#not even tryin to hide it goddamn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brayneworms · 7 months

Text

gouge away (if you want to) | johnny joestar

kinktober day ten: kissing

word count. 2.4k

content. disabled johnny, but like his prostate works, anal fingering, prostate orgasm, kissing, johnny cries after sex it's canon, gender-neutral reader, fluff, mentions of ableism, established relationship, this is sappy

♪ gouge away - pixies

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

For a while—a long while—after his accident, Johnny thought he'd never be with someone again.

A part of it was the paralysis. Okay, a big part of it was. He learns after using the chair for a bit that he sorta stops becoming a real person to most people, that their eyes just sorta slide past him. Oh no, how sad, that guy in the chair must have it so bad. Don't be rude and stare, now. Sometimes he wishes they would stare at him, like he knows they wanna. He almost finds their determination to ignore him totally more jarring.

And that's only half the problem. The other part is that even if he could find someone, his goddamn dick doesn't work anymore. Which would for sure pose a problem. So Johnny resigns himself miserably to a sexless and potentially loveless life, and pretends it doesn't make him want to die.

Still. Anyways. It all seems kinda redundant now, 'cause he's lying under the sky in the dirt with his pants halfway off, and you're—you're doing something, or you're tryin' something that Johnny is extremely skeptical about. A bit of time travelling with Gyro had taught him many times that there was a lot of things about the human body he was ignorant of, but he still can't help but be dubious of the claim you made to him a few minutes ago.

I'm gonna make you cum.

At once, a protest had risen to his lips. You can't. Almost a reflex. You'd cocked your head in inquiry, and Johnny had gone redder, down to the tips of his ears hidden by his hat. It's my—it doesn't work. Down there doesn't...

You seem to consider this for a few moments. Then you say, there's something else we can try.

You disappear inside the tent and come out with the bottle of aloe vera they'd been using to treat the burns that had blistered as a result of the unforgiving desert sun. He had red peeling skin all up his shoulders and the bridge of his nose.

He watches dubiously as you squeeze a clear, cold glob onto your fingers. "Wh—where are those goin'?"

He's pretty sure he has an idea.

"You know what a prostate is, Johnny dear?" You always call him that. Johnny dear, like it's all one word. Johnnydear. He always gripes and groans about it and then has to turn away extremely quickly to hide his flush. He's going to examine the reaction he gets when you baby him sometime, he promises himself, just not right now. He's got a lotta shit on his plate, okay? Corpses to find and such.

"N-no," he answers, stammering when you kneel between his legs and spread his thighs gently apart. He sucks in a breath; one of your fingers leaves a cool trail of aloe along the skin there.

"A prostate," you tell him patiently, like you're not situated between his naked thighs, "is a gland that people with your particular reproductory set are born with."

"You sound like Gyro," he mutters. "Kinda killing the mood a little."

"I just want to make sure you're fully informed." You roll your eyes. "It's just that you're leaking precum, see?" To his mortification, you swipe your fingers over the tip of the dick he can't feel and hold them up; under the starlight, they gleam, and he burns with embarrassment. "Means you might be able to feel it. Means I might be able to make you cum."

Johnny swallows hard. He wants—it sounds good. Sounds great. But with the hope comes that fear, an ever-present shadow. What if it doesn't work?

"Hey." You lean over him, and before Johnny can protest you've captured his lips, a slow, deliberate cling. Johnny loves kissing you. He thinks it might be his favourite thing to do, other than jockeying and he can't do that anymore, so this takes an automatic first place. He sighs and melts against you like softened butter, his hands winding themselves over your shoulder and jaw. He loves everything about it. The closeness, the slow gentle intimacy, the way you smell. That last part is probably weird, 'cause you mostly smell like sweat and leather, but Johnny likes it all the same.

You kiss for a while; one of your hand strokes soothing shapes into his ribcage. When you pull back, the panic that had been rearing up inside him has faded to a dull murmur.

"Don't get in your head about it," you whisper. "If you can't feel it, then that's that. You know I won't think less of you."

A lump rises in Johnny's throat, and he shields his eyes from the burning sun of you seein' right through him. "I know," he says, almost petulantly.

"So? Wanna give it a try?"

A part of him doesn't. A part of him is so, so scared. But a bigger part of him, the one that likes kissing you and likes the way you smell and the way you touch him and look at him and everything, really, is nodding before that first part can protest. You kiss him again with a smile, a little faster, a little dirtier this time. This is another thing Johnny likes about kissing—it can take so many different forms. Even if he did find the corpse pieces and get the use of his legs back, Johnny reckons he'd still like kissing more than real sex.

Your mouth starts moving down, sweeping the sensitive skin of his neck and collarbones, the valleys of his pectorals, a nipple. The last one makes Johnny gasp and you giggle, and he splays a palm over his face in embarrassment. You coax such stupid noises outta him. But you seem to enjoy it, so whatever.

Down, down, down. Somewhere between his navel and his pubic bone he stops feeling it. But it still somehow feels sorta nice, which doesn't make a whole lotta sense but it does to him, so. He watches you between his fingers as you reach between his legs, he thinks prodding.

You look up at him. "I'm going to put a finger in, okay?"

Johnny nods eagerly. "Don't gotta tell me. I won't feel it."

You roll your eyes. "I'm still gonna tell you. We can stop whenever, okay?"

"Okay," Johnny says impatiently, and wiggles his hips. You smack his hipbone playfully, which does nothing to temper his brattiness on account of him not feelin' a fuckin' thing. Then you get a quiet, serious, concentrated look on your face that Johnny usually only sees when you're fighting. Or when he's making you cum. That expression, more than any of your words or hesitation, it what makes him quiet down and take it serious.

There's a silence that stretches on. Johnny supposes you must be doin' something, considering the slight furrow he can see between your brows and the achingly careful, gradual movement of your wrist. Finally, after about a minute, you look up at him.

"My finger's in," you tell him, and Johnny bites his lip.

"Can't feel it," he says. He's starting to think this was a really bad idea.

"Just lemme—hold on," you say, and your wrist moves a little, and then—

Johnny keens. He feels, he fuckin' feels so much that it lights him up from the inside and sets his nerves alight, some part deep inside him that he didn't even know existed 'till five minutes ago and it's so good it immediately brings tears to his eyes.

"Oh," he says like he's surprised, and he is, apparently so much so that it's all he can say. "O-oh, oh, oh—"

Your finger retracts back into nothingness, and Johnny bites back a sob. "Johnny?" you ask worriedly. "Did you—is it too much?"

"No, no," he babbles, feeling incoherent already. You brush his hair back from his face with your free hand, the one that ain't inside him, your thumb stroking over his cheek. "It was—fuck, felt so weird. But good. Really, really good. Can you—are you gonna do it again?"

"Will if you want me to," you answer lovingly, and Johnny is biting back another sob for a whole different reason. "Might be a bit intense, Johnny dear. You sure you wanna?"

"Yes, yeah." He stares up at you beseechingly, feeling a bit pathetic but also too far gone to give a shit. "Please, I wanna—I wanna feel it again."

You nod, leaning over to kiss him again. Johnny relaxes into the embrace, losing himself in the familiar touch of your lips, the smell of you, taking the bite out of his surge of panic—and then with no warning you're brushing against that spot inside him again and he's moaning into your mouth, loud and unrestrained. It's pitchy and startled, and your free hand cups the back of his head as he pulls away in shock.

"Fuck, Jesus Christ," he swears, slamming his head back against the dirt. "O-oh, oh god, ohgodohgod—"

"Still good?" you ask, and your fingers made a weird sort of curling motion and it occurs to Johnny that you're movin' them in and out, sort of like you would if you were actually fucking him, and the thought makes him flush so hard he feels feverish. You're fucking him. You're fucking him.

He nods deliriously. "Mhm, yeah," he gasps out, feeling breathless, feeling giddy. "Don't stop, feels so fuckin' good, oh my god."

Your fingers press into him over and over like you're ringin' a bell, and all the while you kiss him and for the first time in ages Johnny feels that both parts of his body are equal. The bottom half has come alive under your jackhammering fingers, the top half consumed by you and your kiss. The kissing makes it so much better, 'cause Johnny reckons if anyone else had their fingers in his ass he'd probably hate it even if they were touching his whatdidyoucallit like that and making him feel amazing. He'd hate it 'cause they wouldn't be you.

The kissing reminds him it's you. The chaps on your lips, the smell of you, the feel of your face and skin, your body pressing into his. It's so all consuming it makes him wanna cry, in a good way, in a weird way. Your fingers move faster and weirder, and Johnny starts making those stupid oh! oh! noises again, stifling them against your mouth, and your tongue presses in and you swallow them whole.

All too soon, Johnny feels a weird tightening, one he hasn't felt since before the incident. He feels a constriction of panic, his fingers clutching at your clothing. "I—hah!—I f-feel weird."

"Bad weird?" Your fingers slow down, nearly stop, and Johnny whines.

"No, no, good weird, good," he pants. "Move again, fuck."

You pick up the pace; Johnny shudders, tensing in your hold all over again. He feels like he's burning, like he's sweating out everything bad he's ever felt.

"Do you mean you're gonna cum?" you ask, your voice lower this time, so close to Johnny's ear it makes him shiver. The harsh brush of your chapped lips against the soft skin there makes his body feel electric.

"I think," he whispers, eyes screwing shut. "Sorry—oh—I think, yeah."

"Don't feel sorry," you tell him almost sternly. "I want to see you cum, Johnny. Wanna see you cum so hard your pretty little head goes blank. You deserve it, yeah?"

"Yeah," he gasps out. "I deserve it."

What you do next with your fingers is almost brutal in the wracks of shivering pleasure it sends simmering through Johnny's body; every curl of them has him writhing and gasping and moaning, he must sound so stupid but you seem to be liking it and fuck, he's liking it, he likes feeling a little stupid and helpless while you take care of him and he's definitely gonna have to unpack that, but later, 'cause—

"I'm gonna cum," he gasps, hands flying out to curl in your clothing. "Baby, baby, I'm gonna cum, I—kiss me? Kiss me, okay, I wanna, oh, oh oh oh—"

You crash your lips together, and your fingers curl up one last lingering time and Johnny shatters. White stars explode over his vision, shatter inside his head, and for a split second it feels like every cell in his body freezes up and screams and dies. He's vaguely aware of some long, drawn-out, breathless noise he's making and the way you swallow it with your mouth.

It takes several seconds for him to come back down to earth. When he does it's to the sensation of you running your fingers through his hair and pressing soft, feathery kisses to his cheeks.

He pants like a dog. When you see his blue eyes on you, you sit up, seem to retract your fingers from between his legs. Your image starts to blur, and Johnny sees your expression crease in concern. He realises he's crying. Not like, actually, not like he's got something to be upset about. He's just... tearing up. Like someone's turned a faucet on behind his eyes and just left it there. He pushes the heels of his hands into the sockets and presses down, willing it to stop, willing the overwhelming feeling blooming in his chest to deflate.

"Hey, hey." Your voice, low and soothing, pressed into his hair, your arms holding him tightly. "You okay?"

"Yes," he says almost angrily. "I'm fine. Dunno why I'm—fuck. Sorry. I'm good, I promise I'm good. That was... so, so good."

Your expression of concern gives way slightly. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Johnny sucks in a shaky, wet breath. "Thanks. Thank you. I didn't even... I didn't even know I could feel like that anymore. Not just 'cause of—you know." He gestures vaguely to the lower half of his body. "All of it. Like, I didn't think anyone would wanna—while I'm still like this. And I—I figured I didn't deserve it, or something. But... it was really good."

Your smile is a little sad. "I'm glad, Johnny dear. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now that we know it works, we can do it again. And again, and again." He flushes, and you laugh sweetly, and Johnny could just die to the sound of it. "Still, we should get some rest for tonight. Gyro will skin us alive if we oversleep again."

You're right, of course. Johnny lets you maneuvre him onto his sleeping skin, and you unroll yours right next to him. When you do, Johnny reaches for you, clinging like a damn insect. But you don't seem to mind, 'cause you wrap your arms around his waist and bring him in even closer. He tucks his head into your shoulder.

