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buckyalpine · 2 years

Note

Hi sweet dolcezza (that is Italian and means sweetness so sweet sweetness :) )

Hope you are doing well, I want to thank you again for your beautiful blog and wonderful works.

I am reading the last things you posted, beautiful as always!

Since I live for the drama, the sadness, the darkness...

I was thinking about how a broken boy with traumas, Bucky 🫢, would react about his girlfriend having mental health problem.

Maybe she has been developing them...

She wasn't always like that, she lost her sparkle and he doesn't know her like this, he sees another person, another woman, another human.

He can't understand and is confused, maybe mad.

On one side I think about him being supportive, on the other I think about him being disrespectful and invalidating, like he had lived major traumas but, he says "he is not complaining so much about it or playing the victim" like her.

-I had this hint because my mental health is not good, I have severe OCD, since I was a kid basically I remember being this way since the age of five four. I am struggling with ed and borderline personality disorder.

And I had partners that, even if they lived traumas, still invalidated mine a lot and called me names, so the were basically toxic.-

And i can't picture where Bucky could fall. Toxic? Supportive?

I love him, but sometimes he acts shady and not always I can read him.

I see him dark most of the time.

But they can always repair the relationship and be together or not?

(I am problematic with toxic guys ahahahaha)

Sorry for this and my life story, noone asked about buy still. I just think you are the best person to write something as deep.

I really hope you are doing good and enjoying your day so far.

A lot of kisses and hugs and support.

🌺

18+

Babes we are one in the same with toxic men. I like to think there's the version of Bucky who has so much love and empathy for others going through mental health struggles and then there’s the Bucky who loves you but doesn’t know how to process things and acts impulsively. Here, we look at the second.

Warnings: Angst, Mental health issues, some toxic behavior, (happy ending, they learn to fix things)

Disclaimer: Some of the stuff in this fic are things I/others have gone though so please refrain from comments about why the reader stayed or what the reader should have done or how the story should have gone. Sometimes I get super sucked into the angsty parts and struggle to undo the damage so don’t read too much into it.

I imagine it starts off bad because Bucky's still learning to deal with his own mental health and there are times where he can be selfish without meaning to. He's so used to having you comfort and take care of him, he doesn't know what to do when you start to change. He’s been through so much, he can’t imagine someone else feeling his level of anguish.

You’re no longer the same person he fell in love with. Your sparkle is gone. A grey dullness encasing you. He doesn’t know when things changed or why but he just wants you back; the distance between you both gets worse with each passing day. You try your best to still be there for him because you know he needs it; you love him with all your heart even when your own feels heavy.

"Baby, are you okay?"

"I’m fine"

Bucky practically scoffs when you ask him how he’s doing because you should know he’s never fine. He’s never okay. He doesn't know why you bother asking him when its the same shit he deals with on a daily basis.

You can't bring yourself to tell him how you're feeling because you know he doesn't have the capacity to help you when he's struggling himself. He shrugs, not knowing what else to say, letting you wallow in your misery, taking his frustrations out during his workouts instead. Things continue to worsen; you fall deeper in your spiral while Bucky continues to shut you not, realizing it’s you who needs him.

“Can we talk?”

You’re desperate at this point, hoping maybe he’ll at least listen but he shakes his head instead. Bucky can’t stop the bitterness that starts to rise in his chest; he missed his ma, his sisters. His missed living in a world where he understood the things around him, where he didn’t have to feel like a lost toddler every time he stepped outside. His feelings have nothing to do with you, he really does love you but all the bitterness spills onto the one person who is always there for him.

“What’s the point y/n”

“I-I just feel...” You shrug, not knowing how to tell Bucky of all people that you felt empty.

“What do you feel. I don’t know what you even complain for”

“I feel like I have no one Bucky” You felt your stomach drop when his eyes bore into you, as if he's challenging your feelings.

“You still have your cousins, other family, friends. You complain so much but you’re so spoiled. I’m going through shit too, but you don’t see me acting like a victim”

You swallow the anger that tries to rise, trying to understand his point of view. It all comes to a boiling point because you're trying your hardest to hold it together while he doesn’t see your spiral break down. You felt your heart splinter; after every time you had held him, loved him, cared for him, he looked at you with emptiness.

“Bucky, I know you’re going through things-

“Things? You think I can just turn this fucking shit off y/n? I’m not fucking normal, and you’ll never fucking get it. Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you, I’ll stay at Steve’s tonight”

He makes his way to the door and you know you can’t be alone tonight, there’s too much going on inside.

“Please don’t” your voice is a plea, your practically begging at this point. You can feel your throat tighten because you feel selfish for struggling when he’s been through so much worse.

“Bucky please stay” you trail behind him, your knees shaking. You try to tug at his wrist but he doesn’t let you. When you finally try to cling onto his arm, his composure breaks.

“GET OFF ME” he pulls out of your grasp, sending you stumbling back. He’s usually mindful of his strength but he doesn’t think and you lose your balance, ending up on the floor. He freezes in utter disbelief with himself, he’d never in a million years even try to hurt you.

“Fuck, baby I’m so so-”

“Don’t”

Your eyes are now stone cold, your voice was low. He tries to help you up but you scramble away from him, adding distance between you both. He takes a step forward again but something isn’t right, he finally sees how broken you look.

“Y/n….”

“GET OUT”

Your voice tore through the walls and his eyes are wide with fear because he's never seen you so broken. He’s never heard you raise your voice like this; you’d always spoken to him softly. He’s scared because he didn’t mean to push you to your breaking point and he doesn’t know how to take it back.

"I-"

“GET THE FUCK OUT”

You pick yourself off the floor, your heart beating through your chest. You practically see red, after everything you had done for him, he called you selfish; you sat through every one of his panic attacks, his depressed days, his nightmares. He couldn't listen to you for one night.

"You fucking piece of shit"

You angrily tried to wipe your face, moving away from him to pack a bag, not wanting to be near him for a minute longer. You go straight to your room while he runs after you, panic rising, he wants to cry but he can’t, not right now.

“Doll I’m sorry-

“I don’t care” You rummage through some of your belongings, feeling yourself go numb. You felt like your mind didn’t even belong to you anymore, your body moving in autopilot. Bucky hates the vacant look on your face, he wants to hold you and tell you he’s sorry. He tries to wrap his arms around you, not knowing what else to do but you shove him away, shaking your head.

“Don’t-don’t touch me, don’t ever fucking touch me again”

He watches helplessly when you rip yourself away, shoving a few things into your duffle bag, not meeting his eyes.

"I-I don't fucking love you, I-I'm d-d-one with you"

“Baby please don’t go”

“Oh, so when you beg, I have to stay?” You scoff, letting out a humorless laugh “Fuck off”

He’s terrified now because while your movements are robotic, your body is shaking and you don’t even seem to notice. Bucky hates seeing you trembling; you’re about to leave the room and walk out but he stops you.

“Bucky, move” You suck in a breath, your nails digging into your hands, but he stays rooted in place.

“No bubba”

“Don’t call me that” Your voice trembles, another surge of anger flowing through you when he tries to reach out for you. “I SAID DON’T TOCUH ME”

He pulls you to his chest and you try to rip yourself free but he doesn’t let you go.

“LET GO”

Bucky shakes his head, hugging you tighter, his tears dampening your hair. The screams and wails ripping from your chest burn his insides, you desperately try to escape but he cradles you closer.

“M’sorry”

“L-let me g-o”

“M’sorry baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” He doesn’t care that your hitting his chest, he doesn’t care that your hands keep striking him. He can feel your body give way, your breaths uneven, months of pain spilling out all at once. He hugs you tighter like he should have done ages ago, realizing you needed him more than ever. Your body continues to fight but your angry screams turn into pained sobs.

“I’m so sorry my babygirl”

He carefully carries you to the bed where he can hold you in his lap. He tries to think of what you do for him, warming your body, rubbing his hands along your back and arms. He feels awful because you always take such good care of him and he was grasping at straws trying to do the same for you. You deserved so much more.

