#rip my heart out and then try to jam it back in

[prince-peachie]

“Something in the orange tells me we’re not done”

[bullet-prooflove]

Hello lovely!

23. That boy he takes my breath away, I can't find the words to say

For Spencer Dutton please? 💗

Tagging: @kmc1989 @justforthesimcc @demi321win-chester @dontwanttobeanamericanidiot @toasted-stiletto

Companion piece to:

Of Dead Men & Broken Dreams - Spencer makes a relisation while stationed on the front.

Ink Stained - Spencer finally reads your letters after a near death experiance.

It’s the sound of hooves outside that lead you to pick up the gun that you keep in the bed beside you. It’s a Springfield bolt action rifle, one that was handed down to you by your daddy, just like the ranch he put in your brother’s name, knowing that James would never step foot on it.

You’ve kept it close since the shooting six months ago, since Banner tried to murder you and the Duttons in an ambush on the road. Your families have been close since they settled, Cara taking you under her wing after your father had passed away a few years ago. Their cowboys take care of your herd after your own scattered to the winds because they won’t listen to a woman, especially not after you put a carving knife through Cal’s hand for trying to coerce his way into your bed.

“There’s a madness in that one.” He’d heralded to the others as he spat on your porch, cradling his bloodied hand to his chest. “She’d rip your dick off if you tried to fuck her.”

They’d dispersed after that and you couldn’t say you were sad to see them go because the truth is you hadn’t trusted a single one of them after Donald Whitfield had come sniffing around trying to buy the land. Cal wasn’t the first in a long line of men trying to make their fortune by putting you on your back, you’re certain he won’t be the last.  

Your white cotton nightdress flutters in the cool air as you raise from the bed, snatching up the rifle. You hurtle down the wooden stairs, tearing open the door, stepping out onto the porch in bare feet. You cock the weapon, your jaw tensing as you jam the barrel against the space where the bullet infiltrated your body. Your sight adjusts to the darkness as you line up the gun with the man racing towards you on horseback. Your finger tightens on the trigger, squeezing and the gun bucks against you, your bullet sailing through his hat, knocking it clean off his head.

“That was a warning shot.” You call out as he tugs at the reins, staying his horse. “The next one goes through your skull.”

“Why don’t you put it through my heart? Lord knows I deserve it.” He says getting off his horse and tilting his head up toward you.

The moonlight catches his tanned features and the air rushes out of you because it can not be Spencer Dutton standing in front of you, it can’t be the man who promised you the world and then disappeared from it.

You don’t lower the gun as he steps towards you, instead you press it against his chest. His hand grips to barrel, guiding it higher so there’s no doubt about which organ your bullet will pierce if you pull the trigger.  

“You wanna kill me Kit, do it.” He tells you with a ferocity you feel in the depths of your soul. “I died the day I left you, you’d just be finishing the job.”

“You die, I die.” You say as you look into his eyes with a fierce look of your own. “Isn't that what we told each other before you took off to the front?”

If he’d died on that battlefield you would have followed him right into that grave, you both know it. You lower the gun and his gaze strays the scar peeking out from underneath the collar of your white night dress. He reaches out, his fingers drawing the fabric away so he can see the wound in all it’s glory.

Just half an inch lower, he thinks as he studies it. He flattens his palm against your chest, feeling the thrum of your heart underneath his fingertips.

“Do you still feel me here?” He asks, his voice raw with emotion.

“Yes.” You whisper, your hand covering his. “Every damn day.”

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Of All The Places to Meet

Summary: When the reader gets into a bad accident, she doesn’t expect to meet her true mate at the same time...

Pairing: Alpha/Firefighter!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 2,500ish

Warnings: language, car accident, major injury

A/N: Enjoy!

_______

“She’s fucking jammed in there good. We need to cut her out.” You blinked open your eyes slowly, very aware of how…off the world seemed. Your head was killing you, that was for sure. Something about the fact you were upside down in your car told you that had something to do with it.

Lazily you turned your head at the scent of vanilla and tobacco, humming at the pleasant smell in the otherwise metallic and burnt rubber scented air. Beside you, crawled in your passenger window on his back, laying on top of your roof was a pair of gorgeous green eyes staring back.

“She’s awake!” called the man, his attention on you the whole time. “Hey, sweetheart. You were in an accident. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

“Smell pretty,” you murmured, fighting off the urge to pass out again. “I’m gonna…”

“Miss. Miss, try to-”

Dean’s POV

“Fuck, she’s out cold again,” I said. I could see where her door was pinned against her left side. It’d be a miracle if she hadn’t shattered her hip or femur. My stomach churned once more, hands gripping the center console that was partially cracked and pushed forward. 

This was not how this was supposed to happen. You don’t meet your true mate in a goddamn car wreck when she’s critically injured. You just don’t.

And now there was another problem.

Alpha’s were notoriously protective of their mates, especially true mates. That instinct skyrocketed when they were injured, even something as small as a cut thumb.

Seeing, smelling, my true mate when she was broken and battered and hurt out of her mind?

Yeah, there was no way I was going to be able to physically get away from this little omega.

“Winchester! Let the medic get in there and we’ll work on getting the driver's door off,” called Benny. My gut said to stay but I also knew she needed someone more qualified than me to attend to her at this moment. Reluctantly, I climbed out and ran around to the outside of the car, a few guys already working on ripping the metal apart.

“She’s got the neck brace on!” called the EMT. “We’re ready for whenever she’s loose.”

Twenty minutes later we finally had the door off, a backboard slipped underneath her and she was being pulled out of the vehicle.

The EMT’s packed her up and somehow she wasn’t bleeding out. There was always the chance for internal injuries though. I wandered over to the back of the ambulance, climbing into the back much to the displeasure of the two EMT’s.

“What the hell are you doing Dean?” said Benny. I chucked my helmet at him, Benny barely catching it. “De-“

“She’s my true mate. I can’t…I need to go.” He sighed but nodded. 

“Let him ride with you. I’ll pick him up at county later. Dean?” I nodded as they started to close the doors. “Listen to the doctors and stay out of their way. That’s how you can keep her safe.”

I nodded as they shut the doors, my focus going to the woman strapped to the stretcher. She looked so broken, covered in blood and scrapes.

I squeezed her hand, a gentle twitch of her finger in my palm. 

“You’ll be okay, Omega. I promise.”

Reader’s POV

You blinked open your eyes slowly, grateful this time you were right side up. The bed was soft and warm even if your body felt achy. A buzz was thrumming through your veins as you looked down, the drugs in your system keeping you calm as you took in the sight. 

Your entire left leg was bruised. Literally every spec of skin was bruised. 

And then you saw the monstrous contraption encasing it, pins holding your thigh in place. Beeping rang through the room as your heart rate shot up, eyes fixated on your wiggling toes.

“Okay. Okay, I can still walk,” you breathed out, inhaling deeply. “Hopefully.”

A wave of exhaustion hit as the door opened, an Alpha!nurse walking inside. “Well good evening Y/N! How are we feeling?”

“Shitty.” You frowned and closed your eyes again.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked, checking the monitors and then bending your arms. 

“Uh. I was driving on the highway and then I woke up here,” you said, nose twitching. “Something smelled pretty.”

He just hummed and checked your leg that wasn’t secure, offering you a smile. “I’m going to check a few things and then I’ll bring the doctor in.”

An hour later you were laying back in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to wrap your head around everything the doctor had said. Intensive physical therapy would be needed for months and even then your leg may never be a hundred percent again. You had a concussion and wouldn’t be able to drive a car for six months most likely. You’d need to take a leave of absence from work. Although that one might not be that bad actually considering how stressful it’d been lately.

On top of all that, apparently there was some creeper Alpha firefighter hanging out in the waiting area. 

Waiting for you.

Because your day hadn’t been unsettling enough as it was.

Before long you were fast asleep, hoping that tomorrow you’d wake up and find out this was just a nightmare.

“Good morning Y/N!” said your nurse, Alfie. You twitched your eye, not deterring his chipper mood one bit. “Feeling any better today?”

“We’re going to have problems if you’re always this bubbly when I wake up, Alfie,” you grumbled, sighing as pain shot up your leg. “If you could just do me a favor and cut off my leg, that’d be appreciated.”

“Oh, don’t be drastic, Y/N. I know the doctor wants to wean you off the pain medicine as soon as possible but it shouldn’t be that bad.”

“Did he shatter his femur yesterday? No? When he does he can talk to me about taking away my pain meds,” you said, hitting the button for morphine but nothing coming out. “Alfie. I need something.”

“The doctor gave strict orders to have you on only over the counter-”

“It fucking hurts!” you shouted, surprised at how agitated you were. Normally you were always kind and polite to strangers. But this? You were in pain and you didn’t have the patience to be a socially acceptable human being today.

Alfie looked sympathetic but his reply was cut off when a man with disheveled hair and dirty clothes came barging in the room. Strike that. The creeper Alpha firefighter that was stalking you outside was suddenly barging in the room.

“What are you doing to her?” he spat out, venom in every word. You could hear him audibly growl as he stalked over to Alfie, the poor Alpha shrinking back like he was an Omega cornered in a dark alley.

“Hey! Get out of…” you paused when you caught his scent. The heart rate monitor beeped dangerously fast, both of them turning to you. The scary Alpha firefighter suddenly made you calm, his scent giving off clear signals.

Relax Omega. You’re safe and protected.

“You can’t be in here,” said Alfie as he got his wits back. He grabbed the firefighter, shrieking when the man growled so loud it sounded like he’d gone feral. 

“Alfie’s right,” you said, pain filling your heart as you breathed deeply. You had no idea who this Alpha was but you knew his instincts were in overdrive. “You’re filthy and this is an ICU. Go home and clean yourself up. Come back this afternoon and we’ll talk then. That’s an order, Alpha.”

“Yes, omega,” he said softly, nodding once. “Are you okay?”

“Later, Alpha.” He apologized briefly to Alfie before leaving, Alfie relaxing when his scent went with him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t know how you got him to believe you like that. He was this close to snapping.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s my true mate.” Alfie raised his eyebrow and cocked his head.

“We can do a blood test. And make him take one too before we let him back in. On second thought, that’s absolutely happening.”

You raised a hand, wincing as pain pulsated through your leg. “Tell him I asked him to please take the test so he doesn’t take it out on the staff. Please.”

“Will do.” He paused as he exited the room. “I’ll talk to the doctor about your pain meds, see if we can make the steps down not so drastic.”

“Thanks Alfie.”

You were tired when you woke up after lunch and physical therapy. So much so you could barely open your eyes. You wouldn’t think you could be all that physical with a damn broken femur but after they moved and worked you to the point of shouting, you’d changed your mind quickly.

A large, calloused hand stroked your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that fell. The air smelled sweet, like pine and vanilla. “Omega. How can I help the pain?”

“You being here helps,” you murmured, his long fingers brushing away more tears. You squeezed your eyes when pain ripped through you. “They say I don’t need the morphine but I only can sleep today when I’m exhausted from the pain. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get through this.”

“With me, Omega. I’ll talk to the doctors. You were injured only a day ago. They must  have missed something if it hurts so badly.” He bent down and kissed your temple, your eyes fluttering open. “Please don’t worry. I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”

You stared up into his green eyes, surprised to find him smiling at you. “Why are you so handsome?”

“Makes up for my lack of singing ability,” he chuckled. He brushed your hair behind your ear, his scent coming off in powerful waves to soothe you. “I’m sorry for scaring you earlier. I know you don’t quite know me but I was one of the responders to your accident and when I scented you…my instincts went a little crazy.”

“It’s alright,” you whispered, a flash of pain rising up again. “Can you find the doctor?”

“Yes Omega,” he murmured. “Try to rest.” He got up from the nearby seat and hummed. “I’m Dean.”

“Y/N,” you said, shutting your eyes once more.

“I’ll make it better Y/N. I promise.”

Two Weeks Later

“Hey,” said Dean when he entered your hospital room. “I heard you’re getting discharged today.”

You grumbled from bed, wearing one of his fire station hoodies. He pulled the curtains open, smiling wide as you tugged the hood up. 

“Aren’t you excited to be getting out of here?” He had a point. You were happy to be leaving, with some pain medication too. But your leg was still incredibly fucked and you couldn’t go back to your apartment. Not when it was on the third floor. Dean luckily lived in a ranch style but you hated imposing on him.

“I wish I didn’t have to move in with you.” His smile fell as you groaned. “I meant like this. Because I’m hurt and can’t be alone. I wish we could be like a normal pair of mates.”

“Hey,” he said. He sat on the edge of the bed by my good leg, lightly stroking over the bonding gland in my neck. “We are normal. We just need to practice a bit more patience than other true mates.”

“You mean how I can’t have sex for months until my leg is healed. It’s going to drive both of us crazy to wait.”

“We can bond, just without the knotting. We’re already scent bonded and as long as we don’t stay away from each other for too long-“

“You mean an hour tops? You’re stuck by my side for the next three months minimum. I might not walk correctly again. I might always-“

He put his hand over your mouth, annoyance rising in your veins. 

“I’m your Alpha, even if you don’t bear my mark yet. I never want to hear you say you think I’m stuck with you. Being with you is the only thing I could ever want. We will figure this out and I will not mate you until you are fully recovered. Am I clear, Omega?”

The use of your title from his lips sent fuzzy, calming feelings throughout your body, your head nodding without thinking. Large fingers gently stroked your cheek, a soft hum escaping him.

“Are you ready to go home with me?” 

“Okay, Alpha. You can take me home.”

“You all set?” asked Dean later that evening. You were in bed, leg propped up on some pillows. Dean had spent the day with you, helping you get discharged and set up his house so it was a bit more friendly for you to get around in. 

“As good as I can be,” you said, watching him disappear into the closet, returning in a fire station shirt and a pair of skinny black joggers. “You have work?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, no. Just getting comfy for the night. I can order us some food. I’m sure you’re starving.”

“A little,” you said, Dean sitting beside you, urging you to curl into his side. “Thank you for helping me that day. The accident.”

“It’s my job, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’m just happy you’re still here. You got lucky.”

“Hell of a way to meet your mate.” He hummed, quietly stroking your bare arm with the tips of his fingers. “I’m really glad I’m not doing this on my own.”

“You’ll never be on your own ever again, Omega. I promise.”

“I know, Alpha. My leg might never heal the same way but at least I got one good thing out of this situation.” He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “This comfy ass bed.”

He rolled his eyes with a smirk, kissing the top of your head before he got up. “Alright. With that, I’m off to go be your manly Alpha and hunt down some food for us.”

“You mean order takeout?” you teased. He tossed a pillow at you, laughing lightly.

“For that I’m ordering pineapple on the pizza.” You dropped your jaw, Dean laughing a bit harder, his scent the calmest you’d ever smelled it. “I’m kidding. I’m not deranged.”

“Good cause true mates or not, that is not happening,” you said. 

“Glad we can agree on it,” he said. “What about a supreme?”

“Now we’re talking,” you said. He left the room with a nod, returning a few minutes later with a soft smile. “What?”

“Nothing. Just really glad to finally have found you. It’s…easy with you.”

You knew what he meant, patting the spot next to you. He returned to your side with a smile, pulling you to rest against his chest. His scent filled the air, a relaxed cozy feeling settling in your bones.

“Yes, yes it is Alpha,” you said, taking a deep inhale, exhaling slowly. “It absolutely is.”

________

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

₂ i swear, next time i see you i'll be funny

memphis, tennessee. the road sign just appeared out of schlatt's peripheral vision, though he wasn't paying much attention. his hands were gripped tight on the steering wheel as the radio blabbered on about how tomorrow, december fourteenth 2022, a lady named cheryl would be winning a lifetime supply of chuck-e cheese tickets.

"can you shut the fuck up?" schlatt barked, slamming his hand into the console. not a great idea, he knew that— but there wasn't much else he could do. he was going as fast as he could without going 100mph, but that wasn't fast enough.

schlatt was a man with vices. whiskey, mostly, and snacking before bed. but his biggest vice was you, anything you asked— everything was thrown out the window. it'd come to bite him in the ass more than once, but anything for you. and he meant it when he said it.

so when you called, frantic and sobbing, all he had to say was:

"i'll be right there."

even though he was in the middle of a chuckle sandwich shoot, he had to run. ted even let him borrow his toyota tocoma (an honor which he rarely bestowed on anyone), but he knew it was an emergency. and notably, a sixteen hour drive. he drove all throughout the night, not even taking a second to breathe or blink as he made his way to tennessee.

eventually, the old truck made its way past the border of tennessee and into memphis. after a few illegal right turns, he made his way to your apartment. it was small. and it didn't take a genius to see it was also in an awful neighborhood, hell— he could hear police sirens echoing in the background.

which was fucking weird, because you had just shown the chuckle crew a photo of your new high rise you were going to purchase. it had looked nice as hell, eliciting an "ooh" from charlie, ted and even himself. and he was a man rarely impressed.

the whole apartment shook when schlatt knocked on the door, frantic. his huge, strong hands helped him out for once— besides opening jars of peanut butter and jelly or opening locks that were jammed. "hey, open the door!" no response, but he could hear little sobs and whines inside. he took a step back, bracing himself before jamming his elbow into the door, busting it wide open.

you were curled up in a blanket, sniffling and crying as you stared off into space.

in seconds, you were in his arms. your tears soaked his shirt, but he had hundreds of the same one— it didn't matter to him. his voice was hesitant, trying to soothe you. "hey, hey, sugar. nono, don't cry— don't—"

hysterical, you choked on your sobs and hugged him tight. "i'm sorry you came all this way, i didn't mean to bother you, i just—"

"no, fuck, baby. you're not botherin' me. i wanted to come, so i did. ya didn't ruin nothin', alright? cross my heart. pinky swear, whatever or whoever ya want me to swear it on, i do."

heavy, shaky breaths again. "but the drive here takes forever, a—and weren't you filiming a chuckle episode? gosh, don't tell me you left that early, jay..." you took a sharp inhale, voice wobbling. "my heart's beating real, really fast." you stammer.