He thinks that he'll get to kiss you tomorrow, too.

His sleep is dreamless and deep.

#🫀.scribes #jjba smut #jjba x reader #johnny joestar x reader #johnny joestar smut #jojo x reader #jojo smut #jjba x dom!reader #dom!reader #dom reader #jjba x dom reader #jjba x gn reader #jjba x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #braynes kinktober 23

374 notes · View notes

unclewaynemunson · 1 year

Text

As always, the crazy talented @tennant-the-tigger managed to activate my Munson family feels by creating this masterpiece so my hand slipped and this happened :)

When Eddie first moved into Wayne's trailer, he wouldn't smile. The boy reminded Wayne of a ghost: pale, quiet... absent. Haunted, even. The first time Wayne saw a genuine smile on his face felt like a goddamn victory. But it soon turned out to be only the beginning of the hardest part: it meant that Eddie started feeling comfortable around Wayne. And for all Eddie knew, comfort meant danger. So he started lashing out, testing Wayne's limits, taunting him day and night, strategically aiming to drive him to his breaking point, to prove that good people didn't exist, that Wayne would never love Eddie, that he would give up on him as soon as it became too much work.

And now they’re here. Wayne doesn't have a clue how they got here, how they’ve managed to make it this far together. But they did. And somewhere along that road, Eddie has decided to start trusting Wayne.

His hair is longer now, his smile has reached a whole new level of brightness; he’s growing up. Rapidly. He’s been getting himself into some shady business and Wayne doesn't feel like he’s in any position to reproach him, can only watch it happen from the sidelines. Maybe he worries too much, because those shady business have given the boy his Sweetheart and managed to amplify that beautiful bright smile of his. So Wayne got to swap a shift with Jimmy and now finds himself sitting at the bar of some shabby old cafe, hiding behind a bottle of beer with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

And seeing Eddie perform is... Well, it’s a lot. It definitely isn't the kind of music Wayne would voluntarily expose his ears to, if he had any say in the matter. But Eddie is smiling from ear to ear all through the night and that more than makes up for the noise. He has this natural kind of showmanship that Wayne can't help but admire: the band is giving the three drunks at the bar a performance like the Hideout is some concert hall filled to the brim with thousands of screaming fans.

'This one's for my uncle,' Eddie announces in between two songs, wiggling his eyebrows towards the place where Wayne is sitting. 'Thank you for coming, uncle Wayne, I love you.'

He says those words so easily, up on that stage with a lamp shining way too bright in his face. Like it comes natural to him. And Wayne can only hide his face behind his bottle, the air knocked out of his lungs by how effortless and genuine it sounds.

The band bursts out into more ear-shattering noise and just like that, the moment is over. But the feeling in Wayne's chest stays with him through the rest of the evening.

He thinks back to that one night, barely two months ago, when Eddie had been raging, calling him all kinds of names, challenging him in a way that somehow seemed more vicious than any of his previous antics.

'You tryin' to find an excuse to hate me, boy?' he had asked, exhausted and hurt but still trying to be the voice of reason because he knew that Eddie couldn't help it, not really.

And that made Eddie freeze for a moment, eyes wide, tears glistering in the trailer's flickering lamplight.

'You're the one who's gonna hate me,' Eddie told him, trying to sound defiant but failing horribly in his delivery; his voice was trembling and his lip started to wobble.

And God, Wayne can still feel how that all-encompassing fear flared up in his stomach, because what the hell could Eddie have done to believe that Wayne would ever hate him?

One deep breath had been all it took for Eddie to get back to his anger; to throw the words at Wayne's face that he'd kick Eddie out because he was a queer and wrong and bad and dirty and Wayne would hate that, would hate him.

Wayne had been stunned for a long second, completely overwhelmed by the power that Eddie was giving him by telling him that. He understood exactly the complicated mixture of self-sabotage and trust brewing inside of Eddie, because Wayne had grown up side-by-side with the cruel man who raised this scared boy in front of him.

Then, he had done something that did not come naturally to him at all: he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around him, and held his nephew even though he tried to wriggle himself free; held him when he allowed himself to melt into Wayne's arms; held him while he cried against his shoulder; held him while he told Eddie that there was nothing wrong or bad or dirty about him and that Wayne wouldn't kick him out even if he killed someone.

He blinks and comes back into the present when the last tone of the last song dies out. Eddie jumps off the stage to run up to Wayne's spot at the bar, that smile still secured on his face and his Sweetheart still cradled in his arms.

'And? What do ya think?' He’s practically bouncing with excitement and Wayne can’t help but smile; Eddie might be growing up, but he’ll never really stop being that little boy – not to Wayne, at least.

He reaches out, pulls Eddie closer to let a hand land on his shoulder and rest his chin on his fluffy curls.

He’s never been good with big words, never been good with loving out loud.

'Proud of you, Eddie,' is all he can manage to say.

But judging from the way Eddie refuses to pull away for a whole twenty seconds, it’s exactly enough.

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #wayne munson my beloved #eddie munson #wayne munson #corroded coffin #fruity ficlet

386 notes · View notes

rrenzwrld · 11 months

Text

mama’s baby, daddy’s maybe

in which connie is a famous basketball player who has a secret baby with his best friend

part one of part five! had to split it up because it was getting kinda long but i hope you enjoy! <3 read part four here

@beautifulalienslimecroissant @iiilovemilfs @neptunes1nterweb @yourrfavzxri

The next day, I was really appreciating Layla for staying over because she was able to help take care of Celest while I was as work. When I got home and got settled in, my brother Trent came over. Trent was my older brother by four years but we were so close. Ever since I was young, he was my protector. Since he and his girlfriend have an apartment close to where I live, he makes his way over to see Celest and I almost everyday.

“Hey~” I tried to greet him as I let him in but he pushed me out the way

“Move, bitch!” and made a quick beeline over to his niece, who was sitting playing with dolls on the floor with Layla. I giggled to myself as I shut the door behind him. Trent loved Celest and I didn’t know if it was because she’s his first niece or because of the story behind why she’s here.

“CeeCee~” He cooed as he started to pluck her from the floor until Layla stopped him

“Aht! Put my baby down.” He looked down at her like she said something crazy.

“The fuck you talkin bout? This my baby.” He tickled her all over her tiny body, which sent her into fits of laughter.

“Oh I’ll be damned.” Layla stands up and reached for Celest and Trent turned away. They did this everytime they were at my house at the same time. Celest didn’t seem to mind because as long as she was entertained, she was satisfied.

My phone started to ring which caused Trent and Layla to stop their playful bickering and looked my way.

“Who is it?” Layla whispered as if I answered the phone already. The both of them walked up to me, surrounding me and the phone I had in my hands that was ringing with Connie’s contact.

“Connie?” Trent was visibly confused so that’s when I forgot to tell him all about meeting Connie again again yesterday. “The hell?” He whispered more to himself than to me.

“Don’t cuss in front of my baby— Hello?” I waved the both of them off and walked into another room.

“Hey, Chy’anne. How are you today?”

“Uh.. I’m doing pretty good. I forgot you had my number.”

“Yeah, I was scared to call you lowkey. Didn’t know if you were busy or anything.” I could hear the hint of nerves in his voice but I wondered why. I was definitely more nervous than he was. It’s been 2 years since I’ve talked to this man at all let alone over the phone and what I was hiding still twisted my insides.

“No.. no, I’m not busy. I just got off work not too long ago.”

“Oh? Where you work at?” I wondered where this conversation was going if it was going anywhere at all.

“At a design company..” I trailed.

“Cool cool, that’s wassup. Hey listen, I hope this isn’t like, last minute for you or anything but I was tryin to see if you wanted to come out with me for dinner later,” My heart dropped to my chest. This was the last thing I imagined happening so quickly. I looked back into the living room from where I was to see Layla and Trent on the floor with Celest, feeding her Cheetos. “I understand if you say no because of your daughter and everything but you can bring her, I don’t mind it or anything.”

“Um.. sure! Sure, that’s fine. What did you have in mind?”

“The, uh.. Mexican restaurant down the street from the mall.”

I nodded as if he could see me. “Alright, yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. What time?”

“Damn, um.. is 7 good?”

“7 is great! See you then.” I hung up so goddamn fast, I didn’t even know if he said anything else.

As soon as I was finished, I came and sat down on the couch in the living room with Trent, Layla, and Celest.

“Soooo what he want?”

“He wants to take me and Celest out to dinner tonight.” Layla did all the squealing for me. It was if she was more excited than I was.

“See? He still like you girl!”

“What the fuck is goin on? You talkin to Connie again? You ain’t speak to that nigga in 2 years.” Trent laughed.

I rolled my eyes. “I know, but—“

“We went to the Titan’s game yesterday and they talked and everything!”

“Oh shit, I forgot he went pro…” I didn’t. In fact, I didn’t even want to remember because the year he got drafted I found out I was pregnant with Celest. I couldn’t even bring myself to watch the draft on tv with everyone else when it happened.

“Yeah…”

“He pickin you up??” I didn’t stick around on the phone long enough to ask.

I shrugged as I looked at my nails. “I don’t know.”

“Shit he better be pickin y’all up. He the one that invited you out.” Trent did have a point. Him being the most honest sibling I had was useful.

“C’mere, baby,” Layla held onto Celest’s little hand as they stood up. “We gonna go take a bath. You goin out with daddy~” Trent and I glanced at each other as we watched them walk down the hall.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

I looked down in shame. I really did not need anyone else telling me how bad of a person I am.

“You know you got to now, right?” I nodded. “But if that nigga on some crazy shit, I gotchu alright?” He held his hand out so I could dap him up.

“Thank you, T.”

After Trent and Layla helped Celest and I get ready, I texted Connie the address and within minutes he said he was on his way. I assumed that he was probably already in the area.

“You ready~” Layla teased as Celest sat in her lap happily.

“No.” I was being honest. My heart was jumping out my chest and the fact that I was dressed all nice for a dude that was supposed to be my baby daddy but he didn’t know that he was my baby daddy was making me feel worse.

“Well, you best get ready.” I was the only one nervous in this situation. Celest played happily not even really aware of what’s going on and all Connie knew was that he was gonna pick up his estranged best friend and her cute lil daughter.

“Bitch you didn’t even do my baby’s hair!” I noticed that Celest’s hair was all over the place and needed to be brushed at least. I went to the bathroom to get hair products and stuff to start brushing up Celest’s hair into two small braided buns.

“Girl,” Layla laughed at my anxiety. “You runnin around like a chicken with your head cut off for what? A man who don’t even know who—“ There was a knock on the door.

“Can you get that for me, T?” I finished Celest’s hair just in time. “All done!” Celest jumped out my lap as she copied the phrase all cutely. Trent opened the door and Connie was there in the doorway with a bouquet of flowers. But they weren’t fancy dinner type flowers, they gave off the simple floral collage vibe with lightly colored daisies, roses, and sunflowers. It was beautiful.

As the guys do, Connie and Trent had their little reunion but I didn’t mind because they really hadn’t seen each other in a while and that was my fault.

“Aww, he bought you flowers!” Layla exclaimed excitedly, which made Celeste jump up in excitement too.

“For the pretty girls.” He smiled as he handed the beautiful bouquet to me. Being a celebrity and all, I thought he’d be dressed down in a suit with blinged out jewelry to show off but he was dressed casually but you knew he was taking things seriously.

“C, you wanna say hello?” By this time, she was clung to my leg because she wasn’t familiar with the man in front of her.

“Hey pretty girl!” Connie kneeled down so he could talk to her properly. “I’m Connie, what’s your name?” Layla, Trent, and I were looking at each other because the two of them was completely unknown to the circumstance. Celest answered his question the best way she could

“I’m a pretty girl, why didn’t I get any flowers? I’m sure you have enough NBA money to go around.”

“Layla shut up and let them have their moment.”