“Shhhh” His lips brush against your forehead, one hand gently rubbing your chest while the other continues to soothe your back so he can regulate your breathing. “Slowly baby, breathe with me, okay?”

You say nothing, but you try to follow his breaths, letting him take care of you. He continues to tell you how much he loves and cares for you, how sorry is he for hurting you. Exhaustion takes over and you allow yourself to fall asleep with him. A part of you is still angry but your too weak to move and you need to be held.

You wake up in the middle of the night feeling his chest tremble against you. His soft sniffles are muffled as he tries to keep his cries down while cuddling you close.

“Bucky?” You lift your head to see his broken expression.

“I’m s-sorry” He chokes out, breaking down. He feels selfish again because he should be the one comforting you but he was angry with himself. “I-I can’t believe I hurt you angel”

You move up so you can wipe some of his tears, his face puffy having cried for hours through the night.

“I just needed you” You gently your fingers through his hair trying to calm him down.

“I-I said shit I never should have said baby, I’m sorry. M’sorry sweet girl”

“Why did you say those things” you whisper, your voice still hoarse.

“I’m so sorry angel, I- there’s not excuse, I’m sorry I was so selfish doll”

You nod, still feeling drained though a part of you feels better. You hadn’t fully forgiven him yet but you knew he meant every word plus there was no one else in the world you loved as much as him. He thinks about the way he mistreated you, realizing he really didn’t deserve your forgiveness at all. Your words replay in his head and his breaths become shallow.

“Do-do you not love me anymore?” His voice is a broken whisper. You knew you didn’t mean it. The thought nearly kills him. He would have gone through hydra again over ever losing your love. Your thumb brushes over his lips silencing him.

“Please don’t say you don’t love me” He nuzzles himself further into your side, hugging you tightly, his voice a whimper. “Please, I’m sorry”

“I was just angry Bucky. I love you” He calms down slightly but hes still on edge with himself. He wants to do better. He wants to take care of you. You had been there through everything for him and you deserved the same love a thousand times over.

“I promise I’ll try harder angel”

He stays true to his word.

It doesn’t resolve overnight.

But he learns. And so do you.

He’s patient with you. He gives you endless love. He has his own hard days, and so do you but your by each others side through it all. He sees your sparkle return brighter than ever,

Because he really does love you.

Tags:

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mintytealfox · 1 month

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Hi! I'm super new to IDV and keep seeing a lot of art (official and fan) with Fools Gold and Alice! I love it all, but I was wondering is there a canon or fanon reason for their connection, or is it just a ship that developed based on their personalities? :)

EEYYYYYY~ I would LOVE for nortalice to be canon but I will be shocked if they make any coupling canon outside of psychologist (Ada Mesmer) and patient (Emil) and if they throw in Geisha's husbando and AKA mostly those who were already coupled before the manor games~

But I personally think there is potential there~ the Da Capo game (the one they are concentrating on in the main story) heavily leans on the Greek Lore of Orpheus and Eurydice~ with the cast consisting of The confirmed roles are these two: Orpheus: Novelist Eurydice: Alice/Journalist then the potential roles are as follows: Hades: Norton/Prospector/Fool's Gold Persephone: Melly/Entomologist not sure where Frederick goes, he will probably throw a wrench into this entire thing LOL

EDIT: So technically Melly and Norton could fall for each other cause of Hades and Persephone (I wouldn't be opposed to that either honestly cause that ship is my second love LOL I don't necessarily see them as romantic but I wouldn't be upset if they got together cause of the hades and persephone thing. plus whenever they are in anything together they are constantly memeing on the other and trying to get ahead at the cost of the other loool so I think they meme on each other a little too much for things to get romantical lol but who knows they could prove me wrong one day)

BUT WE AREN'T HERE TALKING ABOUT NORTMELLY RIGHT NOW LOL right now is NORTALICE TIME LOL

but I love em cause of their personalities and I feel like they would balance each other pretty well~

for example, Alice with her OCD would be calmed by Norton's matter of fact and 'it will be fine just work hard' view on things. ((that is what helps me with my OCD anyways lol is someone I trust taking my hands and saying its fine) I have an entire post about hand movements and I went into how Norton's movements are quick and precises and deliberate and Alice would need that for grounding 👀 While Norton needs a gentle touch cause that would be so unfamiliar to him that it would make him stop in his tracks I think~)) ANYWAY OFF TOPIC

Then vice versa with Norton and his gloom view on the world and Alice comes in with optimism and cheery-ness lol. She will protect her lil grumpy people LOL

Alice 👇 Norton👇

So I guess to answer your question, its definitely on their personalities and completely based on potential~ The potential and nuance is there with what we know about them so far and there is the hope that Norton will turncoat in the story, with Melly convincing him to help her save Alice 👏👏 I just like adding the little bit of spice of 'you two get together and heal together okay' I feel like they would balance each other out well~

Norton needing that softness and Alice needing that wall to lean on. And I think they would work so well together~

I hope I somewhat answered your question, I feel like I was all over the place LOL my baaaad

also I have no idea why they keep having Alice looking so down bad for Fool's Gold 🤣🤣🤣🤣BUT I LOVE IT SO DARN MUUCCHH LOOOOL (and added to the fuel for this raging fire that is my love for Nortalice)👏👏👏🤌🤌🤌🤌💞💞💞but it has me LAUGHING at the fact that on hallucinogens drugs she STILL sees Norton as a knock out BABE -WHEEEZZEEE-

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lavenderpanic · 3 months

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NEW FIC

Okay I've been messing around with this idea for like months and i only have like 3k words written and I wanted to test the waters to see if this is something you guys are interested in reading.

Brief synopsis: Bucky, a 23 year old college dropout, lives with his fiancé Brock Rumlow by the small New England college Brock is a professor at. Between his OCD and his anxiety and the gender dysphoria his fiancé assures him is all in his head, he struggles to find purpose and happiness. That is, until his fiancé's graduate student, Steve Rogers, moves into town and disrupts everything Bucky thought he knew.

Excerpt below cut, TW: OCD, DV, intentional midgendering/deadnaming, SH behaviors, coercion

Bucky peeks his head into the living room. There are only three men besides his fiancé, but the conversation is already too loud. Brock always says Bucky is just especially sensitive, that he has a naturally nervous predisposition, that’s why he’s best suited to staying home most of the time. He’s right, Bucky is sensitive, to noises and lights and crowds. Brock is so kind to not force him to go out. When he was a kid, his parents always thought he was faking it for attention, so they’d make him go to church and school and the grocery store even when he was overwhelmed. Brock never makes him leave if he doesn’t want to. And sometimes, even if he does want to, Brock knows it’s better for him to stay inside.

“Jamie, why don’t you bring out the drinks?” Brock calls.

Bucky’s back stiffens and he takes a slow breath. The men probably won’t even want to talk to him, they rarely do, beyond simple pleasantries. He just needs to smile and look nice. He grabs the silver tray of gin and tonics and walks into the living room with a timid little smile. He recognizes two of the men, other professors from the university, Rollins and Sitwell, he actually took a course with Rollins before he dropped out, but he doesn’t recognize the third. He looks barely older than Bucky himself, with his sandy hair and round, blue eyes, like perfectly ripe blueberries.

He doesn’t dress like the other men, either. During their classes, sure, they may dress nicely, in suits or button-ups with pressed slacks, but when they get together outside of that, they nearly always wear jeans, maybe a nice shirt or a sweater if they care enough that night. But the younger man, the blond, he’s dressed up like a vaguely homosexual humanities major from a nineties movie about a college in New England. Sweater vest, pants in a cinnamon-y kind of brown, a cream-white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

Brock pecks Bucky’s cheek as he places the tray down on the coffee table, next to the platters of carefully-selected crackers and nuts and cheeses that Bucky has spent the last two years learning how to curate. Brock’s real particular about shit like that. “Thanks, babe,” Brock says gently.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” Bucky whispers, sidling up close to him and glancing at the other men. “Like… half an hour more, I think? The potatoes just need a bit longer.”