"'kay toots, you're gonna listen to me now, alright? deep breaths. you can do it, know you can."

your eyes met his, and it felt like someone ripped his heart in half. "you can't just throw everything away to take care of me. what if one day you can't come save me?" you ask, voice quiet as a mouse.

schlatt shook his head, not even giving him a second to think about it. "i always will be," he insists.

"but, i—i am afraid i'll spend entire years— trying..." you stammer, getting all choked up again. "...trying not to need you."

"you don't need to worry about that." he assured you, his voice low and baritone.

and schlatt held you the whole way through. the entire night, coaxing you to stop crying, to at least have some water and have a bite to eat. he brought you hot cocoa with marshmallows and sat next to you on the couch in silence, until you drifted off to sleep.

the austin chronicle on november nineteenth, 2025, had their horoscope section on the second page, tucked into the bottom right corner. today, your horoscope said that old memories would come to light. you laughed and threw out the newspaper before glancing in your doorway to see a random stranger standing there, boxers low on his hips.

resisting the urge to rub your temples, you politely made conversation with the man (a hookup you'd already forgotten the name of, add him to the list.)

the door slammed.

you sighed, groaning and rubbing your eyes. another fucking morning. idly, you made yourself eggs and glanced over at the television. some person was crying to the reporter about a car crash that had happened. unfortunate, you mused. those kinds of stories used to make you cry just as hard as the person it had actually happened to, but now, you seemed impartial to it. just another thing in the walk of life, you supposed.

scrolling through your instagram feed, you got a message from one of your friends about going out tonight. why not, right? it's not like you had better shit to do. (you didn't.)

and in what felt like a blink to you, there were loud, flashing lights that felt like they were pounding in your head. but you didn't want to be the party pooper loser of the night and go home, you needed this, so you downed a few shots with your friends until you eventually loosened up.

your friends burst into loud, shrill shrieks. "ohmygosh!" one of them tugged on your arm, pointing across the club to—

fuck.

schlatt was standing right there, tall and broad as ever, dressed in a black turtleneck with a brown jacket thrown over it. he looked distinguished, and eerily out of place. in the same city as you. and partying in an outfit that looked like it belonged to a stuffy college professor more than your old friend jay who you hadn't spoken to in... jeez, it must've been three years now since you'd ran off from memphis, moved thousands of miles away, went no contact, and started anew. schlatt called so often, frantically worrying about your absence, that you had to change your number.

he met your gaze, and he immediately moved. it made your face blanch as he weaved his way through the crowd easily, not caring if he'd pushed someone or interrupted a makeout session.

"you." he breathed heavily, eyes wide.

a man of few words. your friends, perplexed at the fact he knew you (they had just seen one of his youtube videos once),

"big man!" you put on a big, fake smile like you were thrilled to see him. well, it's not like you weren't. just taken aback, you supposed. "guess one of us had to look better than before, and we all know it's not me." your friends burst into giggles at your self-depricating joke, your smile faltering a little. "you grew a little. how's new york, huh?"

"uh... good." schlatt's eyes were wide, and he opened his mouth to say something, but bit his lip. "good."

[g3ths3man3]

Sleep Token HC: being in a relationship with vessel

Hello, I hope you like my final HC for Ves. Fluff elements with highly NSFW ideas. 🤠 I’m always open to HC requests as well 🤭

Vessel, vessel, vessel—where do we begin?

Vessel the bf that is so deeply profoundly in love with you

If he could he’d rip his heart out of his chest for you and just hand it to you, he would.

His love languages would be words of affirmation and physical touch

He often battles with icky thoughts of himself, and you’re his ever radiant light in his bleakest days, so he would go out of his way to make sure it was known

Notes everywhere around your house, even a month and half into tour, you keep finding them

Praises in your medicine cabinet, crumbled pieces of paper at the bottom of your bags bc he know you won’t find them right away. Little Sonnets on your desk or on the fridge just so you know how much you are loved by him

Once you stopped finding them around the house or in your things, he’d start sending flowers or treats with love notes attached. Just because gestures especially if the night before you told him what a long week it was and knew you were struggling

You have so many of these notes, post its, scraps of paper you’ve compiled them in a scrapbook/binder and it’s on your bookshelf now

Texts for when you wake up reminding you to take your meds/vitamins, and to keep up with your water intake—voice memos too

Honestly he’d send you voice memos all the time like it was your own little podcast

Having black paint smeared on you because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself

Or would want you to apply his body paint before a show. Squirming underneath your fingers as you apply it because of your featherlight touches, listening to his quiet hisses when you’d go too low and gentle

“We’re not going to make it out of this dressing room if you keep doing that, love.”

Vessel would love to be big spoon, having you tucked underneath him or your back against his chest. Tracing patterns on your arms, hips, and thighs

He always loomed around you, everyone knowing if you were there, he was somewhere lurking around 95% of the time. He was a quietly protective man.

Coming up when you were talking with friends at an event, a comforting squeeze to the nape of your neck and a drink to quietly check on you

Wearing one of his extra robes backstage. It was so big and light, perfect for the hot and humid venues, a great blanket tbh where you could use the hood to cover your face

There’s a folder in his phone dedicated with pictures of you in many spaces of the venues they played just sleeping with his robe over you

Also the amount of videos of you two just frolicking around backstage, helping him with dance moves whilst in his robe that dragged on the floor, nearly tripping on it, when you wore it because it was so long on you

You liked to go into the crowd during the shows, enjoying the atmosphere of fans. Vessel would get a kick out of that, and you two would make it like a game almost

Instantly being able to spot you in the crowd through the lights and smoke. Always looking in your direction to lowkey serenade you and do little inconspicuous moves directed for you. In return, you’d run your hands through up and down your body swaying your hips to his voice. His own little siren in the sea of people

He loved watching you jam tf out with the fans so careless in your own world dancing with everyone or receiving bracelets from the fellow concertgoers (he would panic slightly watching you try to go into the mosh pit every time tho, one time he actually had to send a member of the crew to discreetly retrieve you.)

I imagine vessel being codependent af, and the simplest of tasks you were always requested to tag along

groceries, pharmacy trips, picking up takeout—he needed his emotional support person. Bribing and rewarding you with little treats to lure you with him thinking you’d say no how could you he’d hit you with the puppy dog eyes I just know he’s master at that

Staying up or waking up to listen to his late night rambles/dreams/conspiracies tucked under his arm while sharing a joint or bottle of spirits

Or sitting beside him as he wrote song lyrics, quietly running them by you for your opinion. You just blinking slowly in awe with what his mind created unable to provide the input he wanted

I thinks it’s a mutual consensus among us: Vessel loves to bite. He can’t help his carnal primal urge to. He does it with his friends, you… Everyone had a mark from him at this point

I don’t imagine him being into quickies (unless he was absolutely throbbing and thirsting for you) this man would take his time. Setting the pace all during the day teasing you

He loved nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, pressing kisses below your ear and whispering the filthiest things to get you flustered

“You look so good right now, I could take you right here.”

“I can’t wait to get you home and be deep inside you later, doll.” He would murmur, his hand squeezing your hip pulling you back into him feeling his already hardening length pressing in the soft flesh of your ass

Then when it finally happened, he goes at a nearly agonizing pace—he wanted to worship you. He didn’t like to fuck, he liked to make love.

intense and passionate, hips slowly rolling into you up til you were full of him. And he kept hitting that spot that made your eyes see stars and lulled to the back of your head.

He was not shy about how he felt, always moaning and praising you, but wasn’t too loud. Vocal fry as he quietly moaned about how good you made him feel

“You’re squeezing me so well,” rasping out, trying to look at where your bodies connected, resisting the urge to close his eyes

“Fuck, you look so pretty under me.”

He’s 100% a morning sex person

Not even letting either of you have a chance to get out of bed, one hand slipping down your front rubbing you softly while the other gripped your throat to turn your face so he could slowly kiss you—devouring your mouth with his��all in a blissed out half sleep stupor

Hehe, I woke up from my nap and chose violence horniness, sorry. Anyways thanks for the support and all the love on these 🫶🏻✨

[thefreakandthehair]

(don't bother) calling me when you're sober | rating: m | wc: 1.5k

content warnings: future fic, parental alcoholism ("falling off the wagon"), past parental neglect, minor character death (i've committed wayne crimes i'm so sorry but it's not shown, just mentioned), emotional hurt/comfort, ends on a happy, hopeful note despite the tags

“My dad called.” 

Eddie walks into the room, pinched eyebrows and flared nostrils lit up by the multicolored Christmas lights they string on the tree every year, one hand balled into a fist. The reaction  wouldn’t surprise Steve so much if this happened years ago, when Al Munson was still living in the bottom of a bottle of Jack, but now? 

It’s been eighteen years since he’d gotten sober, nineteen years since his last stint at Hawkins County, and fifteen years since making a genuine attempt to right the wrongs of Eddie’s childhood and build a relationship with his son. 

Fifteen years after Eddie let him in, let him try, let him earn Eddie’s trust. 

Fifteen years is a long time and to see Eddie so vitriolic in the doorway of their apartment’s living room— hands shaking, body shaking— Steve knows something must’ve gone wrong. 

“What happened?” Steve asks, standing from the couch and meeting Eddie where he stands, holding the hand not curled tightly around itself. 

“He’s drunk. He called, and he was drunk.” 

Steve’s chest pulls tight, his heart racing. What does someone say to that? What can someone say to assuage that kind of deep anger, pain, and betrayal? His thoughts are scattered as they try to make sense of what Eddie just said, and he’s even more grateful now that Ronnie wanted a sleepover with Aunt Robin tonight. 

“Eddie, fuck. I’m so— ” Before he can finish his thought, Eddie leans back against the doorframe, ripping his hand out of Steve’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging. 

“How could he? How fucking could he?!” Eddie bellows, eyes squeezed shut. “He knew! He knew that if he ever did this again, I’d be done. For good. For forever. And he did it anyways! After eighteen fucking years!” 

His eyes fly open and Steve stands still and nods him on. There are just no words to fix this, and trying for the sake of filling the silence has never served him well.

“He did it anyway! Two days before fucking Christmas, a week before the anniversary of—” He chokes and cuts himself off. 

He knows what Eddie was going to say. A week before the anniversary of Wayne’s death. It’s been on his mind, too, of course. On his mind and in their conversations over breakfast with eccentric mugs of coffee, over the tangled lights that Wayne could always figure out. The year hasn’t been the kindest to them, particularly Eddie, and Steve wants to protect Eddie as much as he can from whatever he can. 

But he can’t shield him from this. Al Munson skips to the top of his shitlist.

“That son of a bitch!” Eddie rams his fist sideways against the door jam, leaving a sharp, red mark along his pinky. “He promised, and I believed him. Why the fuck did I believe him, Steve?”

Steve takes a step closer and grabs both of Eddie’s hands, carefully soothing the angry mark. “It’s been almost twenty years, babe. Trusting him with so much time invested makes sense. Hell, I did, too.” 

“I’m— I’m in my 30s, hurt and angry about the same shit I was hurt and angry about as a fucking kid. All the nights I slept in the backseat of the car because he blew his money at the bar, all the car accidents and court appearances and jail time, all the mornings I missed school because he didn’t know what fucking day it was,” Eddie rants, stopping to take a breath before picking back up, Steve’s own heart cracking and raging the more he speaks. 

“And every time he’d get sober, he’d always promise. He’d promise it would be the last time, and it never was. Not once could he choose his fucking son and I didn’t understand it then, but now that we have Ronnie, I understand it even less. If I was sick enough to walk away from her, I’d walk my happy ass to the nearest fucking rehab. I get that it’s a disease, I get it, I get it, I get it. But I can’t— I can’t do it again. Not this time. Eighteen years just down the fucking drain because of his company’s holiday party? How can I ever believe him again? Or trust him again?” 

Eddie’s voice grows raspier, breath shallow and quick, eyes watery. “Every time this happened when I was a kid, I always had Wayne. He’s the only person who really got it, y’know? The only one who lived it with me and now, I don’t even have him. My dad’s drunk, slurring his way through who fucking knows what on the phone, and no one else can fully understand the magnitude of what that feels like for me.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut again and drops forward toward Steve, forehead on his shoulder and arms loosely hung around Steve’s waist. Steve still doesn’t have words that bandage this up, but he knows how to show his husband love in other ways. Ways that, over the years, have become a language all their own. Steve pulls him in tight, one hand near his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Fingers slide carefully beneath the hem of Eddie’s tee-shirt and rub little, repetitive circles into the small of Eddie’s back while he cards his other hand through Eddie’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him to his chest to feel the rhythm of Steve’s own heartbeat until his breath returns to a steady pace. 

It’s only then that Steve speaks. 

“I don’t know what to say, Ed. It’s fucked up, and if you want to me like, hit him with my car, you know I’m game.” Steve feels Eddie laugh— just a few puffs of air through his nose but it’s a laugh all the same. “But I’m here, and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do it together.”

Eddie nods and lets himself be led to the couch, Steve tucking Eddie into his side and pulling the afghan up over them. 

“I never want to be what Al was to me to our daughter,” Eddie whispers, not looking away from the tree. 

“Well, you’re ahead of the game, because she’s already older than you were when he started hitting the bottle hard. And I know there’s the genetic piece to it that everyone talks about, but nurture counts for a lot of who we become, too. Shit, I owe Joyce Byers a huge thank you for being more of a parent to me than my own were because she’s probably the reason I didn’t turn out like Dick Harrington. Ronnie’s never going to have an Al Munson in her life, because you weren’t raised by Al Munson. That’s not whose legacy you’re passing down. You’re passing down love, not pain.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s temple and feels his whole body sag into him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Eddie’s voice is quiet now, a far cry from his earlier venomous edge. 

Silence nestles onto the couch with them, a comfortable addition, as they watch the basketball game Steve had on before Eddie told him about the phone call. Watch is a loose description, actually. They're more just looking at a moving, flashing screen. 

“My hand really hurts, by the way,” Eddie announces, holding up the hand he’d used to punch the doorjam. “That was fucking dumb.”

“Maybe a little bit, but I get it,” Steve untucks a hand from beneath the blanket and outstretches his palm. “Lemme see?”

Eddie plops his hand into Steve’s and Steve takes a look, mentally working down the check list he’s memorized from his decade plus of EMT work. No obvious breaks, nothing looks crooked, Eddie’s able to move each finger and flex his hand without severe pain. 

“If anything, it’s just gonna be bruised tomorrow. But I’ll fix it,” Steve grins and lifts Eddie’s fist to his lips, carefully kissing each knuckle and paying a little extra attention to the pinky that delivered most of the blow. 

“I’m so in love with you, Steve.” Eddie rests his temple on Steve’s shoulder. “You know that, right?” 

“I know,” Steve agrees, chest fluttering despite the circumstances. “And I’m in love with you, too. You know that, right?”

Eddie snuggles in and wraps Steve up, full koala, as though he’s trying to get as close as possible without actually cracking Steve open and climbing inside of him. 

“Definitely.”

The next morning, Aunt Robin brings Ronnie home and together, they decorate the gingerbread cookies that only vaguely look like people but are good enough to pass for a seven year old. Halfway through, Eddie’s cell phone rings and the caller I.D. reads Al. Steve watches, worried that Eddie’s going to answer in the middle of their decorating. That he’ll forget Ronnie’s having the time of her life, and that in his righteous indignation, Eddie will leave the table to go fight and argue.

There’s so much to be said, and Steve wouldn’t blame him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Eddie simply declines the call and sets about pouring more edible glitter onto his design with a smile down at their daughter. 

[malk1ns]

february 25 @ flyers, 6-1 loss

good absolute god, guys. consider trying?

a pathetic game overall, capped off by this vibe and this postgame insight:

no joy in mudville and don't expect much in this fic except for my signature 'overly saccharine ending'. sorry!

Sid and Zhenya’s names are up on the whiteboard for press availability when they troop back into the locker room, stunned silent by the loss.

Zhenya’s heart sinks, but he squares his shoulders and starts plucking off his pads, running through his own game. A giveaway, a losing night in the faceoff dot, no shots on goal—they’re going to rip him apart. He can already picture the headlines—Malkin’s sloppy play costs Penguins another crucial divisional match-up, or maybe Malkin’s effort makes it clear why he should be Russia-bound after the season.

At least he didn’t take a penalty tonight.

“Fuck no,” Sid says from one seat down, but Zhenya ignores him until Sid practically knocks him over on his way to the front of the room.

Zhenya raises an eyebrow when Sid reaches the whiteboard and wipes their names off with his sleeve. He turns and faces the comms people who are hovering nervously at the door and crosses his arms. “G and I aren’t talking to them,” he says, jutting his chin out. “He played fine. I played fine. Neither of us have anything to say. Get someone else to do it.” He stares the staffers down, waiting for a challenge.

None comes. Sid’s one of the most spoiled athletes in North America, but it’s all done preemptively—he rarely asks for anything, especially like this. When he does, people listen.

Sid pauses on his way back to his stall. “Get a move on,” he mutters. “If we’re not on our way out when they let the vultures in, someone will try to stop us.” He raises his voice a little bit, still quiet enough to plausibly still be addressing Zhenya privately but loud enough that the guys near them can hear. “Someone who phoned it in tonight can give them a quote. Not you.”