“You got her car seat and stuff?” I nodded before going to Celest’s room and bringing her carseat to the front. Luckily I thought to clean it yesterday. Trent had already brought her diaper bag full of everything else. “I gotchu.” Connie took the carseat from my hands and was taking it to the car. Celest and I said our goodbyes as we walked outside.

“Have fun, girlie!”

“Y’all lock up before you leave.” Trent and Layla were the only people I trusted with a key to my house. But with that, we were on our way.

#aot #aot x reader #black reader #aot x black reader #connie springer #aot connie #connie springer x black oc #connie springer x black y/n #connie springer x oc #basketball au #connie x y/n

254 notes · View notes

lewmagoo · 1 year

Text

rhett’s got you underneath him, cock so deep inside you that you don’t know where you end and he begins. his big, sturdy hands are holding your hips in a bruising grip, and he’s fucking you so hard that you can’t even speak. but you’re trying. he can tell you want to say something. but as you look up at him, your brow furrowed, your lips parting to let out unfinished words and broken sounds, he knows he’s fucked you dumb. knows he’s not going to be able to get anything out of you unless he coaxes it out of you.

so he leans in real close. slows his movements. presses his hips forward until his cock is seated still inside you. “whatcha tryin’ to say, little’n?” he gruffs. god, he’s so close in proximity. “i-i… can-can’t— ‘lease, can’t…” what are you trying to say? you’re trying to form the words, but they won’t come out. your brain feels like mush. but you know you want something. rhett knows it, too. he doesn’t even bother hiding the knowing smirk that tugs at his mouth. he knows what he’s doing to you.

“c’mon. use your words.” but instead, you whine petulantly, pushing at his chest. he raises a brow. “oh, you wan’ me to stop, is that it?” he goes to pull back, but you’re able to get one word out, “no!” holding him tighter to you. “want…i want…” and you whine in frustration, tossing your head back. you want him to turn you over and fuck you on all fours. that’s what you want. but why won’t the words leave your mouth? your tongue feels like lead and you’re growing frustrated. goddamn him and his ability to render you a stupid mess.

he slows his hips down. punctuates each of his next words with deliberate thrusts. “tell. me. what. you. fucking. want.” and you’re jolting into him, finally forcing yourself to cry out, “wan’ you to take me from behind! please!” and then he smirks down at you, amused that it took that much for you to beg for something so simple. “that’s all?” he teases. he laughs at your desperate whine. “god, you’re so cute when i fuck ya stupid.” and then he proceeds to manhandle you onto your stomach, where he swiftly shoves his cock back into your soaking cunt. “now, let’s get back to it, shall we?”

#based on true events #rhett abbot smut #i’m in a place #rhett musings

313 notes · View notes

nightghoul381 · 9 months

Note

*KICKS DOWN THE DOOR TO YOUR ASK BOX*

HI ITS ME IM THE PROBLEM ITS ME

okay okay okay so SO SO FLUFFY SILVIO IDEAS i have a lot it was very hard to select one so i kinda combined a few ideas into a general THIS KINDA THING

UHM BUT BUT

how about something suuuuper soft with some dancing and cuddles and and and just something so sweet and fluffy like a big ball of candy floss... maybe mc gets a lil drunk so she's freer with her feelings and gets VERY SOFT AND SAPPY ON HIM

ahhhhhhhh (/▽＼*)｡o○♡

ahh i feel like a hyper lil puppy GJOEGOHREGHJO heehehehheehheheeheheheh

Here you go love! Fluffy Silvio just for you 😊😊😊 I hope you like it!!

Silvio POV x Reader Fluff WC~ 1k

Ahh, damn it. I knew I shoulda been keeping a closer eye on you. I swear I leave you alone for one second and you’re so drunk I can hear your laugh from across the room.

Sweeping my gaze through the crowd, I finally see you, surrounded by some of the noblewomen you’ve befriended since coming with me to Benitoite. Your cheeks are so pink and the smile on your face so genuinely happy I have to fight back the jealousy that starts clawing its way out.

You turn your face and meet my eyes and somehow your expression seems to light up even more. I don’t even try to hide the satisfied smirk that comes to my face, knowing I make you so much happier than anyone else feels amazing.

We meet up in the middle of the room and you’re nearly bouncing with excitement.

“My wonderful Prince, love of my life, guardian of my heart!” You exclaim, grabbing my hand and holding it to your heart.

I jerk my hand away, blushing furiously. As I struggle to calm myself I feel you clutching my arm and pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

“Ack! don’t do that. You’re gonna get lipstick all over my clothes.” I grumble. I’m not really that upset and you’re completely unbothered as you start twirling around, dress flaring from your hips.

“Can we dance? Please?” You plead, looking up at me with those damned gorgeous eyes. I can’t say no to you under normal circumstances, but when you’re like this I just want to keep that child-like joy on your face. You’re too fuckin’ cute for your own good.

“Yeah, we can dance.”

I barely have a chance to react as you throw yourself into my arms, giggling happily. You reach up tugging my shoulders down and press a kiss to my lips.

Ah, shit… Everyone can see us! I try to pull back gently but your grip is ridiculous tonight and you keep working your lips against mine, letting you tongue dart out here and there, knowing how flustered it makes me. My face is getting hot, really hot, I gotta put a stop to this. I end up grabbing your wrists, freeing myself from the onslaught and pulling you behind me.

I ain’t riskin’ you pulling that kind of stunt again. I march us right back to my room and don’t release you until the door is closed behind me.

Turning to face you, my heart drops. You’re sat on the floor, looking so dejected and upset and… damn it.

“Why’re you so sad looking? You’re the one who attacked me in front of all those people.” I huff, trying to figure out why you’d be reacting this way.

“But you said we could dance.”

Your voice is quiet, but I can still tell you were letting yourself get choked up over the disappointment.

Letting out a sigh, I drop to my knees beside you. You start to turn toward me but end up hitting me in the face with your hair as you whip your head the other way. You’re mad now, great…

“Can you at least look at me when I’m tryin’ to make ya feel better?” I mumble, reaching out, gently cupping your cheek with my hand and putting just enough pressure to get you to finally look my way.

I nearly burst out laughing as I catch sight of your grumpy expression, but I just barely manage to keep it in. You’d be so mad if I started laughing, but you’re so goddamn adorable I can’t stop the smile that springs to my lips.

“That’s better. I wanted to tell ya that just because we ain’t at the party anymore doesn’t mean we can’t still dance. If we go out on the balcony, you can still hear the music and everything.” I offer, but you still don’t seem entirely convinced so I add, “This way I don’t have to stop ya kissin’ or touchin’ me or whatever…”

Then I see your face morph into a victorious smirk.

“Haha, I’ve got permission now!” You cheer, jumping up and throwing your arms around me.

“Gahh! You little shit! Were you playin’ me this whole time?!”

“Like a fiddle,” you snicker into my ear, peppering my face with kisses.

You wanna play that game? Count me in. I sweep my arm under your legs, rising to my feet and carrying you out onto the balcony.

“I meant you don’t have to stop while we’re dancing. So, you only have permission while we’re dancin’, got it?” I state, setting you down and fixing you with a challenging stare.

The playful look on your face remains as you once again launch yourself at me, locking your arms around my neck.

“Dance with me, Silvio.”

I place my hands on your waist, yours on my arms. In no time we’re swaying in time to the distant music, my forehead pressed against yours. Everything seems to fall away as you rise to your toes and press the sweetest kiss to my lips.

Your eyes are filled with so much love as you pull back it’s almost dizzying. Never before has anyone shown me even a fraction of the love you’ve given me, and you just keep showing me more.

“I love you so much, Silvio. You make me feel so special, so important. I see you and my day becomes so much better just having you there. I can’t believe how incredibly lucky I am that you love me. You mean the world to me.

Affection swells in my chest to the point it almost hurts. When did you end up getting me this wrapped around your finger? I pull you close, burying my face in your hair, breathing in your comforting scent. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier in my life. I feel your arms come around my back, hugging me, and I feel like my heart may explode.

“You’re my world.”

The whisper leaves my lips involuntarily, surprising me almost as much as it surprises you. You lift your head to look up at me, eyes brimming with tears.

My eyes widen and I look away, willing my face to remain free of the heat that I know is dusting my cheeks.

Without a word, you press yourself against my chest, hugging me even tighter.

“You’re my world too.”

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince fanfiction #silvio ricci #ikepri silvio #ikemen prince silvio #silvio x reader #ikemen silvio

117 notes · View notes

tachimichishrine · 6 months

Note

Please I am begging, I can’t get over just how perfect Tachihara would be with the whole ghost face trend. Please please please

<what. what if I told you I wholeheartedly agree. throws my headcanons and love at you>

"scream for me"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

tachihara michizou x fem! reader {ghostface trend} hcs

warnings: nsfw ; kitchen sex ; knife play ; intended lowercase ; cursing; unedited so unedited i wrote this half asleep thinking abt being pussy drunk on tachi pls forgive me

manz is a SPY. he's done undercover work and wears a disguise 24/7 (his disguise is a goddamn bandaid but he's hot so we let it slide) he adores getting dressed up

I think he'd be really bad at taking it serious though

100% he gets very childish about things like birthdays, holidays, halloween bc he didn't get that kind of experience with his family when he was younger (womp womp :/)

the hunting dogs obviously don't have anything to do with halloween so imagine his surprise when he caught the port mafia hq covered in spider webs and blood.

the blood was likely real

elise was the one who insisted on it, and if she insists, everyone is wearing cat ears and fake vampire fangs.

chuuya was a vampire the dude definitely had practice

he was definitely in the spooky scary spirit when he had his head on your lap, one hand sliding under and up between your thighs like a pillow and watching scream

i KNOW he felt just the teeny tiniest insecurity when you started calling certain scenes really hot but he tried, really hard, to ignore it.

got a little too comfortable and sleepy when you starting running your fingers through his hair and found himself letting out a yelp at the stupidest jumpscares

you teased him for it all night

"do you think I'd survive in one of those horror movies?" you asked later that night, curled up in bed.

"your dumbass would probably trip and kill yourself on a kitchen knife while making breakfast."

"well, fuck you."

"only if you insist" said with his trademark grin.

you got him back by playing into his jumpiness and hiding around every corner, even when you're on missions

you sprung out with a dramatic ghost-like scream (holding back laughter) on one important mission and the man almost shot you

like he pulled the trigger and everything and had to use his ability to keep the bullet from drilling a hole in your stupid skull.

you toned down the pranks after that.

however, it did give him an idea.

he started using his ability to set up the mood for payback by making metal doors creak or scraping chair legs on the ground slowly

a chill physically ran up your spine when you were walking hand in hand and the front door of an empty "for sale" store slammed open, then shut.

maybe he liked it a little how you squeezed his hand when he did that

maybe he liked it a little when you punched him on the shoulder as you realized it was just his antics

but he sure as hell liked it when you roughly smacked his naked ass and shoved his face into the sheets later that night to teach him a lesson

you liked his screams more like that anyways

tachihara was nowhere to be found after you disappeared into the shower trying to wash off all the smeared cum he'd left on your body. you already thought it was strange that he didn't join you even when you offered, but it was even weirder when you came out in nothing but a towel, and the bed was empty.

