#unbeta'd and barely edited

[celenawrites]

— a soft life: unofficial prologue

Summary -

Retired and domesticated, Johnny and Simon look forward to the next step in their life as a couple - parenthood. However, initiating this process turns out to be a lot trickier than usual.

And then enters you, a tired grad student who is desperate and willing to be their surrogate for some much needed cash. Needless to say, they find themselves orbiting you - like planets to the burning sun.

Warnings - A/B/O dynamics, Metaphorical ramblings of 'killing' parts of one's personality, reader is implied to be an immigrant and POC so expect topics of misogyny, sexism and threats of forceful marriage/parenthood to pop up in later chapters, Unbeta'd and unedited contents so mistakes are inevitable, etc.

Word count - 1, 128.

series masterlist || read on ao3

Your eyes burn. 

The black cursor blinks against the empty white expanse of your Word document, taunting you and your incapability to muster up anything to write for your thesis. You shut down your laptop after staring at the blank document file for what seems like hours, barely mustering up the concentration needed to finally name the topic of your research thesis. 

You lean back against the black ergonomic chair and it creaks under your weight, and you can feel the way your back cracks as you stretch your arms over your head. You take off your glasses, and then let your palms rub at your aching eyes as you contemplate what more you could do to distract yourself from your imminent doom. 

Between your laptop and piles of printed papers, textbooks and notes lies an opened manila envelope that has delivered devastating news to you at a crucial point of your life. 

The education system is unfair in many ways, and going into academia and research is definitely not going to be a walk in the park for you. But your passion for the subject had you undeterred - leaping at the first chance of pursuing your postgraduate degree from one of the most prestigious universities in all of the United Kingdom. And yet, the printed letter you had received last week is threatening your dream and you do not know if there is any way for you to salvage it. 

You have rapidly applied for financial aid, scholarships, internships and even odd jobs - but most of the potential employers have either ghosted you or put your name on a never-ending waitlist. You cannot wait till next year to know if they would hire you for minimum wage, damn it. 

By the time they reach out to you, you might already be well on your way back home. And you do not want to go back home. 

A few tears of frustration bubble up in your eyes, leaving hot tear tracts on your skin as you try to wipe them away. You need a break. God knows when was the last time you had slept. 

At moments like these, when life was too much and the stress made the idea of death all the more inviting to you, your inner voice - your Omega, someone you have suppressed and killed with your own violent hands, would resurface into your life like a phantom and she would haunt you with incredulous ideas and sweet impossibilities. Need someone, need Alpha, she would whisper to you all sultry, Wanna be taken care of. Too much, too much, too much-

And you would bury her remains again. 

You cannot be soft. You cannot be kind. You cannot let people know you care. 

It would only get you killed. Or worse. 

You get up to leave the room on shaky legs and your knees buckle after staying so still for hours on end. You enter the small kitchen, put the kettle filled with water on the stove and turn it up to high heat as you lean against the island and rub your hands over your languished face. You’re so tired. So fucking tired. 

The kettle simmers over the fire, letting out a small hiss from its spout. You pay it no heed. You think and think and think of all the possible ways you can salvage this mess of a situation - only to end up with nothing. 

The market hasn’t been kind, and you do work as a TA and some freelance work online as an editor to ease your financial worries, but it is not enough. 

You can always take up more shifts at the floral shop, but that can also possibly interfere with your academic schedule - which is the last thing you could possibly want. You can always call back home, but the very idea of it fills you with dread and makes your stomach turn and sicken you even more. You could-

The kettle lets out a loud whistle, steam oozing out of it rapidly and the mobile phone in your jeans rings at the same time, startling you into action. You turn and hurriedly turn the stove off, letting the kettle rest on the island as it lets out all the steam stored in the ceramic vessel. 

You abandon the pot of leafy concoction, opting to go outside into your living space to finally pick up your ringing phone. You wipe your clammy hands on a hand towel lying nearby before you swipe the green button to pick up the call. 

“Hello?” you state your name, “Who is it?”

“Good afternoon, Miss” the feminine voice greets you over the mobile, “This is the Larksky Fertility Clinic”. 

Your heart stills. 

You read the email the clinic representative had sent you after you got off the call with her. 

Alice was her name. Alice sounded like a kind woman. 

You read through the attachment files in the mail. The pamphlet outlined the vision and works of the fertility clinic, highlighting their doctors and the various fertility testing and treatments they offered to people and couples alike. The other attachment files consisted of the bare minimum information about the couple that are currently seeking you out in order to conceive. 

Mr. Simon Riley and Mr. John Mactavish. 

Both are ex-military - one of them is a personal fitness trainer and the other runs a security company. They’re willing to negotiate the price for your ‘assistance’; which is something you’re grateful for, even though you’d have done it for free once upon a time. 

While you have always been unsure about parenthood being the right path for you (and your personal aspirations and fears wouldn’t necessarily allow you to indulge in such ideas just yet), you have always wished to help people create the families they deserve. And you believe this call to be some sort of sign, corny as it might sound to some. 

Maybe it's divine intervention. Or manifestation. Or some spiritual signal. 

You have always been willing to help others out in any way possible - from taking on extra workload and sharing necessities to blood donations and volunteer work. At one point, you had been looking forward to helping people out with completing their families - eager to see them so ecstatic about becoming parents. The idea of doing this for money solely leaves your mouth dry, as if you have swallowed cotton - and yet, yet. 

It wouldn’t hurt to try, anyway. Sending out a response through your email, you confirm the time and date of the meeting with the clinic. You console yourself  and reason with your heart (or what is left of it anyway) - you need the money, you always wanted to do this, now is a good time anyway. 

A/N -

I decided to post this almost scrapped prologue in hopes to motivate myself and to keep on writing some more. Hopefully, I will be able to post more in May. Also, forgive the few grammatical errors in this piece, I haven't been too keen on correcting such errors at the moment. I will eventually clean this up later on. I just wanted to put this out there so that I can work on the later parts of this series.

[wintaerbaer]

kissing santa claus (kth)

summary: Taehyung may think you're a little bit of a Christmas Grinch, but maybe helping him start some Christmas Eve traditions will convince you of its magic.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader

rating: generally sfw, but there are some suggestive bits of dialogue (that being said, minors dni)

genre: established relationship au, pure fluff

word count: 1.6k

a/n: a couple days late, but i wanted to get this one out (it's therefore unbeta'd and minimally edited)! i hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! <3

MASTERLIST

“Tae. Babe. This is insane.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because she’s barely even two. She won’t remember this.”

“Maybe with that attitude she won’t.”

You roll your eyes at him, biting your lip in exasperation. “I get that you want to start with the Christmas traditions early, but don’t you think that maybe this,” you gesture up and down at his elaborate Santa Claus costume, complete with boots, belly, and a large, white beard, “might be a little too much?”

He tilts his gaze down, assessing his current look. “No.”

“She’s asleep, babe. She won’t even see you.”

“I need to get into character.” His eyes narrow, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I didn’t realize I married the Grinch.”

You grant him another endeared roll of your eyes, giggling on the inside at how adorable he looks, and wave a hand in concession. “Fine, fine. What's on the agenda, Mr. Claus?”

“That's more like it,” he says, rubbing his hands together before beginning to tick off items on his fingers. “Cookies, footprints, presents. Ooh, and hot chocolate!”

“Again, she's asleep–”

“That last bit is for us.” He adjusts his beard, which keeps shifting askew as he speaks. “Okay, to the kitchen!”

He leads you downstairs, past the rows of family pictures in the hall and the banisters wrapped in garland. The house only gets more festive as you go, bows and snowmen, tiny Santas and elves adorning nearly every surface. And in the living room, barely fitting under the ceiling, is one of the tallest Christmas trees you've ever seen, every inch of it covered in lights.

It’s been mostly Taehyung's doing, the smaller decorations finding their way into your home as early as September. When you teased him, noted that it wasn't even Halloween yet, he'd claimed innocence, saying that it must've been the elves sneaking in at night. You'd decided to roll with it, especially seeing how happy your daughter was the day after–Taehyung holding her in his arms and pointing out the snowmen one by one as she clapped her little hands together.

A daddy's girl through and through.

Taehyung beelines for the plate of cookies and milk that he'd set out with her before bedtime, taking one of the lopsided-looking reindeer that they'd baked yesterday and popping it into his mouth with a flourish. His cheeks puff out like a hamster, and you have to resist pinching one.

“How is it?” you ask.

“Is tasty,” he garbles, picking another one up to offer it to you. “Here.”

You bite into the sugar cookie, savoring the way it almost melts in your mouth. “Wow, they came out great!”

“Our girl is quite the baker,” he says, and even through the beard, you can see his boxy smile.

“She contributed a ton, I'm sure.”

An idea strikes you as you're left with only a tiny piece of cookie, and you press it between your fingers, scattering the crumbs across the plate like constellations. Taehyung gazes at you quizzically, an eyebrow quirked in question.

“For dramatic effect,” you say, and he immediately brightens, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“You're getting the hang of this, Mrs. Claus.”

You giggle at him as he moves to the fridge, pulling out a carrot and crunching the vegetable between his teeth.

“Can't forget the reindeer,” he explains. “They're an integral part of this operation.”

“An operation? What is this, the mob?”

“Y/N, Y/N.” He shakes his head like he’s disappointed in you–a teacher about to impart wisdom. “Santa visits millions, nay, billions of households all in a single night.” A glove-clad finger waggles in front of your face. “You think that happens without the highest caliber of logistics planning?”

You purse your lips, trying to hold in the laugh that so desperately wants to escape–you don’t want him to think you’re laughing at him. He’s just so…endearing. “Why do I feel like you’ve done the math on how fast his sleigh must travel?”

“Over four-million-seven-hundred-thousand kilometers per hour,” he says without missing a beat, placing the half-eaten carrot on the plate and leaning over to grab a baking pan from a nearby cabinet. “Now grab the flour and meet me in the living room.”

The overhead lights in the living room are off, but the tree is more than enough, glowing in the corner like a beacon. And while the rest of the decorations throughout the house are fancy and neatly curated, the ornaments littered around the tree are a hodgepodge of poorly-crafted at-home projects. A few weeks ago, Taehyung found a DIY kit of dozens on the internet and spent an entire weekend putting them together with your daughter, their giggles echoing off the walls for hours as they made them at the kitchen table.

The result was the most beautiful tree you’ve ever seen.

Taehyung places the baking pan on the floor and snatches the bag of flour out of your hands, sprinkling a generous amount of the white powder into the pan below. Positioning himself by the fireplace, he gently presses his boots into the cooking vessel before creating a pattern of footprints leading towards the tree.

You tilt your head to the side, regarding his work. “Okay, that’s actually pretty cute.”

“Right?” His smile might be brighter than the tree.

“And you’re gonna–”

“I will take care of vacuuming it up, yes.”

“Cool, cool.”

He loses the boots after that, depositing them in the adjacent bathroom and disposing of the flour and pan in the kitchen; you spot bright green socks dotted with round Santas poking out from under his too-large pants. When he returns to the living room, he gives you a quick, “Wait here,” before skipping up the stairs.

Only to come back with an absolutely monstrous sack of presents.

It barely squeezes down the staircase, and you jump in to help him maneuver, turning the bag this way and that until he’s managed to drag it into the living room, both of you out of breath. The thing must weigh two tons.

“Did you buy more stuff?”

“Couldn’t resist,” he wheezes, hands perched on his knees. “And one of them is a gift for you that’s really a gift for me.”

“It’s Christmas lingerie, isn’t it.”

He winks. “The gift that keeps on giving.”

The two of you work together to unload the boxes until there’s a tiny mountain of presents under the tree just waiting to be unwrapped. You’ve always loved this part–the promise of tomorrow morning’s excitement finding its way into the air at the sight of wrapping paper and bows. And with Taehyung dressed up as the Big Man next to you, you have to admit that it does feel a little more magical.

“Ready for our grand finale?” he says with a glint in his eye once the stockings over the fireplace have been filled.

“Lead the way, Mr. Claus.”

Back to the kitchen you go, where Taehyung whips up mugs of hot chocolate for both of you, the aroma making the whole house smell as sweet as he is.

“I learned this at the North Pole,” he jokes, twirling a candy cane in each mug before handing you yours. The ceramic warms your hands in the most wonderful way.

“To the magic of Christmas?” you ask, and he grins, seemingly about to clink his cup with yours, when a cry sounds from upstairs.

In sync, you set your mugs down on the countertop and hurry to your daughter’s room where she’s standing up in her crib, rubbing at her eyes and whining.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” you coo, gathering her into your arms and swaying back and forth. “You can go back to sleep.”

But she’s already caught sight of the other figure lingering in the doorway, and she raises her arm sleepily to point a tiny finger at him. “San-tah.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, and suddenly he’s shuffling forward. When your daughter’s arms reach out for him, you pass her off, and she immediately snuggles into the fur on his coat, instantly soothed.

“San-tah,” she mumbles again, and it’s only a few moments in Taehyung’s arms until she’s back to sleep, a bit of drool slipping onto his shoulder.

He sets her down in her crib, murmuring a soft, “Merry Christmas, sweetie,” as she turns over, and the two of you exit the room as quietly as possible, closing the door with a muted click.

With the hush that’s fallen over the house, the dim lights in the hallway, and the smell of chocolate still drifting its way from downstairs, a complete sense of peace washes over you–the world outside frozen for a moment.

Taehyung pauses in the hallway, pulling you in close. “So, have I shown you the magic of Christmas?”

“Mmm, I might need a bit more convincing,” you tease. “Anything else on your list?”

“Just one thing,” he says, and points upwards.

Pinned to the ceiling above your heads is a sprig of mistletoe, tied off with a bright red ribbon.

He kisses you deeply, his lips soft against yours, and it makes you feel even warmer than the mug of hot chocolate did. But when you get a mouthful of synthetic beard, you pull back with a frustrated growl.

Taehyung, however, misunderstands the sound. “Oh, does the Santa thing do it for you?” he asks. “Because you can open that one present early if you want. You’re on the nice list–I checked.”

You lean in close, playfully tugging his beard down so you can give him one more chaste kiss. He can have this, you think. After all, it’s Christmas.

“Go get the present, lose the beard, and meet me in bed, Mr. Claus.”

a/n: pls consider liking/reblogging/commenting if you enjoyed! :)

[sailoryooons]

Suga's How-To Guide | Play | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Camboy!Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: Min Yoongi has been a cam boy for a few years now. The work is easy, the money is good, and he has loyal viewers. When he approaches you and asks if you want to be his muse for a ‘how-to’ series, your view on the infamous Yoongi changes.

☾ Word Count: 820

☾ Genre: Friends to lovers, pwp

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sex work (cam couple), vaginal fingering, voyeurism, mentions of oral sex (f. receiving) mentions of cum eating, explicit language

☾ Published: May 14, 2023

☾ A/N: I lowkey forgot that I wrote this when I was traveling back from Chicago and seeing Yoongi in the flesh and just came across it when I was editing all my writing folders so - surprise? This is unbeta'd and unedited so please forgive me.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Series Masterlist | Part of Hali’s Happy Agust | Previous Chapter

Keyed up doesn’t begin to describe how you feel, hips jutting forward as Yoongi presses a finger firmly to your clit. You’re breathless, head pressed against his shoulder as he chuckles, mouth pressed to your ear. His breath is hot, making you shiver as he slow circles your throbbing bud, a whine leaving your mouth. 

“Can you take it?” Yoongi asks, voice scratchy. His fingers dip down to gather the wetness dripping from your cunt, slicking up his fingers. “Yeah, you can take it. Look how fucking swollen you are.” 

You do look. Up, into the laptop screen, where your bodies are a tableau of pleasure that is hard to recognize. Seeing yourself like this still doesn’t feel normal. It doesn’t feel like it’s you on the laptop screen, where comments from viewers flood the side channel. It doesn’t feel like your body, sweaty and pressed against Yoongi’s chest, sitting between his legs with your legs hooked over his knees, butterflied for the camera. 

The person who looks back at you is lost in a haze of pleasure, gasping as Yoongi’s fingers circle your clit lazily. His mouth attaches to a delicate patch of skin just below your ear, sucking noisily. Pleasure thrums through you in response, your lids closing, losing the vision on the screen.

It feels like heaven. Body hot, held close to Yoongi’s bare chest. His cock his hard, pressed up against your back, sticky and eager. Your nipples tightend, spit slicked from his mouth early and cold from the temperature in the room. 

Yoongi has you wrapped up in him. Melted. Splayed. His. 

It feels so fucking good. Yoongi’s touch is reverant but determined. His hands know your body better than anyone else in the world, his fingers intent as he slides down your cunt with his hands, slipping a finger in your hole. 

A moan drips out of your mouth and you drip around his fingers, sticky and slow. He smiles against your throat, nipping you lightly as you grip his fingers, wanting more. He doesn’t give you more, though. Not at first. He’s intent to lazily fuck you with one finger, palm of his hand pressed up against your clit to provide pleasure.

“Fuck,” you whisper, head lolling to the side. “Please?”

“You said you’d let me play,” he asserts. You can’t see his face but you can hear the pout. You open your eyes to look at him and sure enough, his bottom lip is jutted out, eyes round. It would fool you if his pupils were dilated and his finger wasn’t buried in your pussy. “You don’t want to let me play?”

Instead of giving him a proper response, you whine. His finger presses up against your g-spot, making your vision go white. He snickers and continues, strokes growing faster and firmer. The wet slap of his hand against you spurs you on, your hands shooting to the arm looped around your waist and the one pulling you apart. 

You’ll never get tired of this. The way Yoongi lets you squirm against him, the deep vibration of his voice humming through you as he whispers to you. Such a wet fucking pussy. Just like that, let me hear you. 

The room spins when he adds another finger. You squeeze down on them, walls sucking his finger in. He curses and keeps going, keeps playing with you. Teases you a little, teases the audience as he retracts his fingers for a moment, bringing them to his mouth to suck generously and bring them back down.

“So good,” Yoongi murmurs, more to you than the camera. “Gonna let me eat you out after you come, hmm? Gonna let me taste you?” 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” 

“You’re squeezing my fingers holy shit.” 

There’s a sound that comes from you that is a blur of almost words. You go taught in his arms as your orgasm inches closer. Legs shaking, locked behind his knees. Nails digging into his skin, eyes clenched, breath held. 

When you come, it’s with his fingers buried in you, palm pressed hard against your clit. Yoongi doesn’t stop, the pressure is so strong that your vision pulses on the edge and you can’t catch your breath. All you can do is squeeze until you’re gasping for air, muscles losing strength and melting into him, body twitching. 

You’re spent, panting and slack against Yoongi. He’s soft, lips pressing feather light kisses to your jaw. He sneaks in a small nip to your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth and you wine. He laughs and the sound makes you shiver worse than the post-orgasm tingles.