The atmosphere in the room deflates even further, if that was possible. Zhenya would feel bad, but frankly? He’s sick of it.

They’re rebuilding. Everyone with a brain knows that. Zhenya expected it eventually. He knew it was possible that he’d spend the last years of his career surrounded by journeymen who couldn’t keep up, even as his own footspeed declined. In theory, that didn’t bother him. He did what he came here to do almost 20 years ago; he doesn’t have anything to prove.

In practice, though, the grind of trying to lift spirits and motivate a bench that’s half-composed of players who wilt at the first sign of adversity, who aren’t interested in fighting back, is exhausting. Zhenya’s just had a two-week vacation and he’s already exhausted only three games into this side of break.

Sid, who spent those two weeks playing with and against the best of the best, is practically vibrating with anger.

They make it out of the locker room just as the press is let in, and Zhenya looks over his shoulder on his way out, making eye contact with Yohe. Great. At least Sid’s hot on his heels, practically pushing him out into the hallway; nobody will be able to write that Geno Malkin is dodging the press after a shitty game.

“God damn it,” Sid swears once they’re out of earshot, kicking at a trash can as they make their way out to where the bus is waiting. “Fucking hell, I hate it here. I hate this city, I hate this team.”

“Which one,” Zhenya says drily, and Sid snorts, jamming an elbow into his side.

Normally Sid would scold Zhenya after laughing, too painfully conscious of his own captaincy to not feel guilty over insulting his teammates. The fact that he doesn’t tonight says more than any of Sid’s own words ever could.

Zhenya slides into the second row of the bus, and Sid plops down next to him. They don’t speak on the bus; Zhenya’s answering texts from his mama back in Pittsburgh, and Sid’s thumbs are flying over his phone screen, conducting whatever inscrutable business the face of the league is responsible for no matter the hour. Zhenya used to ask. It was never very interesting.

It’s usually a coin flip if Sid wants Zhenya sitting next to him on the plane. It’s less likely after a bad loss, when Sid prefers to brood and Zhenya spends his pique on the card table, but as they pile onto the plane Sid tugs Zhenya into his row, so Zhenya settles into his chair and avoids eye contact with the rest of the team. Now that he’s had a little distance from the game, he feels a little bad about ditching the media. He’s a leader on this team, and leaders don’t welch on their responsibilities.

Sid does not seem to be similarly burdened. He’s already listing towards Zhenya with his eyes half-closed. Zhenya doesn’t blame him—he’s hurt, and he barely got any rest between Four Nations and the regular season resuming. Zhenya spent hours begging Sid to sit for a game, maybe two, just to give himself time to heal.

Sid refused. Zhenya knew he would. He had to try anyway.

He sneaks his hand under Sid’s plane blanket, resting it on Sid’s thigh and squeezing. Sid grunts and spreads his legs, but Zhenya’s not trying to start anything; he could use with a little comfort, and Sid will never admit it but he could too.

Their days of fooling around on planes are well over, not that they ever did that after heartbreakers like this one even when they were young stupid(er). No, they’d save that type of comfort for at home, tucked away in someone’s bedroom and tangled in each other until the memories faded.

That won’t be the case tonight. They both need sleep; there’s a game Thursday, followed by yet another hellish back-to-back over the weekend.

Zhenya wonders if he should push it. Their sex life has suffered badly this season; between injuries and illnesses and the tension from the rink bleeding into their home life, Zhenya’s getting laid less now than he has his entire adult life. Their house is as likely to be filled with frosty post-argument silence as it is with amorous sighs these days.

Sid snores in his ear the entire short flight back to Pittsburgh, and he’s quiet in the car ride back.

“Should I have extended?” he asks when they’re settled into bed back at home. Zhenya was half-asleep, but Sid’s question snaps him back awake.

“Huh?” he mumbles. “You mean like…not sign here?”

“Not sign,” Sid emphasizes. Zhenya feels him turn on the mattress until they’re facing each other. “Maybe I should have said this would be my last season and hung it up. I mean, we’re not going to be good for years, all I’m doing is take up cap space…” He pats gently over the mattress until he finds Zhenya’s arm. “Maybe the PA won’t flip shit if I say that I want to retire after all if I do it before the new contract kicks in.”

“Stupid,” Zhenya mutters, and Sid’s fingers pinch into his skin. “You’re Penguins, Sid. Like, you’re need to be there for kids, for set example. If you’re keep play hard, guys watch, they learn. Sometimes it’s not work in game, but they see. Plus, what you do? You get bored, come to practice anyway.”

Sid laughs a little, scooting closer. “Probably,” he concedes. “It’s just…at the tournament, watching the way the crowd reacted to Mario…he’s a legend, obviously, but he’s in the past. And I was standing there listening to them cheer for me, and it sounded the same. I’m still playing fine, but I’m turning into a legacy even while I’m still in the league.” He sighs. “I have never felt as old as I did during those games in my whole life. Old, and tired. I probably could have used the break after all.”

“Oh, Sid,” Zhenya whispers, tugging Sid’s shoulder until they’re pressed together. His heart hurts. “You’re most important hockey player for Canada ever, probably. It’s not like…you’re not legacy yet, you’re still play. You’re inspire everyone there. They all talk about how good you do, how much you help. We watch games here while you’re gone and the young guys, all they’re say is how exciting for seeing you play international again.” He squeezes Sid tight to his body, shaking him a little. “Not too old. Old, okay yes, we old now. But too old? No. Not your fault team does this, not your contract’s fault. We try, you try hardest always. Other guys, maybe they don’t. Can’t control.”

Sid sighs, and it sounds watery. When he presses his face to Zhenya’s chest, Zhenya can feel damp soak through his sleep shirt. “Sorry,” he says, garbled through the fabric. “I’m being dumb. I’m tired, and that game sucked, and holy fuck I hate Philly.” 

“Game is bad, yes,” Zhenya agrees, running his hands over Sid’s back. “Philly is always suck, yes. But we have twenty more games, try again to play good. It’s okay, Sid. Nobody thinks you’re bad just because of team.”

“It’s probably selfish, huh?” Sid muses, turning his head to the side. “That I care so much about how I look now with the team doing so bad. I never used to.”

Zhenya shrugs. “Allowed to be selfish. You give everything for team, for league. Is okay to want to break records, play well just for you, know that people see. But they do, Sid. Cheers in Montreal, that’s for how you’re play for so long. Not because you’re, like…statue, walking around on the ice again.”

Sid doesn’t reply, but Zhenya can feel his shoulders relax.

“I tell Kyle they put you on your knees for your statue,” Zhenya says, startling Sid into a laugh. “Tell him for goals, but really I want to look at and think of you blowing me. It’s big secret for me, nobody knows.”

“Oh my god,” Sid squawks, slapping at Zhenya’s chest. “You didn’t say that to Kyle.”

Zhenya did. He sent Kyle a half-dozen goal videos of Sid dropping to a knee to score; his signature pose, the one he hits when the other goalie has no chance.

He didn’t say anything about the blowjobs, obviously. 

“Well, I’m going to tell him that your statue should be of…of…” Sid trails off.

Zhenya gives him a minute before shaking his head. “Sidney, Sidney,” he says, pouring as much mock-concern into his voice as he can. “Too tired for dirty joke? Can’t think of even one thing? Maybe you retire after all. Too old to keep up.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Sid says, but his voice is light.

Leading a team like the 24-25 Pittsburgh Penguins might be hard, Zhenya thinks as they finally drift off, but leading Sidney Crosby out of his down-moods is easy. Then again, he’s got almost fifteen years of firsthand experience.

[love-you-likeallfire]

Sunshine and Roses

Chapter 4- Blood and Jam.

First chapter, Previous chapter

A/N: Hi guys, trying something a little different with this chapter, but just a warning this chapter is the first foray into the dark stuff in this fic and there is a mention of child loss in this chapter so if you’re not comfortable with that maybe skip this chapter. Look after yourself first and foremost.

She wakes up screaming.

The sound tears through the train quarters, shattering the thin silence between us like glass, it’s the kind of noise that brands itself into the bone. The kind you don’t ever forget.

I place my bottle on the side table without thinking, heart hammering against ribs that already know what’s coming as I turn my attention to Ember’s side of the bed.

She’s tangled in the blanket she wrapped round herself, gasping like she’s drowning, dark waves plastered to her forehead by damp beading sweat.

Her eyes— that same blue of the sky above the meadow, on a clear day— are wide, wild, blown and staring at me so full of terror it guts me to look back into them.

They just look entirely lost.

I don't touch her.

I can't.

Because I might shatter her.

So I stay where I am.

Sitting back against the headboard of the bed, fists knotted into the mattress to keep them from reaching for her.

"Ember," I say, low, steady, the same way you’d talk to a horse ready to bolt.

The way you talk to someone standing on the edge of something high and dark, someone who’s not sure which way they’ll fall.

"You’re here. It’s just a dream."

She shakes her head, curls in tighter on herself, trembling so bad the whole bed shivers with her.

She makes these little broken noises, raw in her throat, like she’s trying to claw her way back but can't find the path.

Like she's stuck somewhere I can't reach.

And I feel it— that helpless, furious thing rise up inside me again.

Because there’s not a damn thing I can do to make it better.

I can fight Capitol mutts. I can punch through walls.

But I can’t fight what’s inside her head.

I can’t save her from something that already happened.

I just sit there. Silent.

Watching her drown on dry land.

But there’s nothing in the world that could make me look away.

Not again.

The sound she made—that scream—

It sticks under my skin, nestling in with all the other things I can’t scrub out.

“You’re okay,” I say.

It’s a lie.

We both know it’s a lie.

She’s not okay.

Neither of us are.

Maybe we never will be.

But sometimes lying’s the only thing you can do for someone you care about. And though I don’t admit it, I do care about her.

And even though she doesn’t answer, slowly, eventually, her breathing evens out.

Not normal.

Never normal.

Just… enough to survive the night.

She’s still trembling, little shivers racking her shoulders, but not in that frantic, splintering way anymore.

More like a leaf caught on a dead branch.

And then—

Barely a whisper, half-caught between dreaming and waking—

she mutters it.

One word.

"Ash."

It rips the air right out of my lungs, like she just hit me hard.

Because hearing that name—his name—is like getting stabbed somewhere old, somewhere the scar never finished healing.

Ash.

The baby.

The little person the Capitol took before we ever even got a chance to know him.

My hands move before my brain catches up.

I pull the blanket back up over her shoulders, clumsy and awkward, but gently, careful like she’s made of glass that’s already cracked.

Mercifully, she doesn’t wake again.

She just breathes, slow and heavy, chest rising and falling under the covers, hair fanned out across the pillow like a storm cloud.

She’s too young.

Too tired.

The kind of tired that doesn't ever really go away.

She never should’ve had to learn how the world really treats its victors.

Not with blood and babies and loss written into her before she even turned twenty.

And it’s my fault too, not just the Capitol’s not just Snow’s, mine.

If I’d been stronger.

Smarter.

If I hadn’t let them—

I scrub a hand over my face, digging my fingers into my temples until stars spark behind my eyes.

It doesn’t matter.

It’s done.

All I can do now is sit here.

Sit here and guard what little peace she has left.

Even if it guts me a little more every damn night to hear her scream.

Even if it carves something hollow into my chest that’ll never fill back in.

It’s the only thing I’m good for anymore.

+++++++

I wake up alone.

For a moment, I don't move — just blink up at the ceiling, disoriented, head heavy with the kind of sleep that feels less like rest and more like being buried under a mountain.

I sit up carefully, the bed too cold where someone should’ve been. But then it settles. Haymitch must’ve gotten up already.

I rub the heel of my hand against my eyes, feeling the familiar weight behind them, the headache that comes after nights like last night.

The floor is cool against my bare feet as I pad into the dining car.

Effie’s the first thing I see, sitting prim and straight on the velvet sofa, a steaming cup of tea balanced perfectly in her hands.

Katniss is at the table, elbows resting on the wood, picking at the edge of a napkin.

Peeta stands by the window, big and solid, waving mechanically at the crowds we’re already passing — the Capitol citizens, tiny dots of color flashing by.

And Haymitch —

Haymitch is sitting next to Katniss at the table, a piece of toast in one hand, slathered with jam so thick it’s practically sliding off the edges.

There’s a mug next to him, coffee strong enough to smell across the room, and if I look hard enough, I can just make out the telltale glint of whiskey at the rim.

He’s not drinking it, though.

Just eating toast.

"Mornin’, sunshine," he says around a bite of toast, voice rough but lighter than it should be.

I stare at him for a moment too long, and yet all I can think of to say is:

"You're eating toast."

The side of his mouth quirks up, half amused, half just tired. “It’s good toast.”

I shuffle over to the table, catching a glimpse of a fresh dent in the wood. Deep. Sharp, like someone stabbed it with something. There’s a butter knife beside it and Haymitch's hand rests casually close to it, like he’s daring someone to try again.

It then hits me then — small and sharp and stupid in a way that sticks —

Haymitch hasn’t slept.

He let me sleep in.

The thought lodges somewhere under my ribs, strange and warm and aching all at once.

Haymitch Abernathy, king of bad decisions and self-sabotage, sacrificed his morning sleep — the only thing he probably likes better than drinking — for me.

It messes with my head more than I want it to.

"What did I miss?" I ask, sliding into a chair across from him and snagging a savory muffin off a tray between us, in a half hearted attempt at breakfast.

"Nothing important," Haymitch says, easy, casual. "Just the usual. How to get sponsors. How to not get killed too fast. Real fun stuff."

Katniss's shoulders stiffen.

Peeta shifts at the window, his hand falling from the glass momentarily, I glance between them, clock the way Katniss’s jaw sets, the way Peeta doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

Yeah.

Something definitely happened.

Probably something to do with that new scar in the table.

I file it away.

I’ll get the story out of Effie later.

She always cracks first.

The train lurches slightly, the scenery outside slowing, sharpening. We’re pulling into the Capitol soon.

I make myself take a bite of the muffin.

Savory. Dry. Barely palatable.

Still better than trying to force down the lump stuck somewhere in my throat.

Across from me, Haymitch slouches deeper in his chair, chewing on his toast like it’s just another day.

Like him being awake, functional, and voluntarily eating breakfast isn't the weirdest thing I’ve seen all year.

It is, though.

By a long shot.

Effie claps her hands once, breaking the heavy quiet.

"All right, everyone! We’ll be departing the train soon! Katniss, Peeta — let’s get you ready! You two— get dressed!”

They’re both still in their reaping clothes — the only day clothes they have for now — rumpled and tired and already bracing themselves for whatever the Capitol’s about to throw at them.

Effie ushers them out with brisk efficiency, not even glancing back to check if they’re following.

They do.

Good little soldiers.

And then it’s just me and Haymitch.

And the dented table.

And the sound of the train slowing to a stop.

I pick at the corner of my muffin, stealing a glance at him from under my lashes.

He’s wearing a blue silk dressing gown over rumpled white pajama bottoms, the tie half undone.

He looks ridiculous.

He looks—safe.

I hate how much that thought sticks.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just nurses the mug between his palms, letting the steam rise into his face.

Then, like he notices me staring, he says, "You good?"

It’s not the way most people ask it.

Not clipped and bright, not pretending everything’s fine.

Just low. Real.

Like he already knows the answer.

And it’s okay.

"Yeah," I lie.

Haymitch does not buy it, but doesn’t push, either.

I drop my gaze to my muffin again, pretending very hard that I’m not thinking about toast and blue silk and the way something warm and awful and confusing is knotting up in my chest.

The Capitol looms outside the window.

Bright. Hungry.

But for the moment, I’m still here.

Still breathing.

Still sitting across from the only thing in this train car that feels even remotely safe.

And somehow, that’s enough.

For now.

Tag list (if you want to be tagged just let me know, and sorry if I forget anyone): @maddiesreadinglog.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

@honey-minded-hivemind

more red eyed kitten au

Remy snarls and presses his back to a wall. He keeps his arms close to himself and keeps his eyes on the door. People slowly had been moved out of this room as they were ‘processed’. He has no idea what happens to them once they leave the room. He has no idea what goes on here. He just knows that mutants who are taken disappear forever. 

So, Remy has been refusing anything offered to him. No food. No drink. No touch. He speaks to the children imprisoned here, but they eventually give in and are taken. The adults avoid him. Remy twists the metal band that links over his wrist that is locked tight and has a bar code that they scan on everyone else when they eat.

A man comes in with a set of glasses and a frown. He walks right towards Remy who tenses further. His stomach aches from no food, his bones burn from his powers no being released, and his eyes hurt from the artificial light. 

“You are going to eat.”

“Connard. Non.”

Remy snarls out, pressing into the wall. A few more people enter the room and the other inmates shift away. No one will help. Remy is alone. 

“We are trying to help you. Eat. Or we are going to have to force you. For your own good.”

Remy growls.

“Gambit will rip off your hands.”

He hisses in threat. Hands start to grab at him and he fights. He kicks and screeches and devolves into biting. His teeth dig down deep and then he rips his head to the side. He tears through skin. Bloodlust fills his brain as the viscous liquid drips from his very small fangs.  He tackles someone else and bites harshly into the arm which blocks him from a throat bite. His stomach howls and he lets his hands spark. He is yanked backwards and something is jammed into his mouth. And something else is jammed into his arm.

Remy blacks out.

When he wakes up, he is tied up and something is on his face. He snarls and then shivers. He yanks on the restraints, but he is well and truly stuck. There is a beep, and something starts to fill his veins. Cold. consuming.  His explosive powers are out of reach and he worries. He tries to stay fierce, but terror takes his heart. He begins to cry. He just wants to go home!