"michi, I know you're tryin' to be cute or whatever and scare me, but you're not very subtle about it," you giggled, ditching the underwear to just put on some shorts and one of his shirts. your body bounced onto the mattress that was still warm from your bodies, still smelling like sex and gunpowder. the covers were thrown over you and snuggled into and you waited patiently.

it was amusing, at first.

it was annoying after 10 minutes.

you'd gone on your phone, scrolling listlessly to pass the time while you waited for him to finish up whatever stupid prank he was planning so you could get back to sleep, but a whole half hour had passed and it was beginning to feel a little wrong. you weren't worried (he kicked your ass in training too many times for you not to know how strong he was), but sure as hell curious as to what was going on. it was the spooky season, after all, and there was no harm in indulging a little bit; you dialed his number and heard it ring from somewhere in the apartment.

he was really trying to set it up for you, huh? cute. you figured you'd play along.

the phone was vibrating from the kitchen counter, and you picked it cautiously, glancing around you to find out from where your boyfriend was inevitably going to try to jump at you. you heard a chair move, and your eyes darted to look over in that direction out of instinct.

of course a hand clasped around your mouth and another pulled your waist backwards. you bit his gloved hand playfully to get him to let you go and just giggled, shoving your hips back onto him teasingly and trying to flip around to get a look at him.

your entire body got slammed onto the kitchen counter, hair pulled back in one harsh movement

oh fuck.

you didn't think you'd be bent over so fast, his hips already grinding into your ass while the thin, cheap plastic of his mask rubbed against your cheek, his husky voice laying out every lewd thing you both knew you were thinking. from the way his body was leaning onto you, you guessed that he was shirtless and wearing just about the tightest, low-cut pants known to man being held up by a belt (there was definitely a thick belt; you felt the buckle poke into your lower back every time he'd grind too hard)

"michzou..." you didn't have any problems with what he was doing, but loose fingers were touching your body all over and the thin shorts you'd thrown on previously without a second thought were soaking with every word he'd rasp out. "michi, stop playin' around, I-"

it seems your simple ask got you manhandled again, and both gloved hands were now on your thighs, lifting you up to sit you down on the counter so he could rub against you from the front. it was hard to take it seriously and you let out a giggle when you watched him loom over you with the ghostface mask on, trying to be serious. your fingers went to dig into his shoulders as your hips rolled, back arched trying to feel him better.

he sighed, groaning and trying to slip off the mask when he realized it wasn't having the effect he wanted, but you flicked it back on.

"just because I'm laughing doesn't mean I don't think this is fuckin' hot," you reassured him, ironically chuckling again, and this spurred him to grab your hands and pin them above your head on the cabinets above.

"can't believe you liked gettin' fucked by a masked man this much." his voice was deeper than it usually was but god did it get you throbbing. your legs wrapped around his hips, trying to regain control without your hands.

you quipped back with a sly grin. "would be better if you actually fucked me."

shit, you knew just what to say to get him riled up. he let your hands go to pull off your useless shorts which already had splotches of your arousal, and you seized the opportunity to unbuckle his belt, slide your fist into his pants and pull him out.

getting fucked senseless by your masked boyfriend on the kitchen counter at 3 in the morning was not on your schedule for halloween.

"you know," you mused, your pace slowing once the build up had passed but still rocking yourself on him, "usually the victims try to fight back."

"the fuck does that me-"

the cold metal of a knife poked and teased the exposed skin on his neck, and you felt a little irritated you couldn't see his shock through the mask. "c'mon, you've had your fun, baby, it's my turn."

he wanted to play the part, he really did, but before he could try to resist you had him gently sliced into streaks of red, teeth marks coating his body and his tongue gagging on blood-stained fingers from under the mask. your legs were still secured around his hips, fucking into him slowly and deeply, and every guttural groan that echoed out in the hollow apartment was good enough to keep you going while his body tensed up with rigid muscles and heavy breaths.

he couldn't take it anymore once the searing sting of you smearing his blood on his skin mixed in with the pleasure of dragging against your tightly clenched walls, and he murmured a curse before discarding the mask, messily kissing you with groaning lips buried into your neck once he finally got enough air to pant your name.

ah, the dumbass. he really tried to get you to play along but it was hard when you had him under your thumb. maybe next year, he'd try again.

106 notes · View notes

morallyinept · 2 months

Text

A full transcribe of JOEL MILLER'S dialogue/lines from the TV show THE LAST OF US.

EPISODE 3 - FOR A LONG, LONG TIME

Includes full dialogue, and dialogue from any deleted/additional scenes available.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to read the dialogue. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

☝🏻Dialogue has been fully transcribed by myself using reference to original scripts (if available), audio subtitles and using my own two ears. Therefore, mistakes can be made, however I have tried to be as fully accurate as I can. If you spot an obvious mistake, please kindly let me know. Where audio is not clear, I have marked with *inaudible* Scenes are separated for ease of reference.

FULL SCRIPT DIALOGUE:

I don’t want your sorrys-

Five hour hike.

__________________

Not often, no.

People.

Frank is.

I didn’t fall down any stairs.

Someone shot at me and missed.

Yeah.

No, I missed too. It happens more often than you think.

In general.

No.

Hang back a minute. I gotta grab some stuff I stashed.

You ask a lot of Goddamn questions.

__________________

We hide supplies on routes in case we find ourselves short on gear, which I currently am 'cause-

No. I’m just zeroing in on it. It’s been a couple of years.

Trust me, it’s all been picked over already.

Just you.

Fuck.

__________________

Ellie? Ellie!

Ellie?

There’s not much ammo out there for this thing. Makes it mostly useless.

No.

__________________

A few times, sure.

Didn’t feel like it at the time. Get shoved into a middle seat, pay 12 bucks for a sandwich.

Yeah, well. So did they.

Pretty much.

It wasn’t a monkey. I thought you went to school.

No-one knows for sure, but… best guess… Cordyceps mutated. And some of it got into the food supply. Probably a basic ingredient like flour or sugar. There were certain brands of food that were sold everywhere, all across the country, across the world. Bread, cereal… pancake mix. You eat enough of it, it’ll get ya infected. So the tainted food all hits the store shelves around the same time Thursday. People brought it, ate some Thursday night, or Friday mornin'. Day goes on… they started to get sick. Afternoon, evening, they got worse. Then they started bitin’. Friday night, September 26, 2003. And by Monday, everything was gone.

Sure.

We’ll cut across the woods here.

Yeah, it’s just… There’s stuff up there you shouldn’t see.

I don’t want you to.

I’m serious. Ellie.

No.

About a week after Outbreak Day, soldiers… went through the countryside, evacuated the small towns. Told you you were going to a QZ, and you were… if there was room. If there wasn’t…

No, probably not.

Dead people can’t be infected.

__________________

I’m the same way.

I understand. If my, uh… if mine… brought strangers into our situation, I wouldn’t be happy either. But of all the people he could’ve found on the radio, we’re actually decent people just tryin’ to get by.

There’s stuff we have in the QZ that you don’t have here. Book, medicine, machine parts. We can help each other and get that gun outta my face.

So, what, you were a… prepper or somethin’?

That fence has got a year on it, tops. Galvanised wire already started to corrode. I can get you ten spools of high-tensile aluminium. Last you the rest of your life. Lives.

FEDRA’s never gonna come up here. And you’re well protected against stray infected. But sooner or later, they’ll be raiders. And they’ll beat that fence and your trip wires. They’ll come at night, quiet and armed.

__________________

You stay there.

Bill? Frank?

You stay there. You hear anything, you see anything… yell.

__________________

Ellie?

So they’re dead?

Go ahead. You do it.

Stay here.

__________________

Show me your arm.

I just finished making a truck battery, it's charging right now.

And I have a brother out in Wyoming. He’s in some kind of trouble and I’m heading out there to find him. He used to be a Firefly. My guess is he knows where some of them are out there. Maybe they can get you to wherever this lab is.

If I’m takin’ you with me, there’s some rules you gotta follow. Rule one, you don’t bring up Tess. Ever. Matter of fact, we can just keep our histories to ourselves. Rule two, you don’t tell anyone about your… condition. They see that bite mark, they won’t think it through. They’ll just shoot you. Rule three, you do what I say when I say it. We clear?

Repeat it.

Okay.

We grab what we can.

__________________

If he didn’t reset the countdown every few weeks, this playlist would run over the radio.

Grab some cans from over there. Nothin’ dented or swollen.

No.

Needs another hour.

__________________

Shut up.

__________________

It’s your first time in a car?

No, it’s a piece-of-shit Chevy S-10, but it’ll get us there. I think. Seatbelt. Seatbelt.

Would you leave it? Put it back. Ellie...

Oh, no, wait. No, leave it. Leave it. Ohm this is good. This is Linda Ronstadt. Do you know who Linda Ronstadt is?

Oh, man.

__________________

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal characters #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal character dialogue #joel miller dialogue #PPCU

26 notes · View notes

raysources · 1 year

Text

𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — a collection of one - liners taken from the 2016 musical, waitress. slightly edited for clarity. change pronouns as necessary. TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR : pregnancy, abuse, adultery.

❛ i feel more than words can say . ❜ ❛ what a mess i’m making . ❜ ❛ i don’t know what i wish i had . ❜ ❛ i wouldn’t call this place a happy end . ❜ ❛ sometimes home is where you’re ass ends up . ❜ ❛ i like the way most of the days look exactly the same . ❜ ❛ we can only do the best that we can . ❜ ❛ some things never change . ❜ ❛ we’ll keep our focus on the negative ! ❜ ❛ funny how one night can ruin your whole life . ❜ ❛ i thought you don’t sleep with your husband much anymore ? ❜ ❛ i do stupid things when i drink . ❜ ❛ every door we ever made , we never once walked out . ❜ ❛ i'll show them all how goddamn happy i am ! ❜ ❛ welcome to club knocked up ! ❜ ❛ i don’t like guessing games . ❜ ❛ i don’t like when i feel things when i don’t know the feeling . ❜ ❛ what if when he sees me , what if he doesn’t like it ? ❜ ❛ what if i give myself away to only get it given back ? ❜ ❛ even worse , he could be very nice , have lovely eyes , and make me laugh , come out of hiding . what do i do with that ? ❜ ❛ what if when he sees me , i like him and he knows it ? ❜ ❛ what if he opens up a door and i can’t close it ? ❜ ❛ i'm scared of breaking open ❜ ❛ nobody ever really notices me that way . ❜ ❛ it only takes a taste , when it’s something special . ❜ ❛ sometimes one bite is more than enough to know you want more of the thing you just got a taste of . ❜ ❛ 'til the sun don’t shine , you will still be mine . ❜ ❛ a dream is a soft place to land . ❜ ❛ i love you means you’re never ever ever gettin’ rid of me ! ❜ ❛ it’s a bad idea , me and you . ❜ ❛ you have a wife . ❜ ❛ you have a husband . ❜ ❛ let’s just keep kissin’ ‘till we come to . ❜ ❛ making mistakes like this will make worse what was already pretty bad . ❜ ❛ it’s time we just let this thing go . ❜ ❛ i know it’s right for me . ❜ ❛ it’s the only thing i’ve ever done . ❜ ❛ what if i never see myself be anything more than i’ve already become ? ❜ ❛ this secret is safe , no reason to throw it away when there’s love to be had . ❜ ❛ it’s a pretty good bad idea , me and you . ❜ ❛ you’re no better than me . ❜ ❛ my head won’t be hung in shame . ❜ ❛ it’s finally something to feel . ❜ ❛ we’re all just looking for a little less crazy . ❜ ❛ i’m sick of the way i’ve been waiting to break free . ❜ ❛ a good mistake needed making . ❜ ❛ we can’t come back from this . ❜ ❛ it feels so good to be bad . ❜ ❛ i don’t feel much fire at all these days . ❜ ❛ come out of hiding i’m right there beside you . ❜ ❛ for the first time , i think i’d consider the stay . ❜ ❛ you matter to me . ❜ ❛ you matter to me , i promise you do . ❜ ❛ i am in love , and i don’t care who knows it ! ❜ ❛ my mistakes have made me . ❜ ❛ i believe there’s something in you , something good is tryin’ to break through . ❜ ❛ i believe there’s something in you , something you should be seein’ too . ❜ ❛ bet it all on yourself at least one time . ❜ ❛ most days i don’t recognize me . ❜ ❛ i’m not anything like i used to be . ❜ ❛ i was never attention’s sweet center . ❜ ❛ she is gone , but she used to be mine . ❜ ❛ i am changed , i am a mother . ❜ ❛ it doesn’t matter , now you’re here . ❜ ❛ isn’t it amazing what comes our way ? ❜

#rp prompts #sentence starters #lyric starters #rp meme #waitress rp #mine : prompts.#mine.