Carefully, Yoongi slides his fingers from your cunt. You’re soaked, thighs slick and sticky and cold where the air conditioning hits them. Yoongi traces your entrance lightly, enough to make your hips wiggle but not enough to overstimulate you.

Yoongi murmurs to the camera, “Now watch what I do with my mouth.” 

previous chapter

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Tumblr has removed the edit option for asks, so... we're doing it this way until they fix their shit:

The emotional eater Bucky thing got me thinking…would you ever consider writing a gif where Stucky has been together for a while and Steve is called away on a mission for an undetermined length of time. Poor Bucky is worried sick and just keeps stuffing himself at every chance he gets and piles on the weight. When Steve gets home, Bucky’s embarrassed and instead of Steve getting upset, confesses he’s into it and they live happily ever after. With the occasional light teasing thrown in. Bonus points for burpy and hiccuppy Bucky. 🥺

emotional eater Bucky, original ask

Ooooh, this gives room for lots of different scenarios in my mind, so, sure! I can do some writing where we explore a few:

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink, warnings for stuffing, weight gain, insecurity, hurt/comfort, kink discovery, etc.

Bucky gets on the phone with Steve whenever possible. He’s on an undercover mission, so it really isn’t that often, he has to be somewhere completely secure where no one can see the mask of the character he’s playing slip off. It’s not often and it’s not for long but, still, Bucky will take what he can get. Even if what he gets is listening to the way Steve tries to talk to him normally, but… he can’t hide from Bucky. He hears the undertone of stress and exhaustion in his voice, and without realizing it, Bucky transitions from mindlessly pacing their apartment to mindlessly eating.

He stops in front of their fridge/freezer and listens as Steve rambles to him, pretending he’s fine, cracking open a new gallon of ice cream. When Steve yawns - speaking to the dark circles that must be shadowing his eyes, running himself ragged without anyone to look after him - Bucky shoves a heaving spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

Without realizing it, Bucky eats faster and faster, making quick work of the whole gallon as Steve tells him everything he can. Some mission details, but mostly how much he misses being home, how much he misses him, and how much he misses everything else.

Listen. Swallow. Listen. Swallow. Listen. Swallow. It’s the only two things Bucky is doing. So, by the time his spoon hits the bottom of the gallon, Bucky isn’t trying to repress his stress or his worry for Steve anymore. No, he’s trying to repress the hiccups and burps that want to come up. His lips are cold, and so is his packed stomach. He shivers and barely doesn’t groan out loud, using the hand not cradling his phone to massage his stretched abs apologetically. Every hiccup shakes his tight belly (which is getting less and less solid the longer the once-frozen cream sits in his body, he’s beginning to slosh noisily. He just hopes Steve’s super hearing can’t pick it up over the phone). Every burp is gas that doesn’t get released, staying trapped in him instead, and he’s starting to bloat up like a balloon. His abs feel hot with how stretched they’re getting. It feels kind of nice - warm and tight - sort of like cuddling. It’s distracting.

He’s lured back into the conversation, though, when Steve catches onto his heavier breathing and asks what’s wrong.

Bucky fumbles to tell him that he’s pacing too much, ignoring the fact that he’s a damn super soldier, he wouldn’t start panting the way he is right now if he went for a jog and talked to Steve the whole time.

Steve doesn’t think that hard about it. Instead, he apologizes for oversharing.

No. No, Bucky shakes his head. He’s fine. He tells Steve that. And, privately, he thinks he overdid it. Oversharing but… actually under-sharing because no human should eat so much fucking ice cream in under 30 minutes. He’s had way, way too much ice cream. It’s all sloshing and churning in his guts.

Then, the phone call ends with soft goodbyes.

Alone again, Bucky decides that he feels like a swollen tick, engorged with so much blood that he’s expanded. Doubled or tripled in size. How can his stomach get so big? Is this normal? Being able to swell so much? Is this a super soldier ability?

No longer smothering his sounds out of embarrassment and wanting to not worry his partner, Bucky slowly, gingerly bends over to grab a can of soda out of the bottom shelf of the fridge door - hoping to clear out some burps - and groans loudly, grabbing his heavy belly with both hands. He hiccups. He nearly falls back onto his ass, bending over and jolting like that. But he doesn’t. Barely.

He decides to ride out his mistake on the couch, leaning back, sipping his soda, and burping loudly, unashamedly. After a while, he feels his stomach deflate a little. It’s not as hard, at least. He still sounds like a washing machine, sloshing and gurgling, hiccupping and burping, groaning and moaning. But, one good thing can be said about the entire experience, he’s not thinking, for a second, about anything. No anxiety. No stress. No worry. Abstractly, he wishes Steve was here to nag him and rub his belly, but his mind is as clear as it’s been since Steve left.

❤️

Not too long later, after that first nearly instinctual belly-filling distraction/coping mechanism, Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night sweating. He’s so, so worried about Steve that it’s appearing in his dreams. It’s not even a normal dream with images and some semblance of real life, walking around, and seeing and experiencing. It’s just the feeling of being worried. Stress. Anxiety. Teeth-chattering.

Bucky has to get up. He thinks about showering off the sweat, but instead, he tugs off his shirt and sleep shorts, wandering only in his underwear to wherever his feet want to take him.

They want to go to the kitchen. His mismatched hands are on board as well, immediately finding the fridge and opening it, going straight for the pan of left-over lasagna that he had for dinner. It’s an entire family-sized dish. He stopped himself at 3 servings during the evening, but now, shaken awake and needing some kind - any kind of comfort, he can’t quit. It should be gross, he’s eating it cold and only using a fork to carve large chunks of cheese and meat and noodles and sauce out that smear the corners of his mouth, but it isn’t. He’s not thinking. He’s eating. He can’t think when he’s shoving food into his mouth. He can’t think when his stomach is struggling to stretch bigger and bigger. He can’t think when his belly aches with fullness. All that occupies his mind is the slow, intense fullness that grows and grows inside him. He likes the way it feels - being full.

Bucky doesn’t know when he woke up, he didn’t look at their alarm clock in their room, nor did he bother to open his phone, so he has no idea how long he spends ravenously shoving food into his mouth. But he’s there for long enough that he finishes the rest of the dish. The entire family-sized lasagna. Thick, greasy, and rich, sitting in his gut like a brick. A couple of bricks, actually.

“Oh, God,” he moans to himself when his fork hits the empty container with a clang.

His poor belly!

Oh, it’s so heavy. And round.

Jesus.

He’s never seen himself like this! Not even after he scarfed down a whole gallon of ice cream and bloated up like a balloon from the excessive dairy, sugar, and fat. He’s even more round and tight. His body sounds like a drum when he taps his hand against his belly, whining.

So, it’s all Bucky can do to shut the fridge and flop back down onto the tile floor, his belly sticking up like a mountain from the rest of his body. Pale and exposed. When he stuffed himself with ice cream, he was wearing a shirt - clothes - this time he isn’t. He’s basically naked. If he bothered to lift his head, he can almost see the way his belly shivers and ripples, his stomach and intestines struggling to contain, let alone digest all of that food. It’s so much more intense, seeing all this weight attached to him, under his skin. He’s all belly!

Bucky burps so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors woke up and heard the commotion. Maybe worst of all, though, he can’t stop puffing, “oh, oh… oh,” the sounds are all breathy and soft. He’s overwhelmed with the weight of himself. His belly. It’s so tight. Hot, too. Bucky feels like a bug pinned to a board under a heat lamp, ready for examination. God, he can’t even roll around and get onto his hands and knees. He’s stuck. He’s, actually, Jesus, he’s wiped out, yawning after hissing out another burp... tired because it’s the middle of the night and tired because he’s so ready to collapse into a food coma.

He might as well sleep right here, right? Catch some shut-eye while he can with his head quiet, and his body is weighed down?

❤️

In the same week as the lasagna night (which wasn’t a dream, by the way. Bucky really woke up on the floor, and despite still being full in the morning, he made the poor decision to have breakfast. He should’ve regretted it with how his gut throbbed after devouring two whole boxes of cereal, one brand-new gallon of whole milk, and two cream cheese-slathered bagels, but… he didn’t. It made him feel better to keep up the overwhelming tight, heavy, hot fullness, barely able to drag himself to the couch to sleep it all off) Bucky watches Clint and Natasha come home from a two-week mission. They’re both scraped up and bruised, eyes dull from their exhaustion. Neither of them has any serious, terrible injuries but…

Bucky can’t help but think about Steve. Steve can heal minor injuries (and more than minor injuries) easily, but he’s taken advantage of because of that ability. Often. Bucky has seen it, again and again, Steve will go on new missions while still healing injuries from the last mission. Bruises fading. Broken bones still mending. Cuts hardly scarring over before disappearing entirely. Dislocated joints still tender.

He’s thinking about Steve.

Only Steve.

And, suddenly, his body on autopilot, Bucky is outside the Tower, away from his teammates and other reminders of Steve. Before he catches up, his fingers call an Uber using his phone. Then, his mouth has the driver take him to one of his favorite spots, a rundown, old-school diner that serves classic Americana food. The actual classic shit that Bucky remembers eating.

By the time he arrives, all of Bucky is on board with this plan. Except for his stomach. He tries to promise it that he won’t go overboard but…

He’s so hungry.

Easily, Bucky pops his most charming smile, showing off his dimples, and asks the waitress seating him for the booth in the very back corner where he won’t be easily seen. She lets him have it even though he’s alone, and normally corner booths are reserved for bigger groups. Good.

Then, as soon as he’s handed his menu, he goes down the thing, ordering what feels like the entire fucking menu. Not to mention how he double orders some of what he’s had before and knows is good. Still, the waitress dutifully writes down the entire order and brings it to him in manageable waves. If we were thinking properly, he would swear that she does it on purpose, eyeing him with… maybe disbelief? Maybe challenge? Maybe even interest? Either way, she keeps him pliant with lots of refills of creamy, sugared coffee and bubbly, non-diet soda. Then, without even being asked, she brings him a flight of all the different shakes they make.

Bucky is deep in his waking food coma by that point and he’s pretty sure, at first, that he’s hearing things when she claims that they’re the house.

Oh, God.

He has to have even the shakes then, doesn’t he? He can’t refuse free food. Even if he’s about to pop!

The shakes give him a much NOT needed second wind and he vacuums it all up, scarcely remembering that he’s in public and can’t freely belch and moan and hiccup and generally make a scene of how he’s swelling with food. Still, he’s unthinking. Just eating. Stuffing. Growing. Expanding like he doesn’t give a single fuck about the damage actively being done to his waistline.

Bucky eats until he feels so heavy that he could be entirely made of metal, not just his heavy arm. He eats so much that he tiptoes the line of feeling sick. Overstuffed. Weighed down by good full-fat, sugar-sugar (no sweetener for him, thank you very much) food that tastes like home…

“O-oof,” Bucky puffs to himself, shocked by how much harder it is than he remembers to scoot and lift his ass out of the diner booth. Heavy. He doesn’t really fit in the booth anyhow, with his belly pressing painfully against the edge of the table and flowing onto the table itself. He’s so swollen. He needs to get home. He wants to crash and sleep off all these calories. He can’t function he’s so full (but… isn’t that the point?).

❤️

Soon, Bucky has a jittery day, all day, for a few days and he ends up solving the issue by marathon stuffing himself. He JUST went grocery shopping but, there’s nothing that can stop him from cleaning out the entire apartment - the cabinets, pantry, countertops, top of the fridge, fridge itself, and freezer - before giving in and ordering piles of take-out for every meal. Keeping any of his worries for Steve at bay by shoving food into his mouth that only shoves his stomach out fuller and fuller, rounder and rounder, heavier and heavier. It gets to the point that there is no fucking food and he’s sick of take-out despite its convenience.

So, with his belly bursting from his clothes like a dame who’s expecting but didn’t budget for maternity clothes, so she’s making do with what she’s got, he pulls himself out of the apartment on unsteady feet to go grocery shopping. The weight of his belly keeps pulling him forward, making his back arch and hurt. And… Bucky wonders, his cheeks hot, if any of the people around him think he’s round in the family way, not the greedy, stuffing himself beyond sound reason or logic way. He’s seen men be pregnant in the future. Palming his gut in front of the produce, rubbing it, Bucky looks down - he could see it. He could really see it. He looks pretty pregnant. Like. About to pop pregnant. Maybe even overdue. If it were Steve’s baby, though, maybe not. Steve’s baby would be pretty fucking huge and strong and -

Oh, God.

Bucky feels the way the food inside him shifts and churns and his temperature seems to rise at least ten degrees. He needs to stop before his prick gets any ideas and he’s indecent for public with how he’s fantasizing about being stuffed full of Steve like that.

Fuck.

Bucky shivers and hides it by biting into one of the apples he picked out. He needs to keep shopping. Quickly. He needs to get home. (If he’s honest with himself, the thing that he’s looking forward to doing once he gets home is slowly but surely packing every bit of this food into his huge, beach ball belly. How big could he possibly make himself? How badly can he stuff himself full? Hnng.)

His trip takes a turn for the worse then, his tummy is unbearably tight and solid and it keeps hitting the handle of the cart as he waddles behind it, pushing it. Also, with every turn down a new aisle, he keeps seeing Captain America themed cereals and snacks and drinks, and… he misses his guy so badly. So, he snatches it all up. Still! His monstrous gut growls.

Hungry, always so fucking hungry.

How can he still be craving more? It doesn’t make sense! He doesn’t have room for more. But, he supposes he would rather be dealing with an unending appetite than unending, heart-breaking loneliness and stress and anxiety. So… whatever. Bucky eats another apple out of his cart, burping as softly as he can around the juicy flesh of the fruit.

By the time Bucky gets to check out, he has a good amount of empty wrappers to pay for, things that he’s snagged off the shelf because they looked good and he needed to sate his worries, so, he kept stuffing himself.

Eating everything.

Bad, bad idea to go shopping when he’s hungry (even if it seems like he’s always hungry now).

The clerk checking him out doesn’t look pleased with him. But, also seems to have some restraint, appearing to take pity on him (or be making fun of him), murmuring, “bad pregnancy cravings, huh?”

Bucky’s brain short-circuits. He fucking hopes she can’t read his mind. It’s all gluttonous filth now. He does look fucking pregnant. Obviously so. Round and tight. A big fucking globe pulling his back into an arch and making his walk into a waddle, ankles and feet swelling, he’s so goddamn heavy.

“Uh, yeah. Yup,” he grits out awkwardly. He’s very glad the checkout stand comes up to his waist.

It’s too much. Everything. Too much.

Once Bucky’s back at their apartment, he has to have security bring the bags up because he can hardly haul himself out of the car, wedged in behind the steering wheel, let alone the mass amount of food he bought to feed two super soldiers. But! Not even two… just him. Just one.

Just him…

Bucky eats more then. Because Steve enters his mind again.

He eats rapidly as if he’s a half-starved stray dog finding last night's leftovers in the garbage outside, he sweats like a pig while he does it, he pants and huffs and can’t catch his breath with his stomach encroaching on his lungs, pressing out and in, too, he bursts another pair of jeans the button flinging across the room and hitting the wall with how much weight was behind it, and he pops the seams on the side of his shirt with how far his belly expands out after literal days of nonstop eating. He can’t help it. He can’t do anything. He can’t breathe with so much food inside him. He can’t stop panting and moaning, his head spinning. He can’t move yet again. He can’t think about worrying.

❤️

In the morning, Bucky groans like he’s dying, lifting himself out of the dent he’s made in the couch, and heads to the shower to wash off the sweat and crumbs he managed to miss and not suck up like a damn vacuum.

He showers, steps out, and as the steam disappears from the mirror, he’s confronted by the fact that…

He’s chubby.

Like, really chubby.

It looks like he’s swallowed a beach ball or a pillow. His gut is big. There’s some soft fat overlaying his sudden belly (and his thicker thighs and arms as well as bubbling his butt out into a fatter shelf), but really, it’s solid. Solid. Densely packed with so, so much food inside him. God. How did he ever get all of that down his throat? He’s bloated, too. That isn’t helping at all. It’s making it so much worse. After his stuffing spree last night (and the past couple of days), he’s so bloated and tight, and pressing on his belly just makes him ache, it doesn’t get any burps or belches out.

He ends up with the fucking hiccups. Oh. Jesus. He whines to himself between the jolting hiccups. He’s aching with the pressure. The weight. The fullness. His gut and… and underneath his gut, too. He’s so full and swollen, he can’t help it. It’s such an intense feeling and Steve hasn’t been here to, to touch him or do anything, and -

Steeeve.

Bucky tries to stop himself, now worried about Steve being away and Steve when he comes home to find him like… like this.

Blown up like a balloon.

His abs don’t just look stretched, they’re gone! Beyond repair! He had abs the last time Steve saw him, now he’s… round. Big. Heavy - heavier.

But Bucky can’t stop himself. Because he’s an emotional eater. And he’s more worried now than ever. What is happening to Steve on his mission? Is he okay? It’s been a long time since they’ve gotten to call or text, so he has no idea what might be happening… if anything? When is he going to come home? When Steve comes home, how will he react to Bucky being fat? What will he say? Will Bucky be able to lose it if he’s less worried about Steve and he can see Steve and touch him and hold him? Will Bucky blow right back up into the stuffed turkey he is the next time Steve goes on an undercover mission where they can’t keep in touch? It’s all he can think about.

So, he uncontrollably stuffs and packs and shoves food into himself until he’s sprawled out on his back on the cold kitchen floor, groaning and rubbing desperate circles on his complaining belly at all hours of the day. Morning. Evening. Night. It doesn’t matter. He just can’t stop cramming food into himself. And he keeps getting bigger and bigger. Actively growing until -

Steve gives him word that he’s coming home.

Bucky is unspeakably relieved. But, oh, God, what is he gonna do about his weight?

The night before Steve is scheduled to come home, flying back, Bucky eats what feels like, at least, fifteen pounds of Italian takeaway. Everything is carb-heavy, oily, and rich. The only reason Bucky can get to sleep is because of the white noise of his tummy gurgling away, making him forget his worries. Any foolish plan he had to let his bloat go down all tomorrow, not eating until Steve got home, is ruined by the fact that Steve comes home at fucking 5:00 AM.

He crashes into bed with Bucky, and Bucky is so relieved to have him here (and so weighed down by enough pasta to give him a food baby… if babies were fifteen fucking pounds) that he just passes back out after being jostled awake. It’s not until he wakes up much later in the morning - almost noon - being spooned behind by Steve that he freaks out a little. Just a little. He’s remarkably cool, considering that Steve’s big, warm hand is resting perfectly on the fat crest of his gut. He’s pressed against his back where his gain might not be as obvious but… there’s no way he can hide it. When Steve wakes up and processes what he feels, what is he going to say?!