“Papa!!! Henri!!!!”

He calls, knowing that they wont hear him, but he hopes. Hopes… hopes.. He keeps calling, even as his voice grows ragged and his veins. The thing on his face cuts into his screen with every movement of his jaw and all his screams. He ends up silently crying and staring at the wall blankly.

--

They have to hold onto his arms while taking blood. Remy kicks and flails and his empathy powers snap free, drenching the walls in his fear and soaking into the bones of the mutants pinning him. They tear up as he sobs for his family. His chest struggles and heaves and then he blacks out again. 

--

Creed is a cold man. Losing a cub will do that to a feral. He follows with the other mutant’s plans to give him the best chance of finding his cub again. His ruby eyed little baby cub. 

He shakes the snow off his coat as he returns to base. He had successfully tracked and gotten three more mutants brought in. A lady dashes up to him when he enters.

“Wolverine’s been trying to get to you since yesterday afternoon.”

Creed takes the phone and grunts.

“You need to get back to the main base Creed. We have a red eyed kid here.”

Creed freezes, heart suddenly beating fast.

“Red on black?” 

“Red on black Victor.”

“On my way Jimmy.”

--

Creed stares through the camera at the muzzled and bound kid. Iv’s drip in nutrients, liquid, and sedation. Those brillant red eyes glow softly when they are open.

“He bit into people when we tried to feed him after he refused to eat for days.”

Cyclops says in response to Creed’s snarling over the muzzle.

“Im taking it off.”

“We cant have him biting attendants.”

“Ill keep him from biting others. Im taking it off one eye.”

He snaps and then leaves. He is going to see the cub. It had been too long. Almost 14 years. 

“Careful! Hes an empath!”

Cyclops yells after him. Creed grunts in reply.

He comes into the room and grabs the kid’s jaw. A huge wave of fear hits his mind and nose as he stares into wide ruby eyes. They are puffy with tears. 

“Oh… Cub.” 

He had never gotten a chance to know his cub. But he could never forget those eyes. Eyes that looked at him with bubbly joy, shimmering dependance, and love. Now they only hold fear and defiance. He cups his child’s chin and removes the muzzle. He had been muzzled before. He hates that his child had experienced it.

“Do I get to die now?”

The kid asks, eyes shimmering with tears and exhaustion. He has her nose. And her hair. Creed runs his thumb over the cheek bone.

“No. Never.”

“Connards.”

The kid spits out and then actually spits before trying to bite at Creed. Creed accepts the bite, still enamored with seeing his son again. 

“Oh. my little cub.”

He cuts the bindings and sweeps the child up into his arms. The kid tenses and then begins to flail, kicking, clawing, and biting. Creed holds tight, nose buried in the kid’s hair. The smell of pack is there, buried oh so deep. Love sweeps through him and the kid freezes.

“My son.”

Creed sobs. 

“... I’m not your son you piece of- you vile horrid tataille! Merde! Diable! Arête! Chepasse!!! I got a papa!!”

The kid screams and violently wriggles, but his strength is flagging. The kid curls up and whimpers.

“Just let me go home.”

Sorrow claws into Creed.

“You are home cub.”

[that-stanford-girlie]

𝐵𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐿𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈

𝒮𝒶𝓂 𝒲𝒾𝓃𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓍 𝑅𝑜𝒸𝓀𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇!𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

(i was listening to this while writing lol. it’s just so sam coded in my mind) Thank you SO SO SO much again @chevroletdean for letting me do this again :) it’s so much fun!!!

genre: FLUFF. absolutely adorable fluff

The lights are bright, the music loud. And Sam? God, he wants to be anywhere but here. But alas, Dean dragged him along. “You need to get out of that hole you wanna die in,” Dean had said.

But Dean doesn’t get it. His girlfriend didn’t just die a few weeks ago. Sam has every right to be depressed. Every goddamn right!

But he came with anyway. And while Dean is jamming to the music and flirting with women in the bar—or is it a club? Sam doesn’t remember—he just sits at the table, nursing a beer.

The current shitty band waves and steps off the stage. “Thank god,” Sam mumbles. “They sucked.”

He shakes his beat as orders another beer, trying to do anything but think of Jess.

But it’s not easy.

Everywhere he looks, he sees her. He knows he’s hallucinating. What he would give to be free of the loss. Of the pain.

The next band doesn’t introduce themselves. At least, Sam doesn’t hear it. All he hears is the reverb of an electric guitar. He looks up, and he sees a girl behind the guitar, her hair covering her face. The red lights behind her almost look like a halo. A sinful halo, but a halo altogether.

He shakes his head and looks away, downing the beer. He looks around for Dean, praying to get out of here, but his brother is nowhere to be found. “Probably playing tonsil tennis with whatever girl he’s found this time,” Sam mumbles. He shakes his head and looks back at the stage. Small band of six, playing classic rock tunes. Sam rolls his eyes, but he watches.

“Hey man, don’t come back to the motel room. Me ‘n’ this chick are headed back.” He chuckles and holds the girl close. She was definitely his type: dark hair, pretty skin and eyes, just short enough he could rest his chin on the top of her head without even trying. But Sam also knows that this won’t last past this night. Their life doesn’t allow it.

After Dean leaves, Sam sighs and starts to get up when the band starts playing an unfamiliar tune. The guitar isn’t playing. And when he looks up, the girl is singing. Her voice is… well, it’s beautiful.

—

You’re already sweating under the lights. You only had a water. But you kept performing. You were so grateful that Cooper let you perform your original piece.

“…So why did we break up, cuz I know you miss it too. The feelin’ of my lips on your back when it was just me and you. And now all I feel is the burning lines on my heart from you… From you. The fire burns brighter than your words, leaving burning lines on my heart…” you sing, your voice raw with emotion. Because you still miss him. Tristan. You miss him so damn much, and you hate him for what he did.

As you sing, the back corner of the bar is loud, but the crowd in front of you? They’re quiet. They’re listening, and some brave souls are leaving tips. Some guys are mentally undressing you in your ripped jeans, Aerosmith shirt, and flannel. But you pay them no attention.

As you sing, you see a young man slowly come forward to the stage, his hazel eyes showing how much of a trance you’ve caught him in. and when he gets close enough, he grabs out a crisp, clean $5 and hands it up to you. Everyone else that’s tipped you and your band has tipped about $20 each, but they just throw it on the stage. As you sing, you don’t know why, but you lean down and take the $5 bill from his hand.

Your eyes are on him as you finish singing. And as your band finishes their set, his eyes are on you the entire time. So it’s no surprise that when you go to help load up the van, he follows.

“Uh, hi,” he says. “I, uh… I really liked you guys up there. It sounded really good.”

“Thank you,” you smile, putting your red guitar in the back of the van.

“You want an autograph or somethin?” Cooper asks. He’s not in a good mood.

“Coop,” you sigh. You turn back to the guy in the large Carhartt. “Sorry about him. He’s not in the best of moods.”

“I messed up Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap! You don’t just mess up AC/DC!”

“Coop-” Grace starts. They shake their head and pull Cooper aside, talking to him.

“What’s your name?” he asks. You tell him, and he repeats it. “That’s pretty. I’m Sam. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Sam,” you smile, taking his outstretched hand.

“Did you, uh… Did you keep the five bucks? I kinda gave it to you just for you. Not for the band.”

You smile and pull it out of your pocket. “Yeah, I did,” you smile. “I was gonna go use it at the nearby fair, actually. They’re open all night.”

Sam smiles and blushes softly. “You were headed to the fair too?” When you nod, he smiles a little wider. “Well… I guess since we’re both headed that way… You wanna go together? As friends.”

You smile. “It’s a date. Lemme just grab my wallet from the van.”

When you go to grab your wallet, Sam keeps his eyes on you. He doesn’t want to look away and be reminded of Jess. He deserves a night of distraction. He pulls out his phone when you come back. “I gotta text my brother so he doesn’t get a whole search squad lookin’ for me.”

You laugh softly, and let him do what he needs. You walk to the nearby fair and hop in line for tickets. “So, I don’t know about you, but I’m going on everything. Except for the X-Treme and that weird Egyptian Boat thing.”

Sam shakes his head. “But you’ll do the Zipper?”

Your face pales. “The goddamn Zipper is here now? Hell no. I ain’t doing that shit.”

He laughs softly. “I wasn’t planning on going on those ones anyway. They’re unsanitary, and I had a couple beers. I’m willing to do anything else, though.”

You get the tickets, and when you see the cart with deep-fried Oreos, you get excited. “Please tell me you’ve had a deep-fried Oreo before?” you ask, dragging him to the cart and ordering some deep-fried Oreos.

Sam shakes his head. “I didn’t get to go to many fairs growing up.”

You frown. “Oh. I’m sorry,” you mumble. You pay for the food and drag Sam over to a bench. “Come on. Try it!”

Sam picks up the Oreo and takes a bite out of it, the powdered sugar landing everywhere. His eyes close in ecstasy. “Damn, that’s good!” he laughs, taking a swig of a lemon shake up to wash it down. “I can see why you like them so much.”

—

Four tickets left. And you’ve been on everything but the Ferris Wheel.

“We got four left. Ferris Wheel takes two per person.”

Sam’s eyes are caught on an empty field near the line. He looks almost pained.

“Sam? Did you hear me?”

He still doesn’t look.

You move in front of him, stepping on your tiptoes and waving your hands. “Sam,” you repeat. “Are you okay?”

Sam blinks and looks at you. “Hm? Oh. Yeah, just lost in thought.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask. You’re clearly concerned.

Sam shakes his head. “Come on. I wanna go on the Ferris Wheel.”

—

A breeze blows through the gondola, and you shiver just a bit. You hum your song, watching Sam as he stares out over the edge at the woods.

“Who’s the song about?” he suddenly asks.

“My ex. Let’s just say the breakup wasn’t great.”

Sam’s gaze meets yours. “I’m sorry. It’s a pretty song, though.”

You smile as another breeze catches, and you shiver just a bit. Sam notices. Of course he notices.

“Come here,” he whispers, scooting over and patting the bench next to him.

And despite better judgment? You do. He takes off that large Carhartt and puts it over your shoulders, leaving him in a tshirt.

“I can’t take this; you’ll be cold-”

Sam shakes his head, putting an arm around your shoulders. “I’ll be okay,” he whispers. Tears shine in his eyes, and you frown.

“Sam? You alright?”

He nods. “Yeah. I, uh… I just haven’t done this in a while. My girlfriend, Jess…”

You freeze. He has a girlfriend?! Shit.

“…she died a couple months ago.”

Okay. So you’re not a homebreaker. Good. “I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s okay,” he whispers back. “It’s just… My brother Dean? He wants me to move on. But… but I haven’t been able to.”

“And that’s okay,” you whisper back.

“I see her everywhere.”

“That happens. You think you see and/or hear them no matter where you are. Believe me, I’ve experienced some loss. But… you just gotta do what you can to move on when you’re ready. Don’t move on because your brother says to.”

Sam sighs, his beautiful hazel eyes on yours. “I want to move on,” he whispers. “If that’s okay with you?”

Your breath catches. “…Oh,” you mumble. But neither of you stop yourselves as you lean in. His lips meet yours.

—

You quit the band. Now, you write your own songs. You travel with Sam and Dean. You’re glad you met Sam that one fateful night four years ago. You’ve seen him fall, and you help him rise again. And he helps you. You’re grateful for him.

So when he comes back to the motel after a hunt and he sees you crying, he drops everything and rushes over to you. “Babe?! What’s wrong??” he asks, wrapping his Carhartt around you.

You draw in a shaky breath. “…Would you still love me if i got big?” you whisper.

“What do you mean, sweetheart? I will always love you. And I know how much you want that big break-”

“Not my music, Moose,” you mumble, your breath catching in a sob. He shushes you and sits next to you on the bed, holding you close.

“What do you mean?”

You look up at Sam. “If I got big… Wasn’t-” You have to stop and catch your breath. “I mean if I wasn’t as skinny.”

Sam sighs. “Who was the asshole who told you you needed to eat more this time?” he growls. He knows you meet assholes at your music gigs. Assholes who talk about how skinny you are, how you dress like a “slut” (you wear tshirts and jeans, to be honest)… And you’re just trying to be happy, so it hurts you.

You turn around and face Sam. “Nobody,” you mumble back.

He reaches up and wipes a tear from your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Then why are you asking that, sweetheart?”

You shakily pull something from your sweatpants pocket and hand it to him.

Sam freezes when he sees what it is, and his eyes flood with tears as he looks back up at you. “You mean…?”

You nod.

“We’re gonna have…?”

You nod again, and watch as the tears spill from his eyes as well. He drops the test onto the bed and pulls you close, pressing kisses all over your face. “We’re gonna be parents, Sammy,” you whisper. “And… and I was looking at houses in the area. So we don’t raise a hunting family.”

Sam laughs and smiles brightly, holding you close. “We’re gonna have a little rockstar.”

And honestly? Nothing could be better in the world.

that was so much fun and so cute :) i loved writing it. @chevroletdean, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. i loved it. (and if it’s okay with you i’ll send you a third ask for one more)

i had to do a sammy one and release it on his birthday. otherwise, what would i be doing???

i hope you really loved it :)

hehe gotta tag my babes:

@cevans-is-classic @keircat7 @yftmaifky123 @peoplewatching-notstalker @jeff-da-killer1995

[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

Necessary Evil

MDNI!!

1, 2

A/N: I swear to fuck, I plan to update this more than once a month, I gotta put on my big girl pants and lock tf in. Anyway, hi, here it is! Ummm I've said it once, I'll say it again: this fic is largely a hate letter to Steve for fucking off back to the past. Still pissed, let's work through it. This chapter is a fucking bummer, so apologies, next chap is flashback fluff to make up for it. Likes, reblogs, comments are greatly appreciated and make me smile like an idiot. ALSO!!! Yes, Stephen is now in this fic and YES, he is married to character named after me. This is my fic and I'm insane so I will do whatever I please. Bucky Barnes x fem reader, hospitals, generally sad fuckass vibes, depression, a littttle SamBucky bickering, past/referenced Stucky, bi Bucky, Alpine being a perfect marshmallow.

Word count: 3k

Chapter Three: The Way We Were

Bucky glares down at his Uno deck like it’s personally offended him, no blue’s or seven’s. He draws card after card from the deck, his irritation mounting with each flourishing reveal. Green, eight, red, two. Finally, finally he grabs a blue five. 

“Ha!” He slaps it down on the table as if he doesn’t have an encyclopedia sized collection of cards in his left hand, “Your turn, sweetheart.”

He glances up at you, motionless in the hospital bed, that awful ventilator jammed down your esophagus. His lips press into a flat line, taking the pile of cards off your lap, fishing through them. He sets down a five and deflates.

This is pathetic. 

He’s never felt lower in his life, not even when HYDRA was ripping him apart, nerve by nerve. This was his own personal hell, and you were dragged into the undertow, stuck in this seemingly endless limbo of IV lines and heart monitors. 

Bucky was a glutton for punishment, when he wasn’t trying to play one sided board games with you, he was retracing the steps of the accident. He could have prevented this. He should have prevented this. He agonized over every minuscule detail, every variable, desperate to dissect and figure out just what could have saved you, could have spared this torture for the both of you.

There’s a vase of flowers on the side table— peonies this week. Bucky is sure to swap the former bouquet out with whatever’s fresh before they have a chance to die. Die. The word tastes cheap and metallic like sucking on a greasy coin, it feels like ash on his tongue, settling heavy. Die, die, die, die. He shakes his head vehemently as if his mind is an etch a sketch, a quick jostle or two will erase that ugly word. Die. 

You can’t die. He won’t even entertain the possibility. But when you lie in that hospital gown, pallid with a dozen tubes snaking down your pretty throat, death seems like a very real, unavoidable concept. Realistically, Bucky knew he was a super soldier, he’d taken about fifty years to form any truly noticeable wrinkles. And you were just a civilian, fragile, with an expiration date far sooner than his own. He’d naively assumed, at the very least, you’d die grey and paper thin, surrounded by your children and grandchildren and so on. Not this, never this. He’d taken such care to bubble wrap you, to keep you far, far away from the sidelines of the chaos that inevitably follows him no matter how far he tries to run.

Death had a funny way of following Bucky around, looming in every little dark corner and crevice of his soul. The deaths he played a part in, the deaths that broke his heart and stole his joy, the deaths that he didn’t have a personal connection to but worked so damn hard to avenge, to fix. This train of thought had never done him any favors, he tried his best not to open this particular Pandora’s box. But the floodgates are open and it all trickles down to one person. Steve.

Was Steve dead? He’d have to be by now. Bucky hadn’t found the strength in himself to look up an obituary or to search for a gravestone. Everyone in his life knew better than to ask or intervene. Steve, who saved the other half of the universe and then left. He left. He left Bucky. After all that fight, all that heartache, going on the lam, trying desperately to reverse the damage HYDRA and then Thanos carelessly inflicted on the world. Steve fucking left him. He knew Peggy left a hole in Steve’s heart that even Bucky couldn’t properly patch up or fill. But he’d assumed, he’d hoped that he was enough to make him stay. 

Sure, Natasha was gone, Tony was gone, there was a price for what they had to fix. But Bucky was still here, he was still breathing and kicking and fighting despite it all. He remembers how frantically Steve tried to track him down, to chip away the iron fortress of trauma and conditioning. HYDRA finally got their hooks out of Bucky, he was fully ready to return back to some kind of normal with Steve. To pick up where they left off before the Blip, before Red Skull, before the serum. Steve did want to pick up where he left off, just not with Bucky.