64 notes · View notes

artdecosupernova-writing · 3 months

Text

OC Kiss Week Day 4: Lost

WIP: Partners Pairing: Ben x Reagan Timeline: sometime between PII and PIII (so like 1960-1961ish), may or may not be canon CW: suicide attempt mention, drug use mention Rating: T Words: 772

***

Reagan wouldn't let Ben out of his sight. He'd convinced Faye to let Ben stay at his house for a few nights coming out of the hospital so he'd have a chance to pull himself together before seeing Abby again.

Very little sleep for both men. Ben would hide away in the guest bedroom, dozing but not sleeping within the plush blankets and somewhat self-conscious that Reagan took to keeping a vigilant eye on the sofa across the room the whole time.

"You don't need to do this," Ben grumbled beneath the mountain of bed covers, riding out the nausea from his medication. "I'm not gonna slit my wrists the second you leave the room."

Reagan rested his head back against the top of the sofa, his arms folded tightly. Beads of sweat had started to form on his forehead, but he ignored them in favor of controlling his urge to fidget. His heart felt like a jackhammer against his sternum, and he was certain even Ben could hear it.

"We're still workin' out a treatment plan for you, kid," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. "I feel better knowing you're okay until then."

Ben grunted, pushing himself to sit up and swiping his hands over his face. "It's really not that bad—"

"You tryin' to tell me that if that heart attack didn't get to you first," Reagan's eyes were on Ben, now, sharp and serious, "you wouldn't have blown your own goddamn brains out and you would've come home from New York with just a sigh and a shrug? And you would've been fine the rest of the time I'd've been in Ireland?"

He caught the shock and mild disturbance on Ben's face and felt a twinge of vindication. Ben frowned, his jaw clenched.

"You got a lot of fuckin' nerve," Reagan growled, leaning forward and pressing his hands together. His words left him without much thought. "I can't believe you'd put your family through all of that—me through all of that."

"I'm so sorry I even considered inconveniencing you...!"

"You spoiled gobshite," Reagan spat through gritted teeth, jabbing a finger at Ben and getting to his feet. Every muscle weighed him down, and he nearly didn't make it all the way upward. "I told you it wouldn't have been forever. I told you I would've been back eventually. Ben, if you can't stomach the idea of navigating this world beyond me without thinking the only way to solve the problem is to put a bullet in your head—!"

"And what about you, Reagan?" Ben barked, his eyes flashing. "How was your way of coping any better than mine? How is succumbing to the lifestyle you fought so fucking hard to keep me from working out for you right about now?"

A pit yawned in Reagan's stomach, and it, to his surprise, did not originate around the muddled memories he had of his cocaine abuse. He swallowed thickly, pushing through the nausea and the guilt forming a lump in his throat coming from a dark place in his college years, terrified for a moment that Ben had found out...

"I've done everything I can for you," Reagan said, unexpectedly quiet. "I'll continue to do everything I can for you. I've made mistakes. I've let my weaknesses take control of me. I'm not proud, and yeah, I'm damn sorry I couldn't take care of myself the same way I've always taken care of you."

"Reagan..."

"This is probably gonna take the movement of the mountains to get through." Reagan hesitated before making the executive decision to climb into bed beside Ben. "We're gonna be okay. I know it."

He let out a slow breath of relief when Ben allowed him to curl himself around him, pressing a firm kiss to his temple. Ben deflated, evoking their shared childhood, evoking the time when pneumonia nearly put him into the ground and Reagan wouldn't leave his side even against professional guidance. Much like now.

Ben wrapped an arm around Reagan's waist and Reagan began to pass a shaky hand over his forehead in slow, warm strokes. For a moment they were newly teenagers again, unsure of their fates and futures, unsure if they should stay apart for their own health, secretly praying that they wouldn't. Reagan remembered with stunning clarity the feeling of hopelessness, the very real feeling that he'd never see Ben again for the rest of his life.

His eyes stung for the second time in a few weeks. He pressed that down as far as it would go.

For the first time in months, Ben and Reagan truly slept.

#ockiss24 #Partners #PII #yo PII is dark lol

6 notes · View notes

multifandomfanfiction · 2 years

Text

I Wanna Dance with Somebody Chapter 4

TITLE: I Wanna Dance with Somebody Chapter 4 PAIRING: Willard/OC RATING: T CHAPTER: 4/? SUMMARY: Molly has just moved to Bomont with her older brother Ren after the death of their mother. Where Ren gets into trouble, Molly tries to remain invisible. That is until an awkward country boy tries to befriend her. Can Willard help her regain the confidence she lost? And more importantly, will he help her to dance again?

“Yeah. Give a little bit of gas,” Willard said as Ren revved the engine of the Bug, “Yeah. That sounds good. Cut it.”

Ren turned off the car and got out.

Woody and Willard were over helping Ren with the car while Molly tried and then failed to hide in the bedroom.

Right now she was seated on the floor of the garage, stretching.

Willard tried not to stare at her. Goddamn she was flexible.

“What’s the deal with the preacher’s daughter? She worth all that attitude?” Ren asked.

“I hear, back in the day, she used to be a goody two-shoes. Now she frontin’ like she some hellraiser. Wearing her jeans tight and everythin’,” Woody said.

“You could put a quarter in that girl’s back pocket and tell if it’s heads or tails,” Willard said.

Ren laughed.

“Why? You’re tryin’ to knock boots with her, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are. He is.”

“I’m just curious. I ain’t trying to bang her or take her ballroom dancing.” Ren slammed the truck of the Bug and turned to Molly. “No offense.”

She waved her hand at him dismissively.

“Well, that’d be pretty hard, being that that’s against the law,” Willard told them.

Molly’s brows furrowed as she sat up.

“What? Banging a preacher’s daughter?” Ren asked.

“Nah, public dancing’s against the law if you’re under 18 in Bomont,” Woody explained.

“Shut-up.”

Willard and Woody shared a look.

“Wait, wait, wait. Jump back. Are you kidding me? Dancing is against the law?” Ren asked.

“Yeah, man. We got laws up the poop chute around here. You know, I can’t even bring a bandana to school, because they think I’m in a gang. If my face gets all sweaty, I gotta use the back of my hand. Let me tell you somethin’. This country was built on bandanas,” Willard said.

“So…you’re tellin’ me that Bomont High doesn’t have a prom.”

“Well, you know…” Willard pulled a coke out of the fridge. “They got the Fall Ball, right? Okay, so all the churches get together and put it on. The whole town shots up and everybody’s eyes are on you to make sure you’re dancin’ at least six inches away from your girl.”

“You gotta add another two inches for me,” Woody added.

“And for one song, they make you, they make you dance with your mother. I mean, talk about a boner killer.”

“Hey, my sister’s right there!” Ren said, hitting Willard on the arm.

“Sorry, Molly.”

“The schools don’t wanna have dances on their property. They uh…they say they want to be held liable,” Woody said.

“They don’t wanna be held liable for what?” Ren asked.

“Five seniors died in a car crash coming home from a dance, and that’s when the whole town went crazy. They started blaming it on the liquor, the music, the dancing. After a while everybody started thinking dancing was a sin.”

“But we’re talking about the law, right? Not heaven and hell?”

“Yeah, take that up with Reverend Moore,” Willard said as he laid down on Ren’s weight bench.

“So you’re telling me you don’t do anything for fun around here?”

Woody smirked. “I never said that.”

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

They pulled into the parking lot of Starlite Drive-in.

Molly didn’t think these things still existed. But apparently, it was the place to hang out in Bomont.

They got out of Ren’s car and walked into the concession stand where they met Woody and his girlfriend.

“You hungry?” Woody asked.

“Yeah. What’s good here?” Ren asked.

“We got nachos, hot dogs, hamburgers.”

“Frito pie, all the way. And if you’re a real man, you’ll eat that jalapeno,” Rusty told them.

“You want anythin’?” Willard asked Molly.

She shook her head.

“Woody! Check the door, man. Cop still here?” the cook asked.

Woody looked outside. “Five-O getting his move on. What you got for me, Uncle Claude?”

Claude pulled out a CD. “David Banner. Bootleg. Don’t get too krunk out there. First sign of the police, I’m gonna pull the plug. I don’t wanna get a fine and you don’t wanna get another ticket.”

“Wait. You got a ticket for dancing?” Ren asked.

“He got two tickets for dancing. One more and he's off the team,” Woody’s girlfriend said.

Hip-hop music started and everyone went outside.

They cheered for Woody as he danced.

Ren turned to Willard and smiled.

“Yeah dude. They get into it.”

“Hey, you. Let’s go. Come on, let’s dance,” Woody’s girlfriend said. She grabbed Ren’s hand and pulled him onto the dancefloor.

Rusty tried to get Willard to dance, but he refused.

“You wanna dance?” Willard asked Molly.

She shook her head, chewing on the cuff of her hoodie.

Willard had noticed she only did that when she was uncomfortable. “Wanna go somewhere quieter?”

She nodded.

They went inside the concession stand.

“Sure you don’t want anythin’ to eat?” Willard asked again.

Molly looked at the menu and shook her head.

Willard ordered some nachos and took her hand in his, leading her out back. He sat down at a picnic table and pushed the nachos over to Molly.

She looked at them. She was starving, but she couldn’t eat in front of Willard. She couldn’t in front of anyone. Not since her mother.

Suddenly the music cut off.

“Attention, attention, Ariel Moore. Will you please come up to the front of the diner? Your daddy is here for you.”

“Well, looks like the party’s over. Come on,” Willard said.

Willard and Molly stood up.

She grabbed the nachos Willard purchased for her and they found her brother and Woody.

“Come on. We should be getting home,” Ren said.

“I’ll get a ride with Woody,” Willard told them.

“You sure?”

Willard waved a hand at them. “Yeah. I’ll see you later. Night Molly.”

Molly watched Willard walk off with Woody before getting in the car.

“Willard pay for those?” Ren asked.

“Yeah,” Molly said softly.

“Better eat up then.”

As Ren put the car in drive, Molly took a bite of the nachos.

Later that night, she texted Willard.

Thank you for the nachos.

Taglist: @theforevermorereject @urmomssidehoeposts @multiple-fandoms-girl

#willard hewitt #willard/oc #Willard Hewitt imagines #ren mccormack #ren mccormack imagines #footloose 2011 #footloose 2011 imagines #miles teller #miles teller imagines

108 notes · View notes

shadowofwar-goober · 2 years

Text

Stains of the Soul Ch. 6- To Good to be True...

He just wants to go home and be normal...

Zog saw him, and he nearly fucking fainted. An accomplished hunter no more, he was a pup. Small and on shaky, uncertain legs, looking up to the elder he respected the most in that little clan of theirs. Surrounded by the ambient noise of not a crowded market, but of beasts and the quiet roll of thunder and moving stone, of endless work familiar instead of new and overwhelming.

Kûga…

No. No no. No- No…! Zog hisses and yanks his hand away from his mouth. Blood ran down his fingers and onto his wrist. He replaced it back into his mouth and tore off his remaining nail out of a need to fucking bite and tear and-

FUCK!

Kûga looked his way. Zog dropped to his knees and crawled away. Several uruks around him muttered “What the fuck?” and “Goddamn pups…” but he can’t fucking hear anything over his own heart slamming into his thoat. Where is his brother?! He needs Pushkrimp! He- Zog can’t-

Hiding won’t do. Kûga is a hunter. A tracker. Has he already smelled him? His blood…

Zog was on the verge of panicking. No, he is panicking! Every bad thing came crashing down at once: a pain in the arse, the outrage towards Girl, her- her pups… leaving… Zog ground his teeth against his finger as he buried his face into his knees. Throwing an arm over his legs, Zog rocked himself as he fought back a sob.

Uruks passed. Some jeered. Zog hissed and kicked at ones that stepped to close though… one didn’t back down. No. If he pretends, maybe it won’t be so. Maybe… maybe-

“What the hell are you doing, dimwit? Looking to get shived? Mugged?” The contempt Zog expected wasn’t there. It lacked… sharpness. Shape at all, really. He cringes all the same and only hugs himself tighter.