Bucky is jolted so strongly by his emotions that, in trained response, his stomach growls. He’s still stuffed. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t hungry. He’s hungry for relief from his worry and stress and -

Steve shifts, he stretches, he yawns.

He’s! Awake!

Bucky freezes.

His gut gurgles, loudly, trying to get Bucky to feed it.

“Hm, Buck?” Steve sleepily asks while nuzzling into his hair, assuming he spoke and it wasn’t just his overinflated stomach.

Tears prickle Bucky’s eyes, and he suddenly has the fucking hiccups.

Hic. Hic. Hic.

Terrifyingly, Bucky looks down through his watery vision to see his monstrously round tummy jolt and jiggle with each involuntary hiccup. He’s so fat. What is Steve going to say? What is Steve going to do?

“Aw, baby,” Steve’s sleepy voice is so warm on his skin, “got the hiccups?” He squeezes him, strong arms around his wide, soft middle, “you poor thing.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, he shakes his head tightly. No. Go back to sleep, Bucky wills him, testing any possible telepathic link they might have after their ridiculously long lives.

“Shh,” Steve tells him, patting (patting!) the fatty, soft side of his gut where it’s spread out huge and monopolizing so much of the bed, “it’s okay.”

“It’s - hic - it’s not okay,” Bucky whines.

“It’s okay,” Steve touches him so gently, rubbing his jumping, jolting belly, then - Jesus Christ - pulling up his tight sleep shirt to get better access.

Bucky is waiting for the other shoe to drop but it doesn’t. Hic.

“You feel good.” Bucky tries to suck in, but it doesn’t do anything, his abs are too fucking stretched - overtaxed by the sheer volume of food he’s put inside himself, gone forever after funneling so much fat and sugar behind them. “You feel like home,” Steve murmurs into his ear, kissing the back of his neck, “all soft and warm…”

“Oh.” Bucky says involuntarily.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles, “you have no idea how happy I was to come home and feel you-”

“Feel?”

“Yeah, honey, it was dark. I didn’t want to turn the lights on and wake you up. So, imagine my surprise to feel you like this,” Steve drags his wide palm from the top of his tummy aaaall the way down, “you feel really good.” He squeezes him again. Bucky feels himself squish. Fat. Tubby. Excessive. “You’re all domestic now,” he noses his earlobe sweetly, the hint of an endeared, appreciative laugh in his voice, “soft and warm. Slow and big.”

Bucky swallows, he’s… he’s feeling warmer hearing Steve talk about him - about his body. He’s always liked it when Steve compliments and praises him. Touches him.

“You’re so cuddly. Gonna make it hard for me to let you go.”

“Don’t,” Bucky pleads, turning his head to look at him.

“I won’t,” Steve seals the promise with a kiss, “buuuut, if we wanna keep you like this, then we’re gonna have to get up and get your breakfast, aren’t we?”

Bucky’s gut gurgles loudly as if screaming its agreement.

Steve just smirks, his mouth uncharacteristically sharp for how early it is.

With anticipation, Bucky licks his lips. Should he tell him he’s still tender and stuffed? He doesn’t know how much more he could possibly fit into his stomach but… Bucky doesn’t think he wants Steve to go easy on him.

[wannab-urs]

A Ghost of You

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Summary: You and Dieter were made for each other, but that doesn't mean you should be together. Dieter is broken into millions of pieces and you're trying so hard to super glue him back together. Word Count: 3.2k (lol)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MDNI. Angst, illegal drug use, smut, unprotected piv (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), toxic relationship, manipulation, probably abuse idk, the last part might be dub con but it's like not really but if that bothers you don't read it. Let me know if I missed anything. No use of y/n.

a/n: I have never written anything before. Like I'm an essay writer and shit poster, I don't write fan fic. I had this idea for Dieter as your toxic boyfriend that you can't ditch and like... I need y'all to know I'm not trying to romanticize this shit. This is not a relationship to aspire to. Reader and Dieter are bad for each other. I would love for y'all to send constructive criticism as I have no idea what I'm doing thanks love u bye. Unbeta'd and barely edited.

Series Masterlist | Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Sunday

You wake up bathed in sunlight and warmth. You're lying on your stomach, face buried in your pillow, and your lover's body is wrapped around yours, his face pressed against your back. 

"Dee? You awake?"

You feel the press of his lips against your back as he pulls you up against his chest. You let out a huff at the jostling.

"Morning," he mumbles into your skin. His fingertips dance along your body, tracing you from shoulder to hip and back again, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

"Dieter…" you whine and shift so that your naked body pushes back into his. Without another word, Dieter's hand glides down to your thigh. His strong hand hitches your leg up beside you before tracing a path back down your thigh. He swipes his fingers through your folds and you’re already dripping for him. You both let out a low groan at the feeling. 

Dieter grabs your thigh again with one hand, finding your other hand under your pillow, lacing his fingers with yours and slowly pushing his cock inside you. You moan as he seats himself fully inside your wet cunt, pushing your hips back into him and grabbing the hand on your thigh.

Last night had been a frenzy, a desperate crashing together of your bodies. This was different. Lazy. Gentle. Dieter lays open mouthed kisses your shoulder, your neck, your back as he languidly fucks into you. 

"I'm sorry," he whimpers into your shoulder, voice cracking.

You shush him. Your fingers grasp his tighter and you start grinding your hips back into him. He fucks his apology into you, thrusts deepening until he hits the spongy spot inside you. You moan his name over and over into the pillow, pulling your joined hands up your body and wrapping his arm around your waist. He leans his forehead into the space between your shoulder blades, holds you tight to him, and fucks you with deep, hard thrusts. Pleasure builds in your stomach and you gasp with every brush of his cock against your sensitive spot. 

Dieter quietly chants into the space between your bodies, I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry. A tear slips down your cheek and you let out a broken moan as the coil of pleasure in your stomach snaps and your walls clamp down on his cock. Dieter moans your name and buries himself deep inside your cunt, filling you up with his cum. You lie there completely wrapped up in eachother for a few moments, your soft pants filling the air. 

Eventually, Dieter pulls out of you. You whine at the loss, but he quickly rolls you over and presses his lips to yours. You pull back and look into his honey brown eyes. He looks as much of a mess as you feel, tear tracks staining his tanned cheeks, soft brown curls falling into his face and sticking up at odd directions. You breathe out a laugh and press a kiss to his nose, before rearranging so that your head lays on his chest and your legs tangle together again. 

“Good morning.”

Monday 

You sit on a blanket under a tree in the park with Dieter’s head in your lap, feeding him french fries. Your dogeared copy of Jane Eyre is open facedown beside you and Dieter has his sketchbook propped up on his thighs. He’s lazily doodled your little picnic date and scrawled the words I was made for you, you were made for me at the top of the page. You stroke your fingers through his shaggy curls. “You’re so beautiful,” you can’t help but say it, seeing him laid out in front of you like this. The hard planes of his chest and soft belly are visible beneath his threadbare cotton shirt. The hollow of his throat is on display as he tips his head up to take another french fry between his plush lips. He bites down on the fry and cheeses at you with his mouth full. “Gross. Nevermind.” 

“Aw come on babe, you know love it.” 

“No actually you’re a freak and I hate you.” 

He looks wounded for a minute and you worry he took you seriously, but you quickly find yourself underneath him. He kisses you deeply, and thankfully he’s swallowed his fry by now. You lick salt off the seam of his lips and he opens up for you. You kiss him for an eternity. 

He pulls his lips away from yours and whispers, “you’re a freak and I love you.”

Tuesday 

You wake up early and stretch your sleep-addled limbs, taking notice of the lack of limbs tangled in your own. Dieter isn’t in bed and it’s not even 7am yet. You drag yourself from the warmth of the blankets and pad out the livingroom. 

Dieter is standing in front of the window, an easel propped up in the sill. You take a moment to gaze at your lover. He’s wearing his tattered green bathrobe and a pair of patterned pajama pants. He holds a paintbrush between two fingers like a cigarette, absentmindedly tapping it against his leg as he considers his painting. The sun streaming through the window makes him look like a saint in one of those old catholic manuscripts, a halo of light surrounding his head. His hair is sticking up in every fucking direction, but he’s got that cute curl dangling in front of his forehead and it makes you want to die from how adorable he is. A joint is hanging from his lips and his eyebrows are screwed up in concentration. You consider asking him when he got up, but you know he likely never went to sleep in the first place.

“What are you working on?”

“I had this idea…” he trails off without explaining, so you walk across the room and wrap your arms around his waist, studying the painting he’d worked on all night. It’s a near perfect recreation of Goya’s Saturn Devouring his Son, but Saturn looks unnervingly like Dieter himself. 

“It’s beautiful, baby,” you whisper into his shoulder. He smells like weed and incense and like he hasn’t showered in a couple days. “Have you eaten anything?” 

“I ate… um… at like 6 yesterday?” 

You pluck the joint from his mouth, pressing it between your lips and inhaling the acrid smoke. You breathe it out and watch the smoke curl and dance through the rays of sunlight. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and place the joint back between his lips. 

You head to the kitchen and toast a couple of bagels and make a pot of coffee, then you settle onto the livingroom couch. “Dee, baby, come eat.”

“Jus’ a minute,” he mumbles, not looking away from where his brush moves on the canvas.

By the time you finish your breakfast, shower, and get ready for work, Dieter still hasn’t moved from his place by the window. You let out a deep sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that D isn’t really here right now. “Going to work, D. Love you.”

He doesn’t hear you leave.

Wednesday

You unlock the door and are immediately hit with the smell of stale tobacco and weed. It had been a long fucking day at work, and now you’re confronted with the sight of Dieter sprawled out on the livingroom floor, wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. He’s staring at the ceiling and muttering to himself, hands twitching by his sides like he wants to be gesticulating wildly but doesn’t have the energy. 

You drop your bag by the door and heave out a sigh before sitting next to him on the floor, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your forehead against them. “Did you go to work today?” You ask the question, already knowing the answer. 

“I couldn’t, babe. The-- the-- the computer was trying to corrupt my brainwaves. It was making me sick, baby.”

Fuck. Fuck Fuck FUCK. You hate it when he gets like this. There’s no reasoning with him. How are we going to make rent? 

“Okay, D. I get it. It’s okay.” You lay down on the floor next to him, curling into his side and tucking your arms into your chest. You try to hold in your tears of frustration and anger but it’s really fucking hard. You love him so much and you hate that he does this to himself. 

You close your eyes and listen to the record playing softly from the corner of the room.

Weightlessness, no gravity

Were we somewhere in-between?

I'm a ghost of you, you're a ghost of me

A bird's eye view of San Luis

Thursday

“Fuck! You! Dieter!” You punctuate each word with a slap to his chest. He just fucking stands there and takes it, looking down at you with sad brown eyes. You hate him. You really do. 

When you woke up this morning he wasn’t in bed. Again. This time you found him in the kitchen. There were little piles of cocaine on the countertop, an ashtray with a still smoldering joint in it sitting on the ground, and your phone was pinned to wall with a knife. 

“D… what the fuck?” you had asked.

“You can’t have a phone. Baby it’s gonna… it’s… it’s… it’s bad. It’s gonna hurt you. They’ll take you away from me. They’ll make you leave me. They’re fucking with your head!” 

He’s out of his goddamn mind. You know the coke and the weed and the whatever else isn’t really the reason either. There’s something wrong with him and he’s trying to drown it out, but he’s only making it worse. But you're so angry.

“Dieter. I need my phone. I have to have it for work. I have to work, so we can have money, to pay the fucking. bills! Do you not fucking get that?” 

“Fuck the bills! How can you care about rent when they’re trying to tear you away from me? Oh fuck. Oh fuck. They got to you didn’t they? I was too late I didn’t stop it you’re gonna leave me oh god oh fuck oh fuck.” Dieter crumbles to the ground, folding his head between his knees and rocking back and forth. He’s whimpering and muttering and it’s breaking your fucking heart. 

You carefully lower yourself to the floor beside him, placing a hand between his shoulder blades and rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “Shhhh, baby. It’s okay. I’m not leaving you. I’m not going anywhere. I love you. They haven’t got to me. Nothing is gonna take me away from you baby.”

Dieter chokes out a sob and looks into your eyes. His pupils are blown wide from the drugs. He has tears pouring from his eyes and snot leaking from his nose. “I can’t live without you. I don’t know how.” 

“You don’t have to baby.” You pull his head against your chest and bury your face in his hair, kissing his head over and over. “Never leaving you baby, I swear.” 

Eventually you pull him off the floor and drag him to the bathroom. Tomorrow you’d worry about cleaning up the kitchen. Getting a new phone. Probably finding a new job after today’s no call no show. Right now, you push your beautiful, broken boyfriend’s robe off his shoulders. You drag his pajama pants to the floor and guide him to step out of them. You strip your own clothes and pull him into the warm spray of the shower by his hand. He’s catatonic as you rub shampoo into his curls, pressing kisses to his cheek, his chin, his jaw, his chest. You wash days of paint, cocaine residue, weed smoke, and sweat off his body, trying to press your love into him through his skin with your fingertips. You wrap his arms around your waist, throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him close to you while the water washes the past two days down the drain. 

Friday

You run your fingers through Dieters hair, causing little tufts to stick off his head. He’s laying half on top of you with his head on your stomach. He looks so young when he’s asleep. There’s no crease between his eyebrows and the bags under his eyes seem lighter, less purple. He’s so fucking gorgeous it hurts you to look at him. You can feel your heart pulling, like it’s trying to fall out of your chest and land in his hands. 

“D, baby.” You whisper, not really wanting to wake him up, but needing to. “Hey,” you say a little louder, tugging lightly on his hair. He blinks awake slowly.

“Wha-?” he mumbles. You’re sure he doesn’t quite remember how he got here. 

“Baby, I have to get up.” 

“Whyyyy?” and he pouts at you like a toddler. You push your thumb against his lip, folding it back into its rightful position. 

“Because. I have to get a new phone and beg my boss to let me keep my job.” 

“Oh.” His face falls for real this time, guilt etching the lines back into his forehead. You run a finger over the crease between his brows. 

“It’s okay baby, really, but I have to go.” He rolls off of you and pulls the covers over his head. You know you’ve upset him, but you really don’t have time for this right now. You get dressed in your work clothes, just in case they didn’t fire you. “I love you, D. Can I have a kiss?” He pulls the blankets back just enough to reveal his face and you peck him on the lips before heading for the door. 

--

You get back home 7 hours later, having retained your job somehow. Dieter, however, is not in the apartment. You look for him in the kitchen and see a paper on the table. Written in charcoal with a messy scrawl is a short letter.

You deserve so much more than me, baby. I can’t 

I won’t let you I love you. you were made for me but I wasnt made for you. 

Don’t look for me baby. You’ll be so much better off baby you’ll see. Goodbye I loveyou.

Saturday

He’s still not back. He’s been gone for at least 24 hours and he’s still not back. You couldn’t call the cops on him. They’d probably shoot him. He has to be out of his mind, right? There’s no way he was thinking clearly when he left like that. 

You had sat on the couch all night friday and all day today, wrapped in his tattered green robe. It smelled… not the best… but also like him. There was the weed and the incense and the sweat, but there was also Dieter. And you needed him so fucking bad. How could he just leave like that? How could he leave you after making you promise you wouldn’t do the same fucking thing? God you fucking hate him. And you miss him. 

You doze off on the couch, still wrapped in his blanket, fat tears pouring down your face and dampening the collar of your shirt. You wake up and call out his name. No one answers. He was right. You deserve more than this. You could do so much better. You keep looking at the door.

He finally stumbles in sometime after midnight, nearly falling through the door. He rights himself and meets your eyes. “Hi,” he says. 

Hi??? He comes back after nearly 2 days and he says HI? “Hi.” your voice is flat but your eyes are already welling up with tears. 

“Oh baby, I’m so fucking so sorry,” he gushes as he sees your face. He runs over and wraps you in his arms. You weakly attempt to pull away, but he holds onto you and finally you collapse into his chest and sob.

“You… you fucking left me!” you choke out, sobbing harder into his chest. “You made me swear not to leave you and you fucking left me! I’m such a fucking idiot. I hate you” you try to pull away from again, but he grabs your face and smashes his mouth into yours. You push him away again, but he grabs your hands and keeps pressing his lips against you. You push him as hard as you can and storm off toward the door. 

“Where the fuck are you gonna go? Huh?” he yells at you, moving off the couch to stalk toward you. You grab your bag off the floor and look around desperately for a pair of shoes. 

Suddenly, Dieter has you pressed against the door, his hands pinning your arms to your sides. He crashes his mouth to yours again and begins tugging at your clothes. He moves his lips down to your neck and you don’t fight him. You stand still, staring over his shoulder at the wall behind the couch. He pulls your shirt off and for some reason that kicks you into action. You grab his hair and use it to pull his mouth back to yours. His hands find the band of your sweatpants and push them to the floor. You step out of them and he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

He carries you to the bedroom, falling onto the bed with you still in his arms. He’s completely surrounding you, your hands still in his hair, his body pressing you into the mattress. He ruts against you and moans into your ear. “Dieter…fuck,” you moan. He braces himself on an elbow by your head and drags his free hand down your body, shoving two fingers into your cunt. You yelp and yank on his hair until his mouth meets yours again. You lick into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his as he curls his fingers, making you clench around him. “Fuck Dieter. Fuck. Feels so good,” you whine into his mouth.

He pulls his fingers out of you and you nearly scream in frustration. He drags his pants down enough to free his hard, leaking cock and practically shoves it into you, burying himself to the hilt in one rough thrust. 

“God baby, you’re so fucking tight. So fucking perfect for me baby. Made for me.” 

“Made for you, made for you,” you pant over and over again. You dig your nails into the meat of his back as he thrusts into you, pounding you so hard into the mattress that you think you might fall through it. It’s all too fucking much. You can’t catch your breath. He’s suffocating you. He’s everywhere. You surge forward and shove him off of you. He staggers backward, a bewildered look on his face.

“Lay down,” you beg him. 

He hesitates for second before laying on his back beside your heaving form. He reaches for your shoulder and you flinch away from him. “Baby…” he sounds pathetic. He sounds broken. He is broken. You’re going to put him back together. You lay down on your side, facing him, and throw your leg over his hip. You guide his cock back to your entrance and look into his eyes, before giving him a small nod. He pushes back inside you, wrapping his arms around your body and tucking your head against his chest. 

You’re both crying when you cum. Bodies pressed together from head to toe, whispering apologies into each others skin. You fall asleep in his arms, his cock still inside you and tears still pouring down your face. 

-----------

Series Masterlist

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Eighteen

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, panic attack, stalking, online bullying.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd, readers beware as always lol. - I've been fighting with tumblr... its been a day, so this one has a backwards title lol

tags: @tearfallpixie @cncohshit @jordynyingling0219 @faceless-mirror @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747 @witchyweeb34 @black-damask1999 @jilliemiw86 @ilovesamkiszka @lyschko666 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses @laurpartyprogram

Tag List is Open, please let me know if you would like to be added to it or in general.

