I love it when fan fiction writers are like: “ah shit, this was meant to be one part but I started writing it and now it has to be three”. Like the fanfic is happening to them and not being created by them.
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honestly the number one thing I wish more from “humans are orcs” posts are just referencing how much we pack bond with literally everything
like I’ve seen posts where they talk about how we’ve bonded with pets and wild animals but i think it would be so interesting if there was an alien species who just saw their probes and rovers as tools
so imagine them seeing us reacting to Oppy’s last message or us singing happy birthday to Curiosity or Hell! Even sympathizing with a planet that they demoted. A GOD DAMN PLANET!!!
[summary] your hurricane of a relationship with enjin, if you can even call it that, finally comes to a close. and not for the better.
[content warnings] breakups, heavy angst, mentions of sex but nothing too explicit
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you think the air in enjin's room never moves.
it is still and stagnant like old water, the singular big light screwed to the ceiling serving as the only source of warmth as you lay bare beneath his wrinkled sheets. you've lost count of how many times you swore you would never put yourself in this position again.
but no matter how hard you try, somehow, someway, you find yourself knocking on his bedroom door. he opens it, he always does. you tear him apart with your words, your already shaky resolve slowly disintegrating into hysteria as you beg him to give you answers you can actually accept.
why are you being like this? what am i to you? what are we to each other? do you even care about me? did you ever? am i just another body on your roster? how many other girls have you slept with? did you tell them you loved them, too?
he lets you take your digs at him, lets you scream in his face and shove him around as you dig your fingers into the thick fabric of his coat. he doesn't flinch. he never does. his eyes, sharp and dark, stay fixed on you. it's funny, he thinks. no matter how mad you get, how many times you swear you never want to see him again for as long as you live, how you promise you wouldn't care if he didn't return from a mission, how you're really done this time, how you won't be here waiting for him when he get back.
fuck, enjin can't help but think, you're so pretty when you cry.
you want him to fight back, defend himself, tell you that none of what you're thinking is true, that you don't actually believe that. yet, he says nothing. instead, he slides his fingers over yours, trembling against his chest and prying them off gently from his lapels.
"shhh," he whispers, voice low and warm and so aggravatingly soothing, "enough of that, c'mere baby."
he pulls you in before you can protest, one arm snaking around your waist while the other cups the back of your head, pressing it to his heart. he looks unbothered, serene even, but his soul beats like a wild drum against your ear. it pounds so loud, so fast you think it might burst out of his body and leap into your arms.
and if he's being honest with himself, that's exactly what he wants to do. he wants to give you all of him, every ounce of flesh, every strand of hair, every particle of his soul. it all belongs to you, anyway, so why not?
"you're shaking," he murmurs against your hair, lips brushing the soft skin of your forehead like a secret. "gonna make yourself pass out actin' like this."
you swallow hard. "i h-hate you," you manage to hiccup, but it comes out weak, broken. it always does. "stop."
"stop what, hm?" he's so unbearably, painfully gentle. you can't stand it. "stop touching you? stop letting you come back to me? stop loving you? i can do a lotta shit, sweetheart, but i can't do that."
the last words hang heavy between you. he says them like a dare, as if he knows exactly that they'll do to you. your brain, in all its logic, tells you to leave. to tear his hands off of you, cut the ties, slam the door to his room and never look back. but everything else is aching to stay. to take what you can get, no matter how small.
so you do. you let him whisper his empty promises, his sweet nothings. you let him strip you down to the skin and he does the same. you let him taste you, drink you up, hover over you like a roof that could collapse at any moment. you let him make love to you, as he's done countless times before, until all your aches and pains and worries are reduced to nothing but the soft moans and whimpers he dreams about every night.
so then, here you are. right where you knew you always would be.
enjin returns to the room with one of his shirts, much too big for you and so worn out the collar stretches over both your shoulders. he meets you at the edge of the bed as you sit up, refusing to meet his gaze.
"arms up, buttercup," and you obey, lifting your arms in the air as he slides the garment over your body, carefully pulling your hair out of the opening as your head pops up.
he sits on the edge of the bed, back facing you as he holds his head down, counting the cracks in the cement floor. his shoulders rise and fall with each breath, slow and heavy, bearing the weight of something he won't name. you watch as he drags a hand across his face, thumb pressing into the corner of his eye. his shirt smells like smoke, rain, something metallic.
"enjin..."
at the sound of your voice, his head tilts ever so slightly. yet he can't bring himself to look at you. "yeah?"
"i don't know how much longer i can do this, " the words crack, "how much longer i can...wait."
you think he's still. but as your eyes focus more keenly, you can see him trembling, ever so slightly. the silence stretches so far it feels like it might snap. finally, he draws in a low breath. and while the words he says are soft, they land in your chest like stone.