No. It’s not him, then. Zog reaches out blindly and shoves. His palm makes contact against a shoulder as he pushes hard. He doesn’t leave. Fear of punishment crashes down like a sea wave. No, he isn’t Zog’s elder anymore! He pushes again. Kûga doesn’t move. Zog shoves again. Nothing. And again!

“Go AWAY!” Zog throws his entire body forwards, knocking the beastmaster off of his feet. Zog is spry enough to put leaps and bounds between him and his elder- no, just Kûga. He didn’t spare a glance at the beastmaster as he leapt over him, nor did he turn back. Or even look where he was running too. The only thing he could think of was-

“OI! Fuckin’ ‘ell, Zog! W-Wha-? Ey- y-yer bleedin’! An- Wha?! Talk ta me!” Pushkrimp dropped what he was carrying and wrapped an arm around his brother. Zog gulped down uneven breaths as he tried to push his brother back.

“G-Go-oo! F-Found-!” Pushkrimp went stiff. Zog clung to him tightly.

“The fuck is wrong with ya pup? ‘S that anyway ta treat ‘n elder that tried ta be decent ta ye both…?” The beastmaster’s tone gave Zog pause. He’s… hurt? He cautiously glances over his shoulder.

Kûga stood with a frown on his face, brows knit together with a look of not disappointment, but… pain. Zog felt… conflicted. Did- Did Zog… misunderstand him? What he said before…

“What do you want? Tryin’ ta get us ‘home’?! Ain’t gonna happen! So just-!” Zog turning around cut his brother off.

“Did ya come lookin’?” Zog wiped away tears and snot with the back of his hand, not taking his eyes off of the older uruk. Others passed the three by, some stood by to watch the drama unfold.

“Wha kind o’ question- ‘course I came lookin’ fer ye two! Thought… thought ye were…” He gestures towards them, but his hand ends up falling lax to his side. The beastmaster’s shoulders shake. Subtle, only just noticeable, but perceivable nonetheless. The two pups were baffled. Speechless, really.

Worry. He… worried? About them? About them both?

Zog leaned into his brother’s side, and Pushkrimp pulled him close. No, they didn’t trust him. Why didn’t he protect Zog?! Yelling at him for taming Girl… letting the other elders talk shrakh and exclude him and treat him different… Pushkrimp was fucking pissed. But… was Zog…?

“Why do you hate me…?” Pushkrimp squeezed Zog tighter, but he barely felt it. It didn’t feel like his words at all. Just… noise. He truly wanted to know why, but… he was scared and didn’t think it really mattered anymore. Zog still asked.

“I-I did everything for the Clan but… you all still- just- you hate me. You love Pushkrimp, but not me…?” There was fire for a fleeting moment but… it died with his words. Zog’s eyes ached, but there were no tears. His throat squeezed tightly, but he could only just breathe. Kûga’s eyes softened.

“My boy… No. I never hated ya… Not you nor Pushkrimp. You’re… odd, Zog. But yer special. You’ll do great things, with time.”

Zog’s heart dropped. W-Wha? Doesn’t hate… Never hated…? He couldn’t quite feel anything, then he suddenly felt everything. Special? You’ll do great things… Great things… Beside him, Pushkrimp bristles.

“SHRAKH! You’s tellin’ ‘im, with the others, that ‘e’s a disappointment ‘n shrakh! Gettin’ mad over bringin’ ‘ome a pregnant dire! The fuck’s wrong with ya?! Yer a fuck- Eh?!” Zog elbowed his brother.

“Y-Ya don’t ‘ate me…?” Nothing else mattered. The long days of hard work, the unfair punishments, the hurtful words- He doesn’t hate me… He doesn’t hate me! The world swam behind his tears. Pushkrimp struggled to find his words.

No, this isn’t right… What’s happened-

“No, Zog… Never…” Kûga looked to Pushkrimp. Zog didn’t see through his tears, but Pushkrimp did. A subtle change. He knows he saw it, and the beastmaster knows, too.

“Would ya come home…? This ain’t no life ta live… Ya both deserve more. Ya can be so much more…” Pushkrimp shakes his head, about to refuse. But Zog?

“...they don’t want me back.”

“Oh, but we’re in a ways, my lad. Need all the ‘elp we can get. Things went ta shrakh when yas left… maybe it was Nurnen punishin’ us fer bein’ bastards…” The beastmaster chuckles bitterly. “I… wanna do right by ya two. Ya- yeah, I know. Ya don’t gotta say nothin’, just… makin’ an offer, and one ya don’t have ta answer right away: come back with me, ‘n things’ll be righted. I swears ta ye both. On my honour as ‘n beastmaster!”

Pushkrimp didn’t trust him, but his little brother did just that. The contempt that the bigger uruk had for the bestmaster grew three fold, for he gave his brother the one thing he was in desperate need of: hope, and Pushkrimp knew that he wouldn’t deliver on what he promised. He never has… so why start now? He hurriedly blurted out “We’ll think on it.” before ushering a starstruck Zog away.

They argued for the first time in… well, ever, really. Heated, with harsh words thrown around and hurtful things being spouted off. Zog thought it cruel that Pushkrimp would deny both him, his brother, and their own Clan of what they need: each other. Everything Pushkrimp has done, it has been for their survival. This is no different, even if Zog is too naive to see the reasoning behind his actions. Though he prayed it wouldn’t be so, Zog laid out the ultimatum his brother was terrified of.

“If ya love me, then don’t deny me this! Brother, please…! Come ‘ome with me… come ‘ome… If ya don’t… I-Imma go anyhows! Without ye!” The tears stung more than the words he threw around. Zog… Oh, Zog… Pushkrimp can’t protect him if he’s not around but… fuck’s sake…

“...I’ll always be at yer side, brother…” Pushkrimp offered his arms and Zog didn’t hesitate to jump into a hug. Crying, he held tight, like he actually thought Pushkrimp would leave him. Never. He’ll sooner die than let it be so!

“Never think otherwise… I love ya, Zog.” Pushkrimp rests his cheek against the top of his brother’s head. Zog clings tightly, burying his face into his broad chest.“...love ya too…”

@space-arsonist @sinick @elvenmoans

#middle earth shadow of war #shadow of war #lotr #urukhai #zog the eternal #uruk oc #drama #past trauma #ptsd #gaslighting

5 notes · View notes

omniblades-and-stars · 6 months

Text

>> Message Received from its.sophie.please.open

>>Attachments Received: accounts.database; contacts.database; journal.txt

>> Help me. Coordinates: Feros>Latitude: -70.52834, Longitude: -76.86462

>> Voice Message Received from its.sophie.please.open

>> Play Message

>>Transcript: [Female voice begins speaking softly] Krios … um … fuck. Can't believe I'm doing this. I need your help. I walked into a trap. So stupid. Don't know how long I have before they find me. Some crazy bitch after revenge managed to pull one over on m- [startled gasp] shit.

Human, Amanda Olana. Apparently, I killed her brother a couple of years ago. I don't know how she found out. Don't know how I didn't make the connection before I got here. Oversight of the fucking century. Didn't think anything about being hired by some wannabe warlord. How many criminal empires have I been hired by before this?

She's … um … she's taunting me with calls and messages. She knows I'm here.

I'm fucked, Thane. Stuck in a goddamn closet, just waiting for a literal fucking mercenary army to find me … No way out. Only have one gun and a knife. Was supposed to be a quick in and out job. No games. Ha. So stupid, was gonna "play it safe."

[Sharp inhale, crying]

I sent the coordinates ahead of this. I know I don’t deserve it, but please, come for me? I don't think she'd go through all this trouble if she didn't want to make it last, hurt me real bad first. You know me, I can handle pain, it doesn't scare me. And it's not my first rodeo with torture.

But fuck, [hard sobbing] I'm scared of dyin'. An assassin who's afraid to die, fuckin' stupidest thing. 'Specially with how we carry on.

[Deep inhale, exhale]

They'll be here soon. I'm gonna take as many out as I can before they get me, so it may end up a moot point if I eat a bullet or piss someone off too much. I don't really expect you to come, but I've got no one else to even ask. If there is an afterlife and you don't come for me, I won't hold it against you. I've more'n earned this fate. I know that.

I … uh .. sent my account information, my contacts list … in case this is it for me. There’s one contact, Demetrius Freeman, wire him the money in the account under the name “Sophia Romero”. He runs a charity to help homeless kids like I was once. Do whatever you want with rest. Just want my final act in this world to be something good. Been too long since I did something good.

[Shakily, while crying] Sent my journal too, just want someone to know who I am. Been alone for so long. Probably gonna die alone now. At least this way someone can mark my passin’ in a way that means something.

I … I know I'm rambling, don't know what else to do. Nice to know someone's gonna hear what might be my last words, I guess.

Do me a favor, Thane? I know I’m asking a lot of you. But if … um … if I don't make it, or you decide not to come for me, will you go visit momma's grave for me? She's buried at Elk … Elk Gap Memorial Gardens in Elk Gap, Tennessee, North America. Earth, obviously. [crying] Her name is Hannah Shepard, S-H-E-P-A-R-D, in the English alphabet.

There's a honeysuckle plant growin' on a … a fence near her plot. It looks kind of wild, it's a plant with little yellow and white flowers. I know you'll recognize the smell before you see 'em.

Put some on her marker for me, they were her favorite. Tell her that Marcy missed her, but I probably didn't get into heaven, she won't see me again. You have my permission to carve my initials next to her name. Closest I'll ever be to her again. Ah … shit …

[Her voice falters, only crying can be heard.]

Now you know who I am, where I'm from. I tried to hide it … from myself mostly. Sad little orphan from some hick town in the mountains. Seems so stupid now. Who gives a shit where I'm from? Hell, most aliens don't recognize our accents, and I don't have any family to protect. Just my own fuckin’ pride. Don't even remember why I started pretendin' to be someone else, tryin’ to hide my accent. It started before I became a killer.

They're gettin' closer. I'll make every bullet count. Try to hold on as long as I can after they catch me.

I'm sorry, Thane. For puttin' this on you, and for everything else. I hope you'll pray for my soul if things go more fucked than they already are. Kind of hope that your afterlife is real.

Always liked the sea.

Goodbye, Thane. Hope I see you again, and not just because you're the only hope I've got.

[Deep inhale, exhale]

[Singing, shakily] You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away.

[Whispering] Fuck, I'm so scared.

>>End Transcript.

#wip #I just like making myself sad #Is that my voice?#Yep #2nd version of this #Still working on the actual story

0 notes

sanguineterrain · 3 years

Text

Brooklyn Honey - Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Repost!) Hello, this is for the lovely @wkemeup’s 9k writing challenge. I decided to go with the song prompt “Life in the City” by The Lumineers. It really reminded me of 40s Bucky.

Title: Brooklyn Honey

Summary: Life in the city ain’t always so pretty, but you’ve got Bucky and he’s got you.

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: nah

***

“That’s so not how you do it.”

“Sorry, I must’ve missed the day you wrote the manual on how to put up curtains.”

“You sure did, and I can tell you as an expert, the nails aren’t supposed to resemble a mountain range.”

“Smartass. C’mere.”

Bucky’s palm opened and you took a nail, carefully tapping it into the wall.

“Or is it the skyline you’re going for?”

“You’re pretty mouthy for an assistant.”

“I keep it interesting, doll.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“James Barnes, what on earth are you doing in there?!”

Your eyes went wide and you hurried to scramble off the chair you were standing on. Bucky put a hand on your back, shaking his head.

“Buck—”

“I got it, don’t worry. Keep hammering.”

“But—”

“Honey, don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not.”

More knocking, faster and louder this time.

“Coming, Mrs. Anderson!”

Bucky buttoned up his shirt, smoothing his pomade-slicked hair back, and went to answer.

You stepped down from the chair anyway, daring to peek around the corner.

He had his arms up, trying to fill the entire door frame and hide the obnoxiously yellow curtains you probably weren’t supposed to have. Mrs. Anderson, Steve and Bucky’s busybody next door neighbor, was a small, shriveled, old woman with a perpetually pinched face that looked like it had been stored in a jar of formaldehyde for the last twenty years. She kept trying to look over Bucky’s shoulder but he wouldn’t let her, moving when she did.