Ricky was thankful that they left him alone to make the video, and basically, it involved him just talking at the camera, painfully, so much coming out, pain, the worst was actually the joy because the good memories were tainted even more when he had to remind himself exactly what Grace had done to him time and time again, during the video. To remind his followers, his fans, what she’d done, how she’d ripped not only him open, but, Talia too.

Fuck.

Talia. Sitting there while he was in the middle of the video, realising that Talia had said that she’d known the whole time. She’d known since she was eighteen, and holy shit…

Yeah, he caught that moment on camera, that fucking Eureka moment, and you know that saying about how it looks like it must have hurt to be struck like lightning.

Well, it damns well hurt to realise how much of a damn asshole he was. Talia could have slapped him right across the face and slapped him six ways to Sunday, and it wouldn’t have hurt worse to realise he had treated her so badly already, pretty much just used her like that at the party and what? Walked away like the was nothing. Like a fucking asshole. Shit. Sure he’d told himself she’d wanted it, and she had, he’d felt it, but he’d known how she felt, and he’d used that, hadn’t he? And now what?

It wasn’t as if they were going to be together.

Ricky was so fucked up right now, he was in no place to be with anyone.

She was better off without him.

Hell. He’d seen her with Chris. They’d been talking, smiling, laughing… They’d been having fun... Maybe she should date him. They could be great together, he was sure. It wouldn’t be the first time Chris and him had joked about falling for the same girl. Never mind that just the thought then had his soulmate tattoo surging painfully something white-hot like he’d been branded with a poker right from his fireplace,

“Fuck!”

His hand flew to his neck, shit shit shit, fine, fuck, he got it, no trying to set her up and help her be happy with Chris, shit. Dammit. He couldn’t even try to be a good soulmate and help her be happy in a different way, fuck, what the hell was wrong with him. It wasn’t like he even wanted her!

This time the sting to his tattoo wasn’t as severe, and it was more along the lines of a twinge, he didn’t even flinch, he barely rolled his eyes as he clicked his mouse and continued to edit the video. It was going to take time before he could post it. He could have done a live, but Rick was determined to get this right, and he had a feeling if he did a live that it would be too easy to refute the facts. No, this was going to be a permanent addition to his page, he wasn’t going to give Grace even one inch of leverage to say he hadn’t been honest. It was going to be there for EVERYONE to see, and no one, no one is going to be able to say it was edited when anyone that had watched had screen-recorded it.

It was going to be released just as he posted it.

Hearing a knock at his office door,

“Yeah?”

He knew who it was, or at least, who it could be, Chris, Vin, he doubted it would be Ava or Talia, they were all out there, probably even Ichabod, and some of the other guys. They’d all relocated to Rick’s, much to his dismay. Not because they were all here, he was actually glad for the company here, but that they were here. It had actually left a dark pit in his stomach to come back here to make the video, but all his equipment to video and edit was here, so it was the most rational thing to do. He could have borrowed Vin’s gear, but it was always different using someone else's gear, and Rick knew from one look Vin expected him to argue about using his own, so, he did. Even if the moment he walked into his house, he didn’t feel right.

As the door opened, he glanced from his computer screen from his editing program to see who it was, and then right back to the computer.

Talia. It was Talia.

Fuck.

“Are you okay?”

Ricky glared harder at the screen,

“No.”

Talia swallowed at the doorway, seeing the way his brow furrowed, she could see something was wrong from the moment it was agreed that it was best if Rick came back here to do the video. They’d come back to support him, still trying to give him space enough, though. Vin hadn’t wanted to leave Ricky to deal with this all alone, but at the same time, they knew this video was something he had to make on his own, so they were here for moral support but distanced enough not to bug him. Chris had come, and some of the guys on the team in town, it was good to see them all there to support him with Grace going crazy, but it worried her that they knew they had to.

“I was about to make some coffee, would you like some.”

She didn’t think it was this video that was the only problem for Rick, and when she started feeling pain in her neck again, she’d decided to come to check on him, so, here she was…

“Yes, please.. Bla-.”

“I already know, Vin told me.”

Rick stared at the door, it was closed before he could even finish telling her how he liked his coffee, of course, Vin had told her, but even more, that she’d asked, and already had it either memorised or had asked just before coming up here in preparation for asking in the first place. He wasn’t sure which bothered him more, her preparing to be nice, or caring enough to memorise his coffee order before. Both had his hands gripping before him, breathe, he needed to breathe and finish this video. Why did she have to affect him as much as she did?

As he worked on the video, his mind kept drifting to Talia, comparing Grace to her, he didn’t mean to, but he was, trying to focus was difficult. It wasn’t made any easier that the phone kept going off. Shit, why the fuck hasn’t he turned his notifications off already. Picking his phone and altering his settings for the time being, he does just that, he has had enough of it. It wasn’t long before Talia was coming back in and was setting a cup of coffee on his desk, and she was staring for a moment at the screen, a shot of the video staring at them. It was basically just his face, the video was of him talking to the camera, nothing more. He looked worn and tired, nothing good could be said about the screen cap staring up at them.

“Did you want to say anything?”

He asked carefully,

“What?”

Talia was standing behind him as he sat at his desk chair, and he spun in the chair to half-face her,

“She didn’t just do this to me, she did it to you too. She planned everything she did.”

For a moment, as he looked at her, it seemed she was thinking about when he was suggesting, until Talia’s eyes narrowed as she regarded him sceptically.

“You haven’t wanted to talk to me properly about any of how I felt about being your soulmate, any of my story, any of it, as a normal person, and you expect me to pour my heart out to your fans, to help you because of your psychotic stalker? I think I’m reliving the trauma enough than doing it publicly.”

Taking in a shaky breath, she turned to go, Ricky stood from his chair, this just reminded him about what Ava had said to him at the party, and this time, this time he asked.

“Talia, wait, what do you mean, your trauma?”

She glanced back at him,

“Do you think your fans are the first ones to call me insane for thinking you're my soulmate? No, that was most of my friends, my family, almost everyone in my life laughed in my face when I realised it was you. Thought I was ridiculous. Who really has a famous soulmate out there, really?”

Ricky frowned as she shook her head.

“Not even my parents believed me. My dad? He tried to have me committed to a specialised facility once for people who have soulmate-specific delusions, and that is when I decided to move in with Ava. I haven’t had much contact with my family since, as you can imagine, most of them would believe Grace in a heartbeat. Poor, poor, Grace, I came in, and destroyed her life with my psychotic obsessive delusion.”

Talia’s hands were as she wrung them in front of her, Rick stepped towards her, but she just shook her head taking a step backwards towards the door,

“No, I-”

“Talia, I’m so sorry-”

She swallowed heavily as Ricky’s computer made a ping sound, and he glanced back towards it,

“You should get back to that. That’s important.”

And before he could even get the words out that she was more important, the thought popped into his head before he even realised he would care, and maybe he did, a bit, because, why the fuck wouldn’t he? She was already out the door, closing it behind her.

Rick collapsed to his chair.

He was such a fucking asshole.

Even more of one than he had already realised he was before. Shit shit shit.

He hated this.

Fuck.

He hated feeling like this.

Everything was making him feel sick, and he didn’t know what to do.

He hated everything.

He hated that he couldn’t even have a conversation with his own soulmate without either driving her away or not wanting to be bothered and walking away himself, one or the other. Depended on the day.

He hated that he couldn’t sit in his own house and feel safe anymore. Upgrading his security had done nothing. Ever since he came back to find Grace still here it felt like the one safe space he thought he had had been invaded, she’d taken it from him. He’d even run off to Vinny’s today and look what the hell had happened there.

Grace had destroyed their whole day, plain and simple. He couldn’t beg to stay here because one, not only was it pathetic, and he was a grown man who had just upgraded security, but two, he could bet Talia was probably staying in the room he usually crashed in, the nights when they all hung out, and maybe partied a bit too hard and driving home wasn’t always the best idea, it happened.

He hated.. He hated.. He just.. God..

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Staring at the computer screen, Ricky reached for his mouse, he needed to finish his video. It wouldn’t fix everything, he knows it won’t, but maybe, just maybe, it would at least help limit some of the damage when it came to what was being done to Talia and Ava.

He was so tired. He hadn’t told any of the others he was barely sleeping, how could he?

Talia made her way downstairs, she could tell that Ricky wasn’t doing any better than she was, rubbing her neck, the pain from before she went up there hadn’t come back at least, and that was good. That made her feel better. Sighing, maybe that was promising.

Chris looked up as she came back into the lounge, most of them all had fresh cups of coffee now, considering she’d just made them all, she’d been fidgeting and needed something to do, so she’d gotten up to make them.

“How's he doing?”

Shaking her head,

“Not great, still working on the video.”

No, she wasn’t going to tell him about what she said, or about Ricky’s offer to include her story, she doubted he’d understand why didn’t want to include it, Ava might. Sure she could just include the parts about backing off and not wanting to meet Rick, but that wasn’t that bag, except, it was, she’d taken the moment she probably should have first met Ricky from them.

Chris shook his head,

“I should have seen this coming, I mean, ever since Grace was here waiting for him after we got back from the tour..”

Talia and Ava both looked at Chris like he’d grown a second head..

“What?!”

Vinny, sitting next to Ava tried to assure his girlfriend with his hand gently on her arm.

“Oh, don’t worry, babe, he’s upgraded security, it’s okay..”

Ava quickly shook her head..

“Oh hell no, she used to live here too, right?.. Yeah, no.. I wouldn’t feel safe here, especially with her targeting him right now, nope, nope, not at all. Stalker alert, just no. He lives here alone, just, no.”

Talia just sat there quietly looking pale as the guys all shared a look, come on, but then, Grace had been waiting there for him. Just like, she seemed to have been waiting for him to announce they had broken up to do this.

Shit.

She was right.

“Soon as the video is finished, I’ll get him to pack a bag, he can stay with me at my place for a while, till we can sort some shit out.”

Chris wasn’t going to let this keep going.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

[sortofanobsession]

Catching up (Platonic Mobius M Mobius x Reader)

Author's Note: here is just a 1k word scene of camaraderie. A bit of Lokius feels.

Misery might love company but good friends lift you up.

Post Season 2

Unbeta'd and barely edited.

Gender neutral for the most part.

Content warnings: loneliness, sadness.

You wave to Mobius as you walk through the restaurant doors. He stands and helps you out of your jacket. You hug. It almost feels normal. But for you, it isn't.

To anyone in the restaurant you look like two friends catching up, or maybe a couple on a date. They couldn't possibly know the reality of your situation.

Mobius gives you a once over as you take the seat he offers you.

“You look stunning,” he says as he sits at the table.

“Oh hush, you’d say that about anything after knowing me only in those beige and brown boring outfits day in and day out for all of time.” You grin. “But you don't look so bad yourself, M. “Especially the tie.”

Mobius grins as he smoothes the deep green tie he had paired with a black suit.

“You would, considering you picked it out.”

“You needed more color in your wardrobe,” you grinned. “And I know you like the color.” You wink. He shakes his head but you don't miss the sad look in his eyes. You reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “I miss ‘em too, M.”

He nods but the waiter arrives and you place your orders.

You talk about the weather and surface topics as the waiter brings your drinks. You tell him how Casey, OB and Timely have been testing a new feature of an alternative power source since the TVA doesn't actually pull energy from the loom like you used too. Sure, OB had stabilized a source not long after the loom failed. But OB was no longer satisfied with a singular source. He wanted back up for back ups.

“That's OB,” Mobius says fondly. “I'm just glad he has help now. It's not all on him.” Mobius gets that look that you know means he’s starting to get lost in his memories.

“So,” you ask. “How’re the boys?” and you have his full attention again.

“They’re good,” he smiles as he thinks about his sons. “A handful, but good.”

“Mischievous, are they?”

“Oh without a doubt,” Mobius chuckles.

You laugh too because of course the people he loves most are chaotic by nature.

“Well, if anyone knows how to handle chaotic energy, it's you, Mobius.” You smile up at the waiter as he brings your entrees.

“How about you? What have you been up to? Last I heard B-15 had you keeping an eye on some of the former TVA workers.”

You nod. “The ones we weren't sure would adjust well, but honestly, most everyone is thriving.”

“Except?”

“Just a couple people,” you try to shrug off details. But he waits you out. “Brad Wolfe is thriving but he's still an erratic idiot, so we keep an eye on him.”

“Probably a good call,” he says between bites of his side salad. “Anyone else setting off that analyst brain of yours?”

You had just taken another bite of your pasta when he asked and you tried not to sigh.

“Like I said, most everyone is doing well. You hear from Sylvie more than I do, and the TVA is still in transition, but we’re doing alright.”

“But?” He asks, because he's Mobius and he knows to read between the lines.

You sigh and set your fork down. Stalling as you take a sip of your drink but he just watches you with a narrowed gaze.

“Mobius,” you start, tone now more serious.

It's his turn to sign. “It's me isn't it, I'm the outlier.”

“You lost more than anyone, Mobius, and that's understandable.”

“You lost your friend too,” he says. You and Loki had been thick as thieves. You worked with the god almost as well as Mobius did. “And D-90.” You and the hunter had been close. How close Mobius had never managed to get out of you, but he knew it broke your heart when you found out Brad pruned him. He was pretty sure that was why you monitored the actor as close as you do. If Brad failed to make use of the life he killed your closest companion for, you'd prune Brad Wolfe yourself.

“The job always had risks,” you say sadly. “It was always a possibility. But before it had a purpose.”

“For all time,” Mobius says.

“Always,” you finish for him.

“Doesn't make it easier,” he says knowingly.

“Still keep expecting him to drop by my desk like nothing has changed.”

“Now you know why I didn't stay,” he points out.

“I knew that already, M.” You start eating again.

“But you need that purpose, don't you?” He asks.

“I didn't have a timeline with people that needed me,” you tell him. “I just monitor you guys now. No variants. It's rare we actually have to intervene these days. Just watching out for Timely’s variants. And thankfully they haven't seemed to notice us yet. But I think that's more…their doing than anyone else's.” You liked to think Loki had a hand in it all.

It's quiet as you both finish your meals.

“You can say their name,” Mobius finally says as dessert arrives. Mobius had predictably gotten key lime pie. “It's alright. I know you're avoiding it for my sake.”

“Last thing I want to do is make it harder on you, M. But to me, it’s…important. I know Loki’s got a bigger role than just protecting the timelines and free will. I just do.”

“How can you be so sure?” He asks.

You study your former colleague and there it was. The doubt and loneliness is written on his face. Unmasked and very real. You reach for his hand again. “Because of the little things. Brighter flowers, my favorite coffee is never out of stock. A pack of cookies I could have sworn weren't there before.” You admit. “Either that or time has finally swiss cheesed my brain and my memory is failing.”

“Maybe it's just wishful thinking,” he says.

“Maybe, but at least this time I get to choose to believe. And I do. Believe in Loki. Always have thanks to you. So, I know you do too.”

________________________

This one if for you guys. @marvelforever352, @welcome--back, @bugbugboy

[thebiggerbear]

Masks - Dean x Castiel - Prompt Response

A/N: (this was written in late November 2020) So this was something I started after 15x18 aired, in order to challenge myself by using prompts to start writing again. I used the #6 (Mask) prompt for Suptober2020 on Tumblr from @winchester-reload. I didn't submit it since obviously the event was over but I just wanted to try this one & give credit for the prompt. This is my first time ever writing for this fandom & these characters/this pairing. I know it's not very good but after how things ended, I feel a little more okay about sharing it. Any mistakes are mine since it's not beta'd/edited. This was inspired by a moment that happened between my grandparents while we were attempting to dine outdoors a couple of weeks ago. It was too cute not to try to bring in for one of my favorite fictional couples.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Destiel Taglist: @nancymcl

Dean, Cas, and Jack sat at the table, waiting for Sam to return with their food. 

Jack glanced around as they sat on the sidewalk, mournfully watching as people passed by, walking their dogs and keeping a good distance from the tables area. He was particularly aggrieved when a wheaten terrier puppy approached them excitedly and he grinned, reaching a hand out to pet the cute animal when the owner yanked on the leash, effectively pulling the puppy away while shooting a dark glare in Jack’s direction. He stared after them as they left, turning back to find Cas giving him a sad but understanding smile.

“I don’t understand,” Jack started. “I have my mask on.”

“People are scared, Jack. This...virus is something they don’t understand. They’re just being careful.”

Dean snorted from Cas’ left. “People are dicks.” At Cas’ exasperated look, Dean elaborated, “What, you’re telling me they couldn’t let the kid pet the dog for one damn second? Come on. I get it, they’re being safe, but that’s just overkill.”

Jack glanced back and forth between them, noticing Cas’ annoyed expression barely hidden beneath his mask in response to Dean’s unapologetic one. A small smile formed on his young face as he prepared to ask the question he had been wanting to ask for a while now. “Can we get a dog?”

Dean’s and Cas’ eyes both widened. 

Jack hurried to reassure them and explain. “It’s just, I’ve never had a pet. A dog, I mean,” he hurried to clarify, not mentioning the snake he had once taken in. No one spoke about Felix and what had followed after his brief time in the Winchester home. “And I like dogs. They’re furry...and nice.”

Cas exchanged knowing glances with Dean, and he quickly responded before the latter could. “Jack, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jack’s face began to fall as fast as the disappointment settled within his chest. They were still worried about what happened with Felix. “But...I have a soul now…”

Cas’ blue eyes saddened but before he could reassure his son, Dean spoke up. “Kid, that’s not what this is about.” Jack’s eyes snapped to his and though it was nearly difficult to see due to the mask on his face, he could imagine Dean’s restrained smile as he fought to explain. “With what we do, it wouldn’t work too well. We go out on hunts all the time and we can’t take it with us. Who would be there to walk it, to feed it? It would be stuck in the bunker all day long. That’s not a good life for a dog.” 

Jack, not expecting Dean’s response and seeing the slightest opening, jumped on the opportunity. He hadn’t realized this would be part of their reservations, their reluctance to let him have a pet. This he had an answer for. “But, I’ll take care of it. I’ll take it out for walks, and I’ll feed it when it’s hungry. I’ll play with it when it gets bored. I’ll stay with it when you guys go out on hunts. I could take it with me when I go out on mine. I’ll take it outside a lot. You won’t have to worry about anything, I promise.”

Dean leaned slightly forward. “I don’t know, Jack. What, are you going to keep it in the motel when you’re out hunting monsters? Come on, kid. That’s not a good plan.”

Jack nodded eagerly. “There’s lots of places that take dogs now.” 

“And if gets sick? Or hurt?”

“I’ll take it to the animal hospital.”