“Of course, babydoll,” Brock murmurs, then kisses Bucky’s cheek again. “Go on, you don’t have to stay in here.”

Bucky smiles thankfully and disappears back into the kitchen. It’s a gorgeous kitchen, Brock wanted to gut it and rebuild it all marble and sleek, but Bucky begged him to keep it the way it is. It has beautiful hand painted tiles and dark-stained wooden cabinets and the most perfectly-worn brass fixtures. Brock finally agreed to keep it the way he bought it, if only because Bucky’s the one who spends so much time in the kitchen.

The kitchen smells glorious, the whole apartment does, really. Like thyme and garlic and the orange-cranberry cake he baked this afternoon. The potatoes in the oven are a soft golden-brown, encrusted with herbs, and the steak is resting on the counter. He did a good job. Brock will be happy with him. He didn’t mess up like last time.

He decides to start on the icing for the cake, a simple powdered sugar icing, perhaps with a squeeze or two of orange juice. He plucks the leftover orange from the ceramic fruit bowl and places it down on the counter before going to the cupboard and reaching for the paper bag of icing sugar. He has to stand on his tiptoes and lean against the counter and he’s still barely tall enough to brush his fingers against the bottom of the bag. He gets a loose grip on it when–

“Oh, hey, do you need help with that?”

Bucky whirls around in surprise, sending the bag tumbling to the ground. Nearly half of it flies out in a sugary cloud, painting the antique tiles an ashy grey. On the other side of the cloud stands the blond, the young man who Bucky still hasn’t been introduced to.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he says with wide eyes.

“No, no, my fault,” Bucky whispers. Brock is going to be so mad with him for making such a bad mess. He’ll need to really mop it, maybe twice or even three times, fine sugar is almost impossible to clean properly. “Sorry.”

“No, nonsense, do you have a broom or something, I could–”

Bucky shakes his head quickly and gestures for Steve to return to the men before he finds his voice. “‘S not your fault, I can clean it. Do you… you need something?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Rumlow just said there would be seltzer or soda or something in here. I’m not much of a drinker,” he laughs apologetically.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Bucky nods. He opens the fridge to reveal shelves upon shelves of perfectly organized food, labeled tupperwares, straight lines of soda cans. “Any flavor you prefer?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah, lemon would be great, thanks.” Bucky hands him a silvery can with a little lemon slice embossed into its front, careful not to slip into the mess of sugar. “Oh, I’m Steve, by the way. I’m a PhD candidate, I just moved here. I’m, um, TA-ing for one of Rumlow’s courses, and I’m teaching one myself.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting,” Bucky hums. He struggles to think of an intelligent-sounding thing to say next. “What are you, like… getting your PhD in?”

Steve starts to say something, he nearly launches into what must be a very rehearsed recitation of his field of study, but Brock appears in the doorway next to him a moment later, places a hand on his far shoulder like they’re pals. Brock’s easy smile falls from his face when he sees the pile of sugar in the very center of the kitchen. Bucky instinctively takes a step back at the displeasure written into every line of his face. “What’s taking so long?” Brock chuckles, but there isn’t any humor in it.

“I’m really sorry, man,” Steve chuckles, ducking his head in faux-embarrassment. “I knocked over the sugar when I went to open the fridge, stupid mistake.”

Brock’s posture softens a bit, his shoulders drop and he stops glaring at Bucky quite so menacingly. “Yeah, she can clean it up, don’t worry about it.”

Bucky shoots Steve a little thankful grin as the two men walk out of the kitchen. He manages to salvage the sugar that didn’t fall out of the bag and does his best to brush as much of the mess on the floor into a trash bag as he can. He’ll clean the rest tonight, once everyone leaves and he can really scrub at the tile.

He doesn’t get the chance to make the icing before he has to plate up dinner, but that’s fine, the men usually like to drink and talk a bit in between dinner and dessert, so he should have plenty of time to ice the cake in between. He sets five plates full of potatoes and steak and grilled asparagus on the table and calls in for the men. He sits at Brock’s side. He doesn’t have steak, he doesn’t really like to eat meat, it feels weird against his teeth, but he does love potatoes and asparagus. He manages to finish off his plate, which earns him a small nod of approval from his fiancé.

“So, Jamie, what do you do?” Steve asks, once there’s a lull in conversation.

Bucky takes a shaky breath and glances to Brock before answering. “I really just take care of the home, I don’t… work or anything.”

The focus is quickly drawn away from him, and he doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t have anything interesting to add to any conversation. Not unless the topic is baked goods or bookshelves or something. He isn’t good at small talk, but it’s okay, because people don’t usually want to talk to him anyway.

He clears the table while the men chat in the living room. He notices Steve glancing at him through the doorway that connects the living room to the dining room, which makes him a bit uneasy, but people who meet him through Brock usually are a bit surprised to realize he’s so young. There’s only a seventeen year gap, but Bucky knows he’s still quite young. Most people don’t expect a forty-year-old professor to have a twenty-three-year-old fiancée at home. Bucky doesn’t mind. Brock doesn’t, so why should he?

He makes the icing once the table is re-set with clean dessert dishes, a simple icing, vanilla and powdered sugar and milk and a bit of orange juice. He drizzles it neatly onto the bundt cake and places it on the table proudly and waits in the kitchen until the men decide they’re hungry again. Steve sits next to Bucky this time. Brock on one side, Steve on the other.

“Shit, this is good,” Steve curses under his breath. The other men are too busy talking about something Bucky doesn’t understand to compliment him, but he doesn’t mind, he doesn’t need to be thanked for doing what’s expected of him. “Is this from, like, scratch?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, grinning a bit. “It’s a recipe I developed. I have a lot of time. I made a lot of lemon blueberry cake this summer and I thought I could adapt it for autumn.”

“Are you gonna eat some? Seriously, this is like… better than bakery quality.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Bucky lies. He’s on a diet. Not a strict one, but he absolutely couldn’t fit a whole slice of cake into his daily calorie allotment. Maybe if he doesn’t eat breakfast or lunch tomorrow, he could have a leftover slice after dinner.

He busies himself in the kitchen, packing up leftovers and wiping down the counters, while the men say their goodbyes. As expected, moments after the door shuts, Brock appears in the kitchen. “You need to clean the floor,” He says, as if that hasn’t been the only thing on Bucky’s mind all evening.

“I will,” Bucky promises earnestly. “Did I do good tonight?”

“Well, darling,” Brock corrects with a little chuckle. “Yes, you did very well. Such a lovely hostess,” he teases, which makes Bucky’s cheeks go a bit pink, he never does like when Brock makes such a point of calling him a woman, but he knows he meant it as a compliment so he doesn’t protest.

“Thank you,” Bucky grins.

“Come to the bedroom once this is all cleaned up, alright?”

“Alright,” Bucky parrots nervously. He’ll have to hurry up his cleaning, Brock gets mad when he thinks Bucky is procrastinating sex. Bucky doesn’t want to be punished tonight. Having to see so many people already exhausted him, and he narrowly escaped a punishment for dropping the sugar all over the kitchen floor.

But still, he presses a polite smile onto his face and nods and Brock leaves him alone to clean. After two passes with a mop, there are only a few sticky streaks left behind. He’ll really scrub it clean tomorrow, but Brock probably won’t notice in the interim.

Bucky reluctantly shuffles up the stairs to the bedroom. Brock is laying down on the bed, laptop balanced on his thighs. Bucky resists the urge to remind him not to wear outside clothes on the fresh comforter, just barely, Brock gets annoyed when he gets all obsessive about that kind of stuff. Bucky perches delicately on the end of the bed and waits for Brock to finish whatever he’s typing up. He rushes Brock, sometimes, because he’s selfish with Brock’s time. He’s trying to get better, though.

Finally, Brock closes his computer and places it on the side table. He looks at Bucky for several tense breaths. Bucky fidgets anxiously. Is something wrong? Is he doing something wrong? He glances down unsurely at what he’s wearing. “I noticed you were doing it again,” Brock finally states.