“—could’ve sworn I heard hammering coming from this apartment.”

“Oh! You must’ve heard me fixing my bike.”

“You don’t have a bike, James.”

“Did I say my bike? I meant Steve’s.”

“Steve rides a bike?”

“Absolutely. Keeps him fit.”

“I don’t recall seeing him ever—”

“Well, bye, Mrs. Anderson! Always a pleasure to see you, ma’am.”

She gave another stern look before shaking her head, walking away.

You sighed as Bucky shut the door with his foot, a too sly smile on his face.

“Didn’t I tell you to trust me?”

“I think you might be a worse liar than Steve.”

“Well, ouch, doll.”

“First of all, who’s ever heard of needing a hammer to fix a bike?”

“We can be the first.”

“Next time, I’m answering the door.”

You clambered back onto the chair, returning to knocking in the nails.

“I still don’t understand why you wanted curtains in the first place.”

“It adds a homely touch, doll. Aren’t you the one who’s always complaining about how drab this place is?”

“Of course, but it’s not my apartment.”

“It could be, with how often you’re over,” Bucky said sweetly.

“Keep dreaming, Barnes.”

“I will,” he assured with a smile that could melt butter.

You shook your head and returned to focus on the curtains. True, the first one was beyond help in terms of nail placement, but the least you could do was try and make the next one even.

Bucky had offered at least ten times to do it himself but there was no way he was getting his hands on a hammer after what had happened when he’d tried to install some shelves last winter.

Besides, you were better at decorating when it came down to it. At least, that’s what Bucky kept insisting, letting you do essentially anything you wanted to the apartment.

The chair suddenly groaned under additional weight and you startled as you felt the side of a body press against yours.

“How’s it goin’?”

“Bucky, this chair really isn’t meant for two people.”

“You sure? Seems pretty sturdy to me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and you fixed him with a look.

“What? Don’t want you to fall.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Ain’t it?”

He hopped off before you could scold him further, grinning up at you.

“Beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Bucky disappeared and returned a minute later with an open bottle for you, holding it so you could sip safely while still perched on the chair.

Then you kept hammering, eyes narrowed as you focused on not hitting anything other than the nail.

Bucky watched from the floor as you did so, leaning back on his hands.

“What’re you looking at?” you asked after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He shrugged, a gentle smile on his face.

“The city.”

***

“Honey, I’m home!”

“What did I say about that, Barnes?”

“You said… you’ll love me for all eternity because you’re as sweet as honey?”

“I think it was more along the lines of, ‘don’t call me honey unless you mean it.’”

“I always mean it, Y/N.”

And that was a little more sincerity than you were willing to explore, so you pointed to the bag instead.

“What’s that?”

Bucky grinned, setting a giant paper sack on the counter.

“Lemons.”

“What?”

“Lemons. You know, the little yellow fruits that make you do this?”

Bucky puckered his mouth and smacked his tongue, eyes screwed shut.

“Lemon’s not a fruit.”

“It sure is! Fruit got seeds. Read that in a book about agriculture. We produce a lot of corn, did you know that?“

“Okay, Bucky, the presiding question still remains: why do you have every lemon in the city?”

“There was a good deal at the docks. Dirt cheap for produce. Some guys told me they were takin’ some home for their wives. Didn’t want you to feel left out.”

“I’m not your wife.”

Bucky just grinned. You rolled your eyes.

“I don't know who taught you this, but the way to a girl’s heart is not twenty pounds of lemons.”

“Think of all the lemonade we can make.”

“Unless you’ve also got FDR and his cabinet in those bags, we’re gonna have a lot of leftovers.”

“Look at it this way: no vitamin C deficiency. One less thing to worry ‘bout.”

“Bucky.”

“They’re not all lemons, doll. I got other stuff too. Tomatoes, cabbage, snuck some cucumbers, even bananas.”

You sighed, smiling tiredly. This ration was taking its toll on everyone. You knew Bucky was doing his best, had seen the vegetables and thought of you and how much you missed having cucumber salad and tomato sandwiches like you used to.

“Thank you, Bucky, really. I appreciate you.”

You brushed past him to begin preparing the excess vegetables you three wouldn’t eat this week to pickle. Salt and sugar was going to be hard to gather, but you’d manage. You always did.

“Welcome, doll.”

He beamed, eyes full of warmth as he watched you.

“You gonna stay for dinner?”

“I dunno. Seems like Steve’s gettin’ kinda tired of me,” you laughed.

“Never. ‘Sides, even if he was, doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, really?”

“Nope. ‘Cause you stay for me.”

“And where did you get that idea from?”

He shrugged.

“Seemed kinda obvious, doll. You’re smitten, admit it.”

“Oh dear, you’ve got me all figured out. However did you know?”

“I’m a bright fella.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You ain’t saying no…”

“Really, I have to say no? Can’t you tell I only stick around for the great deals you get on produce?”

“But it’s me that gets the great deals, so really, you’re still staying for me.”

Bucky was against the counter now, shoulder to shoulder with you.

You sighed, hand on your hip as you stared at the table.

“What the hell are we going to do with all these lemons?”

“We’ll figure something out. Always do, don’t we?”

You hummed, leaning your head on his shoulder, aware he was talking about more than the lemons.

“Yeah. We always do.”

***

Steve had been home for a while, wordlessly letting you in when you’d shown up an hour ago. You didn’t have to explain anything to him anymore.

The record player was on, crooning gently. Steve was in the corner, drawing, away from the window after the breeze had whipped his papers around one too many times.

“Can’t believe they’re building another skyscraper down on Lawrence.”

Steve frowned.

“Really? Won’t be able to see the sunset now.”

“Yeah. And Brooklyn’s not exactly known for its scenery to begin with. Saw a rat and a pigeon fighting over a pretzel this morning.”

Steve chuckled from the floor, shaking his head.

“Times are tough. Even for rats and pigeons.”

“Sure are.”

“Nice curtains, by the way. I like the color.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Did Bucky ask—?”

“No,” he answered, smile evident in his voice. “But that’s alright. I know he’s just tryin’ to gauge what you like.”

“What?”

“Yeah, after the war’s over and all, he’s gonna try and buy a nicer place.”

“And he wants my furnishing tips?”

Steve shrugged, gaze soft and knowing.

“Guess so.”

You cleared your throat, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Want some lemonade?”

“Jesus, there’s more? I thought we’d run out of bushels.”

“You’d think, right? I put ‘em in the icebox so they won’t spoil so fast.”

“Sure, yeah. Thanks, Y/N.”

You were in the middle of stirring the pitcher when Bucky came in.

He didn’t greet you or Steve immediately, like he usually did, instead setting down his keys, then slapping the mail onto the table.

“Well, hey there, mister. Fancy a drink? Today’s special is sour lemonade, your favorite.”

Bucky looked up, startled, and glanced at the pitcher before nodding, attempting a half smile.

“Sure, doll. Thanks.”

“Everything okay, Buck?”

He nodded, slipping away to the bathroom with a sigh.

You turned to Steve, who shrugged.

“Long day at the docks, I guess.”

***

June twelfth. That was when Bucky was being shipped out, somewhere in Europe, too far from you. This entire year you’d been holding your breath, hoping, needing the draft to leave him alone.

Now they were taking him away from you in less than a week.

You were in the apartment, lying on the floor, on Bucky’s second to last day. That’s how he found you upon coming home.

“Trying to count all the cracks in the ceiling, doll? You’ll be here all night.”

You had a glass of lemonade by your head, spiked with a bit of rum. It was already warm, because it was summer and things were supposed to be warm in the summer.

The curtains danced in front of the window, yellow like sunshine and all those goddamn lemons in the freezer. The only respite from an otherwise colorless world.

“This city is so ugly.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of your voice. He walked over, crouching by your arm.

“Think so?”

“Yeah. Can’t find a single pretty thing in the city.”

“I can.”

“Can you?”

“Sure. She’s looking at me right now.”

“That was sappy.”

“Yes it was.”

Bucky lay down, rolling onto his side next to you, taking a sip from your glass.

“But I ain’t mean it any less.”

You hummed, closing your eyes.

“Well, for what it’s worth then, I think you’re handsome.”

“Oh, yeah?”

You could hear his proud smile.

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“No, I’m just surprised to hear it is all.”

“Surprised, huh? I’m certain I ain’t the first one to call you handsome.”

“You’re the only one I wanna hear it from.”

Something fluttered in your chest.

“What d’you say then? You and I, think we can take on a city as ugly as ours?”

He smiled.

“With you, doll?”

“Yeah.”

“With you, of course.”

“Good. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Bucky propped his head up on his elbow. It was quiet again, with only your occasional sighs and his quiet breaths.

“What’re you looking at?” you breathed, opening your eyes.

“You.”

Bucky flicked a drop of lemonade from the tip of your nose.

You turned, now face to face.

And oh, Bucky’s blues. Those had been your color even before the curtains.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurted.

He smiled a little sadly.

“Gonna miss you too, Y/N.”

You pushed your lips together, taking a deep breath.

“You were right, you know.”

“‘Bout what?”

“That day when you brought home all those lemons. You said that I stay for you.”

Bucky’s lips quirked, gaze fond like it always was.

“All those times I stayed for dinner and pretended to know what I was doing putting up those curtains. I stayed for you.”

You wiped your nose quickly, sniffling.

“And I’m gonna keep staying.”

“Yeah? What if the bridge collapses tomorrow?”

“I’ll swim.”

“Even in the winter?”

“I’ll get myself a pair of ice skates.”

“You don’t know how to skate, doll.”

“That’s right. So you better come back safe and teach me.”

Bucky leaned in, nose brushing your cheek. He rolled over and carefully straddled you, holding his weight.

“I’ll be there, honey.”

“Now what did we say about that?”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched in thought.

“Don’t say it if I don’t mean it?”

You hummed, pulling him closer, arms around his neck. Bucky’s lips were a millimeter from yours, breath fanning over your chin.

“Mm, I think it was something about eternity.”

Bucky was soft, tangy and sweet. His scruff scraped your cheek and your fingers curled into the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

He slid his hands under your back and turned so you were on top, head on his chest. You lay like that for a while, listening to his heartbeat, arms strong around you.

Yellow fluttered in the breeze, tacked unevenly onto the wall, catching your eye.

Bucky glanced to the side, chuckling.

“Don’t let Anderson take our curtains away.”

“Of course not. I spent a weekend on those. She’ll have to fight me for ‘em.”

“Good God. Now I gotta worry about you brawling with old ladies and Steve getting into alley fights while I’m gone?”

“Nah. Steve’ll help me.”

“Oh, great.”

You reached up, brushing his jaw with your knuckles.

“Call me honey again.”

“Honey, honey, honey.”

You reached up to get just one last kiss, except it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. It couldn’t be.

“They’re not gonna take you away from me.”

Bucky shook his head, kissing you much slower this time, trying to memorize you before time ran out.

“Never. ‘M gonna think of you and I’ll be back ‘fore we know it.”

You nodded, wishing hard, hoping somebody was listening.

“Then, when I come back,” he whispered, promise riding on the summer air.

“We’re gonna make the best damn lemonade you’ve ever had.”

And maybe this city could take away your sunsets, your tea and jams, even your summer.

But if there was anything that was yours and yours only, it was the lemon pulp on Bucky’s lips and the undissolved sugar on your own, as bitter and pretty as home.

#bucky barnes x reader #1940s bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #kas9kwc #repost for those of you who asked <3

361 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Vampire Chris drunk on blood?

CW: Drunkenness, drug addiction, blood drinking, vampirism, creepy abusive comfort, WWI-period-appropriate xenophobia and brief vague possible homophobia reference, dehumanization, war whump

"Now, that'll get you blotto faster'n French liquor," Kirk says, sinking back against the muddy trench wall, careless for the dirt caking itself into the hair at the nape of his neck.

His helmet lay beside him upside down on the ground, and his brown hair was free to explode in its wealth of curls, a kind of halo around his head. He had one arm out, sleeve rolled back. His hands were caked in mud and smeared with drying dirt - above the line of his sleeve, though, the skin was paper-white, almost clammy.

