i have to deal with on a daily basis

---

tags: @deviltsunoda , @hughesmedicine , @maddie-naps , @h0e4fictionalme-n , @whenmypartysover , @fulla02reads , @alwayshughes , @julieluvsme , @puckmaidens , @sosweetsofinesonice , @1yeonna , @luvestapa , @itsnotgray , @huggy-hischier94 , @francesfarhadi , @cixrosie

join peanut's world! au taglist!

[kafkasapartment]

Original four-panel Peanuts daily comic strip. The daily strip for 5 September 1969, black ink on drawing board . Charles Schulz, signed at top.

[marlynnofmany]

Schrödinger’s Poison

Mending the spaceship’s extra cargo net was difficult. Too many strands. I held a couple in my teeth while both hands struggled with the rest, and it wasn't enough. I was considering getting my feet involved (or maybe a crewmate) when I heard excited voices in the hallway.

“Welcome back! Find anything good?”

“Yes! I met someone who wanted the expired heatpacks!”

“What, seriously?”

“You owe me a shrimp stick. Pay up.”

Good-natured grumbling followed. I was pretty sure these were the Frillian twins, who looked like fishy bodybuilders with a fashion sense that always caught me off guard. Either drapey veils and skirts, matching their own flowy fins, or strategically placed stretchy bands. No middle ground. And they were very competitive.

“What did they even want with old heatpacks? You told them they were expired, right?”

“Of course I did! You think I would cheat like that?”

The indignant one was Blip, I was pretty sure, the female of the pair — or the closest thing to female, since their species seemed to handle gender a little differently than humans did. Her brother was Blop.

“Ah, ‘course not,” he admitted. “What are they going to use them for, though?”

“Something about separating the components and putting them to other uses. But look what I got in trade! Human food that’s not expired!”

I looked up at that, mouth still full of cords, but of course the cargo bay door blocked my view. I listened, though.

“What kind is — OH, GET IT AWAY!”

“What? Why?”

I froze, just as curious.

“Do you know how many humans that stuff kills every cycle??”

“What are you talking about?” Blip demanded. “It’s food. It says so right here.”

“Don’t touch me with it! Put it in the containment chamber and get yourself scanned for poison!”

I wove quickly, rushing to finish so I didn’t lose my place; we needed all the nets, and we hadn’t been able to get a new one at the space station; this was important; but Oh man, what do they have out there?

“Humans are omnivores who eat anything! How is this deadly?” Blip was demanding when a new voice arrived.

“What’s the shouting?” asked Paint, her usual cheer dampened by worry. I could just picture her with hands clasped anxiously and her scaly tail held stiff: the very picture of lizardlike concern.

“That’s poison!”

“It’s food!”

“Poisonous food!”

Any hope I had of Paint calming things down was dashed when she asked for a closer look, then slammed into the cargo bay door in her panic to jump back. “I’ve heard of that! It killed an ambassador!”

“See? I told you—”

“We need to get you both scanned, and maybe me too,” Paint said, hyperventilating already. “Maybe the whole ship! Is it airborne? CAPTAIN! CAPTAAAIN!”

I threw the net to the floor and lunged for the door button. It banged open and startled Paint even more; she spun from where she’d been about to dash off in a streak of orange scales.

“What is it?” I demanded, making the pair of Frillians back up a step. I probably looked like some unhinged demon, slamming out of the bay like that. They were both wearing veritable clouds of neon green silks, so the surprise was at least a little bit mutual.

Blip held a jar over her shoulder, clearly torn between showing me the label and keeping it at a safe distance. I squinted, expecting alcohol or some unregulated drug.

Spaceman Spiff’s Chunky Peanut Butter, said the label.

I stared for a long moment, while everyone was silent. Then I’m afraid I startled them all by bursting into laughter.

“It’s not poisonous!” I managed to say.

“But it killed an ambassador!” Paint objected. “I read the report!”

“I am sorry to hear that,” I said, leaning against the wall for support. “The ambassador was allergic to peanuts.”

It took a bit of explaining, and I had to go over it all again when Captain Sunlight came running up, but I did get things settled.

“I can’t believe there are humans allergic to food,” Blip said. “I’ve heard of overreactions to mild toxins and venoms, but really, food? From your own planet?”