“And if there isn’t one?” Dean still wasn’t convinced.

“Every town has a veterinarian.” Jack had already looked up all of this information online a week ago when he had been in his room. He had just waited for the right time to ask.

“It would need to be housetrained if it’s not and that’s a lot of work, kid. You ready for that?”

Jack gave a resolute nod. “Yep.”

Cas glanced towards Dean whose eyes stayed fixated on Jack, assessing him. After a moment, Dean nodded before leaning back in his chair. “Okay.”

Jack was speechless, his grin so wide he was barely able to contain his excitement.

“Okay?” Cas asked, puzzled.

“Yeah.” Dean shrugged. “The kid wants a dog and he’s saying he’ll take care of it, I think we should give him the chance.”

“I will, I promise.” Jack was delighted. 

Dean lifted a finger. “But you better keep up your end of the deal, you got me? We’re talking cleaning up the hair, picking up the poop, keeping the dog off my car seats, bath time -- all of it.” At Jack’s happy nod, Dean shifted in his chair. “Alright, we’ll head to the nearest shelter and start looking so you better start thinking of names. And none of that crap like Ruffles or Foofoo, either. I can deal with having a dog around but you give it a name like that…” Unable to finish, he made a sweeping motion with his hand, strongly indicating that Jack should not do that. The kid eagerly nodded in agreement. “Good. So we’ll go, after we eat. Now, where the hell is Sam with my burger?” Dean glanced in the direction of the restaurant.

“Thank you, Dean,” Jack offered softly.

Dean turned back to catch the gratitude and happiness shining brightly in Jack’s light blue gaze. After a moment, he lowered his own and did his best to give an unaffected nod. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Cas studying him, his head tilted and the barest hint of a squint. “What?” He barked out.

Cas narrowed his eyes further.

“Don’t give me that. You are not getting a cat. A dog is one thing but a cat? They throw up everywhere, they lick themselves, they bite and scratch, they look at you like they want to kill you all the time...yeah, that’s not happening.” A moment later, Dean chanced a glance in Cas’ direction. 

Cas was still studying him, but eventually his eyes softened. “Okay,” he agreed.

“Okay?” Dean asked in shock, though he tried to recover his surprise and appear more confident in his decision about the cat thing. Like he had so many times before when Cas brought up the possibility. Dogs he could get behind, but cats...no, he just couldn’t. 

He had nothing against the species but he had no desire to have a bundle of fur around that had sharp claws and canines at the ready should it feel threatened. And in Dean’s line of work, there was bound to be at least once or twice that might happen should something pop in unexpectedly or storm the bunker. Dean had already experienced feline wrath once when he and Sammy were kids. At one of the motels John Winchester had dropped them off at while he went on one of his hunts, Sam had found a stray cat near a dumpster, and after Dean had discovered its hiding place near Sam’s bed and lots of begging from his younger brother, it had stayed for the night. The cat seemed to love Sam, curling up next to him, eager to be petted, purring its contentment. Dean wasn’t sure what to make of it but Sam seemed happy; he just hoped his father would allow them to take it with them, if for nothing else, to keep that happiness on Sam’s face a bit longer. 

Once his brother had fallen asleep, Dean, unable to contain his curiosity, attempted to pet the animal. He had never had a pet before, they had been moving around for years and never really had a home themselves, never mind a place for a pet to live in. But what followed the hesitant pats on the cat’s head and body was a whirlwind of feline fury. Sam had immediately woken up, moved the cat away, and attempted to help tend to Dean’s cuts on his hand and arm, making sure to clean them out effectively. Dean never approached the animal again. He dutifully acquired cans of cat food and handed them to his brother when it came time to feed the little monster, but he kept his distance.

Needless to say, as irritated as John Winchester was a few days later when he returned, they made a pit stop at the local shelter on the way out of town, with Sam sniffling and scrubbing the tears away at the two words John had snapped out in response to his son’s pleas, “No animals.” Dean had quietly attempted to assuage his brother’s pain as they traveled to their next destination, distracting him with questions about the newest book he had managed to sneak out of the library two days earlier when Sam had insisted on finding information he could jot down in a notebook on the care of cats. Some nerd crap having to do with rings and wizards. His ploy had worked and Sam had gotten lost in the explanation of the world of hobbits and elves while Dean forced himself to look mildly interested. Sam had been smiling again at the end of the ride; it had been worth it. Dean swallowed, forcing the memory away as he clenched his left hand into a fist, remembering the sites of the bites and scratches from all of those years ago. So yeah, no cats. Not in this lifetime.

“Okay,” Cas repeated. He leaned in ever so slightly and let his hand cover Dean’s right one, gently squeezing. “I already have what I want.”

Dean gulped at the loving intensity he saw staring back at him. It still took some getting used to, the love that the angel had for him. Cas looked as if Dean was his whole world, his universe, and even though the latter knew the truth of those feelings behind those eyes, it was still something that he was trying to adjust to. Dean wasn’t used to being the focal point of someone’s affection, not quite like this, and he struggled daily to come to terms with it, but he was getting better. With Cas’ unending devotion and careful adoration, he was slowly starting to come around to the idea that he was worthy of someone’s love. It wasn’t easy for him but he was making progress. Cas never pushed him, never pressed for more than Dean was willing to give. He was just there, serving as a silent reminder (and sometimes a vocal one) that Dean Winchester deserved to be loved. 

Dean’s eyes snapped to Jack who was watching them closely, his eyes still bright in his happiness from a moment ago, and Dean remembered that they weren’t alone, not surprised that they had managed to get lost in the bubble they repeatedly found themselves in when Cas did and said things like this. He swallowed again for good measure and gave a nod, looking away to focus on the other side of the street to gain his bearings once again. Cas went to knowingly remove his hand but not before Dean discreetly brushed the angel’s palm with his thumb. “Yeah, you do,” Dean let out in the quietest of whispers and he didn’t need to look to know that the angel’s eyes were now crinkled at the corners from the smile that Dean imagined was sitting below the mask. He knew Cas had heard him; as Cas had pointed out to them many times before, being a celestial being had perks such as sharp hearing. And right now, that fact came in handy.

Cas moved his hand to Dean’s shoulder, squeezing affectionately before letting go, and sat back in his chair. One of the things Dean appreciated most about the recent development of their relationship: Cas giving him time to process each and every one of these little moments between them. 

Dean swallowed for a third time and then cleared his throat. “Alright seriously, where the hell is Sam? Is he cooking the damn burgers himself? Because let me tell you, if he is, I’m heading to the hot dog cart down the street. There’s no way in hell he’s getting me to eat a veggie burger or tofu or any of that crap.” He grimaced at the thought. 

Cas chuckled next to him, a sound that made Dean tip his lips up in a small smile. Cas seemed to relax more once he had returned from The Empty. He was...lighter and a little more loosened up in manner. It took Dean some time to work out that the marked change was that the angel was happy . And a happy Cas took some getting used to. Sure, he had seen Cas laugh before, smile wide, and even crack a joke (it had been the absolute worst knock knock joke Dean had ever heard but Sam had laughed, typical), but this was different. Happiness seemed to radiate from his very being and Dean still struggled to accept that some of that was due to him and his changing role in Cas’ life. But the more time he spent with this new Cas, the more he himself relaxed and felt somewhat lighter, too. And before long, he realized that he really enjoyed being around Happy Cas.

“I’ve eaten one of Sam’s burgers before. I think it was turkey.” Dean stared, horrified at Jack’s revelation. “I liked it.”

Dean shook his head, closing his eyes in disbelief. “Kid, you did not just say that.”

“I do. It was good.” Jack shrugged, not bothered in the slightest at Dean’s exasperation. 

“I’m going to have a word with Sammy when he gets back,” Dean threatened before turning to Cas with a finger in the air. “No kid of ours is eating turkey burgers, soy, or any of that garbage. Sam wants to go full on health nut, fine. But burgers are where I draw the line. I mean it, Cas.”

Cas inclined his head in Jack’s direction. “But if he enjoys it…”

Dean rolled his green eyes and leaned forward. “Aw, hell. Alright, kid, listen to me and don’t you ever forget it. There are three things you don’t mess with.” Jack leaned in closer, nodding, intent on finding out what those three things were. “Burgers, bacon, and beer,” Dean counted off on his fingers. “The three B’s. You got me?” At Jack’s resolute nod, Dean laid his hand back down on the table. “Now, say it back to me.”

“Burgers, bacon, and beer,” Jack repeated, a little uncertainty coloring his tone. When Dean gave him an approving nod, Jack smiled proudly.

“And don’t you ever forget it,” Dean finished, sitting back in his chair. 

“How could beer be messed with?” Jack seriously mulled it over. He now knew what Dean was referring to for the burgers, and he had already witnessed the debate between the Winchester brothers on the merits (from Dean) of regular bacon vs. the health effects (from Sam) on turkey and veggie bacon. 

“Anything with ‘light’ in the label, you avoid. At all costs,” Dean warned him.

“Got it. No light beer.” Jack had no idea what this light beer was or why it messed with beer in general but if Dean said to stay away from it, he would.

“Some people do enjoy light beer,” Cas offered. “From what I’ve read on the articles Sam showed me, it--”

Dean turned a dark glare on the angel. “Don’t.”

Cas was saved from replying by Sam’s sudden appearance. 

“Hey guys, sorry, they’re a little backed up in there. Alright, here we are.” Sam placed the tray down on the table and proceeded to hand out everyone’s order. When he placed a basket in front of Dean, the latter regarded it suspiciously. He quickly lifted the bun and inspected the contents, and more importantly, the meat. 

Sam, who watched him in confusion which rapidly turned into annoyance, had enough. “It’s beef, Dean.”

Dean shifted his eyes to his brother dubiously. Sam had tried to sneak him a turkey burger under the guise of a regular burger at least twice now. He wasn’t taking any chances. Seeing Sam’s confirming nod, he removed his mask and then prepared to take a bite. “No more turkey burgers for the kid.” 

Sam’s jaw dropped and he flickered his gaze to Jack who was thoroughly enjoying his burger. “He likes them.”

Dean chewed his food and managed to get out, “No more. You’ve already got him eating that kale crap. That’s enough. He’s a growing boy who needs his protein. Real protein.”

Sam opened his mouth to retort but Dean held up a hand, shook his head, and pointed to the burger before taking another massive bite. 

Sam let out a sigh, trading glances with an indifferent but slightly amused Cas. They were used to this by now. Sam had always fought the battle for Dean’s health but Dean made sure he lost, every single time. He had eventually given up but when Jack came long, he was determined that the kid would not grow up on microwave dinners and convenience store food as he and Dean were forced to live on for years. But once again, he and Dean were on opposite sides of the issue. Cas usually backed him in their joint quest for a healthier lifestyle for Jack, but lately, the angel didn’t seem as inclined to insert himself in these inane squabbles between him and his brother. One glance and a tiny smile from Cas towards Dean who was heartily enjoying his meal indicated the reason why.

Sam was on deck to make dinner tonight, later at the bunker. Eileen had gone for a supply run that morning and he already had everything he needed to make a healthy and nutritious dinner. He already anticipated Dean’s complaints (funnily enough Jack never complained, but Dean always did, you would think he was the kid) but he knew without a doubt, Eileen would fully support him in his mission. Sure, there were times, she and Cas exchanged a look of disbelief and silent pleas for help from each other when the debates lasted a little too long and got a little too loud, but all in all, Sam usually won because they all loved Jack and wanted what was best for him. On those nights, like he already knew would occur again tonight, he made Dean something else on the side to counteract the vegetables and Orzo that his older brother refused to eat. 

“It’s the three B’s,” Jack informed Sam helpfully. “Burgers, bacon, and beer.”

“What about them?”

“You don’t mess with them.”

The irritated glare Sam sent Dean would have made any demon cringe. 

“I do like the turkey burgers you make, though,” Jack shot Sam a reassuring smile. 

Sam smiled back gratefully, and then gave Dean a smug nod. Dean rolled his eyes and continued eating. He could give Sammy hell later. Right now, he was too hungry to bother.

“Sam, I’m getting a dog,” Jack announced proudly, his grin so wide it looked like it might start to hurt.

Sam’s hazel eyes widened in surprise and he looked to Dean and Cas. The former kept eating but the latter nodded and Sam thought it over, his brows furrowing.

“Dean says as long as I take care of it, I can get one.”

Sam glanced at his brother in shock, knowing how he felt about pets mixing in with their lifestyle. Dean lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug and took another bite. “The kid promised he would take care of it. I think it’s worth a shot,” he managed to get out around his food.

Sam’s eyes snapped to Cas’ and after a moment, he nodded in approval. “Okay.”

Jack’s smile grew even wider and he returned to his meal, the excitement radiating off of him in waves. 

Sam picked up his burger. “So, when were you planning to go look for one?”

“After we eat,” Dean responded, taking a sip of his beer. “We’ll head to the local shelter and take a look around.”

“And I have to give it a good name. Will you help me think of a good name, Sam?” Jack looked to his dad hopefully.

“Of course. Do you know what kind of dog you want?” 

Jack thought it over. “I’m not sure.” He glanced up at Dean worriedly. 

“That’s what looking is for,” Dean reassured him, immediately setting the kid at ease. “A shelter has all kinds of dogs looking for a good home. Me? I’m more of a big dog guy but you...this will be your dog, kid, your responsibility. You pick what you want.”

“As long as I don’t name it Foofoo or Ruffles,” Jack stated eagerly.

Sam shot Dean a look of disbelief and the latter smiled smugly before taking another sip. “That’s right.”

Shaking his head and looking to Cas, Sam asked, “And what about cats?”

Cas’ subtle shake of his head didn’t go unnoticed by any of them. Sam ignored the pointed look his friend sent him, and flickered his eyes to Dean.

Dean shook his head. “No cats.”

Sam scoffed. “Just like that?”

Dean put his beer bottle down, picking up his burger again. “Just like that.”

Sam went to respond when Cas cut him off. “It’s fine, Sam. Cats don’t appeal to everyone. Not the way a dog does.”

Sam gazed at the angel in disbelief. Cas had wanted a cat for as long as any of them could remember. While they were all settled now in the bunker, one big happy family, and if Jack could have a pet, then why couldn’t Cas? Neither of them got to experience that. It was true, having a dog and cat together might prove to be difficult at first, but he was sure they could make it work. It was a big bunker. While he understood Dean’s aversion to pet hair and offputting smells, and his deep dislike for cats in general, why couldn’t he just make an exception this one time? It was Cas , after all. “Yeah, but cats are less work than dogs.” At Cas’ uncertain look straying towards Dean, Sam relented. “You know there are other pets out there, other than cats, dogs, and snakes, right?”

All three pairs of eyes landed on him, Dean’s narrowed while Cas’ and Jack’s were wide. “Like what?” The latter two asked in unison.

“Like…” Sam attempted to think of something small like a cat, something that he could see Cas with. “Birds,” Dean’s eyes widened and he gave a subtle shake of his head that Sam purposely ignored. “Fish, turtles, lizards,” Dean closed his eyes in annoyance and wiped a hand down his face in tired defeat. Sam decided to put him out of his misery. “Hamsters, guinea pigs. There’s a lot.”

Cas’ eyes lit up in wonder. “Guinea pigs? You said you didn’t have one when I asked. That you were the guinea pig.”

Sam stared at Cas, trying to determine if the angel was serious, but Cas’ head tilt reminded him that yes, he was indeed serious. This was Cas . “Because I didn’t and I was. But forget that, it doesn’t mean you couldn’t have one if you wanted, Cas.”

Cas’ happy smile dimmed slightly when he turned to look at Dean. Dean was staring right at him, his expression pained. Cas gave Sam a short nod. “That’s okay. I appreciate it, Sam, but I don’t need a pet.”

Sam shot Dean a dark look but the man surprisingly wasn’t paying attention to him. Instead, his brother was laser focused on Cas folding his hands and staring down at his uneaten burger. At the softening of his eyes, Sam knew what Dean was going to say before the words even came out.

“A guinea pig might not be so bad.”

Cas’ eyes grew wide once more and he glanced over at Dean in shock. “It’s not?”

Dean continued to study him for a moment. He then licked his lips and picked up his phone. “It’s not,” he confirmed. “Depending on the dog Jack here picks out, it might be too crammed for the backseat of Baby right now. But you and I can drop them off and run to the pet store in town, take a look around, and see if it’s what you really want.” He offered the phone to Cas. “Google it and find out what kind of food it eats.”

Cas took the phone gratefully, a bright smile appearing on his face. “Are you sure?”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, a hint of a warm smile starting to form, and nodded. The smile grew at Cas’ gleeful expression as he unlocked Dean’s phone and began frantically searching for any information he could find on the small animals. Dean slowly removed his hand after a moment and glanced back up at the other side of the table, seeing knowing grins reflected back at him. 

He rolled his eyes and went back to his burger. “I don’t want it staying in my room, though. I’m not waking up to that thing staring back at me.”

Cas nodded. “I’ll keep it in my room at night,” he agreed as he scrolled. “It says here they make a lot of noise and I wouldn’t want anything interrupting your four hours.”

Dean mouthed ‘great’ and mimed holding a gun up to his head and pulling the trigger where Cas couldn’t see it. Jack pretended he hadn’t seen, either, but Sam’s smug smirk never went away. Not really.

After they continued to eat in silence for the next few minutes, Sam glanced around at all of the passersby and fellow patrons sitting at tables on the sidewalk. “It’s almost like Chuck never really went away.” He shook his head and balled up his napkin.

“Why would you say that?” Dean wondered.

Sam waved his hand around. “All of this. I mean, as soon as we take care of him, a pandemic hits. Kind of weird timing, don’t you think?” At Dean’s worried look in Cas’ direction, Sam immediately began backtracking. “I’m not saying he’s back. I’m just saying it’s weird, that’s all.”

“How about you don’t say it at all?” Dean ground out. “We got rid of that cosmic dick and he’s gone. For good.” He leveled a glare on Sam that clearly indicated the topic of Chuck was closed forevermore. 

“A pandemic is strange,” Cas agreed, never looking up from the phone. “But I highly doubt it’s related, Sam. A pandemic isn’t an exciting story, not to Chuck. No, this happened because of humans. And unfortunately, all of the other humans have had to deal with it.”