"you can wait if you want."
it's not a plea for the love you so desperately want to give him, to have him hold. it's not a promise, it's just a fact. and worst of all, he's right.
your nails dig into the fabric pooling at your thighs, knuckles flushing white. "after everything — "
"i don't know what you want from me, this is all i've got." he cuts you off, but there's no harshness to it. "every time, it's always the same. it isn't fair to you. you burn yourself out tryin' to pull something outta me that isn't there the way you want it to be. and i...i can't change that."
then he turns his head. there's a shine to his eyes you've only seen once before. it was when he came back to HQ all those months back, told you that Gob was gone. he's looking at you like he's lost something. or even worse, that he's letting something go.
"i don't wanna hurt you, never have," he says quietly. "but...i don't know how to be what you're waiting for."
you feel like you're dying. hell, you may as well be. the room seems to tilt on its axis as the air rushing out of your lungs. he isn't lying. you've known him long enough to be able to tell.
when you shift out of the bed, enjin straightens up. the floor should be cold beneath your feet, yet you feel nothing. he watches with widening eyes as you grab your own clothes off the floor, the movements so mechanical they have him shivering.
"w-what are you..." he stutters, a single rogue tear slipping from his eye and sliding down his cheek and off the point of his chin. but you don't see it, eyes fixed towards the exit.
at the door, you pause. you want to turn back, give him one more chance, maybe even crawl back into the warmth of the bed with him and forget about it all til morning. you hover over the knob. if you look at him now, you know you'll fold. if you see a single glimpse of that rawness he never shows anyone else, it'll ruin you.
so you choke back the sob that claws at your throat, twisting the knob and pulling the door open. the hallway greets you, reflecting exactly how you're feeling. cold, quiet, hollow.
behind you, his voice breaks, sharp and desperate. "w-wait, don't — "
it's a sound that slices through you, but you force yourself to take a step. then another. then another. because you can't reach into his body and fix him. you shouldn't have to. can't force him to choose you the way you've always chosen him.
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You’d never stoop so low as to say you have a favorite part of Logan—he’s your boyfriend after all, you love him for all his faults and features. There isn’t a single thing you could ever definitively point out and say “that’s my favorite.”
However, if you had to choose—
“Christ doll, you’re lookin’ at me like a starving dog,” he says with a smug. “What’s got you so worked up?”
You’ve been waiting for him to come back from training all day, sitting on the couch practically counting the seconds. The training session he just came from must have been intense; shirt off, his entire torso glistening with sweat—his happy trail on full display.
You don’t even pretend to be ashamed, blatantly staring at the lovely trail of hair that starts from his belly and moves further down to where the rest is covered by a pair of low-hanging jeans. You’re forcefully pulled from your ogling, hand at your chin, removing your attention from his beautiful patch of hair to his face.
“Y’know, it’s rude to stare,” He whispers. His eyes hold only bad intentions, and you’re happy to oblige, leaning into his touch.
“Kinda wanna do more than just stare,” you whisper back.
His thumb reaches to stroke your cheek. You enjoy the soft touch, hands wandering closer to his torso to stroke the hair that’s been tempting you since he walked through the door, until he catches them in his own with a shake of his head.
“Baby, you know that’s bad manners,” He lets your face go and hooks his thumbs below his belt line, pulling his jeans down even further, exposing the veins that start to run from his v-line.
“If you want to touch, ask nicely.”
The words leave your lips embarrassingly fast. “Can I touch you? Please?”
Your thighs are rubbing together, hands at your side obediently. When he nods his head you reach forward, sliding your hands across his hot skin, nails scratching lightly with each pass, the softest groans escaping Logan with each touch.
“Good girl,” he praises. “Take what you want.”
Spurred on by his words you pull his pants down, boxers strained by the visible outline of his cock. Feeling mischievous, you place a kiss through the fabric, smile widening as you feel it twitch between your plump lips. He hisses in response, fingers curling around your hair.
“Don’t be a tease, or else I’ll leave you here all by yourself,” he says, tugging your head slightly. “We got a deal?”
You couldn’t say no if you tried, so pent up just the sound of his voice gets you riled up. “Promise, just lemme have a taste, I’ll behave.”
He mumbles something under his breath, tugging himself free. Pretty and pink, his cock in full view, still every bit as beautiful no matter how many times you see it. Your tongue peaks out from your lips, tracing every vein with excitement, a smile on your face as he strokes your hair.
“Just needed a taste, is that it?” He groans, rubbing his shiny tip against your lips. “Just needed your boyfriend’s fat cock in your mouth, didn’t you?”