“Doing what?” Bucky whispers.

“Scratching your arms.”

“I haven’t been,” Bucky defends quickly. His hands immediately go to circle his forearms, he crosses them over his chest protectively.

“I saw you doing it tonight,” Brock says slowly. “Take off your sweater, Jamie. And roll up those sleeves, too.”

Bucky pulls his knit sweater over his head, then bunches up the long sleeves of his dress to his elbows so his forearms are visible. All along his arms, blanketed by a sheer layer of iridescent scars, soft violet bruises blossom alongside irritated-looking scratches, some newer than others. He looks away, embarrassed. He truly didn’t notice he was doing it, it’s been a habit for so long that he rarely registers it. Brock coos with mock-sympathy and sits up a bit, gesturing for Bucky to scoot closer. He does.

“Baby, you need to stop doing that, look how ugly they are. You’re just making it harder for the scars to heal.”

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles. Brock takes him by the wrists, turns his mottled arms this way and that. After a few moments of inspection, Brock drops his arms again and reaches his hands for his belt. “No, please, I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers desperately, shrinking away from his fiancé as discreetly as he can manage.

“Hands out.”

Bucky lifts his hands up, facing the palms toward Brock. They’re trembling, but he knows better than to refuse. Brock carefully folds his belt in half and strikes Bucky’s palms, ten times, in close succession. Bucky flinches, but he never takes his hands away. Brock is right to discipline him. He’s right, he needs to break this habit. It is ugly. He’s ugly. Brock deserves better than that. “Thank you,” he says quickly, as Brock tosses the belt to the side and leans back against the headboard.

“I’m just trying to help you, darling, you know that.”

“I do,” Bucky nods, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Brock always keeps the house so freezing. Bucky usually doesn’t mind, but he always feels so shaky when Brock makes him get undressed. His fingertips turn all blue.

Brock undoes his pants, spreads his legs to either side of Bucky so he can crawl forward and situate himself on his stomach. He takes Brock’s dick out of his pants and strokes at it a couple times, but it’s already erect. He takes it into his mouth and sucks gently at the head, he wants to prolong this part to hopefully avoid having Brock fuck into the back of his throat for too long. He hates that. One time he got sick, and Brock got so mad, even though Bucky kind of felt, deep down, like it was Brock’s fault. Since then, every time Brock starts gripping onto his hair and thrusting down his throat, he feels panic tugging at his lungs and nausea pooling low in his stomach.

Thankfully, he leaves Bucky in control for most of the blowjob, he lets him wrap his hands around the length left out of his mouth and stroke at it, which keeps him mollified, even if Bucky should try a bit harder to deepthroat him. Before he can come, he lifts Bucky off of his dick. Bucky blinks and sniffles unsurely as oxygen floods into his lungs. He didn’t–

Bucky flinches as a string of come lands over his eye. Another one, in his hair. He breathes shakily and retches shallowly and waits for Brock to be done. Thankfully, Brock isn’t very chatty after sex. He just throws a few tissues at him and starts scrolling through his phone, dick still hanging out of his undone fly. Bucky used to crave intimacy and conversation afterwards but nowadays he’s just so excited to run off to the shower and have a few minutes to himself.

He starts running the shower in the conjoined bathroom before he even starts undressing. He usually likes to let the mirror steam up so he doesn’t have to look at himself more than necessary. It’s not that the dresses and lipstick and frilly blouses don’t make him dysphoric, and he can still see the contours of his body, his chest, his waist, even through the thin layer of steam collected on the mirror, but it makes his evenings just a bit easier.

Sometimes he dares to use Brock’s body wash, the one that smells like, according to the bottle, a volcano, which makes Bucky giggle a bit. Brock rarely notices when he does, and Bucky can usually pass it off rather easily, oh, we’re almost out of mine, if he mentions it. But tonight he doesn’t. Tonight, he scrubs himself down with his apricot-sweet gel and lathers his hair until it’s sleek and shiny with coconut shampoo and conditioner. Sometimes, he tries to buy nice girly things, scents that make him happy, in some lame attempt to convince himself that he can be happy as a woman. That he can embrace it, embrace the delicate femininity Brock so desperately wants him to embody. So far, he hasn’t had much luck.

#bucky barnes #stucky #steve rogers #stevebucky #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #captain america #bucky barnes fanfiction #catws #winterbones #fanfic #winterbones fanfiction #brock rumlow #bucky x steve #bucky x brock #marvel #marvel fanfic

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thefreakymunson · 2 years

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Could you do like, Eddie x reader where they're fighting over something small and to end the fight Eddie just says “You were made to be kissed, often and well.”? ily

You glared at him over the bar in the kitchen, watching as he made a mess of everything you had just cleaned up. He pulled the spices out of the cabinet as he seasoned whatever it was that he was cooking and didn’t even offer to put them back once he was done. Instead, he turned the burner off, plated his food, and left the pan on the stove.

“What are you staring at me like that for?” Eddie asked, fork in his mouth as he carried his plate.

“Eddie, I just cleaned that all up,” you sighed, throwing the rag down on the bar as you crossed your arms.

“And? I’ll clean it back up when I’m done. I’m starving, Y/N.” Eddie mumbled, sitting down at the table with his plate.

“I told you I was going to make dinner in just a little bit,” you sighed.

“Babe, I just finished working on the van all damned day. I couldn’t think straight because of my stomach growling.” He sighed, watching as you walked over to where he had left the spices out, “I said I’d clean it up-”

“Eddie, stop.” You sighed, picking the spice jars up and placing them back in the cabinet, “I’ve got it.”

“Fuckin’ christ,” he snorted, “Always got to be the control freak, huh?”

You stared up at him in slight shock. He knew you struggled with wanting to keep everything tidy, your OCD kicking in strong when it came to cleanliness and tidiness of the house. He never ever dared say anything about it. Normally he tried his hardest to help you keep up with the chores and keep everything tidy.

“Control freak?” You asked, tears welling up in your eyes as you scoffed, “Wow. Thanks, Eddie.”

“Babe-”

“Leave me alone,” you said, storming off through the house, ignoring his calls.

Eddie groaned in frustration, flopping back down in the chair as he heard the bedroom door slam shut. Just his luck. His van wouldn’t start and now his woman was mad at him. He had really been having such a great day.

You weren’t sure how long you had stayed in the bedroom, trying to cool off. Eddie didn’t breach the unspoken barrier of your shared bedroom and you didn’t leave the comfort of it. Things weren’t messy in here. Things were nice and clean and not covered in spice jars.

“Y/N?” you heard Eddie’s voice coming from the otherside of the door. He tried to open it, but you had locked it out of spite. You were quiet as the handle rattled and he sighed in defeat, “Y/N...baby...I’m sorry.”

You didn’t move – didn’t even attempt to move until you heard him speak again.

“Please let me in,” He said, a slight thump apparent as he laid his forehead against the door, “Look, today’s been shitty. I’m sorry. I – I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re not a control freak, doll.”

“You hurt my feelings,” you said, sitting on the side of the bed, “I wasn’t trying to control anything...I just wanted it to be clean.”

“I know that,” he said, voice muffled, “I know that and I’m so sorry, baby...just unlock the door, yeah?”

You sat there a moment, trying to decide whether or not to do as he asked when he spoke again.

“C’mon, Y/N. It’s been like two hours...I miss you.” His voice was soft – a careful balance between gentle and apologetic. You could almost see the pout on his pink lips.

When you unlocked the door, he pulled you against him, ringed fingers threading through your hair as he cradled your head against his chest, soft warm lips pressing against your forehead.

“There’s my girl,” he said, feeling your arms wrap around his waist and pull him in tighter.

He cupped your chin, bending his head down to nuzzle against yours, forcing your head back as he pressed his lips against yours. Anger and humiliation washed away as his mouth danced against yours, so much love and emotion packed into it.