The sterile white door to your room creaks open, a familiar face appearing in the cracks, “Hey,” Sam whispers, as if him speaking any louder would rouse you from your coma, “How’s it going in here?”

Bucky tries to smile, the muscles in his cheeks feel wrong, frozen, it comes out as more of a grimace and Sam immediately recognizes what it means. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. He has some ridiculous daisy shaped balloon in one hand, he ties the string to the rail on the left side of the bed. Bucky can picture how you’d gasp in delight, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you accepted that stupid balloon. Sam pats your limp hand in greeting and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He says nothing, opting to silently observe Bucky, waiting for his friend to make the first move into conversation.

“Doc says the longer she’s on the ventilator, the life support…less chance of her waking up,” Bucky mutters, chewing on a fingernail he ripped off a few moments earlier,  the fingernails on his real hand are bitten down to the wick. A nervous habit from childhood that he never could break. 

“It’s only been two weeks, they’re already getting all gloom and doom? Must not be a very good doctor,” Sam scoffs, expression pinching at the poor outlook on your recovery. He can see the weight of it, it’s a physical thing looming over Bucky, a proverbial storm cloud. “Have you tried calling Doctor Strange? He used to be a brain surgeon or whatever, right?” Sam suggests, his gaze flicking all over the room as if he’s not sure if it’s okay to look at you, at the tubes and wires and medical tape. 

Bucky sighs through his nose, nodding once, “Briefly spoke with him. He’s on his honeymoon and was very adamant that I left him the fuck alone till he got back.” 

Sam pulls a face, “Damn, that’s cold. He said it just like that?” 

Bucky snorts, “Yeah, can’t blame him. I’m sure he’s in goo-goo land with Callie.” 

“Ugh, that’s a mental image I don’t want,” Sam groans, screwing his eyes shut as if he can squint away whatever his imagination is conjuring, “Happy for them though,” He adds. 

Bucky grunts in agreement, keeping his expression carefully neutral. He stubbornly keeps his gaze fixed on the thin knit of your hospital blanket like it holds the answers to the universe. Then, with deliberate slowness, he looks up to meet Sam’s eyes, “Yeah. Real happy.” 

His voice cracks, so subtly that an untrained ear wouldn’t catch it. Sam did, Sam knew. Bucky scrubs a hand over his face. The silence that follows is suffocating, a tangible, thick thing. For a moment, Bucky just stares at Sam from across the room, your body a barrier between them both. Then, with a shuddering breath, Bucky lets his head drop down into his hands, digging his fingers into his scalp. Desperate to ground himself to the moment, desperate not to let his emotions fly away from him like this. 

“I wish Steve was here,” His voice is raw, stripped down to something achingly vulnerable and small, “He’d know what to do. He’d know what to say. He’d…” Bucky exhales shakily, squeezing his eyes shut, staving off the tears that are burning, trying to find their way out, “He’d make me feel better.”

Sam wisely says nothing, watching Bucky move through the motions, the stages of grief. Denial, Bucky had withdrawn into himself the first day, silent and brooding, refusing to speak unless necessary, refusing to look at you. Anger, there was now a Vibranium fist shaped hole in the bedroom wall. Enough said. Bargaining, Bucky had chased down every neurosurgeon, every specialist in a fifty mile radius. Did he use his past skills to intimidate those doctors? Possibly , but his efforts bore no fruit. Depression, that’s where Bucky was operating in now, pulled deep into the undertow. He doubts, very much so, that he’ll ever reach the final point of acceptance.

He cannot, he will not just lie down and accept that this happened to you. He let Steve go, didn’t try to fight for whatever it is they had, he wished him luck and saw him off. That’s one of Bucky’s greatest regrets, that he didn’t fight as hard for Steve as Steve did for him. But he’ll fight for you, you’re still here, you’re still breathing.

“You and Steve were…” Sam seemingly reads Bucky’s mind, trailing off, leaving plenty room for implication and speculation.

“I don’t see what this has to do with her.” Bucky snaps, crossing his arms defensively. He’s not going down this path, he simply refuses, it’s none of Sam’s business. And Sam usually had an infuriating knack for butting into Bucky’s business. 

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, his back to wall, simply sliding down, crouching on the filthy linoleum floor, “You don’t have to do this. Isn’t it exhausting?”

“Is what exhausting?” Bucky hisses, jamming the Uno cards back into their sleeve, bending a few corners in his haste to find something to do with his hands. 

“Being so damn prickly,” Sam scoffs, shaking his head in exasperation, “Come on, man. It’s me. We saved the universe together. We’ve dealt with all kinds of shit. We can have an honest conversation.” 

“Steve’s gone!” Bucky slams the uno deck down on the tray table, rattling the cheap plastic. His expression softens momentarily as his gaze flicks to you, seeming to remember himself, remember where he is, “Steve is gone. He chose to go back. He chose to leave. You couldn’t make him stay. I couldn’t make him stay. So drop it.” Bucky repeats quietly, running a hand over his face tiredly, “What’s done is done.”

Sam can see it in Bucky’s eyes, the rabid defensiveness and the century old weariness, always at war with each other. After fighting alongside Bucky for as long as he has, Sam knows when to back off and now is one of those times. So, “Alright, he’s gone.” Sam relents, holding his hands up in surrender. 

A tense silence falls over the room save for the rhythmic beeps of monitors and whirring of the ventilator. The guilt settles over Bucky like he’s thrown a thick blanket over his head and all of the sudden it feels too warm, too suffocating. 

“Do you…” Bucky purses his lips, hating the neediness in his tone, the desperate craving for reassurance, “Would Steve have liked her?” He nods towards your form, his expression halfway between devastated and earnest longing. 

“She puts up with your shit, so yeah, I’d like to think so,” Sam huffs dryly, scrubbing at his jaw, pushing back up to stand, “Sometimes she reminds me of him a little. The way she can read you, the way she thinks you’re worth a damn.” 

Bucky hums flatly, “Misplaced. Gravely misplaced.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Sam chuckles, meeting Bucky’s gaze. That earns a rough chuckle from the former sleeper agent and a good natured eye roll. There’s a lull in the conversation, but it’s not uncomfortable for once. Bucky allows himself to sit in it, the need to fill silence is blissfully absent. 

“I should probably head out,” Sam muses after a moment, brushing imaginary dirt off his jeans, “Got some stuff to take care of, Redwing needs some patching up.” 

Bucky nods, “Thanks for coming by…she, uh, would have appreciated it. She’d like the balloon.”

A small, knowing smile spreads across Sam’s lips, “Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything. Any day, any time, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, offering a weak smile in return.

The hardest part of Bucky’s day is leaving the hospital. He has to drag himself out of the rickety plastic chair, pack up his stuff in one of your dumb little tote bags that pile up incessantly around the apartment. He doesn’t want to leave, not really, but he also knows you’d be immensely disappointed if he stopped taking care of himself. So, he drags his feet to his bike, head hanging low like a man walking to the gallows. He stops by some soulless fast food chain by the apartment. It’s been ages since he last ate out, you always insisted on cooking for him. It was one of your many love languages. 

The burger tastes like cardboard in his mouth, Bucky has to force himself to chew, chew, chew, and swallow. The clump drags down his throat, getting stuck on the overwhelming sadness that’s permanently made a home there. He has to eat. He has to sleep. It’s what you would want, though he’s sure the way he’s going about it, you wouldn’t be particularly thrilled. You’d want him to try to cook, you’d want him to sleep in an actual bed. You can tell him off about it once you’re home, the image sends a little flicker of hope in his chest. God, what he wouldn’t give to be on the receiving end of one of your lectures right now.

Alpine trails after him, mewling until he fills her food bowl with her dinner, ruffling her soft snowy fur. He sits on the floor next to her, a shoe box in his lap that he dragged off the top shelf of the closet it had been safely tucked in. Your shared bed remains untouched, still made by you the morning of the accident. Bucky hasn’t slept in it since then, returning to sleep on the floor with a meager blanket. You’d throttle him if you were here to see it. He remembers the first time you realized he slept on the hardwood floor of his old apartment. You just huffed and said “I’m not sure if I should smack you or force you to sleep in my bed for the rest of our lives.”

Bucky tosses the lid of the shoebox and digs through its contents. Thick aged paper, a red wax seal, addressed to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 107th Infantry Regiment. Bucky carefully unfolds the ancient, yellowing paper, already well worn from almost a century’s worth of rereading. 

Steve’s wobbly chicken scratch— pre-serum Steve’s handwriting to be specific greets his eyes. Bucky snorts, smiling sadly, Steve had the shakiest damn hands he’d ever seen. The Army was well within their rights being reluctant to place a pistol in those hands. There’s also movie ticket stubs, dried pressed daisies, a green murky marble, a photo of his mother, the edges worn and peeling. There’s one singular newspaper clipping, the headline reading ‘FOUNDER OF STARK INDUSTRIES, HOWARD STARK AND WIFE FOUND DEAD’

Bucky tucks the clipping under an old napkin with your number hastily scrawled across it. Buck skims the contents of the old letter, though he already knows the entirety of it by heart, They rejected me again, visited Ma’s grave, I miss you. How’s Europe? Fight any Krauts yet? Haven’t done anything stupid yet, waiting for you to get back. 

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

Bucky’s eyes burn, he wipes roughly at them with the back of his hand. His head thunks back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, praying to a God he stopped believing in the moment he shipped out. He wonders how his life turned out his way. Traces the path, trying to decipher where it all went wrong. He can’t be mad at Steve, not really. Steve was tired, Bucky could see that. They both were exhausted. They were on a train that never stops, never lets you get off. Endlessly fighting off evil, endlessly defending humanity. A job with no vacations, little to no pay, slowly siphoning the light out of your soul.

Everyone in the world except for Bucky seemed to believe Steve Rogers had an endless reserve of goodness, of selflessness. And sure, Bucky could see why, the image Steve had maintained over the years was flawless to the public. The Blip had taken a toll, seeing Bucky disintegrate into dust had taken a toll. Steve paid his dues, he earned a peaceful ending to his life. Buck wishes the notion didn’t feel like ash settling on his tongue, sour and unpleasant. 

The rest of the night is spent in silence save for Alpine’s occasional commentary. Mewling and trailing after Bucky, as if she could tell he had the weight of the universe on his shoulders. He tries to go about the rest of his routine, brushing his teeth and changing into pajama bottoms. The hardwood floor is solid and cool underneath his skin. It’s a comfort to him, it’s familiar and it soothes him in a way no one else would understand. 

The ratty old powder blue blanket settles over Bucky like a death shroud, he pillows his head under his bicep. The events of the day replay like a film reel in the back of his mind. Even once you’re well again, the image of you, so small and weak in that hospital bed will never stop haunting him. His girl, his wife, reduced to nothing but a fragile husk. It guts him. 

In the silence and sanctity of your apartment, Bucky allows himself to cry. Just once. The tears come hot, rolling down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. His body shakes with the force of his quiet sobs, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to remember what it felt like to be held by you. Alpine curls up next to his ankles, purring sorrowfully, he knows she misses you too. You spoiled her with treats, always trying to force her to wear ridiculous hats and outfits you saw online. Bucky cries until he’s dried up and weary, falling into a dreamless slumber. And when the sun rises tomorrow, he’ll go through the process of watching you slowly wither away all over again and wonder how he can fix this.

[mintmatcha]

cw: implied mental illness/substance abuse references

Denki jams his tongue into his cheek as he types, folding his gum in half before popping it between his teeth. The action is repeated: squish, snap, squish, snap-- unmuted by his open mouth. The waves and all their static do nothing to cover the sound of it; the sand was abandoned long before sunset, but the ocean is never quiet.

Suddenly, Denki sits up, looking to you as if he just remembered you exist.

"Shit, you hate that sound, don't you?" He swallows hard and you know the piece of gum is gone, "My bad."

"It's okay."

"I'm just really trying to quit smoking."

"I know."

He stares at you for a long while, then sighs. He drags his finger through the sand, peeling away layers of dry to reveal the darker, wet below. Weight has filled out his cheeks and middle in ways that you know he hates, but it looks so much healthier than he's even been.

"Everyone hated when I smelled like cigarettes apparently," Denki says, trying to laugh, "It sucks that no one told me that I stunk all the time."

Everyone is code for the girl he keeps texting, one one that lights his screen up with pretty pink hearts and messages that make his eyes glimmer. She texts again, a soft yet unrelenting force.

"I liked it." The horizon is dotted with lights, blinking against the surf. They follow their own pattern, blinking arrhythmically with each other against the surf, "It just smelled like you to me."

"Do you..." Denki rubs the back of his neck, "I dunno, do you really miss all that?"

All that includes too much. The peaks, the lows. Before his medications were balanced and before he quit partying, when neither of you had any control over your lives.

"No," you say, and you mean it, "But I miss knowing things about you."

"You know me." Denki's phone buzzes again, "I'm still me."

"I know."

"I'm still your Kaminari."

"I know."

He isn't. He no longer stops for a pack of cigarettes and a row of Hi-Chew every night. He no longer responds to your texts or reaches out first. It's been months since he last passed out on your bathroom floor, months since he asked you if you were alright.

His hair is shorter than he's ever liked it.

A horn goes off in the distance: a ship rolling into port.

"I don't know what to do with you," Denki sighs, "Did you not want me to get better? Because it feels like you didn't want me to."

He waits only a second for you before sighing again.

"Why did you ask me to come here?"

Because you missed him. Because you need a friend. Because you've always come when he's called.

All you even wanted was for him to be okay.

"I just didn't think getting better would mean I'd lose you."

"You didn't-" His phone goes off again, humming and buzzing harder. He scrambles to pick it up, pushing on to his feet. "Fuck, I really gotta take this."

"It's fine."

"I'll be right back."

"It's fine."

He answers and calls her baby with all the warmth and welcome he used to have for you. She's the one he goes to when the waters are calm and life is easy. You are the port in a storm, the one holding an umbrella until the rain passes.

You leave your sneakers there and walk the shore, the lace foam clinging to your socks and salt licking at your jeans. After fifteen minutes, he calls you once. You wait for a text or second try, but it doesn't come.

When you cry, it's from the bottom of the gut, ripping up like bile. The sound is swallowed by the sea.

[danikamariewrites]

Girl (Kinda) Next Door

Nash Hawthorne x reader

Notes: I am obsessed with The Inheritance Games and I’m so happy I picked this series up. Now I’m in love with Nash and had to get this out of my system. Also might be obsessed with cowboy romances now so please feel free to recommend any.

Warnings: none

Out of all places you have no idea why your parents chose Texas as your new home. At least they didn’t pick an HOA. You don’t know if you could take the nosy-know-it-all neighbors in your business.

Instead they picked a sprawling estate in the nicest neighborhood you had no idea even existed. Thanks to your dad’s new job (and new paycheck) you’ve completely upgraded your life.

As an only child you’ve been spoiled with even more room than usual. You now have an entire wing to yourself including two bathrooms, guest bedrooms, and a study. Deciding to set the study up as your school/work spot you turned one of the guest rooms into a library.

With the shelves finally installed you were stocking your library. Jamming with your AirPods in you didn’t hear the guests come in downstairs. Turning to the open box next to you, your eyes spot the four boys staring at you from the doorway.

Letting out a small screaming, you jump back a bit. Ripping your AirPods out you place a hand over your hammering heart. “Geez, ever heard of knocking!”

“We did,” the tallest of the bunch answered. “But we thought it would be rude to enter without permission.” He gave you an odd smile, telling you he clearly had too much energy for his own good. You lift a brow at them. “Are you guys vampires or something?”

“No, we don’t bite. Well, only if you ask.” The one with dark and tousled hair says smirking at you. Then it hits you. Why were these four random boys in your new home? Your face scrunches with the question on the tip of your tongue.

“Your parents let us in.” A smooth Texas drawl answers before you could ask. “We’re the next house over and just wanted to come introduce ourselves.” You nod and wave them in. The blonde one, dressed in a suit which was odd for someone his age, started inspecting your books. His hands placed respectfully behind his back.

“I’m y/n. And you four are?” Again, Texas drawl answers, tilting his cowboy hat at you. “I’m Nash, the suit is Grayson, vampire here is Jameson, and this is Xander.”

“Nice to meet you.” You hold out your hand for Nash to shake. He holds it gently, bringing your knuckles up to his lips. “Nice t’meet ya darlin’.” Nash gives you a smile that has you biting your lips, your cheeks blushing furiously.

“So…y/n,” Xander says, bursting the bubble you and Nash were momentarily living in. “Where do you go to school?” “My college is in New York but since we moved here I’ve decided to do the rest remote.” As you chatted with the boys you felt Nash’s warm hazel eyes on you the whole time.

After exchanging numbers someone called for the boys downstairs and they each said their goodbyes. Nash went last, leaving the two of you alone. Nash holds out his hand first. You took it, fully intent on shaking it this time, but Nash was too quick for you. He, again, gently grasped your fingers bringing them to his full lips. Pressing the softest kiss to your skin, never breaking eye contact with you. “Until next time darlin’.”

He dropped your hand, turning to leave. “Will there?” You ask quickly. Nash stops to look at you over his shoulder, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Be a next time, I mean.”

Nash turns to face you fully, his hands slipping into his front pockets as he stands straighter. “Depends. You free tomorrow night?” You nod trying to contain your smile. “Then I’ll see you at seven, pretty lady.” Nash shoots you a wink as he saunters from the room. Leaving you semi-flustered and highly anticipating your date tomorrow night.

[bluegalaxygirl]

Loyalty Test (Zolu X reader)

I got a request for this and thought i might have a go, i'v changed it up a bit so i hope thats ok. Zoro X Luffy X Reader, Poly relationship, established relationship, reader is GN.