Dean appeared slightly relieved and reassured, but then his face darkened again. “Yeah…”

Sam was going to explain that he hadn’t meant Chuck was literally back, but decided to let the matter drop entirely. He began to discuss possible dog names with Jack, and pretended not to notice when Dean leaned over to look at the picture Cas wanted to show him, their heads nearly touching, and the laugh that tore out of Dean as he grabbed the phone back to show Cas something else. He was happy for his brother, knowing that Dean never believed he too could have something resembling a good ending. Dean and Cas were still figuring things out but he had seen the former as relaxed as he had ever seen him. Dean was grateful that their family was back together, long drives in Baby, family hunting trips, Sunday fishing forays for Dean and Jack, Tuesday movie nights, and all. And Sam was just as thankful, especially when Eileen had been added to their ranks. This ending was so much better than Butch and Sundance. They might not have gone out in a blaze of glory but Eileen’s bright smile, a warm laugh from Cas as Dean continued telling a funny story with pure adoration filling the latter’s eyes, Jack’s youthful excitement shining from his face as he talked about his plans for his dog, the world being safe from Chuck...this was so much better than their original desired ending that it wasn’t even close.

“What about...Hank?”

Jack pulled Sam out of his reverie with the odd name choice. “Hank?”

The kid smiled and nodded. 

Sam returned the smile and sat back in his chair. “How about we wait to see which dog you get? You know, if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Jack brightened. “Okay. I will.”

A sneeze sounded from across the table and everyone looked up in time to see Dean let another one loose. He shook his head and sniffled. “Sorry.”

“Bless you,” Sam offered. 

Dean waved it off but Sam watched as Cas grabbed a napkin and handed it to his brother. Before Dean could thank him, Cas pulled him close and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Dean grimaced and waved him off, groaning, intent on not being coddled. “I’m not a baby, Cas.”

“No, you’re not,” Cas confirmed. “You’re a full grown adult that appears to be getting sick.”

“It’s a sneeze.”

Cas narrowed his eyes and held up the napkin that Dean had thrown carelessly on the table. “I counted two.”

Dean stared at the angel for a moment and Sam smiled when he saw his brother give in. He snatched the napkin from Cas’ fingers and blew his nose. He bunched up the napkin and threw it into his empty basket. “There. You happy?” Dean hurried out, sounding a little more nasal. 

Cas’ smile was blinding. “Very.” Dean didn’t resist Cas pulling him back in to place another kiss to his temple. He grimaced again but didn’t move away, allowing Cas to do as he wished. 

Sam attempted to smother a grin but failed miserably. When Dean sneezed once more, Cas lifted a finger asking if he could take his temperature which the hunter immediately batted away, telling him he was fine and that was never going to happen. Dean then rolled his eyes and took the proffered second napkin from Cas, blowing his nose as he did previously. Jack had managed to pull up pictures of dogs on his phone and was letting them all know which ones he thought would be a good match for him. Cas wondered if the dog would try to eat his guinea pig, if he should be concerned, which earned a horrified look from Jack and another loud groan from Dean. As Sam got up to throw out their garbage, he heard Cas’ promise to make Dean some chicken soup when they got home and assurance that they could go to the pet store when he was feeling better, Dean’s insistence that he wasn’t sick, and Jack’s promise that he wouldn’t let his dog eat Cas’ guinea pig. The younger Winchester smiled. A better ending indeed.

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[late-to-the-party-81]

Behave

A/N: Hi all! Major apologies for the lateness of this, my last entry for Kinktober, and the prompt Gang Bang/Orgasm Control.

As usual - unbeta'd.

Find my masterlist here

Edit: This is now a series - find the series master list here

@clearwatersfalling, I hope I did justice to your vision, this sort of ran away with me....

Grouping: Soft!dark! Steve, Bucky and Sam x Reader

Word count: 3.8k

This is a dark fic! Not your thing? Move along.

Not suitable for minors!

CW: Attempted Rape; Actual non-con/Rape; Threats of violence to reader; canon typical violence (not to reader); cohersion; kidnap; drugging; oral sex (both m and f receiving); rough p in v sex; brief mention of suicidal thoughts; slight dacryphilia

Behave

Your lungs burned and your legs throbbed as one word repeated itself inside your mind.

Run.

RUN.

RUN!

In a world gone to shit you always tried to keep your head down. You didn’t want to attract the attention of the scavenging bands who roamed the outlands, looking for a quick feed, a quick buck or a quick fuck. And they wouldn’t ask.

When the collapse of society came the great and the good flocked to safe conclaves, afforded the protection of the remaining military and police. Those in New York were lucky enough to get the added protection of the Avengers. However, the normal folk were mainly left to fend for themselves. Some managed to barter entry to a conclave, giving up their personal freedoms for security and safety, but you were not one of them.

For the last two years you’d managed to keep yourself relatively safe and healthy. You knew you were underweight, but that wasn’t unusual for an outlander. You’d avoided any major injuries and lived in a warehouse with a handful of other women, and some children. Today it had been your turn to go and seek out some supplies, and despite your care and attention, your run of luck had finally run out.

You’d been spotted and now your only hope was to outrun them and hide until they gave up. If they caught you, the best you could hope for was a beating for the hell of it. But it was more than likely that you would be raped and killed for sport, and not necessarily in that order. The scavengers barely retained any semblance of humanity any more, taking what joy they could in unfailing sadism. And your friends would mourn you and move on. People disappeared all the time, it just couldn’t be helped.

So you kept running, alert to any escape route, trying to ignore the whoops and hollers from behind you as the ‘once-men’ chased you like an animal. But the problem with looking around in such a manner, is that you fail to look down. Fail to see the small things that could set you a-cropper.

An involuntary shriek left your mouth as you tumbled to the ground. You don’t know what you caught your foot on, it could have been anything, but that didn’t matter. You felt pain lance through your knee, the thin fabric of your trousers ripping, the gravel on the ground tearing through your flesh. That was followed by your palms hitting the ground, and you skidding along before you rolled through sheer force of momentum, only coming to a stop when your back hit something hard.

You tried to get up, scrabbling for a handhold of any description. What remained of your calm was now slipping away, desperation taking hold of you. A large, rough hand grasped hold of your wrist and pulled you upright, causing further pain to shoot through your battered body. You lashed out with your free hand, and received a backhanded slap to the cheek for your trouble.

“We’ve got a live one here! Seems to be in decent nick too….”

You were surrounded by gruff laughter and lewd imaginings. One man, not the one holding you, advanced, leering and rubbing at his groin. You kicked out with your feet and screamed, but your captor just shook you until your teeth rattled.

“Can someone gag her, or tie her or something. I like a bit of spunk as much as the next guy, but I don’t want to have to work too much for it.”

Tears ran down your face, and your hysteria was rising. You looked around for some kind of weapon. You wouldn’t be able to defend yourself against this many scavengers, but you might be able to speed your own death.

Another man stalked towards you, a rope in his hands and you instinctively tried to pull away, despite knowing it was futile. And then all at once things got really crazy. The man with the rope was suddenly bowled over and something metallic rebounded off the wall behind you with a clang. Then the man holding you just crumpled to the ground as red bloomed on the brickwork. The remaining men turned to face the incoming threat, with shouts and cries, throwing projectiles and swinging chains. It seemed, in your dazed and scared state, that a giant bird came down from the sky and started to attack.

You curled up on the floor, trying to make yourself as small as possible, and closed your eyes. Your hands came up to cover your ears as you tried to block out the sounds of men being beaten and shot. An eternity later, which was probably only a few minutes, the echos of violence fell away. The only sound remaining was that of boots crunching across the ground. But you curled up tighter, shaking in fear.

“Shhhhh, bunny. It’s alright now. Come on, open those eyes for me.” The voice was deep, and smooth. And commanding. Your eyes opened, almost without volition. You looked up and were caught in a gaze of brilliant blue.

“There we go. All safe.”

You saw movement in the corner of your eye, and turned your head. Two other men stood there, one dressed in black, with shaggy chestnut hair and slate blue eyes, the other wearing some kind of pack on his back, goggles pushed up on his forehead, over close cropped dark hair, taking you in with eyes like molten chocolate.

“Don’t worry about 'em bunny, they’re with me.”

You turned back to the first man. He had dark blonde hair, and a shaggy beard. He smiled at you, teeth shining brightly.

“We’re going to take care of you, sweet thing. Never let anyone hurt you again.”

You looked up at your guardian angels, still running on adrenaline. There was a slight scratch against your arm and you turned to look. The blonde man threw a syringe over his shoulder into the pile of rubble.

“What…..what did you do?”

Your head was spinning, but you tried to push yourself up anyway.

“Don’t panic. You’re gonna come back with us now, bunny, back to the conclave. Got a nice spot all ready for you.”

He scooped you up into his arms as the world in front of your eyes turned black.

--------------------------------

When you regained consciousness the first thing you realised was that you were warm. Warmer than you had been in a long time. And the second thing was that you were naked. Your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself in a soft bed. There was no-one in the immediate vicinity, but you could hear the mumble of deep voices from close-by. Sitting up, you tried to push away a wave of dizziness. Why to fuck had that man saved you, just to drug you? Who the fuck was he? Who the fuck were his fri……Oh shit.

He’d mentioned a conclave. He must have meant the New York conclave. And the only residents brave enough to leave it were the Avengers. Which meant…..

Your head whipped round as the three men walked into the room. The Captain, the Falcon and the Winter Soldier. You gripped the sheets to your chest, like completely ineffectual armour. They were out of their fighting gear now, wearing the nicest clothes you’d seen since the Downfall. They were also clean, their hair slightly damp. And you realised that you were clean as well, and you smelt…..nice. Like flowers you could barely remember. They must have washed you down and dressed your injuries whilst you were unconscious.

Sam Wilson approached you first, crouching down in front of you, so your eyes were level. His hand came up to stroke at your hair and you tried not to flinch.

“Hey pretty thing. Feeling better?”

You didn’t answer his question, instead choosing to ask one of your own.

“Why am I here?”

Your voice came out barely louder than a whisper.

“Why, to keep you safe of course. The outlands are no place for a sweet girl like you.”

His other hand slid up your leg over the thin sheet.

“You’re gonna be all safe and cosy here with me and Steve and Buck there. He don’t say much, but he’s looking forward to you staying with us.”

Your eyes darted backwards and forwards, dread pooling in your stomach. How had you thought them guardian angels? Guardian demons more like. Their words were polite and gentle, but you could feel the undercurrent of corruption.

Steve then stepped forwards, sitting himself down on the bed beside you. With a long, lean finger, he turned your head towards him and rubbed his nose against yours.

“Gonna treat you so good, bunny. You behave and you’ll get anything you want…”

A whimper left your throat and you shifted slightly, your fight or flight response threatening to overrule your head. Steve’s large hand cupped your jaw, his thumb swiping over your chapped dry lips.

The bed dipped behind you and soft plump lips started to trail their way across your shoulder blades and cold metallic fingers held onto your waist, and oh, now your body was reacting in a different, but still unwanted way.

“That’s it sweet girl,” Sam’s voice purred in your ear. “Let it all go. You belong to us now.”

“Стив, я чувствую ее запах. Так мило...”

The gravelly, underused voice of the Winter Soldier came from behind you, although you didn’t understand his words.

“I know, Buck, I can smell her arousal too.”

You could hear the amusement in Steve’s voice.

You weren’t sure what it was about the revelation of the extent of their enhancements that made something in you snap, but your eyes shot open and you tried to lurch off the bed, away from the three men.

You must have surprised them a bit, as you broke out of their holds. However, still being wrapped in the sheet you only made it a few steps before it tangled around your feet and for the second time that day, fell to the floor. Luckily for your already bruised body, there was carpet on this one. Unluckily, your actions seem to have shifted something in the three men’s mood.

Sam was closest and his hands took hold of your already sore wrists and pulled you up against his body.

“Oh, baby. Why did you do that? You weren’t listening to Steve were you? You only get what you want if you behave…..”

The purr of his voice was menacing and you couldn’t help but shiver, the sheet wrapped around you starting to bow down to gravity. His eyes, which under other circumstances would have entranced you, were hooded and cold.

“But that little stunt was not what any of us would call behaving. Which means you don’t get what you want. But I can assure you that we will.”

His lips crashed down on yours, hot and demanding. His passion was unrestrained, and you could feel his hardness pressed against your thigh. His lips forced yours apart and you squeaked into his mouth as his tongue pushed past your teeth. It crossed your mind to bite him, but as if you had broadcast the thought, Steve’s voice whispered in your ear.

“Don’t even think about it, bunny. You made us cross by trying to run. Just think how angry we will be if you try to hurt one of us……”

As his hands helped the sheet make its final journey to the floor, he nipped at your lobe both a warning and also a promise. Sam pulled his mouth from yours, lifting you up and tumbling you back onto the bed. You made to sit up, but the metal hand of the Winter Soldier spread across your stomach, easily pinning you down.

“Я хочу тебя попробовать”

His head dipped, dark hair falling across his face and his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, causing your body to arch and a cry to leave your throat. There was a chuckle, but whether it was from Steve or Sam, you couldn’t tell.

But it was Steve who captured you mouth this time, his tongue tangling with yours as he moaned into you. The stress of the day and the conflicting feelings and sensations running through your body were making you dizzy. You couldn’t stop your body responding, and part of your brain was telling you that you might as well enjoy it if you could. If they had merely wanted to slake their needs with your body, they would have done so, they had no need to make it pleasurable for you. However, your pondering was disrupted by the feeling of lips on your inner thighs, Sam’s by process of elimination. His hands pushed your thighs wide and he settled between them, before using his dexterous fingers the pry your folds apart.

“So pretty….,” he mumbled before licking a stripe up your core and diving into your pussy like a man starved. Bucky continued to worship your breasts, sucking and nipping the sensitive flesh in turn, and all the while Steve made out with you, one hand holding your chin still, the other pining your wrists above your head. You’d given yourself over to the pleasure now, Sam having to hold your hips down as he ate you, against your subconscious attempts to increase the friction. Your back was still arched under the Winter Soldier, and you mewled into Steve’s mouth. You could feel your orgasm closing in on you, the pressure growing in your abdomen. You were teetering on the edge when Steve pulled his mouth away from you.

“Stop!”

The command left his lips and immediately Bucky and Sam pulled back. You whined as you felt the pleasure slip away and you opened your eyes, searching Steve’s face. He smirked in return.

“We told you, bunny, you don’t get what you want unless you behave……”

The other two men were shifting on the bed, and when you looked you saw that Bucky had removed his clothes. Your eyes trailed down over his solid body, and cut abs, drawing in a breath when you saw his cock, hanging heavy between his thighs. He was beautiful, despite the scarring on his left side. The light in the room reflected off his metal arm. You didn’t want to think about the damage it could inflict on you. He crawled up your body, the expression on his face feral.

“Ты будешь кричать, когда я тебя испорчу.”

You were still none the wiser as to what he said, but it sounded like a promise. He began to push his way into your wet core and you cried out, desperate for something to hold on to, but Steve still had hold of your wrists.

“Fuuuuuuuckkk!!”

“That’s the idea sweetheart.”

Steve’s voice teased you but you were still distracted by the feeling of Bucky splitting you apart. He was rocking gently, but firmly, working his whole length into you. When he bottomed out he rested his head on your chest, but the reprieve only lasted a few moments. He raised his head again, took his lower lip between his teeth and pulled back, almost leaving your cunt, before slamming back in again. He set up a brutal pace, and he bit at the skin around your breasts. The pain and the pleasure mixed within you, making you delirious, breathy moans leaving your throat.

You felt a tap on your lips and turned your head to find Sam knelt on the bed beside you. He had shed his clothes as well and held his own thick dick in his hand. He traced the head over your mouth, painting you with his pre-cum.

“Come on sweetheart, be a good girl and open for me….”

You’d like to say that you obeyed through a sense of self preservation, but to be honest, with how aroused you now were, you just wanted to suck him, choke on him. You ran your tongue over your lips, tasting his essence, before opening to let him in. He filled your mouth with his cock, and you massaged the veins on the underside of him with your tongue. When Bucky thrust hard you moaned, which forced an answering one out of Sam. He took hold of the headboard for leverage and started to fuck into your mouth.

“Yeah, baby. Just like that. Taking it so well. Starting to behave now. Be good to us, we’ll be good to you….”

The coil inside you was tightening again, you were so close. Tears were leaking from your eyes as you gagged around Sam, and your hips moved to meet each of Bucky’s thrusts, your legs wrapped around his waist. And then Steve did it again.

“Stop!”

Both men stilled their movements and your eyes went wide as you looked at Steve. You tried to move your head, jerk your hips, but you were held immobile by all their hands and Steve smiled coldly at your desperation.

“Do you get it now sweetheart? Do you promise to behave?”

Sam pulled back from you, and you coughed before you answered.

“Yes.”

Your voice was hoarse, but your response clear.

“Good.”

At Steve’s nod his partners recommenced their pleasurable assault on your body. You let your eyes close, and when Steve let go of your wrists, one of your hands went to Sam’s hip and the other to Bucky’s shoulder, giving you the illusion of some kind of control over what was happening. Having been denied twice it didn’t take long for you to be on edge once again.

Bucky whispered unknown nothings in your ear, gruff and low, whilst Sam babbled his filthy thoughts almost non-stop. Steve remained silent, and you would have forgotten he was there if it weren’t for the fact that he was stroking your arm and hair as he watched you fall apart.

Sam was the first to come, spilling deep into your throat, praising you all the while. He continued with small thrusts into your mouth until he was sure you had taken every drop of his cum, before moving back, replacing his cock with his mouth and kissing you passionately. Then, because he now had more space, Bucky upped the ante. He pulled your legs up over his shoulders, and rose up onto his knees, thrusting into you even harder and at an angle that made you see stars. A litany of sounds left your throat and you gripped his biceps, your nails digging into the flesh of his right arm.

And then you were screaming, as your pleasure washed over you, shaking your whole body.

“Такой узкий, зайчик. Я сказал тебе, что заставлю тебя кричать.”

Bucky grunted in your ear and you felt him twitch and pulse inside you, flooding your pussy with his cum. He moved off you and you lay in a daze on the bed, panting as you tried to regain your breath. For a moment you forgot about Steve, but he certainly hadn’t forgotten about you. The hands that had been stroking your arm and hair moved down your body, running over your breasts, your abdomen, your hip.

“Open your eyes for me bunny, there you go.”

It took you a few moments to focus, but he was now naked, leaning over you. His body was captivating in its beauty, golden skin and ripped muscles. His hands ran back up to your upper arms, and in the blink of an eye he had flipped you both, so that he was lying on his back and you were straddling his hips. You could feel his cock resting against the crease of your ass.

“I want you to ride me, show me and the boys how well you can behave and do as asked. You behave and we’ll be sweet on you, treat you right. You’ll be our girl. But if you don’t behave, you deny us, then you will be punished. And you really don’t want that, sweetheart.”

One large hand came down and swatted you on the ass.

“So giddy up!”

You lifted yourself slightly, reaching behind you to take hold of him. Fuck, he felt big in your hand. You glanced down and gasped. He was so thick! Steve chuckled darkly at your reaction.

“I’ll fit, don’t you worry bunny. The boys got you all relaxed 'n wet for me. And in no time at all you’ll be able to take me first, get used to me stretching you out and filling you.”