“I’m sorr-” you were cut off by another kiss, his hand coming to rest on the side of your cheek.

“Don’t talk,” he whispered, “Just let me kiss you like you were made to be kissed, yeah?”

“And how’s that?” You mumbled.

“Often and well, love.” He whispered before moving in for another smooch.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Stranger things #Stranger Things fanfic #Joseph Quinn #thefreakymunson #sfw #fluff

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assortedvillainvault · 4 months

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could you do a Hades and a trans male f/o with ocd and how he would help them/react to things? Only of you are comfy with it!

Hey there! Thanks for the ask and apologies for the snail trail it's taken to get these out.

I tried my best with these - I don't suffer from OCD/am not trans so if there's any inaccuracies please let me know!!

Hades x Trans+OCD!Reader Headcannons

Babe he has dealt, and will deal with, every single soul who has ever lived. Which is over 5 billion or so by now. This ain’t his first trans rodeo, just let him know and you’re good.

As a god he’s kinda beyond the whole 'gender' concept anyway, he just double checks his pronouns and moves on, busy guy whole realm to run and all that. But if someone disrespects you? You?? His S/O?? BOOM straight to Tartarus – he’s got your back babe just say the word.

While he might not be familiar with OCD through personal experience, or know the term, he’s not exactly unobservant.

If you’re particular about keeping your hands clean -and yeesh he can relate the soul stuff goop sticks – he just asks that you please please please don’t use the river water for washing. The Underworld's nine rivers ALL cause magic bullshit on contact, from accelerated ageing to memory loss, and neither of you need the stress ok. He can provide perfectly normal sterilised water on hand just ask the servants that’s what they're for.

You like everything just so, huh? Like down to the right angle and the minute? While he’s also gonna bring up practical issues of micromanaging (lack of time, fate, rampant minion idiocy and his family’s mere existence), he relates because he also runs a tight ship and hates his systems being disrupted – something simple being thrown off whack is a red flame rage trigger. You can be each-others chill pills. Hopefully.

If he spots you counting- shit babe want a job? There are reams of records in his office that need an organised eye and if you feel the need then who is he to stop you honestly. He’ll even pay you. Please help him.

Its almost soothing, in a used salesman board meeting type way, how he can talk you through the worst of the paranoia. Like. Ok, so what’s the worst that could happen babe? You could die? You are dating the Lord of The Dead. You’ve visited the underworld so often you’ve basically mapped the place! You know exactly what happens once ye old mortal coil is shuffled off! Who else can say that, huh? Course he’s gonna resurrect you, Olympus isn't exactly gonna notice.

And if you’re worried that through some kind of colossal, fates dammed fuckup, you’ll somehow harm him or the underworld? Babe. Sweetheart. Is your name Zeus? Or Hercules?? No?? You’re not knocking down walls or attempting to yoink a soul back upstairs? No?? You’re good. The place ain’t exactly made of tissue paper and neither is he.

Now c’mere, ok? He needs some snuggles and so you you. Lap time.

#thalassa responds #thank you for the ask!!#hades x reader #disney villains #disney hades #x reader #hades strikes me as a hyper adaptable roll with the punches sort of guy #like he might not fully get it BUT if he can find a workaround that keeps things running and you happy then he's gonna do it full steam

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romanarose · 10 months

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Congrats on your milestone. May I request number 29 from the fluff category with benny?

Gog, You're in luck bc I've had this vague idea in my head since Saturday after seeing the Barbie Movie. Everyone go stream "Im just Ken" its a banger. (Also specifically in the LaL universe bc I know you read it, Benny and Laci ABSOLUTLY did the BarbenHeimer double feature. Like me.)

(Also note: My Benny Miller has ADHD. I will not be taking critcism. Will have OCD. I said what I said.)

I'm Just Ken

Benny Miller x reader

'Doesn't seem to matter what I do, I'm always number two!'

It had been 2 weeks of this. None stop. None stop! You shouldn't know this movie would be trouble. You never even needed to ask Benny to go see Barbie with you; he had already bought an outfit 2 months ago and preordered the tickets for you, him, Frankie, and Frankie's daughter. When you saw the "Im just Ken" musical number, you knew it spelled trouble for you, and you looked at Benny the way your brother looked at you when Kylo Ren took off his mask at the premier of The Force Awakens... You knew it was over.

Ever since then, that song was playing in your house endlessly.

'Cuz I'm just Ken! And so am I!'

Benjamin was currently in the shower, singing his heart out and god, he was driving you crazy. Just a little. It was a good song, but several times a day?? This would be up there in his Spotify wrapped.

'Baby IIIIIIIMMMMM JUUUUUUUUST KEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNN!!'

With the finale, Benjamin shut off the shower and in a few moments he immerged from the steamy bathroom with a towel slung low on his defined hips, and you turn around to take a look at him from where you sat on the couch.

"I didn't know you could sing like that" You smile. He'd serenaded you with guitar songs many-a-time, delighting you in renditions of George Straight and Randy Travis but never anything where he's belting it out.

His smile is lopsided and goofy. "Am I getting annoying, babe?"

You almost say yes. You almost ask if he can cut down the Barbie soundtrack just a bit.

But he's having fun... let him have fun. After while he'll move onto something else for his beautiful ADHD brain to hyperfixate on, this is hardly the worst.

"No baby, I enjoy your singing" A half truth. He WAS annoying you. But you DID enjoy his singin.

Benny's face lights up with glee. "Good! Because I think I'm really starting to get those notes!"

He was. He really was. You follower him around the house as he gets ready for work, continuing to talk about the Barbie movie with delight and asking if you can please go with him again for $5 Tuesdays. And you would go, again and again and again as long as it made him happy.

*************

Hope you enjoyed! Benny is my baby <3

@whatthefishh @littlenosoul @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

#beny miller #benjamin miller x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #benny miller x reader #benjamin benny miller #benny miller fanfiction

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lip-rings-and-quiffs · 1 year

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Hey there!! I see you write fics and I don’t know if you take requests?? If not don’t worry!! But if u do, could you write a luke x reader where the reader struggles with anxiety and ocd? Like checking things a lot (checking doors are locked, oven is off etc) and struggling with intrusive thoughts. But like it doesn’t need to be dark or anything, more like Luke helps to reassure her and it’s more like cute n sweet. If not comfortable writing about this tho I totally understand!! Thank u and love ur writing x

A/N : Ok first of all thank you so much!!! I’ve been feeling like I suck at writing for a while and all so this helped so much!! Ily<33 and I do take requests (for future reference lmao). Anyways I hope you liked this!!

Warnings : ocd, anxiety attacks and such. Well it’s not really graphic but it’s there. Also it’s smol🥺. Had no idea what to name this lol +masterlist | reblogs are highly appreciated<33

Better with You | lh

Ever since you were born, you had always been prone to worrying. As a child, you had been anxious about getting lost or separated from your parents. As you grew older, your fears shifted to other things: locking doors, turning off the stove, making the bed at least seven times a day, making sure you hadn't accidentally offended anyone, apologizing over and over again when you really didn’t have to.

It wasn't until you were in your late teens that you finally found a name for what you were experiencing: obsessive-compulsive disorder, or OCD. It was a huge relief to know that there was a reason behind your constant need to check things and your intrusive thoughts. And that there wasn’t something “wrong” with you. But even with the medication and therapy, you still struggled.

And that’s where Luke comes in. After you met at a coffee shop one day, he has been the absolute sweetheart, leading him to become your boyfriend and one of the most important people in your life. He had been with you through it all. He had held your hand during panic attacks, listened patiently as you talked about your fears, and never once judged you for your struggles. He was your rock, the best friend, the boyfriend that you could always count on.

One day, you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through various social media platforms, when you suddenly felt a jolt of panic travel through your spine. Had you turned off the oven before you came back to the living room? You couldn't remember. You gulped, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to push the horrific thought away, but it kept nagging at you, growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment.

"Hey," Luke said, his cerulean eyes filled with worry as he took in your distress. "Is everything okay?" You shook your head, unable to speak.