Plot: Your sister isn't convinced that Zoro and Luffy wont be loyal to you so sets them up to be flirted with while she makes you watch form a back room.

Warning: Bad language, suggestive content and angst.

The bar your sister runs is jam packed with people and the straw hat crew all having fun with Music, dancing, drinking and food. It's the first time your sister has met your boyfriends and your crew, but she seemed happy for you, oh how wrong you were. "This is so good" Luffy smiles digging onto the massive plate of food in the middle of the round table your sitting at, at the moment it was just Luffy, you Zoro, Chopper and Usopp either drinking or eating while the others were off doing other things. "Hay don't hog it all" Usopp yells at the Captain who just ignores him and keeps eating making you laugh a little leaning closer into Zoro who has his arm around your shoulders while drinking a big mug of beer "You know how Luffy is Usopp, there's no stopping him" You chime in earning a big grin from the Captain before he offers you some meat he just took a bite out of "You should try it, it's so good... not as good as Sanji's cooking though" The Captain laughs watching as you lean forward and take a bit ripping the meat off the bone with ease and enjoying the flavor "Wow that is good" Your comment was interrupted by Luffy's lips on the corner of your mouth lightly licking to get the left over meat off your face before pulling away. Heat raises too your cheeks only to hear Zoro laugh behind you "After all this time you still get flustered" The swordsman pulls you back into him his chest against your back as he lays his head on your shoulder only for you to pout in response.

Your sister has been watching form the side lines waiting for the perfect moment to drag you away, she loves you with all her heart, but she's not convinced the two pirates will be loyal to you or each other, so she set up snail cameras and audio to capture what she has set up for the two boys. The moment came perfectly, Zoro was done with his drink, and she knew he would get up in a few minutes to get another, so she head over placing a hand on your shoulder with a smile "Hay sorry to interrupt but i was hoping to have your help in the back" Looking up at your sister you nod going to stand only for Zoro to keep hold of you "Zo, please let go" You sigh turning to face the man "Don't i get a goodbye kiss?" He asks, his cheeks slightly red form all the drinking "I'll only be gone for a few minutes... but ok" You playfully roll your eyes before leaning in cupping his cheeks and placing your lips on his, it was short but it seemed to satisfy him letting you go so you can finally stand "What about me?" Luffy wipes his mouth of food looking up at you with pout "Of course my Captain" You bend down placing your lips on his feeling him lean into it while his hand rubs your hip lightly. After pulling away your sister grabs your arm and pulls you along to the back room behind the bar "So what do you need help with?" you ask but get no response until your in the back room and the door is closed.

Confused you look around the back room full of stock items along with stacked spare tables and chairs but what really caught your eye was a screen with two chairs in front along with a Snail projector in the middle "I know your going to be mad but i set up a loyalty test" Your eyes widen as you turn to face your sister who locks the door before walking over to you "I don't want you getting hurt and i don't trust them" Your shock turns into anger but you grit your teeth not wanting to yell "What the Hell? They wouldn't cheat and this is so stupid" You go to walk away, but she grabs your arm and pulls you over to the chairs "Please just sit and watch, you could be right but you also could be wrong, plus i won't get the money back" Sitting down you glare at your sister now even madder that she spent money on this but before you can say anything else she turns on the projector showing two different cameras, one facing the bar and one facing the table you were just at. "The hell sis?" you didn't know what else to say, all of this seemed so unreal. "I got two different people, a boy and a girl, they'll both approach the two when there alone, and we'll see what happens. so please just stay and watch" Your sister explains grabbing your hand to stop you form getting up and leaving "Fine, I'll stay but only to prove you wrong".

Zoro stands up from the tables and pats his Captains head before leaving "I'm gonna get another drink" the green haired man calls out before heading to the bar and sitting on the Bar stool ordering another beer. High heals approach him from behind before taking the seat next to him, she's beautiful, long flowing hair, curvy waist and a tight red dress but Zoro's focus is on the Drink that just got passed to him. "I haven't seen you here before" Her voice was sweet along with her smile but the Swordsman only glanced at her before taking a gulp of his beer "I'm Emily" she holds her hand out for him to shack but Zoro just looks at her hand then to her not saying a word "I think i know you, Roronoa Zoro, the pirate hunter turned Pirate, very impressive, your more handsome than your wanted poster" She giggles pulling her hand away but leaning forward a bit showing a little more of her cleavage only for the Swordsman to look at the bar and take a drink "Your not a marine or a bounty hunter so what do you want?" Zoro finally speaks making the woman next to him giggle and run her fingers over his arm leaning closer to his ear "Your very attractive, i'm sure a man like you knows how to treat a girl" she whispers batting her eyelashes at him but the Swordsman stands looking down at her "I have two partners, I'm not interested" The girl stands stepping a little closer, her chest almost touching his "They don't have to know" She whispers but her flirtatious smile soon turns into shock when Zoro uses his thumb to slightly unsheathe one of his swords "I said, I'm not interested Lady... now back off" His words where like venom, getting the hint the lady gulps and steps back before walking away a look of fear in her eyes.

A small laugh leaves your lips as you sit with your arms crossed watching your sisters shocked face "Told you so... also i think your gonna have to pay for that girl therapy" Your sister turns to you with a slight glare, she really didn't expect the swordsman to pass up on that girl, but now it was Luffy's turn, and she had a feeling his naive attitude would get him to do something he shouldn't. Turning back to the screen a man walks up to Luffy with a plate of meat, Chopper and Usopp had just left to do something so right now the Captain was all alone with an empty plate in the middle while licking his lips. "Hay, you still hungry? We have left overs in the back and thought you might want it" The young man smiles, he was handsome with slicked back hair and a tight white shirt with black pants showing his abs and large biceps off "Hell yea" Luffy smile grabbing the plate of meat off the man who sits next to him. The man takes a piece of meat on a bone earning a confused look from the captain "Let me help you" The young man smiles holding the meat out to Luffy who goes to grab it only for it to be pulled away "I meant let me feed you, come on can't let a cutie like you get his hands dirty" The man flashes a flirtatious smile, Luffy stares at him for a minute before laughing and grabbing the meat off the man holding it in his hands "Your funny" The captain calms down enough to eat the meat pulling it off the bone and putting the now empty plate down. The young man stares in shock not able to comprehend what just happened but soon snaps out of it going back to being flirty.

"Impressive" The mans words gets Luffy's attention who looks over at him with a smile "Thank you" The man leans in closer placing his hand on Luffy's thigh "Maybe you could show me what else you can do with that mouth of yours? How about we get out of here... just the two of us" The man whispers never breaking eye contact with the Captain, things suddenly sink in for Luffy now realizing what is actually going on. With a smile Luffy removes the mans hand from his thigh and scoots away a little "Sorry but i have two partners." Luffy looks over at the Bar spotting Zoro right away but the man places his hand back on Luffy's thigh "He's not looking, he won't notice" The man leans closer but Luffy stands adjusting his hat keeping a smile on his face "Thanks for the food" The Captain simply says before walking off and over to Zoro hugging the swordsman form behind. Zoro jumps a little thinking the girls back but relaxes once he hears Luffy's laugh, the swordsman smiles and turns in his seat letting the Captain sit on his lap "That guys weird" Luffy sates making Zoro raise and eyebrow and look over at the table but no one is there "What guy? He bothering you?" The swordsman scowls turning to Luffy and putting a hand around his waist "He offered me food which was nice, but then he started flirting with me, even when i said no... but he's gone so don't worry" Luffy wraps his arms around Zoro's neck and leans in kissing the swordsman before placing his head on Zoro's shoulder.

That was the one of the many things you love about Luffy, he's open and honest, yes he can be childish and naive at times, but he's not stupid at all. "Happy now?" You ask looking over at your Sister who sighs "I'm sorry but let's wait... i want to see if things change when they swap" Your sister crosses her arms over her chest still not convinced making you groan and stand up only for her hand to grab your arm "I'm putting a stop to this, they won't cheat. Why are you so connived they will cheat?" finally snapping at your sister she takes a step back but forces herself to keep a tight hold on your arm "I don't want you to get hurt" Rolling your eyes at her you yank your arm away forcing her to let go "Bullshit, there's no way thats just it. No one goes to this length just because of that. Tell me" Your sister sits as you step closer towering over her "I don't trust them. Not only are you in a Open relationship but their pirates. Zoro's a chick magnet and probably has no idea when a girl is flirting with him and Luffy is naive he'd probably go off with someone without thinking twice. I wanted you to see it the way i do. Yes they said no this time but maybe Zoro doesn't like girls as much as he likes boys and Vise versa for Luffy." She rambles but soon stops herself seeing the hurt on your face.

Your voice is clam and clear as you talk even with the tears welling up in your eyes "First it's not a Open relationship, it's a poly relationship we love each other equity, and we all agreed to it. Second i'm a pirate too but i don't see why that has anything to do with this and Third... You've known them for a day, i've known them for years and i'm not going to let anyone treat them like this not even family" You wipe away a tear that falls before turning your back on her and walking to the door only stopping once you unlock it "I'm very disappointed in you" You give her one last look before leaving closing the door behind you and stepping out into the bar "We're leaving now" You state walking over to Zoro and Luffy who are still sitting at the bar "What's wrong?" Zoro asks looking you over before Luffy jumps off his lap and cups your face "Are you crying?" The captain asks only for you to move his hands off his face and start walking to the door "I said where leaving, come on" You call out pushing the doors open, the two boys look at each other before running after you. Walking down the street, the only light being the street lamps and the cold night air hitting your skin, everything made it hard for you to keep it together "Baby, hay stop" Zoro runs up to you and grabs your arms stopping in front of you now seeing the tears rolling down your cheeks "What's wrong? What happened?" Luffy asks wiping the tears off your cheeks "I just want to go back to the Sunny. please" You can't help the tears that fall "Come on" Zoro sighs wrapping his arm around your waist and walking back to the ship with Luffy holding your hand leading the way.

It took you a while to clam down, you felt so hurt by your sister but you were so proud of your boys for dealing with the situation. Sitting on your shared bed, Luffy held you close to his side, his arm around your shoulders with your head close to his neck while Zoro sat in front of the two of you. You told them everything even how proud you were of them but also how you felt guilty for letting it happen, you just wanted your sister to see what you see but having her still not convinced after everything she saw really hurt. "That bitch" Zoro growls his hand gripping the bed sheet as he looked down at his crossed legs, not only did she set them up, but she was going to do it again. "I'm sorry" You whisper but feel Luffy's lips press against your forehead "It's ok, you didn't set it up and you proved her wrong. You know we would never do that to each other, i love you two so much" The wide smile on his face makes you smile back leaning up to kiss his cheek "I know you two would never do that but i'm still sorry i let it happen" Zoro leans forward and runs his hand up and down your leg getting you to look at him "It's fine, it's her loss anyway, not only did she waste money on this, but she also hurt you." The swordsman moves closer taking your hand with a serious look "Can i be honest babe?" You nod even though there's now a deep pit in your stomach. Luffy raises an eyebrow at the swordsman not knowing what could be so serious "I think she wanted us to cheat... I think she wanted to be right. I could be wrong but iv seen the way she looks at us three, you may not see it because she's your sister but i see jealousy and anger."

It hurts to hear it but Zoro's very observant and wouldn't lie to hurt you, he's not that kind of man "You think she wanted us to break up?" Luffy asks trying to think back to this morning when they first met your sister, she seemed so nice. "I-I don't think" you try to say but a part of you knows he's right, maybe she was jealous, but she's your sister and you love her, you would never do this to her so why would she do it to you. "Sorry, i know it's not something you want to hear but its just my opinion, it doesn't mean its true" Zoro states seeing your conflicting emotions, he leans in and places a light kiss on the side of your lips seeming to bring you out of your own head "I love you two" You smile looking at the two boys just feeling the need to say those simple words but it makes Luffy smile wide leaning down and crashing his lips onto yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck you lean into it more feeling his arm go around your waist as the other pulls Zoro in who lets a small smile show as you two pull away "I love you guy too" The captain leans over kissing Zoro on the lips who gladly returns it, running his hand through Luffy's black hair and under his straw hat. Luffy soon pulls away licking his lips "You taste of beer" The Captain laughs earning a snicker off the Swordsman "Yea well you taste of meat.... I love it though" Zoro shoots back before turning to you placing his hand on your cheek "I love both of you" The swordsman leans over but your quicker crashing your lips onto his running a hand through his green hair as your lips move with his.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Doc! Nearly at the end, and trying to fudge my braincells together for 2 more at least semi-coherent snippets... This is a little more summary than scene, but my head is managing that batter today, so it's what you get today!

TW: ... magical backlash isn't self-harm, but it isn't not self harm, so just be careful there? definitely self-destructive behaviour

One of the first things taught about retribution magic is that it is not wielded by kind people. It is, as Doc's mother used to call it, the magic of cutting off your nose to spite their face. A science of carefully constructed hanging spells, so that the moment anyone does you harm, you multiply it tenfold.

That is not, however, what Doc actually sees.

His mother might have taught him retribution magic from the day he could walk, but it was magic theory that he was first employed to teach - the very principles of how to rip apart the universe, and bend it to your will. He did not teach retribution - the magic of paying back tenfold - until he met False.

Angry, hurting, newly free of people who would have used her-

"I'll teach you," he had said. "You will still be hurt, but nobody will get away with hurting you ever again."

---

False is someone Doc has no regrets about teaching. Even if it caught on, and Xisuma asked if he would be willing teaching classes on it - less dangerous spells than the ones always hanging, ones that can be activated before a battle and deactivated after, but still retribution.

He had hesitated, but he had agreed, and his student students? Doc rarely sees enough of them again to know if he caused problems or not. They learn, they graduate, they go on and live their lives for better and for worse.

It is not as though he teaches them the hanging spells, as his mother once forced him to learn;

---

And then there is Scar.

If there is anyone that Doc regrets teaching retribution magic to, it is Scar. Not truly, not fully - /Etho/ had asked it of him, and Doc refuses to regret things done on Etho's request - but it certainly makes a mess of things.

Just like False, Scar is faculty. Doc had assumed that that meant he could be trusted with the more powerful - more dangerous magic.

Doc assumed.

And usually he is right; if he is fair, Scar is usually as responsible as he is capable of being. Unfortunately, he does not have the sense to stay out of things his friends are involved in.

And so when Grian messes up Doc's research notes, and Doc... He has the personality for snapping, been molded into someone who takes every slight to heart. Add hanging spells which take effect whenever he is hurt, and then-

Grian messes up Doc's papers.

The next time Doc walks past, his magic lashes out and some of Grian's lesson notes stray too close to the fire. It's only one page of a lesson plan, though, so Doc does not really care; /Grian/ can stop if he wants to, after all.

Grian does not stop.

Grian recruits Scar and Mumbo, steals Doc's favourite coffee cup while those two distract him, and /that/ is where the danger begins.

Because now Scar is involved, and both Doc and Scar have spells hanging, ones that will /automatically and disproportionately/ twist the universe into taking revenge on their behalf.

For any harm.

For any slight.

So Doc's favourite coffee cup goes missing.

Grian's favourite mug shatters in his hands, spilling hot tea all over him. Mumbo and Scar, having been in on the plan but not having taken it, find their own favourite mugs have been knocked from the table by one of the small university dragons.

And no matter what pranks they plan, it doesn't end there; Scar's spells lash out, explode Doc's coffee maker as he tries to use it.

So Doc makes no effort to stop it as retribution magic lashes out again, causing Scar's wheelchair breaks to jam on. Thankfully it's an easy fix, but perhaps that should have been their warning to try reign it in.

Instead it continued, and Grian only added more fuel to the flames.

Back and forth and back again; perhaps Doc would be impressed by how well Scar's spells are working, except now they are targeting /him. Which. This is, bar the one hiccup with Scar's breaks still within the range of the sorts of prank war the staff engage in.

And then something results in Doc cutting his finger, and his magic lashes out, screaming for blood-

One cannot /stop/ a hanging spell from activating, but they can slow it, and the spells have a range.

Doc grabs onto the lashing magic, and-

Mumbo is rambling, constant, worried explanations only worsening Doc's headache. Scar and Grian are also trying to talk, but Doc is trying to ignore them, if he thinks about them-

"Enough is enough," he manages to hiss out between his teeth. "Scar, take a holiday before something happens that we /both/ regret."

"Doc?" Scar asks, less certain now. "Are you-"

"Got it," Grian interrupts, pulling a portal open beneath their feet.

The trio of them - and Scar's cat - vanish.

As soon as they are gone, Doc releases the magic. With targets out of range it lashes out, ripping paintings from the walls and patches of skin from Doc's remaining limbs. It's not too much, not yet - the magic will take its cost, but even with the escalation a papercut does not need to result in too much harm.

... Doc knows what happens if you let it go too far; you just need to ask his prosthetics, or the missing part of his face.

But, no, they do not escalate that far; it's just a messy classroom and a gash akin to falling on a particularly nasty rock, and then it's done. The back and forth can end, Doc can wrap his arm, and he'll have to apologise to Xisuma for both the mess and how three of his staff are missing for a few days.

If this was the first time...

... But Doc is the one who /taught/ Scar how to do this, and Doc is the oldest, so he should probably take responsibility.

Probably.

In five minutes, once his headache fades.

[velvet-paradox]

Ache

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: König x Female reader Summary: You get a concussion and poor König is beside himself and the 141 are trying their best to get you to remember. Length: LONG; I am so NOT sorry btw ;) Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, strong language, explicit content, reader has a little freak out, flashbacks, sad boy König, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, detailed smut. Tagging: @synnersaint @isikforyourthoughts @stuckimaginationuniverse @howaboutlunch @pookie90 @undeadfreak47 @pokerfaceftw @dracofxckingluciusmalfoy @panty-h03 @0151imagayone

p.s. I used Google translate for the words below Bis später = see you later Bitte = please Verdammte Scheiße = holy shit

ENJOY!!!