“Yup,” I said, putting out a hand for the peanut butter. “Not me, though. I like peanuts.” The jar was a hefty one, manufactured for long voyages. “We can still scan it to run through the medical systems, just in case one of you guys might react badly to it. But it’s not officially toxic.”

“Well, that is good to hear,” said Captain Sunlight, standing as tall as her little lizardy frame allowed. “How about you do that now, and anyone who came in contact with it goes along?”

Blip and Blop agreed immediately, not needing Paint’s waving hands to usher us down the hall.

I looked over my shoulder at Paint as I walked. “Once we get everybody checked out, you should try some. It’s good on toast.”

“Toasted what?” Paint asked, still shooing away.

“Bread.”

“Oh no,” she said. “I heard about that ‘pizza’ you talked people into eating on Kamm’s ship!”

“Some of them liked it!” I objected.

“Not Bopburt.”

“No, not Bopburt,” I admitted. “But this is totally different. Thanks for getting it, Blip!” I turned to wave the jar at the Frillian in the lead.

“My pleasure,” she said, and it almost sounded like she meant it.

“Want to try some once it’s safe?”

“No, I do not.”

“Your loss.”

~~~

The ongoing adventures of backstory for this book! More to come.

[peanut-in-the-goal]

"I love you." his voice is soft, whispered. honey colored eyes cast down on the ground, his big red wings curling around him, hiding him like a little kid would with their beloved blanket.

"wait" dabi's hand was still out, reaching for something, anything to grasp on to.

"But everytime you come back into my life I hurt again."

"Will you just give me a second, let me explain. I can change, I can be better, I promise I'll be better." tears were streaming down his face, ugly sobs bubbling out of his throat. the only person he's ever been able to talk to, be himself around. the only person he's ever loved.

"my world burns down more the longer you stay."

"don't say that, please.. please don't say that." dabi can't breathe, gaspiong and struggling. it feeels like smoke is filling his lungs, his fathers voice loud and clear in his head, shouting failure and unlovable.

"I don't want to burn anymore. please don't make me burn anymore."

it's not endeavors smoke anymore, it's his own. he's doing the burn, he is burning, his skin is burning, his heart.\

"let me stay, let me help," he tries, he pleads. anything to make him stay. a lone tear leaks from Hawks' eye, a small sniffle. dabi would burn the whole world to ash if only he wouldn't have to burn hawks' too. "I can fix this, us, please"

"asking you to leave is the hardest thing i've ever had to do. please don't fight me on it. i wont be able to say no." Hawks' hasn't looked up, won't look dabi in the eyes. if he looks, he,ll cave, and this cycle will continue

"Hawks…"

"please don't make me burn dabi, please let me go."

i love you so.. please let me go…

[theholypeanut]

Do you ever just struggle to get into the fic and the plot that you're writing, but the more you write, the more you get into it and you just grin at the fluff and the cute shit that you're writing and how adorable it all is? I think that is the best feeling in writing. Well, next to laughing at jokes your characters say and thinking "huh, I am funny".

[ventiswampwater]

invasive

bo sinclair x afab!reader

rating: explicit

wordcount: 941 

Reader POV. Your dreams take you to different places, but you’re never too far out of reach. 

EXTREMELY dubious consent as always. Mostly weird prose, but there’s some smut thrown in here as well. Somnophilia, cockwarming. 

A/N: It’s been raining for nearly a week straight where I am. Every single day has been grey. This idea burrowed into my brain and now I’m inflicting it upon you. Similar vibes to poacher’s dream. I just...really wanted to write something that reminded me of the feeling I was trying to capture with that fic. Somnophilia’s been on my mind ever since I read this absolutely electric fic by our lord and savior, @visceravalentines​. Definitely go read it if you haven’t already. It features a lovely man who is not at all like the one in this fic. We should all make out with him instead, probably. We won’t.

You’re lost in a quagmire of green, knee-deep in muck.

You’re running from something, but you aren’t sure what. You feel like it must be close. You can hear crashing, the sloshing of something at your heels. The water is dark here, it’s deep. You need to watch where you’re going, but you won’t. It feels familiar.

Maybe, if you push a little further, you’ll reach the edge of the marshland.

The trees crowd around each other, their bulbous trunks bursting out of thick green algae. It’s so dense here, impossibly heavy with warmth. It soaks through your clothes, bleeds under your skin. If someone sliced you open and cracked your bones apart, you’re sure you'd flare hot. Chalky white and exposed, scattering chunks of marrow over the swamp. 