It was this white skin that the vampire's fangs were buried in.

"Shit, Holden, y'gotta have 'im bite you, too." Kirk's grin widens. The shells had gone silent but every man flinches, now and then, hearing a phantom sound or feeling a rumble beneath their feet.

At least it's finally stopped goddamn raining.

The venom rolls through Kirk's veins, soothing his jangled nerves. He can barely feel the trembling in his hands and it feels like his mind, when it's in him. He's a farm kid from western Nebraska, the second son and not needed so much as the first to bring the crops in. So here he is, learning to love the feeling of teeth in his skin.

Maybe when he gets shipped back home he'll stick to the cities. They say the vampires have their dens there, where they can hide. You can buy venom enough to quiet your mind for a day or two, the city boys tell him.

They're in it as deep as he is, now.

Feels like half the American army is itching for venom these days.

"No thank you. I'm not gonna get sent home and start chasing fangs like the rest of you." Holden squints, looking up into the dark sky, the rolling clouds that seem far too close to the ground. "It'll rain again soon."

"When isn't it going to rain again soon? Oh, right, when it's already bloody raining." That's a Brit, they just call him Tommy. No one knows his real name.

He claims to hate them all, but since half his unit was blasted apart two days ago, he's hung with the 'Yanks' close enough. Kirk thinks he's fond of them, even if he won't admit it. Or just scared to be alone. He can understand that. He's terrified of the thought himself. "Shove the little vamp over to me, Kirk, I want some."

The vampire pulls his fangs free, licking over the wounds he's made until they close. He's a skinny little thing, pale as paper with bright red hair they stuff under his helmet when he's running medic checks in No Man's Land, trying to make him less obvious. Sure, he can't die from gas, but he can be blown to bits by a whizz-bang fast as any living soldier can.

"Please," The vampire says, turning big green eyes up to Kirk. "I, I, I'm tired, please, can I sleep?"

He's got heavy dark circles under his eyes. It's kind of cute.

"No," Kirk answers, curt, shoving the vampire away by his head, watching him fall into the mud. His uniform is marked with it, now, a dab of dirt over the 'V' sewn next to his medic's cross. There's a satisfaction, in Kirk, just in seeing the little thing laid low.

He won't die in this war, and Kirk probably will, but before that happens he can at least hurt something he can see. You can't see old Fritz when you fire on him from a distance - but you can see a vampire flinch in the dirt. It's not much.

It's something.

"Must be daytime," Holden speaks up, still staring up at the clouds. "You can't tell, weather like this, but if the fangs're tryin' to sleep, must be day."

"He sleeps when we're done with him, and not a moment before." Kirk's voice is a murmur, eyes half-closed. He's drifting in it, the way the venom dulls and deadens the eternal ache in his back and legs. The Germans could come roaring over the bags right this second and Kirk wouldn't give a damn at all. Let them kill him, at least he can go with venom in his veins, not as a basket case carried off the field. "Not a second before. Go on, bloodsucker. Get over to Tommy and help him get some shut-eye, huh?"

"I've been drinking all night, pulled some rations off someone," Tommy groans, rubbing his fingers at his temples. "It's done no good at all." It's a funny little gesture, so oddly normal and casual. Reminds Kirk of home.

His throat tries to close, homesickness bowling him over. The wish to return to his mother's worn smile, sit down to dinner and have her ask him about his day, when his problems revolved around the harvest and the hard backs of the pews in church-

He takes a breath, forcing it back, and gives the vampire a vicious kick in the ribs, listening to his high-pitched cry and how he curls around himself with a smile of his own.

Oh, he'll die, probably. The others from his town already have. But he can remind himself he's still alive, for now. One way or another. He can cause pain he can't feel himself, for once.

"I said get over to Tommy and smooth out his sharp bits, bloodfuck."

"Yes, um, y-yes, Kirk," The vampire says, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. His fingers are smashed into the mud deep enough to nearly disappear. If they could only get a few days of sunlight to dry out all this dirt, it wouldn't be such hell.

As it is, his socks've been damp for weeks, his boots feel like they're caging his feet in a swamp. He's worried about trenchfoot and trying not to think about it. He stole these boots off a dead German when his own started to fall apart, anyway.

He could've probably gotten new ones, but... it had felt good, taking something from Fritz after Fritz took so much from him.

Kirk tries not to remember that the German soldiers he fights have never caused him a single moment's harm on purpose. They're only fighting for the same reasons he is - because someone higher up who doesn't give a damn about them said to.

Kirk had been all gung-ho for the war until he'd been sent over here to fight it. All those articles in the newspapers, all the speeches given by men standing in town squares... it had all made it seem so patriotic.

They never tell you, Kirk thinks bitterly, that you'll be sent into a slaughterhouse. They don't tell you you'll spend your day breaking a vampire's fingers one by one just to watch them heal back into place and listen to his little cries.

Just to pass the time.

"Trade me your flask while the fangs takes care of you," Kirk says, and Tommy hands it over easy enough.

He watches Tommy grab the vampire by one arm and yank him over, vicious and violent, making the vampire boy cry out again. The sound is starting to grate on Kirk's nerves. It makes him sound too human. He hates being reminded that every vampire used to be a person.

He drinks whatever's in the Brit's flask, and it burns down his throat just the way he needs it to. Wipes out his worries, relaxes shoulders that seem always to be tensed up nearly to his chin.

His mama's a teetotaler, back in Nebraska. He'd been one, too, until the first bombardment. Now he drinks anything he could get his hands on, and the officers mostly looked the other way.

"Bite," Tommy orders. Kirk raises his eyebrows when Tommy doesn't roll up his sleeve but pushes the vampire's face instead towards his neck, turning his head to the side to bare it.

His eyes meet Kirk's, and he smiles, bitterly. "Works faster this way," He explains. Kirk just watches as the vampire's fangs glint in the eternal dim twilight, hesitating before they bury themselves in Tommy's skin.

The little monster's back arches, pressing them chest-to-chest. A low rumble comes from somewhere deep inside, the animal sound the vampire makes during a good feed. He doesn't do it much with the regular unit any longer, they mocked him for it and one day he stopped.

The vampire's throat works as he drinks, and Tommy's arm slides around the monster's thin shoulders, forcing him closer. He's nearly kissing his forehead, this way.

It's an embrace, and altogether more intimate of one than Kirk thought he'd ever see from the cold, standoffish Brit. He feels a blush creeping up his neck and his cheeks as Tommy lets his head fall back, groaning softly in a kind of contentment as the venom hits. The sound isn't quite like a groan at all, it's more like-

"Fucking hell, Tommy, are you an invert?"

"Invert suggests I give a damn what bites me," Tommy replies, without opening his eyes. His slurred speech deepens, goes slow. His hand curves around the vampire's shoulder, holding him tightly. "I'm after oblivion, lads. I don't care what parts the fangs have that give it to me."

"Fang-chaser," Holden says, good-naturedly. Clearly not bothered the way Kirk is. Maybe that's just his farmboy past talking, that he's even unsettled at all. Maybe Tommy's got a point - who cares what's between a vampire's legs if you're only interested in the damn thing's mouth in the first place? "Fucking fang-chaser, that's what you are. End up in a den getting your hips bit like Oscar Wilde."

"Who's Oscar Wilde?"

Holden laughs. "You should try reading a book or three sometime, Kirk."

"Sure, sure, whenever I get the damn time in-between running over this blasted nothing. In any case, Tommy's definitely a fang-chaser."

"Guilty as charged... just like you two." Tommy's hand slides up into the vampire's hair, gripping tight and gently pulling backwards. The vampire's fangs slide free, and it laps at the wounds, rapidly. Tommy groans again. Kirk finds himself unable to look away at the bob of Tommy's throat. How good does it feel, in the neck? He's never thought to try it. He thinks about it now. "Turn me in to face discipline for unnatural relations with the fangs and I'll do the same to you."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. Fucking Limey bastard." There's no real animosity in Kirk's voice. He's too distracted, drunkenly considering the vampire boy's mouth. Wondering if he knows how to kiss. "You shared your liquor, I shared our bloodsucker, we're both of us in it to our necks."

"Not me," Holden says, innocent and pure as the driven snow. As if he weren't the one to give Kirk the idea to use the venom in the first place.

Kirk throws a clot of mud at him, which he dodges, laughing. They're all laughing, soon enough, except for the fangs.

The vampire lays there, his head pressed to Tommy's chest and forcibly held in place by his arm. His eyes are slightly wide, unfocused, and Kirk leans forward.

"What's this, then? What'd you do to the fangs, Tommy?"

"Hm? Nothing. Oh, I'm pissed as can be, do they feel the liquor in your blood?"

"I'm guessing they sure do. You drunk, fangs?"

The vampire's eyes drift over to Kirk, move too far to one side, come back again. He swallows, thickly. "I... I think I, I, I am," He says, and tries to push back against Tommy's chest, to free himself.

The Brit's arm crushes him back into place, his other hand moving up to run through the vampire boy's dirt red hair, petting him like one of the ambulance dogs. Kirk and Holden laugh at the vampire's weakness. "Stay right where you are," Tommy murmurs. "Or I'll run you through with my bayonet and let you squirm all day."

"Christ," Kirk says, blinking. "That's a bit rough, isn't it?"

"He's not alive, what does it matter?" Tommy lets out a bitter little laugh. "Might as well get a preview of our own ends, shouldn't we?"

"You two, maybe." Holden crawls into the dugout, the little bed-space, a kind of cave dug in underneath the upper layers of the trench. He lays down on his back, closing his eyes, hands behind his head. "I'm going to go back home and never think of you lot ever again."

"I pray every night to make it home," Kirk says, nodding along. "Not sure anyone's listening, but I got to try, don't I?"

"What happens to the fangs, anyway?" The Brit looks up, rocking a little back and forth. As if the bloodsucker were a baby needing soothing. The vampire boy has relaxed against him, the liquor-laced blood he drank lulling him into a complacent bonelessness. Kirk watches the vampire boy's fingers start to tap over the Brit's chest, a strange movement he's seen the boy do before in his few relaxed moments between the scream of the shells. He hums, low in his throat, tuneless.

"Huh?" Kirk blinks. "What d'you mean, what happens to him?"

"After the war's done. What are they gonna do with the bloodsuckers? Can't exactly pin a bloody ribbon for valor on them and send them on their way, now can they?"

"Nope. I don't know what happens. Maybe they'll just stake them all and have done with them."

The vampire shudders, giving a little whimper. Tommy leans down, lips moving against the vampire's hair. "Ssssshhhh. Not to worry, little fangs. War's not over just yet, now is it?"

"N-... no. Not, not, not, not yet." The vampire's eyes close, pink-tinged tears creating pale tracks in his dirty face. He's a sad drunk, then, Kirk figures.

Aren't they all, these days.

"Maybe you'll outlive us all, and make fools of us for keeping you." Tommy speaks with a patronizing affection, as mocking as it is tender, petting through the creature's hair still. It's... unsettling to watch. Kirk had figured the Brits and French probably killed all their vamps, since they were all disturbed by the sight of the vampire medics when the doughboys first arrived in Europe.

This, though... this makes it seem like Tommy's known a vampire or two himself, in his life. And he's sure as fuck not unfamiliar to what venom is good for outside of giving relief from agony to the injured.

Kirk frowns, thoughtful.

He's turned into a thoughtful drunk, too, thanks to this goddamn war. Sad and thoughtful. What a fucking waste.

"Sleep," Tommy says, almost gently, to the drunk little vampire. "I've got you. Sleep, little one."

The vampire's eyes slip closed. He doesn't breathe - there's no sense of his chest rising and falling. Kirk has to look away before the sense of wrongness, watching Tommy cuddle a corpse, makes him sick.

He takes a long, long draught from the flask, and relishes the burn that reminds him he's human, and alive.

His own eyes slip shut, and he prays for an hour or two of sleep before the next screaming shell bursts overhead.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

136 notes · View notes