König is worried. Fidgeting in this sterile room, everything is so white and so clean, not a speck of dust on any surface, tidy desks and stiff furniture that begs to be sat on or it'll turn into stone. He paced the room, heavy boots pounding mopped up linoleum.

His gear is still stained, hadn't bothered to wash off the combat. There wasn't any time. He had to get that EVAC out to your location as soon as possible, he'd have to apologize to driver when he found him. He was in a rush and overwhelmed with panic, he didn't truly mean to knock the woman down trying to get you into the back of the van.

But you were in danger, hurt, unconscious.

Those sorry motherfuckers had harmed his precious girl, the only one to make him smile, to make him genuinely laugh. You took him as is, all broken pieces and shattered dreams. You'd fight his demons if you could, you told him so night after night, stroking his head against your chest or stomach.

You were his grounding point. The calm to his storm.

Therefor he couldn't risk you being in this state, a flashbang had knocked you all to the ground, deafening ringing, chaos and bloodshed soon to follow. König didn't realize until the damage was done and the smoke had cleared that you were crumpled against the South wall, completely out with a trickle of blood leaking from your ear.

He made some sort of animal-like sound, it didn't even register that he'd never made that sort of noise before until he reached you, crushing and grabbing your vest to sit you up. Your head was limp like a cloth doll, König was graceful in holding you steady, checking your vitals and manually opening your eyes.

"Come in Actual! I need an EVAC immediately!"

You looked so small in that hospital bed, fragile. Foreign.

He knew you as a hellcat, fiery and hot to the touch. Ready to fight or fuck at any given chance. This version of you made him nervous. Scared him. And Colonel König does not get scared.

He checked his watch again, the rhythm of the monitors you were hooked up to only agitated him further, so that meant more pacing, more worrying his bottom lip that tasted of blood. Skin chewed up raw.

König leaned on the end of your bed making it creak under his weight. He could punch through a wall right about now, gnaw on the fucking plaster, rip off door jams and spit out nuts and bolts. Under his watch this had happened and he would never forgive himself. His eyes watered briefly before he pushed off the bedframe, your head wrapped gauze, shrapnel had made little scratches across your forehead and cheek.

Please be okay my darling girl… I can't much anymore…

König stirred awake, he'd picked up and moved the heavy chair from the window to your bedside, crossing his arms and resting his cheek on them as he watched you sleep. Your steady breathing had matched the heart monitor, smooth and calm and that's what had lulled him to sleep.

His back would fucking kill later but he wasn't too bothered. He'd do anything for you.

You made a weird face and groaned, shifting your shoulders before blinking yourself awake.

König's tank had never been so full with relief. He straightened himself up, touching your hand without the IV in it. "Oh thank God mein liebe; I was so worried. How are you feeling?"

His eyes danced over your face as you wet your lips.

"Like shit. Did I get hit by a fucking truck or what?" Your voice cracked and König was quick to jump up and fill a paper cup that was childlike in his shaking hands. He helped you to take small sips.

"Something like that. Unpredictable flashbangs with do that. Lucky we got out when we did."

"What?" You blinked up at him.

"Flashbangs. You know. Poof!" König made an explosion gesture by his helmet. "Nasty things. Effective, but still very nasty."

"I don't know what that is," you paused then and looked around the room with open eyes, clarity slipping through the cracks as you gripped the cup, brows furrowed. "I don't-- where am I? What am I doing here?"

König touched the top of your bed, concern in his emerald eyes. "My darling Ferret, you were injured in combat. Nothing broken but you were knocked unconcsous, we brought you in as soon as possible. Are you--," König didn't want to hear your answer but he didn't like to mess around the bush. Best to rip off the band-aid. "Do you know me? Do you not recognize me?"

You swallowed as your eyes grew glassy. You shook your head.

"Should I?"

His heart broke.

"It's me. My name is König , I am your commanding officer. You and the boys are-"

"Boys? I have boys? Am I mother?! Whose mother am I?" You screeched and spilled what was left of your water as you tossed off your sheet and began inspecting your stomach.

"No no. Calm down Ferret, you are no ones mother. Yet. I meant the boys of the 141, our company, Captain Price, L.T., Gaz, MacTavish… any o' them ring a bell?"

"No. Oh my God… who am I? König who am I?"

You really started to panic then, crying and kicking off the rest of your blankets, your heartrate was increasing alarming fast. König tried to shush you, calm you down, but it was no use, you just freaked out even more. You gained the attention of the nurses who came bursting into the room, pushing him out of the way as you screamed and tried to pull out the iv.

Chaos. König didn't know what to do and it was all a blur until one of the nurses in burgandy scrubs had grabbed his tac vest, forecefully and dragged him to the door.

"Colonel! Sir! We've got this, you need to leave."

Your shouts of protest were terrifying as you writhed on the bed in confusion and pain. There were too many of them, like ants swarming a downed enemy.

"Sir! Please, she'll be fine. I need you out. Now," König only frowned but took the steps necessary. "Do it for her."

The door slammed shut in his face then and all he could do was stand there and watch the blinds be slid down.

….

König growled and cursed something fierce all the way back to his dorm room, boots heavy and reminding him that much more that he would be going to bed alone tonight. With a huff he kicked his door closed, stripped off his helmet and hood. Piece by piece, he tore his gear angrily off, missing the laundry basket altogether.

His bed protested his weight as he rubbed at his face, aware that his gloves smeared what was left of his grease paint and gun residue. He hung his head, tapping his boots when he steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

He squinted down and grabbed a foreign object just by the end of his bed. Little by little, maroon in color lace looked so small in his hands.

It was one of your fancy bras.

König chuckled at the sight of it, a little light in his pitch dark tunnel. Without shame and without guilt, he fisted the light material before shoving it to his nose. It still smelled like you after several weeks and he closed his eyes.

"Bis später!" Had come from his mouth, waving off Ghost and Sergeant McTavish. He was grateful to be in his space, with his things, able to recharge after spending damn near all of his energy bank. If he were part machine, which sometimes he felt that way with how hard and focused he worked; there would be a flashing LOW BATTERY sign on his forehead.

He sighed against the door frame, barely ducking underneath it when he looked up at some sudden movement. He balked. You, you slinky attractive little devil had slipped past the guards, slunk into his room and into his bed. Growing voices made the big man struggle to get his whole body inside to block out your own, slamming the door behind him. Gloved hands still on the knob.

"Verdammte Scheiße! What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, what does it look like?" You shrugged as carelessly as you pleased. As drained as he was, he always had enough energy for your antics. A bare arm patted the bed next to you, a coy little smile on your face.

"I thought we've talked about this, no? We need to be careful about us." König said as he sat down, taking his gloves off and setting them on the floor by his nightstand.

"I'm tired of being careful, aren't you?" You grabbed his warm fingers, looking up at him.

"Yes but--"

"But what? Whose gonna' stop you? The big bad ex-KorTac boogeyman with the pretty eyes and enough documented kills to make any Narco envious and not to mention that big ol' hog--"

"Shut your face, right now!" König clamped a hand over your mouth, even though he was smiling behind his mask, bashful but a little boosted by your vulgar description. He didn't need to give the base anymore to talk about.

Your wet tongue startled his palm as you laughed, music to his ears as leaned his body against you.

"Oh come on, I'm surprised it even fits. Damn thing is the size of my arm!"

"It is not, stop that." König scolded you, a failed attempt to keep you quiet even though he was enjoying your praise.

"Oh yes it is!" You chuckled and pressed your sheet covered chest against his arm. "You should probably get a weapons clearance slip for that thing!"

"That's it!" König tackled you on the bed, his gear shifting with his weight, pinning you down. You wiggled and laughed beneath him, he silently asked how'd he get to be the one on top of you, making you laugh, smile. Men like him didn't get pretty things like you. He suspected and believed his old KorTac buddies that he'd end up settling for what he thought he deserved. Pocket lint and a sex doll. Not at all the real body of yours, looking at him like he hung the fucking moon and if he you would only keep looking at him like this, make him feel like he swallowed bees, calmed the anger and wolfish tendencies; he just might try it.

König sat back on his haunches. "How long have you been waiting for me?"

His heart stopped with your cheeky answer. "My whole damn life."

….

He dreamt of you that night. Surprised even to himself that he could calm himself down, even after a long and hot shower. He was exhausted. Scrubbing that same dirt and grime, that filth off his skin that stained your own. Maybe it was the emotions of it all, everything cresting, crumbling like bricks in his hands as you couldn't even remember him.

Maybe that's why he cried.

And maybe that's why he slept so good.

He tucked your bra underneath his pillow before he left his room the next morning, safe keeping and all that. He gave the neatly made bed a gentle pat before catching a ride with some very green, very eager-to-please rookies on a golf cart to the hospital.

"Colonel!" He stopped at the distinct voice of Captain Price, he could practically feel the mans' boots on the definitely needed to be replaced tiles beneath his own feet. "Colonel, I'm glad I caught you, old man-"

"I am not old," König squinted at Price's crinkled eyes, lost in a teasing smile. "In fact, you're older by four years, fifteen days and seven hours."

"How do you know that?" John Price paused.

"I read your file." König shrugged. He had a photographic memory, could remember coordinates from a stint in Kosovo, the delicatessen's not far from Vatican City, the look on your face after your first kiss, what color your toenails were that summer on the West Coast with the rest of the 141.

"Very well, lad. I uh just spoke with Y/N's doctors, she's been sedated, had a bit of a rough night last night, so they said. She's awake but nothing seems to spark her memory just yet."

König bit at his lips, he should've been there with you. The thought of you being alone and afraid, scared to death of all those around you being pumped through with who knows what.

"She'll come back to us big man," Price's hand on his arm was warm and the little squeeze he gave him felt genuine. "I know you two are close; just how close I haven't determined but I assume it's a heartfelt one. One that maybe goes a little more than the base and ranks."

"That's none of your business, Captain." König ground his teeth.

"You're right but I should let you know there's a little bet and a rumor going on that it's beyond professional," König straightened his back at that, shifting his weight. "Don't shoot the messanger, but the pot has gotten pretty full and I like winning."

Price chuckled as he walked away, leaving König to think more than just about you.

Your room is quiet expect for the whirling machine hooked up to your hand, your breathing is smooth when he enters, the steady beat of your heartbeat. He knew you were beloved on base and by all the bouquets of flowers, balloons and 'GET WELL SOON FERRET!' cards that surrounded your bed and side tables, he once again felt lucky to even breathe the same air as you, let alone become bedfellows and lovers.

He felt bad he came empty handed.

Until you rolled your head over to see him, a piss-poor attempt to make himself small.

"It's you." Your voice was a little scratchy and he'd hoped it was from a little nap and not from screaming in the middle of the night.

"Hallo mein-- I mean Y/N," your given name sounded strange in his mouth when he cleared his throat and crept a little more into the room. Your eyes never left him. "How are you feeling now? I talked with Price in the hallway."

"It's strange, I know you said the other day that we know each other and when I'm looking at you, like this, I feel like I should," you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, gears working against you as you laid there, eventually staring up at the ceiling. "I feel like I should know who I am and I don't. I should know you, apparently, but I don't. I don't remember anything!" you whined and palmed your glassy eyes, sniffling and huffing and all König could do was worry and reach out to touch your shoulder. "What if I never do? What if I become somebody else?"

"Don't do that, bitte. Please my dear," his gloved hand grasped your wrist and you let him, let him pull down your hands, locking eyes.

"You're taking a page out of my book and you're going to worry yourself sick. You'll come back to us." To me.

He wished and prayed that you would as he stayed with you for a little over an hour before you grew tired and again on his way to the mess hall and once more before bed.

….

"If you get hurt jus' remember lass, this was yer idea to begin wit'!" Johnny said with a grin, wobbling quite a bit on König's shoulders as he reached out to grapple with your hands.

"You know you're a lot heavier than you look." König grumbled through straight teeth, holding on to the Scotsman's' hefty thighs.

The sun was high that day on the Coast, a well needed and earned r&r retreat for the 141.

"Don't tell me you're backing out already, Johnny!" You teased, fitting your fingers through his as you moved on Simon's shoulders in the water opposite of them.

You looked incredible, wet and sandy, smiling as if you didn't just have someone else's blood on your hands three days prior somewhere in Bolivia. You two hadn't even kissed yet, just a lot of sexual tension and flirty exchanges when no one was looking or listening.

"I'm just lettin' you know wee one, I'm not above playing unfairly now."

"We'll see about that, you ready down there L.T.?"

"Ready when you are, kid."

Game on.

The guys joked about never hearing König laugh before, after your successful best two out of three chicken matches in the ocean. He felt insecure about it, covering his already covered mouth from his hood. Ghost and Johnny drank back to back beers while you saddled up next to him with a turkey sandwich and some fruit.

"I like it."

König looked over at you, sitting extra close in the sand as you dug your feet into the sand, a complimentary red on your toes as they swiftly disappeared and you ate a berry.

"Pardon?"

"Your laugh," you said inching closer so your leg touched his. "I like it. You should do it more often."

König scoffed and stole a grape from your plate, tossing it up in the air. "Say something funny then."

"I wanna' kiss you right now."

He choked on his spit and laughed again, to get König off guard was no easy task and yet you were flying through in fucking technicolor.

"Now that is funny."

"Who said I'm joking?"

As you watched your L.T. and Johnny pack up their truck, you had made sure to wave them off and as they turned out of the parking lot, with that same hand you grabbed the front of König's shirt, leaned up as far as those cute toes of yours could tip-toe and kissed him right on the mouth.

….

" 'ow about this one, we're just outside the Museum of Antioquia in Medellín, does this look familiar at all, kid? Anything abou' it? Anything at all?"

"I mean… that's obviously us. It's pretty foggy still honestly… so no."

"Alright no worries, love. How about this one? The Courtauld Gallery, we just had to go according to you to see your favorite painting."

"Am I an art major or something?"

"No. You just appreciate fine works of art I suppose."

König didn't mean to instantly get hard at Ghost's choice of words. He turned his back to you and your visitors, walking, uncomfortably so, towards the window with his hands behind his back.

You had said those same words to him once.

You two had gotten caught in an ice storm and not just any ice storm either, the kind where wherever you're at… that's where you're going be for the foreseeable future. Luckily for the both of you, the safe house had been recently restocked and insulated, thick plastic on the windows ruffled and protested the pounding wind outside. The freezing cold had slithered its icy tentacles through the cracks around the door making the fire you'd built in the little stove flutter and crack.

You only wore your underclothes, tight black thermals under your gear, frost and snow melting off your boots side by side by the front door. You crouched and added a few logs, eyeing him as he came into the living room with two mugs of tea.

He thought you were excited about the warmth from the cups but you had something a lot hotter in mind.

Thermals littered the floor, your whines and cries for more sang beautifully with the crackling fire nearby. You didn't even make it to the bed.

"Oh God König!" you panted against his shoulder as he rutted against you on the floor, creaking under his heavy weight. His cock fit perfectly once he'd gotten you off on his fingers first, it was proper to make you cum first.

He might be a little ruthless and rough around the edges but the man has manners! He rolled his eyes in pure delight when you arched up into his chest, nipples hard and legs trembling, spread enough to fit his frame between them. "You feel so fucking good. I knew you would-- aha just like that baby, fuck!"

Your head thunked against the floor, König was quick to fit one of his hands beneath it, in case it happened again. He had secretly wished it would, if only he could last a little bit longer. Your wet, gummy walls fought and milked his cock like no other, bringing him back in with a soft hug.

"Yeah? You like that huh? I'm practically devouring you, molding you to-o me." König grunted and groaned something in his native tongue before taking a bite out of your neck, loving it as you grabbed at his arms, his shoulders, his thrusting hips when he soothed it over with his gentler kisses.

"I want it. I want you so bad," he shivered at your words, his cock throbbing and threatening to explode so soon. He couldn't help it! He'd been eager for months to just maybe get a smooch from you and yet here you both are, making love on the floor in some safehouse by a fire. "I can't believe you're inside me right now. Why did we wait so long? It's so fucking good."

You whined and moved your legs higher up his waist, your knees digging into his ribs. König grabbed your leg and brought it up further, changing the angle and hitting something deep, so so deep and primal that you literally shouted his name, eyes wild and mouth agape as if you couldn't believe it was real.

Your neck bent to look at where his cock was disappearing, in and out in great, thick thrusts. Words were lost on you as all that came out of your throat was gasps for breath.

"Guess you like that too, yes?"

"YES!"

König barely had time to chuckle at your shouts, begging for more and more, it was all so hot and erotic and when you came he growled your name. He pulled out just in time to cum along the inside of your thighs, tapping the crown of it into his spend, smearing it around.

"Oh baby… you are a fucking work of art."

….

"What about some fresh air, kid? Might do ya' some good, instead o' breathin' in all this medicinal shit." L.T.'s suggestion brought König back to the present, he made a face and adjusted himself before turning around.

Ghost gave him a shrug. It had been five days after all.

"Yeah. Why not? Can't hurt, right?" You agreed. "Will you come with me?"

"She's talkin' to you, big boy." Simon voiced, startling König into a different position.

"Me? You want me to--"

"Will you?"

Simon smiled and left you to get dressed for the outside world since the accident.

König made sure to cover your eyes once you walked out into the sun, you tucked yourself into his side automatically, mumbling that it was too damn bright. He chuckled and kept you close, an arm around your shoulders as you walked the grounds.