Things end up here when they have nowhere left to go. They get caught in the hanging moss and become part of the scenery. 

You’ll make a mess of this place, but it won’t matter. There are animals here, bigger than you, and they’ve been waiting. You couldn’t ever run very fast. These kinds of games are about losing.

It wasn’t behind you, anyway. It caught your ankle underwater and pulled you down, tumbled you underneath its weight. You’re spinning wildly, rolling and churning, filling your lungs with water (but it’s so hot here, and you like that stuff).

It’ll play with its food until your neck snaps. Trailing blood in the water, dragging you back to a den squashed in the mangroves. A place of dead things, hobbled together out of reeds and a dozen people’s bones. You wonder if they sparked like yours, if they’re kindling too.

Your body is perched on top of a waterlogged tire and hid away until it starts to rot. It makes it easier to eat when it’s soft like that, when the botflies come. Practical things are sometimes the cruelest.

God, you’ve never been anywhere this hot.

You wake up with your face pressed into the pillow, huffing out shallow breaths. The room is bathed in pale light, milky grey with the faintest wash of blue.

The grey disorients you. There was so much light before. You blink a bit in the gloom. Water is still rushing away above you, beside you. It’s impossible to tell what time it is or how long you’ve been asleep. It feels like forever. You lived and you died long before you were spat out here.

Out of the heat of your dream, you’re surprised to feel your skin prickle with goosebumps. You must have thrown the sheets off in your sleep. The position you’re in feels unnatural, one leg hoisted away from you. It rests on something solid, something warmer than this room.

You feel so full (of water, of bugs in your belly eating away the soft tissue, of life).

Stop, look at the window. You’re not underwater. It’s raining, dripping tears down the glass. You’re awake again and the fullness is the pressure between your legs.  

Bo’s hand cups at your breast, jiggling the flesh to test its weight in his palm. He catches your nipple between his fingers, tugs at it. When he rolls his hips, you let out a soft little noise, mouthing at the pillowcase. His cock pulses inside you, thick and warm. 

He’s already so deep.

“Couldn’t help myself.” He murmurs into your ear. “Not with you movin’ round like that.”

His hand wraps around your thigh, easing you down. You let out a whine as you feel your walls stretch around him. He hisses out a breath, digging his fingers into your skin.

“You’re so wet, baby.” His voice is husky, the rasp of sleep still thick around his words. You can feel how slick you are, how easy it is for him to push in. “What were you dreamin’ ‘bout?”

“You.” You’re not lying, not exactly. He doesn’t need to know the specifics.

It’s the right answer, or, at least, the one he was expecting. You’re never really sure with him. It doesn’t matter, really. Your dream is getting away from you now, chased away by his hands and his lips and his cock. You were somewhere. He was there. You remember heat, you remember weight. 

(Or maybe that’s all there is now and you’re getting things confused.)

“Thought you were tryin’ to kill me, baby.” He nips along your neck. You clench down around him, moaning into the pillow. “Asleep, squeezin’ me like that.”

Good, you almost say. If I wrap myself around you enough times, you can’t breathe. Neither can I, but I only need to do it once. 

People get rid of snakes, throw them off into the swamp. They’re not supposed to be there. But this looks enough like their idea of home, doesn’t it? They’ll adapt or they’ll get eaten, and that’s all you could ask for. 

His breath is warm on your skin. You reach back, your fingers curling into his hair. 

“You ready to stop teasin’ me?”

(I couldn’t stomach you if I did. I’m not supposed to be here, anyway.)

You almost ask him if he had the same dream. Was it hard, waiting for the rot to set in? Waiting for softness? Did you taste better like that? Would he do it again if you asked him to? Could you return the favor?

Your hand tightens in his hair, giving it a sharp tug. His teeth are on your neck and it hurts in the way it’s supposed to hurt—scorching away inside you.

You’ve never been anywhere that hot, but maybe he has. Maybe he’ll take you there.

“Yes.”

[anonymitie]

[ollieofthebeholder]

listening to TMAGP 12 like

Me: Wow, that episode hit all the buttons and gave me a delightfully creepy feeling while also making me want to hug just about everyone and bumping Alice specifically several notches up my Blorbo List. Me: ... Me: I bet Alex wrote it. Post-Credit Roll: This episode was written by Alexander J. Newall... Me: Bingo.