You moan in response, opening your mouth as he feeds you what you’ve been waiting for. Slowly, gently, your tongue massaging the salty skin, inch by inch. Your hand reaches up to scratch at his happy trail and you can feel his cock twitch in response, a gruff laugh vibrating from his chest.
“Oh fuck me, you’re evil,” he sighs. You give him another scratch in response, enjoying the pre-cum that coats your tongue after.
The size of him never fails to make you work for it, heavy against your tongue as your spit runs down your chin. The sounds you make are lewd, sloppy—his fingers push your head further, forcing you to make more. One hand reaches to fondle his balls, the other still resting against his pubes. The feeling leaves Logan breathless, involuntarily thrusting against the wet heat of your mouth.
There’s only a single thread of self-control stopping him from grabbing your head with both hands and fucking your mouth, and you needed it cut yesterday. You force his hands into your hair, stare up at him with your best bedroom eyes, then lap at his balls.
His reaction is heavenly—eyes rolled back, hips stuttering, stomach sucked in as he calls your name.
“Darlin’ you’re gonna kill me,” he huffs, taking your head in his heads. Your lips return to the head of his cock, suckling at his sensitive tip when his fingers tighten in your hair.
You see his eyes darken, your only warning coming in the form of a command. “Keep your mouth open for me doll.”
Your pussy throbs, tongue unraveled as every inch of him slips past your lips and into your throat. Your eyes roll at the feeling, nose touching that oh-so-divine hair that got you here in the first place.
“Gonna fuck your mouth,” he grunts, “Ready for me?”
You moan your approval around his thick length, then gag as he makes good on his word. Every thrust has your hands bracing against his thick thighs, forced to do everything in your power not to choke. Your eyes water, nose full of his musky scent, drool pooling down your chest so much that it leaves a stain against your shirt.
Your brain is filled with nothing but Logan—his taste, his smell, the sound of his moans—it sends your body into overdrive, grinding against the fabric of the couch as he continues to use you for his own pleasure. You’re almost certain you’re leaving a stain against the pillows.
“Real desperate for it huh?” He hisses, using your mouth as a toy. “Gonna cum just like this ain’t you?”
Your lust-addled brain can’t even begin to form a response, but Logan smiles at your fucked-out expression anyway. He doesn’t need you to confirm what he already knows.
When he comes it’s with a shout, leaving you choking against his cock as you struggle to swallow it all. What you can’t runs from the sides of your mouth, his dick coated in a mix of saliva and seed. You greedily gulp down air, a cock-drunk smile plastered against your features as you kiss at his softening cock, then bury your face and nuzzle again his happy trail, tasting the sweat that lingers. The sticky feeling between your legs makes you think at some point you came, pussy still throbbing with that familiar aftershock.
You look like hell, but damn it if you aren’t satisfied—hair a mess, spit and cum staining your skin, tears running down your cheeks—Logan thinks you’re beautiful like this.
“I know vacuums that got less suction than you, fucking hell,” Logan says, still out of breath from what was most certainly a mind-blowing orgasm. He leans down to kiss at your cum-stained lips, messy and unoriented. “Hope you’re ready for me to return the favor princess, because we ain’t finished.”
look, I'm not saying that sebastian was playing bucky as a closeted gay guy since the very beginning, I'm just saying that there's such a blatantly vast difference between him "flirting" with peggy,
(how forced and performative it feels, the way that he's almost staring through her, not even truly interested in her; how it feels like an old script he learned a long time ago out of self-preservation, when he realized that things like this would be expected of him if he was to keep up appearances, and in this scene he's just slipping back into that old, safe skirt-chaser role out of instinct)
and him genuinely flirting with steve just 30 seconds before that,
(how natural and relaxed that interaction feels, how his body language speaks for him when he leans in close, how speaks in hushed private tones, the way he looks at steve and is playful with him and teases him and really makes you, as the audience, feel that chemistry and that delicious intimacy between them. the way he flirts like he means it, dammit)
that you just can't help but wonder, you know?
(I mean I guess the comparison is unfair when it's "woman he's speaking to for the first time ever" vs "the love of his life that he literally grew up with", but that's not my point here. my point is, we're supposed to buy into this sweeping once-in-a-lifetime romance between the hero and the girl, when both bucky and steve himself are much more interested in each other, than they are in any given woman they interact with in this film - including the one who's supposedly the main love interest. the one that in most other action movies they may have even fought over!! instead, she shows up in her sexiest dress and:
1) steve deliberately ignores all the hints she's trying to give him, he doesn't ask her out, he doesn't even run after her when she leaves (!!!), he just stays and gets another drink with his best buddy;
2) bucky's sizing her up but only because he's mad jealous and bitter that she's set her sights on his man while he was gone.
seriously, as flawed as this movie is, it still brings me so much fucking joy for how astoundingly gay it is)