"Can I ask you something?" You were picking at your nail beds, a nasty habit you tried to break your Freshman year of college and miserably failed.

"Shoot."

"Are we like… together? Like a couple? Simon and some of the other guys' made it seem like we're close. Like-- really close. Is that like a rumor thing or should I know something that I don't?"

König stopped, his boots kicking up gravel. "It's complicated. I am your commanding officer. Your superior. That would be inappropriate."

"Is it inappropriate or true?" you asked, stuffing your hands into a well worn hoodie. "Or both?"

König sighed, moving closer to you when a group of four young recruits jogged by. "Both."

You pursed your lips and looked around the busy base. The group of recruits that had given him a ride to see you drove by quickly, giving you both a solid but quick salute while a Staff Sergeant barked orders a few yards away.

"Is it serious?"

König cleared his throat and crossed his arms nervously. "The short answer? Yes. The long answer… is also yes."

You smiled brightly and shielded your eyes once more from the sun and from looking up at him. He swore his eyes crossed with how cute you looked, making that squinty face. You seemed content with his answer and started walking again, asking where you two had met.

"Maybe you should ask Soap about all that. Sorry, I mean Sergeant McTavish. Johnny. He sorta' is the reason for us being, well for us being close." König suggested, moving the bottom of his hood out of the way of a thick spoonful of a Rocky Road milkshake just off base.

"Well I'm asking you." You pointed your own spoon at him, apologizing when a few pieces of chocolate flung onto his forearms across the table. "Sorry."

"No worries. I rather like chocolate." König smiled.

"Tell me. Please? It might trigger something useful." You began to pout and oh no you don't, don't you dare tremble that bottom lip of yours. Oh, he could just lunge across this comically small table, break the umbrella above your heads in half and grab you and just kiss you, tell you how much you mean to him, how this limbo bullshit was driving him crazy!

König wasn't a man known for flowery words, motivational speaking and the like but he knew you so it wasn't out of his comfort to explain in detail how you did in fact meet. He talked and talked, milkshakes long gone, fries gone cold but salvaged for a midnight snack.

Once back on base König stopped in the hallway that splits from rank when you grab his hand.

"Can I come with you?"

"Come with me where?"

You swallow and look around the unusually vacant split. "To your room. Maybe it'll help. I mean, if we're together," you hushed and got closer to his side. "Maybe it'll help."

König smiled beneath his hood, wolfish and he knew how sharp his teeth were against the plump flesh of his bottom lip. "Sure. Come on."

….

"These are little… explicit." You chuckle while fidgeting with an old digital camera in his arsenal. The SD card is almost full, he knows this but he can't risk transferring them to another device. He'd stain his career if he got his tablets mixed up and not so safe or savory pictures of you and him together, were to make the rounds. The last thing this place needs is a scandal.

You tilted your head at one, zooming in and then thrusted it at his chest. "This is… are those… zip ties?"

König took the camera and knew exactly which picture you'd landed on. His mouth watered at the memory.

"Ah yes. This is the night you broke me."

"What does that mean?" You asked and sat down next to him on the bed.

A funny little jolt surged through his belly, warming his cheeks and hands as you two looked at the digital screen.

"Um uh well, I was gone on a mission in Copenhagen, it was only supposed to be a two week set up and recon, I could do those in my sleep but there was some miscommunication on their end and long story short I was gone for almost a month," König explained, thoughtfully looking at himself on the screen. "I used the SAT phone to keep in touch. We'd been together a steady two months before deployment and I didn't get a chance to give you a proper goodbye. So I promised you could have me any way you wanted."

"And I wanted to restrain you?"

"You wanted control over the situation. Over me." And you did. "Wow. I didn't think I was the dominant type. Or that a guy like you would allow it."

König barked out laughing, almost dropping it, which would have been devastating, but he managed to fumble it onto the soft mattress below instead. "Oh mein cutie, you are a terror when you get into one of your moods. Trust me. And to be fair; you've done a lot worse."

König was pleased the security officers left him alone for the night, no more nightly checks and lights out for the older man. He'd paid his dues but sometimes some fresh faced recruit would want all their other supervisors to know they'd checked on everyone, including the Colonel himself and Captain Price just a few doors down.

You'd fallen asleep after going over a handful of more photos, some more tasteful then others. Some cute, your smiling face as he slept with his large, scarred back facing you. Candids of König cleaning one of his weapons, examining knives. Holding hands. Your head on his lap. You fast asleep in one of his ratty old shirts. Obscene ones of just how fucked out he made you, gaping and leaking his spend. A few with just his fingers saturated with his cum.

You looked so comfortable and cute all curled up on his covers, hands tucked under your head. He couldn't help himself and mimicked your position as best he could, wincing and apologizing in a low whisper that he was sorry he kicked your knee. You groaned in your sleep and patted his hand.

König didn't remember falling asleep but he was suddenly incredibly warm, hot even, sweating beneath his hood and t-shirt he shifted but felt he couldn't move. He blinked and caught you holding on to him, damn near piggy-backing him. You mumbled something against the back of his head, fingers twitching and grabbing at the thin fabric.

"…König."

He flinched at the way your voice said his name. Hushed and broken, his attempt to turn around and face you failed and you grabbed him tighter. He touched your hands on his arm.

"Y/N it's ok it's me."

"Oh no… where are you? I can't see-" You whined and jerked around behind him. If only you could hear him, see him, feel him try to calm you down from whatever it was you were dreaming out. König was used to fretting and getting himself all worked up into a lather, this time he did manage to roll over, getting up onto an elbow he held both of your hands in just one of his.

"My love, wake up. If you can hear me, wake up, you can wake up now."

Your face pinched and thrashed, your neck craning at a painful angle as if you were possessed until your eyebrows finally released, your fingers unballing and then you opened your eyes. One at a time. Blinking into the inky blackness of the room.

There was just enough light coming the sunlight above König's bed, the angle nice and gentle on your face. You finally looked at him.

He tried his best to soften his eyes, let you know you were safe and in good hands not in the arms of some stranger, which all of the base had been as of late. He let go of your hands when your jugular jerked.

"König."

"Are you okay now?"

"Where am I?" you asked and he cast down his eyes to the rising and falling of your chest. "Am I still dreaming?"

"No. You're awake now. You can pinch me if you'd like."

He waited for your answer before you reached up and cupped his face, touching the masks' edge, circling around one of the eye holes before tearing up. "I believe you, baby."

Oh. Oh. OH!

"Baby…"

You sniffled and König wanted to pinch himself, make sure he wasn't the one dreaming that you'd come back to him. "I missed you."

"Oh mein liebe, you have no idea how much I've missed you." König surged and gathered you up into his arms, hooking his whole arm between your legs to bring you as close to his chest as humanly possible. He smelled your hair, rubbed his clothed cheek against yours. His hands under your shirt.

"How long was I out?"

Your voice was so light and innocent, sitting on his bed with the covers around your shoulders. He'd fixed you some tea, not the exact way Simon had taught him but close enough.

"Almost a week."

You frowned again and König couldn't help but take your hands in his, assuring you it was alright, that you were in the clear and should definitely seek the med staffs' guidance.

"A week?! Oh my God. I've been banged before but not like that."

König attempted to stifle his laugh, chuckling harder after you whacked his arm. "Bitte bitte, I surrender."

"You better! I've been M.I.A. and you're making fun of me."

Your pouting face was so damn cute König moved in front of you after bouncing his thumb on your bottom lip, holding out his hand. "I'm not making fun of you honey, it's just the way you said it."

"Yeah yeah, wait 'til you get knocked the fuck out and we'll see whose making fun then, hmm?"

"You would make fun of me?"

"In a heartbeat." Your sneer and banter held no weight and the both of you knew that. You were back to your usual self, a little froggy sur but you knew who you were, who he was, where you were and what was going on.

The head nurse in the med bay was excited to see you up and walking around, coherent and well aware of what had happened. She checked your vitals, looked at your eyes, felt around your cranium for any undiscovered lumps or bruising from being knocked back against that cement wall.

You were cleared.

She sent you off with a note and a stern 'now get some rest!'. König bounced his legs while he waited next to you, recognizing that she was the same nurse who had tossed him out that first night. She winked at him before letting you both leave.

"God I have missed you mein cutie, my little precious thing." König sang into your neck once back in his quarters, he hadn't let his hand slip from your hip since leaving the nurses station. He held you hostage in his lap in his bed, petting your face and rubbing your arms.

"How much?"

"So so much," König cooed at you, shivering from your touch as your arms circled around his neck, you snuck your fingers beneath his hood, toying with the strands of hair you could tug on. "More than I crave a hunt, a kill. Man or beast. Nothing satisfies me more than you do, my love."

"I know I've been out of it but… does that mean--"

"Oh my dear thing. Bitte! You think my mind was elsewhere while you were coasting through life? Nein nein nein, I put my needs behind yours."

"You haven't… so you must be pretty bricked up then?"

König tilted his head at that. "Not you getting medically cleared and ready for a good fucking straight away."

"She said to get some good rest, did she not?" You bit your lip and twisted the hem of his mask. "What better way then to make sure I'm fully rested then that?"

"My love… don't poke the bear."

"Is the bear in hibernation?"

He chuckled at that, letting you lean forward, pressing your foreheads together, breathing each other in. "It's summer time my dear… the bears are out of hiding."

Your eyes burned into his, as coy and cool as you tried to play it, all your intentions were naked and clear. "Are you going to be my bear tonight, König?"

….

Now usually when you were in one of these moods König wouldn't even bat an eyelash, click his teeth or spit at the thought of tossing you around, fisting your hair and making you squeal. In turn you'd leave marks and brusies only he knew were there, hidden beneath his gear. But this was different. You were in a delicate state, though medically cleared he wasn't about to go about fucking you senseless.

No. You needed to be handled gently.

So that's what he did.

Shimmying out of his clothes while you did the same, reaching out for him he went down easily, caging you in. You hummed and lifted the base of his mask, hiding beneath it with him, stealing a few chaste kisses before slipping your tongue into his mouth. König groaned and crushed his body into yours.

"Missed you so much, my love." König straightened up on his arms, looking down at you with heart eyes.

"Show me. Show me how much you missed me, baby. Bears give hugs, don't they?"

König chuckled, his hood swaying with puffs of his laughter. "My little play thing, bitte. Please. I am not a bear."

"Sure you are big guy," you cooed and moved to grab one of his hands, ghosting it over your collar, on the ball of your shoulder, settling it palm side down on your chest. "You're my big bear, aren't you?"

Oh hell… he couldn't say no to that face. With a huff he gave in, he'll admit it later that is did warm his heart that you thought of him that way. A protector. A caregiver. He'd been chosen to take care of you and König didn't agree with failure.

After a few more kisses he rolled away from you, shushing you when you whined with the loss of his body heat and weight. He curled himself behind you, easily hefting you up and over so your back was to his front, being very careful of his genitals. He calculated how far apart your legs should be, fitting them over his thick thighs like butterfly wings, making you jerk at the cool air hitting your wet cunt.

König carefully began to grope over your body, humming with delight when your hips wiggled, your toes digging into the sheets, your hands barely holding onto your tits. He teased you first, getting you warmed up, snickering as your breathing became labored, looking down your body as he played you like a professional musician.

"Please baby, please finger me already," you keened and gasped when he cupped your entire mound, feeling it pulse against his fingers. "I need to feel you."

"Ah ah ah. Already begging, what a needy little thing you are my love. Are my hands on you not enough?" König taunted, moving both of his hands to spread you open. You inhaled sharply, both of you watching as his fingers inched closer and closer to your clit.

"O-o f course but-- oh!"

He switched his tactics and instantly shoved his middle finger inside you, knuckle deep.

"Aww poor thing is fucking tight. Almost like the first time, ja? Been without for a week and already so slick," König peered over your shoulder, throbbing when he saw how hard you grabbed at your chest, playing with your nipples at his advancement. "You're so perfect."

"I'm so empty, please König, mein König."

"Empty you say? One finger is not enough for you? Nein nein you can handle another finger perhaps, maybe… three?"

You rolled your head to the side, looking back at him, an almost pained expression on your beautiful face. "Bitte."

"Oh fuck." Not you speaking his language.

You didn't make a sound when another finger plunged deep into your hole, holding himself back from just outright making a sloppy mess of your pussy, soak his fingers down to the fucking wrist. No no, he was going to treat you with kid gloves. Delicate work. He pulled them out to the second knuckle before twisting them back in, stretching you out.

Only then did you crack and keen, bucking your hips to take them in even deeper, finding that precious little spongy spot that drove you wild.

"Oh fuck yeah."

"That's what my little cub needed, ja? Should I go faster, hmmm? Get you all nice and wet to take my cock."

"Yeah yeah yeah," you nodded franticly, still squeezing and pinching yourself while he finger fucked you. "Get me wet baby, make me cum. Wanna' cum for you."

"You always wanna' cum for me. Wait until the rest of that pretty little head of yours comes all the way back, oh my love, the things you're going to remember, one should be so jealous. But I am afraid mein liebeling you will not be drenching my fingers tonight. Oh no."

"But I--"

"Tut tut little thing, you'll get to cum. That is a promise. But you will be coming on my cock instead, now roll over, ja like that, there we go. Look at you, I didn't have to explain what I meant. See, that memory of yours is coming back faster than we thought!"

König spooned you, cuddling you from behind and lifting your top leg up and over his hip while he told you to stay still, hold tight, to listen to him as he began guiding and sliding the already pre-cum slick crown of his cock between the apex of your thighs, against your sex, popping and nudging up against your swollen bundle of nerves.

You begged. Oh did you beg, he'd barely pushed it in when your arm came flying back, grabbing the back of his head, molding it to the back of your neck. When you pushed back on him König had to shut his eyes, lost in the feeling of sinking into you again. Grateful. Thankful. Pleasure bloomed as your pussy did around his thick cock.

"You're so precious like this, little thing. Mein cutie, mein sweeetness." König cupped your jaw and had you look back at him, dancing his hips into your rear, splitting you open just a little more. You hiccupped a gasp, locking eyes as you moved together as one.

"I needed this, oh shit did I need this. Several days without you was fucking torture verdammt, squeeze down like that again, fucks sake." "Is my big bear getting close?" You joked, your giggles turning into moans and curses as you gripped the back of his hood even tighter.

"Is that what you want? Want me to cum inside you, fill up your little hole?"

"Yes."

"Oh! What a filthy little thing you are, wishing to be filled up. You know my love," König slapped your outer thigh before gripping it tightly, your skin sagging with the weight they held and brought you even closer, his trimmed short and curlys getting wetter by the minute stuck to your rear. "You keep begging for it I just might have to hold you down and breed you. How about that, hmm?"

The noise you made made him whine against your neck.

"Goodness! Is that what you want?"

It took a minute for your voice to catch up to your nodding head, swallowing thickly. "Yes! Oh my God that's so fucking hot."

"You like that idea?"

You bit your lip and smiled so innocently.

You were so pretty all he could think about was breaking you in half. For a man of König's size and weight, he's very nimble and can move faster than you can think. He had you on your front in a few seconds, hoisting up your hips, dragging you back just enough. "If that's what you want… tap me if it is too much, my love. Promise me."

"Yes."

He slapped your ass. "That's not what I said."

"Yes! Yes I promise."

König smiled when you moved your head and hair to the side, then gave him a thumbs up.

Any position he was in with you felt incredible, the sounds you made, the obscenities' you called out, the grunts and tangled English weaved with German on his end were perfect. But there was something about fucking you like this he couldn't handle, he knew he had five, maybe six minutes tops before he'd lose his shit and bust his load.

You were practically sobbing at the pace, a literal face down ass up situation as you couldn't hold your body up any longer. The hard slap of skin on skin, you were panting and gripping the sheets in your hands König thought for a moment you might just tear the damn thing in half. When you turned to look at him over your shoulder he damn near came right then. Eyes glassy, eyelashes wet and clumped together, lips pouty and full.

Of course you had to bit your bottom lip at him looking like a holy hell mess.

König shook his head and swore in German, lurching over your back, his sweat keeping him glued to you as he lifted his hood and sloppily kissed you. You cried out when he did, wailing that you were close, that you going to cum. König clumsily reached below you and started rubbing your clit.

"Faster faster, fuck that's it. Oh my… König. Mein König!" Your body dropped as you came, pulsing your gummy walls around him, he was pretty much using you as fleshlight at that point. Your body loose and limber, pliant and soft in the best way possible.

"That's it baby, are you gonna' cum inside me? Don't waste it." You drunkenly laughed, pushing back when you got your voice back.

"Oh I'm not wasting a damn thing, my love." König pulled you back once more, angling himself with one foot on the bed, fucking into you deeper. You were lucky he was still being careful because the intrusive thought of really giving it to you, harshly, harder and pushing your face into the bed was not an option. Not this time anyway. "You're gonna' be a good girl and take what I give you, ja? You want my load so badly, so fucking badly don't you? We're not wasting a drop, anything-- fuck you're so wet baby… anything leaking is going right back in. Understand?"

"Yes! I want it I want all of it. Don't take it out don't take it out." You whined and without him even asking, your had crossed your wrists behind you back, giving up control, submitting.

König wasn't lying.

He did in fact spill inside you, throbbing rope after rope into your cunt. König hung his head, panting, counting his heartbeat before he eased his way out of your hole. Mesmerized by the sight of a glob or two dripping out he slowly and very, oh so carefully guided back into you. You squirmed, sore for sure as he looked you over.

"Are you alright, my love?"

The thumbs up you gave him was all the assurance he needed. He chuckled lowly, the ache he felt for you, warmed him through as he smoothed a hand down your back.