"What's going on?" he asked, taking your hand in his much larger one.

"I don't remember if I turned off the oven," you hiccuped, tears threatening to slip past your waterline. "What if the house burns down?"

Luke squeezed your hand. "It’s okay, why don’t we go check together? Hmm?”

You stood up, feeling slightly unsteady. Luke immediately wrapped his arms around you, securing you in his hold and led you to the kitchen and together, you opened the oven door. It was off.

"See?" Luke said, smiling down at you. "Everything's okay. The house isn't going to burn down."

You let out a shaky breath. "Thank you."

"Of course babe" he said, wrapping his arms around you once more and kissing the top of your head. "I'll always be here to help you through anything."

You leaned into him, cuddling into his loving embrace. After focusing on his heartbeat for a while, it was easy for you to finally calm down. With Luke by your side, you knew that everything would be alright.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you’re having a great day. I love feedback, it helps so much.

+masterlist | reblogs are highly appreciated!<333

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cosm0tology · 1 year

Text

hey guys… more headcanons for my comfort characters because i said so 😁 for this one it’s mike wheeler!!

based off of this post

prev. part pt.1

you better believe this mf is the definition of neurodivergent.

autistic, adhd, ocd, synesthesia—brother is a quadruple threat.

genderfluid she/he/they!!! they have a lot more feminine days now that they’ve figured themself out

special interests r d&d, writing, and she collects rocks she thinks are cool or thinks will would like

he gives the rocks to will like a cat bringing their owner a dead mouse

speaking of will

she is like a koala with him. there is no getting mike off of that boy even if it’ll kill her

they have very strong feelings about words.

like literally if you set them off about words there is no stopping them

not in a bad way, there’s just something about how one word can have like 20 synonyms but another doesn’t

“no im being so serious like what the fuck. what the fuck do you mean i can use plethora, multitude, plentitude, abundance and surplus interchangeably but there’s no synonym for unique?”

will lets them rant about stuff like that but will have no idea what they’re talking about

“then there’s words with, like, six different meanings? don’t even get me started on those-” “[gently stroking mike’s hair] me too babe”

mike’s safe food is spaghetti btw. i don’t make the rules

he hates certain brands of yogurt because they put chunks of fruit in the yogurt and every time he eats one he loses his appetite for the next two days

even if it’s not yogurt she just hates anything that has chunks of fruit in it

which is why they will never eat strawberry ice cream. ever

he’s okay with like walnuts and cookie dough and stuff like that but if it’s fruit?? get it away from her

“mike why aren’t you eating anything?” “yogurt.” “oh…”

he can only eat it if it’s those kinds of yogurt that separate the chunks from the actual like. yogurt

whenever he goes to a fast food place and gets a side with whatever he’s eating he has to eat the side first or he’ll explode

she definitely asks nancy or robin to do her makeup.

or even steve because robin has definitely taught steve how to do makeup

mike can do makeup for herself ofc but she likes it better when someone else does it. don’t ask why because she doesn’t know

after they came out as gender-fluid they started dressing like klaus hargreeves

like. everywhere. no matter where he’s going he’s giving off that vibe

even when they become an author and do interviews and shit.

“wow, mr. wheeler.. you have a very, uh, unique style.” “i know right? who knew you could find shit like this from thrift stores?”

him and el have very similar music tastes, so sometimes they just sit together and listen to music

they don’t even speak to each other most of the times they’re doing that

they’re just doing other stuff while they listen

but it’s nice to them

mike has absolutely zero filter after he comes out

whenever they want to stare at will because of how beautiful he is? they do it.

“mike? are you okay? is there something on my face?” “no, just your face” “then,, what are you looking at?” “you.”

#stranger things #byler #mike wheeler #jane hopper #will byers #autistic mike wheeler #autistic will byers #autistic jane hopper #everyone in stranger things is autistic btw #i don’t make the rules #genderfluid mike wheeler

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horsesandhockeyplayers · 2 years

Text

When Life Gives You Lemons- Part 14

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic, not just particular chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 4500

Word Count Total: 62,779

Author’s Note: Huge shoutout to @newlibrary for the graphics and @hockeylvr59 for the editing reads.

Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Reminder, that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. This part begins with Clementine. THERE BE SMUT.

Part Fourteen*

My stomach swooped like I was on a roller coaster, and I knew I’d forever remember this moment as the one when I fell in love with Mark Barberio, or at least one of them. There seemed to be many moments when I fell a little more in love with him.

I kissed the underside of his chin as I murmured, “You’re so full of it.”

He wrapped me up in his arms again, hugged me to his chest and shifted his hips as he replied, “I’m full of something, and I’m gonna have to go take care of it in a minute.”

Bracing a hand on his chest, I sat up. How he could toe the line between being romantic one minute and entirely asinine the next I might never know, but, much to my great dismay, it was incredibly endearing and I felt my heart squeeze in my chest. My hair fell in a curtain around me as I scooted back onto his thighs and I tilted my chin in the direction of his crotch as I whispered, “Can I?”

His grin was impossibly wide as he chuckled and informed me, “Lemon, for the record you never have to ask a dude if you can touch his junk.”

I hid behind my hair, faltering as I offered, “Ok, I just…”

I trailed off, because how to do you tell someone you’re about to be intimate with that indescribable trauma happened to you and you don’t actually KNOW what to do with a dick since you’ve never had a healthy sexual relationship before? I wasn’t exactly sure, hence why I grew quiet.

Mark settled his hands behind his head— which just accentuated his arms and chest, and I realized that it was really unfair that there are men who looked like this in real life and not just on romance novel covers and I was still halfway shocked that I was curled up on the couch with one of said men— as he responded evenly, “Lemon, just do what you want. It’s ok, I promise. If I don’t like something I’ll tell you.”

“But I don’t want to do something you don’t like,” I bit my lip after answering. Perfection wasn’t a suggestion with Bill and I hated that I kept comparing them together because Mark was kind and wonderful and Bill was a shitstain on humanity.

“Babe,” he countered, “I do shit you don’t like all the time. But I stop and let you adjust or call me an idiot or we talk about it. That’s how you ended up on top, remember?”

I nodded and scooted back a little farther down his thighs, trying to sit on my heels instead of his knees. He had tucked his erection under the waistband of his underwear and jeans, leaving the head of his cock sticking out; without thinking, I reached out and, with the tip of my finger, smeared around the precum that had gathered there

His breath hitched, and I heard him hiss through his teeth. He unclenched his hands from behind his head, moving them to grip the arm of the couch instead. I bit my lip, palming him through his jeans and then tentatively, unbuttoned his fly. As I slid his zipper down, I took a moment to appreciate how he was straining against his boxer briefs.

I dipped my hand under the waistband of his shorts and when I wrapped my hand around the base of his dick, his hips jerked and he swallowed a moan. The way his body responded to me made me feel a little dizzy with power; the novelty that I caused him to react that way and that I was calling the shots here was almost too much to bear, but I knew one thing for sure: it was incredibly hot and I kind of loved it. With my free hand, I shoved his underwear down and freed him completely, letting my fingertips trail up his length. His dick jumped into my hand and I enjoyed feeling him, enjoyed the velvety feel of his skin over the hardness of his erection. When I risked a glance up at him, he had sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyes were intense, and laser focused on me. “Is this ok?” He nodded vigorously.

I watched him react as I stroked him, never having the opportunity to explore someone so thoroughly. Precum was dripping onto his stomach and I swiped it up with my finger and licked it off, rolling the bitter taste over my tongue. Mark’s breath hitched again and his dick twitched in my hand.

This time when he exhaled, there was a distinctive “fuck,” muttered under his breath. Watching him straining, gripping the arm of the couch so hard I thought there would be permanent divots in the leather, I realized he was doing his best to give this completely unpressured experience to me, and as hot as this moment was already, the fact that he could be so unselfish in it, despite everything, only endeared him to me more.

I rubbed my thumb over the head of his cock, and I saw the muscles in his jaw clench as I spread around some more of the precum that was leaking out.