He placed his hands on your hips and started to pull you down, impaling you on his cock. You were grateful now for Bucky’s release slicking up your channel and that they had allowed you to come. Despite the slow way in which he was pressing into you, you knew you would have had problems accommodating Steve if he had been first.

When your groin was flush with his you let out a whine. He allowed you the chance to adjust for a few moments, before he moved your arms so your hands were braced on his abs. He looked at you, an eyebrow raised in challenge. You responded by lifting your body, feeling his length rub against your insides, before you sank back down with a cry. He was pressed against every sweet spot inside you, pleasure darting along your nerves. You rose again, repeating the action, this time drawing a moan from the man beneath you. A flood of power washed over you, and the speed of your movements increased.

You were using him now, your eyes closed again as you just focused on how he felt inside you, how your clit brushed up against the trimmed thatch of his pubes every time you sank down. Part of you was aware that Sam and Bucky were knelt on either side of you, but it was brought home when you felt lips sealing around both your breasts. You had to move your arms, so your hands were resting between each man’s shoulder blades. Steve’s hands stroked your thighs, strong thumbs pressing into the delicate skin of the inner curves. One hand moved higher and you shuddered as he found your clit, rolling over it in smooth circles.

You ground down, clenching your walls and rotating your hips. You cared for nothing except your own pleasure now and you were suffused with it. Your second orgasm washed over you as if a dam had burst, wave after wave taking you away from the pain and fear you had been suffering, not just today, but over the last few years. Tears rolled down your face at the physical and emotional release.

“Good girl, bunny. That’s it, fuck…..so pretty, so good for us….”

Steve’s words cut off into a moan as he came, his hips bucking up into you as he rode out his pleasure.

“Everything’s better when you behave……”

---------------------

Bucky says;

- Steve, I can smell her. So sweet...

- I want to taste you.

- You will scream as I ruin you.

- So tight, little bunny. I told you I'd make you scream.

[sailoryooons]

Can you make a smut for myg? Like wake the reader up using his c_ck? It'd be fun if there's also a friend on the other bed sleeping, and the thrill is no one can make a noise 👌

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x female reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi wakes you up early in the morning in the best way possible. Only rule: don't wake up Namjoon who sleeps just a few feet away from you.

❀ Word Count: 1,198

❀ Genre: established relationship, pwp

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, voyeurism (i mean namjoon is literally right there) unprotected vaginal sex (pls don't do this), clit play, light dirty talk, almost somnophilia but reader is awake and 100% consenting

❀ Published: June 6, 2022

❀ A/N: I lowkey forgot that I wrote this when I was traveling back from Chicago and seeing Yoongi in the flesh and just came across it when I was editing all my writing folders so - surprise? This is unbeta'd and unedited so please forgive me.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask |

Warmth shuffles behind you. You’re pulled out of sleep a little, humming as you shift backwards into the furnace of a body behind you. It’s soft and comforting, earning a sigh as you drift back toward your sleep, body sinking into the feeling.

Soft breath fans your neck before your pulled back from sleep once more. A soft kiss to the flesh, luring you toward the surface. You make an annoyed sound, aware enough to know that the huff of soft laughter is coming from your boyfriend curled behind you.

Yoongi is persistent, kissing behind your ear, the nape of your neck, your shoulder. You wiggle under the covers and he makes a sound, hands shooting to your waist and drawing you back into him.

Your eyes flutter open now, half-awake as he presses his hardening cock to your thin pajamas. His hands are warm and firm squeezing your ass gently as he leans forward to nibble on your ear. It feels so good that you lean back into him, only mutely aware that Namjoon is dead asleep in the bed across the room for you.

It’s morning dark outside the hotel curtains. Your eyes are pulled open again when Yoongi sucks a mark into your neck.

“Quiet for me, yeah?” he murmurs. His hands skim the top of your pajama shorts, brushing to play with the hemline at your stomach. “Need you so bad.”

You turn your head. “Namjoon is –“

“Snoring.” Yoongi’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Please.” His voice is rasping, dark eyes looking at yours. You melt – Yoongi never begs. Ever. His hand dips under the hem, making you shiver as he slides his hand between your legs and buries his face in your neck. “Fucking wet. Please.”

Without words, you nod. You close your eyes and lean back into him, a hand drifting behind you as you palm his cock over his sweatpants. Yoongi is good at being silent – he is a master at it. He gives a shaky breath as you squeeze, but makes no other noise.

You, on the other hand, tremble under his touch. Yoongi’s fingers are slow and lazy as they circle your clit slowly, sending muted pleasure through you. You’re still exhausted – the three of you had a late night out on the town to celebrate Yoongi and Namjoon’s business meeting at a potential label for them, and you were weary to the bone.

Yoongi nips at your neck and you clap your hand over your mouth, sound almost escaping. “Shh,” he hums. “Be a good girl for me. Think you can take me?”

You nod, nearly panting. He licks a stripe up your neck, carefully removing his fingers from your pussy. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, hypnotized by the way he grins with tired eyes as he pops the slick covered fingers in his mouth.

You almost moan out loud. Quick hands pull your pajamas down to your knees. You’re burning hot under the covers but you don’t dare lower them any, eyes fixated on the sleeping lump in the bed across from you as Yoongi’s tip prods your hole.

A sound escapes you. Yoongi’s hand grips your face over the mouth, turning your head so that you’re angle toward the ceiling, fingers muting you. You’re panting under his touch, every curl of his hot breath against your neck fueling the arousal dripping between your legs.

Slowly, Yoongi slides into you. Your eyes shutter closed and you sigh, becoming pliant beneath his touch. He uses the hand not clamping your mouth to hold your leg up just enough for him to slowly thrust into you.

And fuck it feels so good. Every inch of his thick cock slowly slides into your heat, making you warm all over, flushed as the tip lazily strokes your g-spot. You hide your face in the pillow, teeth clenching around the fabric as Yoongi does the work, using the leg in his hand to help pull you back and forth onto his cock.

Your throat tightens, begging to let out a sound. Yoongi’s lips are all over your skin, spiking your pleasure further. Even at the slow, gentle pace he is hitting deep inside of you, making your stomach twist.

Another sound escapes you on accident, making Yoongi still. You hold your breath, peeking up at the sleeping lump of Namjoon. At any fucking moment he could roll over and look at you, thinking you were asleep. There is nothing to suggest that Yoongi’s cock is plunged at the hilt, that the fingers on your thighs are gripping you fiercely.

“Do you want him to wake up, hmm?” Yoongi’s voice is low, nearly inaudible. “Want Namjoon to know I have you split open with my cock a few feet away from him? That your greedy pussy is just fuckin’ taking me first thing in the morning?”

Your skin is hot all over, stinging where he’s sucked marks into your skin and where you’re flushed. You shake your need, burying you face into your pillow as Yoongi fucks slowly into you again, teeth pulling at your earlobe.

It is so mind numbing and perfect that you’re just panting, eyes closed, letting Yoongi fuck himself into you as you fist the sheets, not paying any attention until he stops suddenly and tucks his face in your neck.

You peek upward. Namjoon shuffles, getting up and stretching. Your heart begins pounding in your ears as he rubs his face and stumbles to his feet, careful not to make noise as he walks toward the bathroom, half-asleep. Yoongi doesn’t dare breathe behind you, cock throbbing in your heat.

The bathroom door clicks, but for a moment, neither of you move. It isn’t until the shower starts running that Yoongi launches into action, throwing the blanket off of you as he sinks his teeth in your shoulder, fucking into you with fervor.

You gasp, head thrown back as he slams his hips into you, the wet sounds of you dripping for him barely audible over the shower.

“Fuck,” you pant. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Each curse is punctuated by the slap of his hips, his stilted breath. The hand holding your leg abandons you, leaving you to hold it up yourself as his fingers apply pressure to your clit, nearly making you scream.

“Come on,” Yoongi grunts. “Need you to cum all over my cock before Joonie finishes his shower.”

“Yoongi,” you whisper, one hand grabbing his forearm, holding the hand he uses so skillyfully against your clit. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck yeah. Gonna cream, baby? All hot and bothered from me fucking you while Joon is right there?”

“Yes yes yes.”

“Cum,” Yoongi growls.

Your orgasm snaps into place like a rubberband. Yoongi shoves his fingers into your mouth, muting the scream of his name as you squeeze his cock, legs trembling and eyes seeing stars with the force of it.

Yoongi cums immediately after, huffing as he slows his thrusts until he’s breathing heavily behind you, hand settled on your stomach.

Gently, Yoongi kisses the back of your neck. “Love you.”

You hum, half-awake. “Love you too.”

[thornsnvultures]

strawberries & cream ♡

Curtis Everett x Plus Size!Fem!Reader

Written for @buckysbirdie 's Birthday Bash Writing Challenge! So, I used @tinabelcherseroticfriendfiction 's great idea of using d6s & d20s to choose a prompt and I got:

🍨 Paper Bowl: Chris Evans characters outside of the MCU

🍦 Make Your Own (AU)

🥥 First date

🍐 Person A saves Person B’s day

🍊 Picnic

🥝 A catches B singing while doing chores/cooking/ whatever

words: ~800

warnings: a jealous (and a bit possesive) Curtis, mentions of sex (p in v, unprotected, creampie), mostly fluff but it's not a Curtis Everett fic if he doesn't mildly threaten someone 🥰 lol

a/n: Happy Bday Birdie! 🥳💖 This was super fun!! (I might do another one since this one came to me so fast lol)

a/n: unbeta'd & edited by me. moodboard by me. if you see any mistakes, no you didn't :)

18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI. IF YOU INTERACT AND YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR AGE VISIBLE ON YOUR BLOG YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. 18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI.

You decided on having a picnic for your first date together. A picnic. Curtis doesn't know if he's ever been on a picnic before.

He's nervously watching from afar, wringing his black beanie in his hands as he stands by the park entrance. You're not too far away. Curtis assumes you picked the spot so he could find you easily when he got there. He wants to run to you but he's calculating all the ways he could screw this up and it's holding him back.

You look too perfect to be real. Sitting on a blanket by the lakeside, peeling and cutting up fruit you brought in a cute wicker basket, and singing. Humming the parts of the song you forgot the words to and singing to yourself like some kind of fairy tale princess.

There's no way an angel like you agreed to go on a date with a grease monkey like him. He barely leaves the garage, he doesn't know how to date. It's a miracle he even saw you in that bar. That you gave him the time of day.

Curtis is a giant in every sense of the word, but he feels like he's light as air when you look at him, breathe near him. He makes up his mind then, that he can't leave you alone. So he's walking, no, floating towards you on a cloud he never wants to come down from.

That is until he sees another man approach you. Some asshole jogging in place in stupidly short running shorts with his shirt off is asking for your number and Curtis sees red. It's only the first date. Why is he like this? He doesn't own you, he's being ridiculous. But the man's eyes drop to the neckline of your pretty floral sundress and your ample curves contained within and Curtis doesn't care anymore if he makes a fool of himself in front of you, he can't let this happen.

"No, I'm waiting for my boyfriend actually."

Those words nearly freeze him in place. He's desperate to hear you claim him as yours over and over again.

Your voice is loud, carrying over the water on purpose so anyone nearby might know how uncomfortable you're being made to feel.

The prick's about to say something in response but he's cut off by Curtis' massive paw clamping down on his shoulder.

"The lady said no, pal. Beat it."

You light up when you hear Curtis' low, growling voice and when your eyes meet, Curtis almost forgets himself. Right, intimidating. Have to be intimidating.

"Did you hear me? I said move."

The man sputters in indignation as he's pushed off down the path by Curtis. "Hey! Get your hands off me, buddy!"

"I'm not your buddy, pal."

Curtis grinds those words through his teeth and you have to jump up and grab his arm to stop him from following after the quickly back pedalling man.

"Curtis, it's okay. I'm okay."

Your hand on his bearded cheek seems to snap him back to reality and his gaze softens on you.

"Sorry, angel. Didn't like him coming on to you like that. Can't even sit in the park without some dick for brains trying to check you out."

You laugh at his poor, jealous pout and rest your head on his chest, your arms wrapping around his thick midsection with a tight squeeze.

"My hero. I should've told him I've still got some of you leaking out of me from last night. Think that would've shut him up?"

You lift your head, biting your lower lip to hold back a smile when you feel a groan rumble through his broad chest. Sure enough Curtis has the same heated gaze pointed at you that he had at the bar last night. The last time he had that look on his face he was taking you back to his place so he could worship every inch of you and keep you so stuffed full of him you thought you might burst.

But he promised, in a sleepy half-drunk haze, that he would go on a real date with you. Anything you wanted he'd be there. And here he was, as promised, about to lay with you in the grass to eat fruit and talk and do whatever other adorable first date stuff you wanted to do.

Your heart and your pussy are having palpitations at the thought of just what this man is willing to do for you. But for now you appease the best with a chaste kiss to his lips and he settles. 

Curtis takes a deep breath and sits on the laid out blanket, pulling you down with him. With your back to his chest, sitting between his legs and resting against him like he's some great oak tree, you think this might be the best first date you've ever had.

[theprettiestlamb]

Welcome Home, Soldier [Part 2]

Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Plus Size SE Asian F!OC

Word Count: 2015

Description: Amelie's trip down memory lane leads her to the right place.

Author’s Note: First time I've ever written Bucky smut. I know this one sucks, but the next will be better (at least I hope). Unbeta'd, lightly edited. All mistakes are mine.

Warnings: angst, fluff, pet names (doll, baby doll, good girl); SMUT (18+ only) - protected sex, sneaky sex, p in v, loss of virginity; cursing, brief mention of blood, self-hate, body insecurities, racism, colorism, shitty family

Tags: @mysoftboybensolo, @maria-chwan, @lokiskitten, @caffeinated-fan

*** If anyone wants to be tagged, just leave a comment or dm me!

I do not consent to my work being copied, translated or reposted on another website.

“We’re like a couple of school kids,” Amelie teased, regarding their ongoing written correspondence.

Bucky stood closer to her.

Feeling heat radiating from his body and up her cheeks, the nurse dropped her gaze shyly.

To quell her racing heart, she focused on the name tag on his uniform. A short, white thread hung from the stitching.

His index finger curled under her chin and tipped her head back.

“Well, we’re definitely a couple,” he smirked.

“A-Are we?” her eyes widened a little, mesmerized by the way he looked at her.

They hadn’t exactly made it ‘official’, whatever that entailed.

“God, you’re so cute,” he chuckled at her naivety and leaned his forehead on hers. “Can I kiss you?”

Her mind was still reeling from the ‘couple’ part. She almost hadn’t realized she was leaving him hanging. When she met his eyes, she saw he had backed away. Their heads weren’t touching anymore and his hand dropped back to his side.

His body remained close, though.

She didn’t know how to kiss, but boy did she want him to teach her.

“Yes, Bucky.”

That dashing side-smirk returned and, this time, he placed the same hand gently upon her cheek and captured her lips with his.

Warmth and fuzziness permeated Amelie’s chest and tummy at the memory.

Now able to read the S.S. Samaria on the side of the boat, she recounted one of her last memories of Bucky.

“Oh, fuck…” she hissed as she dug a tan leg around his waist.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered into her hairline, punctuating his declaration with a soft kiss.

In contrast, the thrusting of his hips sped up, making her gasp audibly.

He put his pointer finger to his nose and mouth, signaling her to be quiet. With the same hand, he cupped her cheek and pressed his lips against hers.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to stifle her moans as he continued his barrage of kisses all over her face and neck.

Her pussy got wetter, tighter around him. “B-Bucky…”

“Cum for me, baby doll,” he pulled her to his chest while she rubbed her clit. “Fuck, I needta feel it.”

Her breath from chanting his name fanned against his bare chest, right below where the chain of his dog tags draped over his collarbone.

The blanket covering where they connected partly fell onto the floor with the force of his thrusts.

He moaned and froze between her legs when her upper body jerked back, mouth agape in a silent scream. Red fingernails clawed into his biceps, marking his flesh. Her heel drove into the bottom of his spine as she rode out her high.

Amelie curled back into his embrace, her whole body convulsing with ecstasy.

Bucky wet his lips with his tongue and began moving again, this time not as fast.

“That’s a good girl,” he brushed a few strands of stray locks from her face and kissed her sweetly.

Her hand flew to the back of his neck, fingers in his hair as he sped up again.

“Oh, Bucky…” she purred and moved her hips in time with his.

He anchored her thigh onto his with his strong hand.

“Amelie, I’m gonna—“ he groaned and gave one final push, drawing a soft ‘mh!” from his partner.

His body went stiff as he spilled his load into the condom inside her.

While they caught their breaths, their grips on each other relaxed.

Upon meeting his eyes, Amelie could make out a look of pure adoration on Bucky’s face, despite the moonlight from outside highlighting only his back and shoulders.

“So is it all that it’s cracked up to be?” he smirked.

She smiled into his neck, remembering the day she told him that she was a virgin. People act like it’s the best thing ever while some have told her it ‘wasn’t all that it’s cracked up to be’, she said. Whichever one it was, Amelie wished to find out for herself, but only with the right person. She asked him to be the one, but being the gentleman he was, he wanted to wait until she was truly ready.

She didn’t expect it to be this night. In an abandoned building-turned-aid station where other nurses slept some few feet away on the other side of a curtain partition.

After much thought, she tipped her head back to see his eyes and smiled. “With you, it was.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled.

Her heart fell when, after pulling out of her and removing the condom, he propped himself up with his arm against the cold floor, his dog tags dropping back over his ribcage. She knew their moment together couldn’t last, but it pained her nonetheless.

“I gotta go, doll,” he buttoned up his uniform and kissed her head and lips.

“That’s one hell of a piss, Sarge,” she joked as he picked his rifle up.

He seemed confused for a split second, but the excuse he gave the men in his foxhole came back to him.

“I’ll just say it turned into a shit,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Amelie had to turn her face into her upper arm to stifle her laugh.

“You go do that,” she brought her curled fingers down, the knuckles brushing her lips.

“Doll, stop bein’ cute or I’m never gonna leave,” he swung the gun over his shoulder blade and went to climb out the window, but a tug of his hand stopped him.

She knew he had to rejoin his squad so she made it quick:

“I love you, Bucky.”

He spun around, taking a step closer to her just enough to be able to level her hand to his lips.

“I love you too, Amelie. So much.”

A bell rang at the pier, causing her to jolt back to the present.

With the ship docked, the crowd gathered around and cheered when the servicemen started filing out.

People waved and called out the names of their husbands, sons, sweethearts.

A bittersweet smile formed on Amelie’s face as she witnessed several unions unfold before her.

It’s what the men deserved after all the fighting they’d done on the other side of the world.

She thought back to when her hands were caked with blood, some from men who wouldn’t see this day.

But everyone who’s here today at least knew their loved one escaped death and didn’t dread leaving the Harbor with nothing but sorrowful hearts, she reassured herself.

That much she was happy for.

She hoped to at least see Steve. Even if Bucky had died, she would want to hear it from him.

That was, unless he was also killed in action.

The number of passengers going down the ramp was dwindling.

Amelie blinked rapidly to stave off saltwater lining her tear ducts and stood up. She tucked the letters back into her bag and counted what little cash she had before standing up.

I’ll stay somewhere for the night and go see Tita Sue in the morning. Tell her it was too late to travel by the time I got back to the States, she pondered, still looking at the open door of the cabin.

She’ll probably call me a failure for that, too. “You couldn’t even make it here on time? Your cousins already got home. Edgar got the Distinguished Service Star. Maribel met a sailor and they just announced their engagement. What did you do there? Did you meet someone? Of course not. Men at home don’t even like you. Maybe if you used that skin cream I bought, you would have half a chance.”

It took everything within her to not cry. Her aunt was the only family she had in America. And she didn’t even act like it.

Two men came from the once-empty hall and stepped out onto the deck, sacks slung over their backs.

She didn’t recognize one. But the other?

His dark brown hair peaked out over the back of his neck from under an olive drab cap.

Was it…? It couldn’t.

Her feet guided her through the crowd.

Staring straight ahead, her vision focused on the man’s face. Light blue eyes, now with a hint of dark circles underneath, and the smile that never failed to make her weak as he laughed at something his friend said.

A laugh that reignited pure bliss inside her.

“Bucky?” she finally called out in question.

The man she had her eyes on turned his head mid-conversation, his lips parted and he stood still.

Her heart beat wildly, a lump in her throat formed, and her eyesight was getting foggy.

It was, without a doubt, him.

“Amelie!”

It was his voice.

She didn’t get a chance to move, or even think about moving. A pair of arms pulled her onto the lapels of a warm wool coat.

Tears fell down her cheeks as she hugged him around the waist. He was tall enough to rest his chin atop her head, which was exactly what he did after kissing her temple.

“How?” she whispered, the side of her head pressed against his chest.

She held on tighter as if she’d lose him again. And in a way, she was afraid she would.

“Steve told me—“ she gasped and shot her head back to look at him. “Where is Steve? He told me you were alive and—“

Bucky simply smiled and cut her rambling short. “He’s fine. He’s tying up some loose ends with Agent Carter.”

She nodded, then Bucky cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her with passion.

Her hands rested on his upper arms as she sunk into the taste of cigarettes and milk chocolate.

She hummed, now content that this wasn’t a dream.

In need of oxygen, he drew his lips back.

“I’ll explain everything else,” he reassured, followed by a clench of his jaw.

Through a partial grin, he put his hand on the small of her back. “How ‘bout I take you home?“

Her face lit up, wanting to just cuddle with him, but then she remembered they wouldn’t be alone. He was already leading her towards the curb, where a line of cabs idled for the families on the docks. But she didn’t move.

“What if your family doesn’t like me?”

He stopped beside her, smile fallen.

It hurt knowing it was from her words, but she also didn’t want to face humiliation. Or worse, him feeling ashamed of being with her.

“What? Why wouldn’t they, doll? You’re beautiful and kind and sweet…”

“Bucky, you know what I mean,” she laughed a little and fanned her hands out, gesturing to her appearance.

Despite being in her own uniform, her presence attracted dirty looks and hateful whispers. Nothing she did mattered when the first thing people saw was her skin and body.

He gave her a sympathetic look and brushed a loose curl off her cheek.

“They don’t care about any of that. Well, my dad does… a little,” he looked away for a minute, mouth in a straight line. “But my mom can convince him of anything. And judging by what she wrote me, she wants to meet you.”

Amelie put her hands over the lower half of her face, the edges of her lips pulling back to her pink cheeks. “You talked about me?”

He chuckled. “Can you blame me? I was so crazy for you. Still am.”

“So they know I’m not skinny or white?” she gulped. “‘Cus I don’t want them to be surprised and hate me.”

He kissed her again, his hand moving slightly so her ear was between his index finger and thumb.

Once he pulled away, he gave her the most love-struck look she’s ever seen on a man. Only this time, it wasn’t aimed at a friend.

“Like I said, I told them everything. They won’t care about any of that once they see how amazing you are.”

“Oh, Bucky…” she giggled, feeling tears creep up her waterline again.

He pecked her lips and held her hand. “Let’s go home.”

[fighterkimburgess]

After All

Summary: When two of their unit - of their family - are arrested, Kim and Adam learn the truth about what happened while she was missing and he was looking after Makayla. And things will never be the same after.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: if it happened in 8x16, consider yourselves warned. Trials, minor character death (ie not Kim or Adam), funeral, pregnancy, babies.

AN: This was supposed to just be a writing exercise. But...yeah I like it. A bit of a what if Voight got arrested for Walton's death and what would happen. This is unbeta'd and barely edited.

Wanna join my taglist?

--

It was six days after Kim had gone missing, four days after she’d woken up, when Adam Ruzek’s world had fallen around him yet again. This time, there was no chance of it coming back together any time soon.

Intelligence was on enforced furlough for two weeks after Kim’s abduction, and Adam had spent his time ever since she was found going between his apartment, her apartment, Makayla’s school, and Kim’s hospital room. He had sat and listened to Kevin the day after Kim woke up, hearing what his friend was saying to him. It was a long conversation, mostly Adam just nodding and apologising for his actions. They weren’t perfect - that was a long way off - but they’d hugged. An actual hug, not a pat on the back. He needed his best friend, he needed to do better for the little girl he was raising, who he brought in to see her mother every day.

He was in the room with Makayla, Kim smiling at the story about school Makayla was telling them when there was a commotion outside.

“One minute, lil Darlin’,” he murmured to Makayla, squeezing Kim’s hand as he went out. He watched as Hailey and Voight were put in handcuffs, Hailey’s eyes wide and terrified, Voight resigned.

“Hank Voight, Hailey Upton, you are being arrested for murder, desecration of a corpse, illegal movement of a body, breaking and entering, assault, and assault with a deadly weapon. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be used in evidence against you. You are entitled to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you.” They were led out, the three men looking at each other, Jay’s fear clear.

“No. What the hell…” When the two had announced their engagement everyone was delighted for them, but Adam could tell Hailey wasn’t ok. She was one of his best friends, but when he asked her she just shook her head, insisting she was fine. This proved that she wasn’t.

“It’s got to be a mistake. We’ll get them back.” Adam kept his voice calm, looking at Kevin who looked as stricken as he did. “Do you know what happened?”

“I have no idea. You need to head back into Kim. Send Kayla out in a few minutes, you can fill Kim in then.” He nodded, squeezing Jay’s shoulder in the reverse of their actions a week before before heading back in.

“What’s going on?” Kim asked immediately, Adam shaking his head slightly.

“Voight and Hailey had to head out. I’ll fill you in.” Makayla was showing Kim her latest dance, a grin on her face.

“Plus Adam let me paint his nails, cause he said we were celebratin’ that you’re not in the IUC anymore.”

“ICU, Makayla, but you’re right.” He held up the messily painted nails, watching Kim’s eyes brighten at the sight. “I don’t have a favourite colour so she decided all of them was a good idea.”

It was quiet for a moment before Kev opened the door, sticking his head in.

“I wanna head to the cafeteria, coming with me Makayla? They have that pudding you like.” The six year old looked between Kim and Adam, unsure who to ask for permission.

“Go, have fun,” Adam said, lifting her off the bed and onto the floor, Kev holding out his hand. Kim nodded, watching them leave before turning to Adam.

“What happened?”

He sat, taking her hand in his. “Voight and Hailey were arrested for murder. And a whole load of other charges, but I don’t know why or what. We’re just waiting.”

“I thought…” Kim trailed off, but he could tell what she wanted to say. Their sergeant’s previous actions weren’t exactly well known, but they knew enough. “Do we know who?”

“They didn’t say.”

The same day Kim was released was Adam’s first day back, and there were immediate changes. Trudy was officially in charge of intelligence, but they were all confined to their desks. He watched Kim get better and better, the arguments made that she should leave on disability. She came home after one of the meetings nearly in tears.

“My FOP lawyer says to just go with it, get disabled out. That they’ll give me full pension. I’m fit to go back, I can go back. They’re worried about the optics of an officer being attacked the way I was.” He just held onto her, letting Kim get it out.

“If you want to come back, I will fight in your corner every step of the way. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

And he watched as she passed every test, Trudy fighting for Kim. The decision was made that if she passed the detective’s exam she could come back, and she did. But once she passed the decision was made. Intelligence was to be disbanded.

It didn’t totally shock either of them, they should have expected it. Voight and Hailey had been charged with Walton’s murder and were on house arrest, nobody able to visit them as they’d all been called as witnesses. Even Kim, who knew nothing. She’d been working with her therapist to prepare, Adam going once a week with her. But it was there that they decided to get married before the trials took place.

Once they talked about it, their next decision was to ask Makayla what she thought. She’d been happy with Adam moving in, that extra layer of security there. She’d let him put her to bed, and more than once she’d called out for him after a night terror. He hated that she had them, but that she trusted him enough to comfort her filled him with joy. He loved her with everything he had, and he would do anything to keep her happy, even if it meant he and Kim didn’t marry yet.

But she just smiled and asked if it was like Anna and Kristoff, and when they said yes she nodded. Their wedding wasn’t everything they wanted - no big banquet hall, no bad food Kim had wanted before everything - but he was in a suit and tie, Kim in a white dress and Makayla in a matching one. He held the girl he already thought of as his daughter, legalities be damned, on his hip as they said their vows. The only people in attendance were Kevin, Platt, and Mouch. Since Hailey had been arrested Jay was off work on paid leave while CPD worked out what he knew and didn’t, and he’d been ignoring their texts. Even when Adam called to invite him to the ceremony he refused. The six went for a meal, Makayla sitting in between the newlyweds as they ate Italian food, a toast from Kev as his Best Man and Platt as the Matron of Honour, celebrating that Kim had made it through and they were alive.

The next week Adam pulled on his uniform to go onto patrol. He was down for the next detective’s exam round, but they wanted him to make up for the time lost on patrol, so he stood in front of Platt, squeezing his wife’s hand goodbye as Kim went upstairs. She’d been reassigned to the child protection unit, and he knew she would blossom up there.

The trials were hard. He bore no animosity towards Voight or Hailey, and in his heart he was grateful for their actions. Kim had told him in the dead of night about begging for her life, begging to let her see Makayla again. Walton knew his wife and daughter existed, and he would have killed them both. They’d made sure his family were safe and he couldn’t thank them enough.

His testimony was easy. What he’d done when he found out Kim was missing, working that day, Hailey dropping him home to Makayla. Watching Kim admit exactly what had happened in the warehouse, what she had been through, hurt him so much more. But he watched and kept his face straight, mouthing “I love you” to his wife when she looked like she was going to cry.

Voight had fallen on his sword for Hailey, insisting she had come in after Walton was dead. They watched as he was sentenced to life, tears running down Kim’s face at it, Adam stoic. The man who had believed in him, who’d saved his badge twice, who’d been part of the reason he had his family. Hailey was only convicted of not reporting a crime, getting off with time served. But she’d lost her badge, and shortly after they heard through the grapevine that Jay had given up his and they moved away from Chicago. Adam mourned the loss of one of his best friends, mourned the group they had been.

But he had Kevin and Platt still in his life, and he slowly grew closer to Kelly Severide and Matt Casey thanks to their respective partners being so close. Kevin started dating a firefighter from CFD, the two joining the group of adults. He got to watch Makayla learn to thrive, realising that he and Kim weren’t going anywhere. The day he was told he’d passed the detectives exam was the first day she told him she loved him, and Adam picked the now eight year old up and twirled her around, heart overflowing.

His last day at the 21st was filled with tears, so much he would miss about the building. The locker room he’d had his heart filled and broken in, the Intelligence bullpen that now housed Kim’s unit, the gate only there because they dealt with children. Even Platt was misty eyed as he emptied his locker.

A spot had opened up on SWAT, and thanks to his detective’s scores and his years in Intelligence he was a shoe in for it. His tactical knowledge was second to none, and he could plan raids as well as anyone. It was the right move, with regular working hours and not a huge need for overtime. With Kim’s announcement that she was having their second child, it was right to move up. Finding out they were having twins just made that clearer to him, he needed to make sure his three kids were supported. He didn’t want to be on patrol forever, and he’d learned how to balance his career and his family. His kids would always come first, no matter what.

Voight didn’t want them to visit him, but Adam insisted that day. The man had aged in the eighteen months since he’d been able to speak to him, hair grey and wrinkles appearing. They couldn’t touch, separated by a Perspex screen in the dull visiting room as Adam told the man who’d taken him under his wing about Makayla, about Kim, about passing the exam and about the children they were going to welcome into the world. It was brief, and Adam knew it was the last time he would see his mentor again. The last time he’d see the man who, despite all his flaws and the things he had done wrong, had cared for he and Kim. Who’d gone to jail to protect his wife. Adam couldn’t thank him enough for that.

The week before Kim was induced with their twins, a formal letter arrived from the Illinois Department of Corrections. Henry Voight had died, and he’d put Adam Ruzek as his next of kin. They organised the funeral, Kim heavily pregnant and barely able to stand at it, Trudy and Kevin there to pay their respects. Jay and Hailey had changed their numbers, and the email they sent got no response.

When Kim gave birth to their children, Adam wept with delight and sadness and raw emotion. Makayla was always, always going to be their firstborn, but that Kim and the babies had survived this time meant so much to him. That they’d gotten their second chance. He brought Makayla into the room, lifting her up beside her mother so she could see her brother and sister.

“This is Alice Trudy, and this is Henry Kevin. What do you think?” Kim asked, her voice low to avoid waking the sleeping twins.

“They’re really small,” Makayla responded, a finger reaching out to touch Henry’s hand. He grasped it and she gasped at the strength.

“He’s strong, he’s like you, Dad.” She’d begun to call them Mama and Dad when she realised that the babies weren’t replacing her, that they were never going to replace her or take her spot. That she would always be their eldest child, no matter what, and they would love her with everything they had.

Adam sat with his family, waiting for Kevin and Trudy to arrive, watching Makayla’s rapt attention on her siblings. In his dreams there were three other people who’d be standing in the room, who’d be celebrating their children. But instead he saw his best friend and one of the best women he knew come in, holding their kids and promising to be there for he and Kim. It wasn’t what he expected, it wasn’t how he’d thought it would be. But they were home.

Taglist: @aruzlover @amandarrollins @morganupstead @adamruz @fullwattpadmusictree @redpoodlern @everythingaddictxx @write4life13 @lizlouisebrown @jeanjacketjesus @tuxieboy101-blog @thelittlepterophyllum @planecrazylex @sophiatellerrhodes @eternal-olicity @ossypooh @dissociation-writes @kimburgess-ruzek @thestarrynightslover @reidskitty13 @etamne @torreshalstead @itsnotpersonalbut @leymr @kellykidd @dedlund82 @pinkwhitebrown @mmacke3613 @sylvieshay @upsteadlovingheart @multicouple-lover @burzekschicago @keenmarvellover @ittybitty-tittycommittee

[ibelieveinturtles]

Chapter 5 - Nearly Headless Nick

Title: The Quantum Cat

Collaborator(s): ibelieveinturtles

Square (letter, number, and prompt): SWB: O1 - Happy Ending Samtember: 22. Multiverse

Pairing/Main Ship: N/A

Rating: T for swearing

Major tags: Sam Wilson, Goose the Cat, The Multiverse, The Quantum Tunnel, Not Endgame compliant, Everybody Lives (Eventually), Sam to the rescue

Warnings/Triggers: a little swearing here and there

Summary: Sam finds Nick Fury but he's not exactly what anyone would call in good condition.

Word Count: Ch

A/N: This is *mostly* unbeta'd but I hope to have it properly edited before I post it on AO3. I'll be posting all 7 chapters on Tumblr for as long as September 1st lasts around the world and on AO3 later. The reason it's going up on Sept 1st is because it is the only day that the Sam Wilson Bingo overlaps with Samtember :-)

Chapter 5

“Well it’s about damn time you got here,” Fury said, turning away from the window he was staring out of. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been here for? Six long, boring months! It would have been alright if I could leave the damn castle but no. I’m stuck here!”

“Oh, hell no,” Sam said, barely hearing the five minute timer beep as he stared in disbelief. "How is this gonna work?"

There was a special kind of horror to the scene in front of him. Fury’s ghostly form bobbed about in the middle of the classroom, the cloudy transparency of his body distorting the shapes of desks and chairs as he drifted through the air and Sam unconsciously backed away as Fury floated towards him.

"Dammit, Wilson. Stay still. How are we gonna figure this out if you keep moving away from me?"

"You're a ghost," Sam said, but he stopped retreating. "I don't think you'll be able to wear a Tech Suit if you ain't got no body to wear it on."

“Yeah, I am a damn ghost, because the me of this reality went and got himself murdered and now my motherfucking head is hanging by a thread!”

To Sam’s horror, Nick laid a ghostly hand across the top of his head and pulled. It was not a pretty sight.

“Ow,” Sam said, wincing. “Man, that’s rough.”

Fury let go and his ghost head snapped back onto his ghost shoulders.

“Yeah, well it could have been worse. But all that aside, Minerva thinks that because I’m from a different reality in which I am still alive and not a ghost, I should still be able to interact with anything or anybody from my own reality.”

“So how do we find out?” Sam asked.

“Like this,” Fury said, floating right up to Sam and reaching out a transparent, blue hand.

His touch was icy cold but to Sam’s surprise and Professor McGonagall’s extreme satisfaction, Fury’s hand did not pass through Sam’s arm but rested on top of it.

“Well, how about that?” Fury said. “Looks like we can get out of here.”

The timer on Sam’s wrist began to beep the one minute warning.

“Well that’s good news,” Sam said, tapping at the display, “because it’s almost time for us to go.”

Retrieving the extra GPS band, he held it out. “Moment of truth, Director.”

Fury reached out a hand, pausing bare millimeters away.

“Hell, man. Just take the damn thing or you’ll be stuck here until I can come back again.”

The beeping increased in both volume and frequency. With a final muttered curse, Fury grasped the GPS. Seconds later both Tech Suit’s activated, the beeping became one long drawn out scream, and the floor fell out from under Sam’s feet once more.

This time when Sam landed, he managed to stay on his feet but his insides were just as determined in their escape attempts.

Behind him, there was a loud thump and Fury swore with great enthusiasm.

Sam didn't care. It had worked.

He’d successfully brought back the first of the lost Avengers.

“Welcome back, Captain. Director Fury,” Boothby said. “It’s good to see you again. How are you feeling?”

“Solid,” Fury replied, patting himself down and Sam laughed.