“Lemon,” he choked out, “Spit in your hand.”

“What?” I asked. His words broke my trance, and even though I understood what he was saying, it took a moment for me to process the suggestion.

“Spit. In. Your. Hand,” he panted.

I did my best to gather enough saliva in my mouth before I did what he asked. The lubrication changed the texture of his skin, and he went from velvet to silk. I loved the feel of him against my hand, the easy slide of him across my palm almost hypnotic. As I stroked him, I felt him get impossibly harder.

He was trying to control the movement of his hips, but they kept jumping up underneath me, shoving the length of him through my fist completely.

He wasn’t completely shaven, but he was trimmed and I moved my other hand to palm his scrotum, rolling his testicles in my hand. I heard him curse softly as I teased them, felt them tighten as jet of cum landed on his stomach and he groaned, “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

I had indeed stopped what I was doing to watch the cum jet out of him, but with his encouragement, I started again, stroking him through each spurt and firmly holding his balls in my other hand.

FInally, he was done and he reached down and grabbed my wrists in his hands as he conceded, “Okay, now you can stop. Too much.”

He flopped back, sinking into the couch as he let my wrists go and with his eyes closed he rasped, “Holy shit, Lemon, that was… hot.”

It was hot and now that I wasn’t transfixed by his genitals, I was able to sit back on my heels and just look at him: his hair was disheveled from my fingers carding through it and the cross on the silver chain was resting against his chest, carving a shimmering path through all of the muscles there. I took that moment to appreciate that there were so many muscles. Even if I worked out just as much as he did, I still probably wouldn’t have half the amount of muscles— which I personally thought was unfair.

HIs abs were splattered with his cum and I gave in to the urge to reach down and trail my index finger through the milky fluid, pushing it through the valley of his abdominals. When I risked a glance at his face, he had one eye open and he was watching me carefully, his rakish eyebrow raised. “You’ve never gotten the opportunity to just enjoy someone’s body, have you?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I impulsively licked the cum off my finger.

He grabbed his shirt off the floor and wiped his stomach off before he sat up. When we were facing each other again, his hand went to the back of my head and he pulled me down for a kiss, his tongue invading my mouth almost like he was trying to lick his own cum out of it.

When he finally pulled away, I had to touch my lips to make sure they were still there. “Come on, Lemon,” he prompted, picking me up and setting me on my feet next to the couch. He made it seem so easy, even though I knew there was no way it was. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom, trying to hold his jeans up with his free hand. He ended up kicking them off in the hallway.

Once we were through the door, he pulled me forward and spun me around like we were dancing, his bed hitting the back of my knees and I fell backward onto it. I had been dreading this moment and I shut my eyes, bracing for the moment of panic I knew I would feel when he fell on top of me.

When his weight didn’t hit me right away, I opened an eye to catch him falling to his knees. He had disposed of his boxer briefs and tossed them with his shirt into a pile and I realized he had gotten fucking naked and I had missed the show.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I asked, “Barbs? What are you doing?”

He reached up to hook his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and stripped them off with my underwear in one smooth pull, throwing them in the same pile as his clothes. “I should think that is obvious,” he whispered into the skin of my thigh.

“It’s… not?”

He gave me a look I couldn’t interpret and grabbed me gently, dragging my body toward him until I was almost hanging off the bed. He arched a brow, like that was supposed to give me a clue and I shrugged, clueless. I was still unsure as to what was happening, but I wasn’t uneasy about it, which was a miracle in and of itself.

He walked closer to me on his knees as he instructed, “Arms up.”

I lifted my arms, more as a reflex than anything, and when I settled back on my elbows, I was naked. It was the first time I had been naked with a man since my marriage, and I fought the urge to cover myself. Mark sat back on his heels for a moment and I could feel his gaze traveling up and down my body. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that I barely heard him murmur, “You are breathtaking.”

I looked down, half concerned that my body had been replaced by body snatchers. But, all I saw was the same old body I saw every day: one with a faint map of stretch marks from gaining weight too fast; battle scars, that were both literal and figurative, from fighting my marriage and myself; a smattering of cellulite, weird tan lines and broken capillaries; and assorted other imperfections that seemed to be emphasized in this moment of vulnerability. Before I could voice any of this, Mark slid his hands from my ankles to my knees and twisted them to skirt along the inside of my thighs. He ran them upwards until his thumbs found the crease along my vaginal lips, which proved to be sufficiently distracting and quieted the self-doubt racing through my brain.

When he pulled my folds apart and blew on my clit, I fell back onto the bed, a whimpered “fuck,” escaping my throat. I felt the smile on his lips as he pressed them to me and licked the length of my pussy.

I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to watch him or just lay back and enjoy the sensations. He explored me with his tongue, his fingers spreading me apart as he licked around my pussy. When he closed his lips over my clit and sucked, my hips arched into his face, and when he slid a thick finger into me, I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

My orgasm hit me like a tsunami; the sensation started to rise, and suddenly I was drowning, my hips bucking wildly into his face. I swear Mark growled when he locked his free arm over my pelvis to hold me in place as he sucked my clit and finger fucked me through my orgasm. As I was coming down, he slid a second finger in with the first and the stretch caused a mini orgasm on the heels of the first. With a flat-tongued lick, he detached from my “pleasure nub,” and I suddenly understood why terrible romance novelists called it such.

He continued to slide his fingers in and out of me, leaving trails of wet opened mouth kisses along my thighs until I relaxed completely, the occasional tremor shaking my body.

When he slipped his fingers out of me, he sucked them into his mouth to clean them off before crawling over me and resting against the pillows; once situated, he hauled me up his body and arranged me half on top of him, his dick resting along my thigh.

With our naked bodies like this, it painted a stark picture of how different we were. HIs body was thick and toned. I don’t think he had one tiny cell of fat on him and his skin was a dark olive after having been in the sun all summer. I, on the other hand, looked like poorly proven sourdough bread that Paul Hollywood would have been ashamed of… with blue hair.

I felt Mark take a breath below my ear as he whispered in it, “Was that ok? I don’t want to brag, but I have been told I’m pretty good at that.”

I stretched my jaw a bit, willing the muscles to work since all of them felt like they had the integrity of wet cardboard. “I don’t have anything to compare it to,” I ventured, “So you could be the absolute worst in the world, but if that’s the worst, then the best might kill me.”

He went completely still beneath me as he processed my response, taking a moment before he responded, “What do you mean you don’t have anything to compare it to?”

I set my chin on his chest and looked up at him as I clarified, “I’ve never experienced that before?”

He looked a little shocked, and rubbed the hand that wasn’t cradling my ass down his beard as he thought that over. “Never tell Landy this,” he murmured, “but I’m actually at a loss for words.”

I shrugged. “Honestly,” I admitted, “If getting that as my first time meant I didn’t get it other times, I think I’m ok with that.” Mark smiled down at me and I returned the smile before I schooled my face into a more stern expression and continued, “Also, please don’t even mention Landy again while we’re naked, in bed together, or naked in bed together. ”

Mark’s face softened and he kissed the top of my head, chuckling lightly and he concluded, “Well, Lemon, I was glad to give it to you.”

His cock was still hard against my hip, and I ran a finger up the length of him as I began, “You’re still..”

“Mmmhmm.” I felt his chest rumble as he responded.

I looked at him inquisitively, “can I?”

He just looked amused as he answered, “Babe, if it involves you and my dick, I’m going to have very few restrictions.”

I bit my lip and straddled his thighs again, mimicking our position on the couch earlier.

“Do you have… you know?” I hoped he would know.

Mark’s face was caught up in a grin as he answered the question I couldn’t finish, nodding as he informed me, “your inability to finish sentences when referring to anything about sex is adorable.” His long arm reached up and he somehow dug a condom out of the drawer of his nightstand and tossed it near my knee. “Knock yourself out, babe.”

Suddenly faced with a hard dick, a man with his hands folded behind his head, and a condom, I didn’t know what to do or where to start. I looked up at him for guidance and he just shook his head as he told me, “This is your show, Lemon. No judgment.”

I bit my lip and traced the outline of his testicles in his scrotum, fascinated when the skin drew up tight in response to the stimulation. Mark sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t react otherwise. I was nervous all of a sudden and the moment felt charged, in a different way than it had earlier; some of the urgency was gone, and we had all the time in the world, which meant there was plenty of time for me to prove I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and make a fool of myself. I didn’t want to throw all of that at him right now so I just said simply, “You have to tell me what you like.”

“Clementine, you are naked, on top of me, playing with my junk… I like all of this.” He made no effort to hide his amusement.

I wrapped my hand around his balls and rolled them between my fingers, causing another sharp inhale from Mark and and an exhaled “fuck.”

His dick twitched against his stomach, the tip leaking clear fluid onto his skin. Letting go of him, I scooped it up with a finger and sucked it off.

His big body squirmed beneath me as he groaned, “Fuck, you are killing me, do you know that?”

Comments like that filled me with confidence and made it easy for me to toss aside all of my hesitation and it occurred to me I should thank him for that later. Feeling reinvigorated and embracing my newly-found inclination for power, I teased him, “You taste good. I didn’t know you could taste good.” I may or may not have made a show of licking my lips to prove my point.

He threw his head back and moaned.

I ripped the condom wrapper with my teeth, gripping his length in one hand and rolling the condom down it with the other. I let him slap back against his stomach and he twitched again as he cursed, “Damnit, Lemon.”

I gave him a sickly sweet smile. Had he not looked so incredibly good imbued with such a level of desperation, this wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as it was.

“Oh, she’s playing now,” he chirped at me, before looking at me dead in the eyes and stating, “If you had a different past, this would be going way differently.”

I moved forward, feeling the length of him settle between my pussy lips and I rolled my hips, the friction so good that I swear I could feel it in every inch of my body. The crown of his head dragged against my clit and I moaned as I asked him, “What would you do differently, Barbs?”

As I slid along the length of him again, coating him in copious amounts of my wetness, he hissed, choking out, “We wouldn’t have made it this far; for one, because I would have fucked you over the back of the couch.”

“Oh?” I quipped. I honestly didn’t know being this turned on was even possible and my hands went to my breasts of their own accord, holding them in my hands and rolling both nipples between my fingers.

Mark slammed his head back into the pillows, eyes screwed shut, as he took a deep breath and rasped, “Fuck babe, this is better than literally every fantasy I’ve ever had about you.”

“Really?” I breathed, rocking against him, enjoying hearing him say it. “I’m not really even doing anything…” As the pleasure coursed through my body, I could hear my voice falter and I was pretty sure that Mark was almost at a breaking point, if the tremor I could feel in his thighs underneath me was any indication.

“Really,” he confirmed, as I kept up my steady grind against him, his breath shallow as he continued, “What you’re doing is…..so fucking hot…” I felt him twitch against me as he confessed, “The only thing that could possibly make this better would be if I was inside of you.”

I raised up off of him and the action caused him to open one eye. Reaching between us, I angled his cock just right and started to sink down on it, pausing every few millimeters. Mark arched a brow at me as he watched, admitting, “Lemon, if you want me to beg for it, all you have to do is ask. But since you haven’t, I gotta know, are you trying to kill me?”

I shook my head, realizing that we were on two separate pages regarding my slow pace. “No,” I told him, “I’m just waiting for it to hurt.”

Mark looked at me pointedly and sat up, his arm sliding behind my thighs to prevent me from sliding down on him any farther. “Okay,” he began, “First of all, I think we need a rule: we don’t talk about previous experiences while we’re having NEW ones. Second of all, sex shouldn’t hurt EVER. I mean, unless it’s on purpose and you’re into that kind of thing. If you’re not into that, then it should never hurt. Do you understand me, Clementine?” His voice was firm and once again I had the feeling I may have trivialized something that wasn’t really trivial.

I nodded because I couldn’t do anything else.

He pulled me off of his cock and slid us both up the bed until his torso was resting against the headboard.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Mark smiled at me ruefully, bringing his lips to my neck as he whispered into my hair, “I thought I just needed to let you figure things out for yourself, but it has become glaringly obvious I need to be an active participant.”

My voice was soft as I responded, half scared and half confused, “I don’t know what you mean.”

We were still pressed closely together, and his hands trailed over my naked body, fingers teasing my nipples, as he directed me, “Kiss me, Lemon.”

I leaned forward and he moved his hands to knot in my hair, my breasts pressed against the hair on his chest as I kissed him. I kissed him deeply, trying to convey with my tongue just how much this all meant to me.

As we kissed, one of his hands slid between our bodies, his fingers slipping between my pussy lips and softly rubbing my clit. I may have mewled into his mouth, but I’d perjure myself in a court of law denying that.

While I was rocking into his hand, he grabbed his dick and angled it just right so that the tip slid into me as I rolled my hips. The sensation made me gasp, and I rocked harder, needing more.

“That’s it, babe,” he murmured, “That’s it.” His hands were on my hips, guiding me. I curled my hands into fists on his chest, wishing his hair was long enough to grab like this, but it was still short from a summer wax.

I needed him, I needed to feel full. I slammed myself down on him and he cursed in response, cautioning, “Fuck. Easy, babe.”

“Mark, please,” I whimpered, “I need more. I need you.” My hands unclenched, and I dug my fingers into his chest desperately.

His hands tightened on my hips as his punched up forcefully and he confirmed, “Ok?”

I nodded, almost delirious with pleasure as I begged, “More.”

He set a quick rhythm with his hips, and soon all that filled the room was the squelch of our bodies coming together and our sharp breaths.

“Fuck, I’m almost there,” he groaned, “Tine, touch yourself.”

One of his hands left my hips and he took my fingers and pressed them to my clit, “Cum with me,” he urged.

“I can’t,” I choked out.

“You can,” he encouraged, “Look at me.”

My eyes met his and he held my gaze as he continued, “I’m gonna get tested by the team doc tomorrow, because I can’t wait to fuck you skin to skin and fill you with my cum. I can’t wait to make you mine so you never have to worry about a man hurting you ever again. Even me.”

My voice was a whisper, as I whined out “Holy shit.”

“Now fucking cum with me, Clementine.” He punched his hips up hard and I came apart in a million pieces, like a stained glass window shattering from a bomb. He thrust into me irregularly until he sagged against the headboard and cradled me to his chest.

We lay there in a sweaty mess, panting, until I broke the silence, and repeated, “You want to fill me with your cum?”

“Lemon, I swear to God, if you ruin this perfectly good moment with some self-deprecating sarcastic comment, I’m going to tell Landy you think his magic is dumb.”

I gasped in horror, “You wouldn’t. Also, again with mentioning Landy in bed!!!”

He kissed the top of my head chuckling, “You know I would. Now, just lay there and be quiet and soak in the moment.”

We were quiet again for a long time, long enough that the sweat was starting to dry on my skin and giving me goosebumps. I shivered, and this time it was Mark who broke the silence, asking “Does Daze need dinner or something?”

At the mention of dinner, my stomach growled. “Probably,” I guessed, “I know I need dinner. Why?”

I looked up at Mark and he was staring in the direction of the door as he told me, “Because she’s been quietly staring at me since we finished. Honestly, she started even before that, and if you weren’t half as hot as you are, I wouldn’t have been able to finish.”

I chuckled against his chest and sat up, pulling my leg over him, intimately feeling the loss of him inside me. “I’ll go feed her if you order pizza,” I offered.

Grabbing his shirt from earlier off the floor, I pulled it on, though it hugged my body a little more than I would have liked.

“Babe,” he sighed, “That one is covered in cum, grab a clean one out of the drawer.”

I gave him a saucy wink as I sashayed out of the room, shouting behind me, “Maybe I wanna be covered in your cum.”

He fell over into the pillows laughing and I heard him grumble, “Fucking minx.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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