#'how dare you do this to someone else' in two ways

[gomzdrawfr]

The night was quiet as the Captain stepped out into the open air, fresh out from a mission, the sharp chill of the morning bit at his skin but he hardly noticed due to the exhaustion. The sky was dark, save for the faint halo of the light from the idling helicopter in the distance, painting the floor and wall in hues of turquoise.

There he was, Nikolai.

He leaned casually against the aircraft, a cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers, one foot propped, his broad shoulders relaxed. His jacket was unzipped just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of his chest and all the hairy goodness beneath.

Even from a distance, Price could see the way Nik’s eyes were fixed on him.

Always waiting. Always there. Always steadfast. Just like he always had been. 

The first few snowflakes drifted slowly from the sky, mixing with the faint fog of Nikolai’s breath curling in the air and the smoke from his cigarette. Nik looked hot—there was no other word for it.

Okay, maybe there were few more words to describe the love of his life, but John couldn’t give a single bollock digging through the dictionary now. Not when Nik was standing there with his arms crossed, black hair slicked back yet slightly tousled. He looked like he belonged on the cover of one of those old male model magazines he’d been caught sneaking glances at in secret.

Something giddy and nearly childish bubbled in John’s chest, like spotting a bright candy from afar, something precious you’ve waited for your entire life. Before he knew it, he began walking. Boots crunched against the concrete beneath each step as his hands moved almost automatically, shrugging his helmet off, letting it fall to the ground with no care as his walk turned into a small jog, then a run. 

His goal was clear: to kiss his hot pilot husband.

By the time he reached Nik, his breath was shallow and his chest was heaving with something that wasn’t exertion, excitement maybe, but he stopped just short, his gaze lifting to meet Nik’s. 

Price paused, just for a second. He always did, right? Even after all this time, after a hundred kisses and then some, Price always had that fleeting moment of hesitation. A combination of gratitude, love and guilt stirred inside his chest. Nik had always waited, even now, through all the years it took John to come around, to gently removing and breaking down his defenses brick by brick, until he’d finally admitted what they both knew was inevitable. 

But tonight, John thought it wasn’t the nerves holding him back.

It was the way Nik was looking at him, staring at him like he was the centre of the universe, with those dark eyes softened and the corner of his eyes crinkled with adoration. The kind of look that had John’s knees buckled, the kind of look that screamed worship, that he was enough, that he was loved for exactly who he was. 

For Nik, he was roaming his eyes around John, observing the way the snowflakes gathered around John’s hair, blending with the white strands already there, the way they aligned and caught in the faint light made it shimmer like constellations, presenting John- his husband, in an otherworldly look. It was as if every star and planet had aligned to bring the John Price here, shaped from stardust gathered from the debris of the abyss and sent John crashing into his heart like a meteor.

If Nikolai too, could see himself as one of the stars in a galaxy of thousands, colliding with John to create the brightest supernova, perhaps then, he could erase the darker thoughts that lingered behind his love.

Nikolai had always thought himself akin to the black hole, pulling everything he loved into himself, consuming it with a selfish, unrelenting hunger. It was, and still is, a daily struggle to fight the unforgiving part of himself that believed he wasn’t worthy of Price. 

Nik leaned down slightly, nudging his nose against John’s, hearing the faint hitch in John’s breath, the reaction that always pulled a smile to his lips. The way Nik moved his nose to John’s cheek was slow and intimate, pressing lightly into the softness of the skin. Even as Nikolai can feel the way John breathed him in, the faint tang of ash and smoke with a mix of engine oil, the smell that reminded John something of warmth, of home, Nikolai still couldn’t quite shake off the pang of guilt. 

Nikolai wanted John wholly, completely, all of him, and that weight of need and want felt almost cruel. To love someone so much that it physically hurt, to want someone to the point of selfishness–it was hauntingly beautiful and unbearable at the same time. 

“Kissing under the first snow of the year,” Nik murmured, the cigarette between his fingers sizzled and forgotten, his voice rough with affection and a hint of the usual tease, batting off the uneasiness of his heart with humor, “like boys in a love story…звезда моя”. John huffed, rolling his eyes as his cheeks burned, a cute shade of red dusting his skin like apples. Nik almost cooed when the snowflake landed on his cheek melted away instantly, the heat of his embarrassment clear as day.

John didn’t bother responding, wanted to kiss Nik stupid as he leaned forward. Yet, as their lips were barely brushing and their eyes closed, the moment dissolved into something softer. Their breaths mingled, warm against their cold skin, and when they finally closed the distance–the kiss was slow and tender, like they were learning how to kiss all over again, and their worries faded away like the snow melting on the ground. 

Nik kissed the same way he loved, completely, boundlessly, consuming, and John allowed himself to be swallowed whole, to be taken completely by the gravity of Nik’s affection.

Because if there was any man that John would start a war for–even a cosmic one at that, it would always be him, and only him, his Nikolai. 

When they finally pulled back, with more snowflakes gathered around their head and their foreheads pressed together. Nik breathed out a quiet chuckle, “you’re blushing, John.”

John groaned, shaking his head, voice low yet filled with fondness. “Cheeky as ever, Nik.”

Merry Christmas Nekros!! I hope you like this lil present I wrote based on the breathtaking art :D special thanks to my friends and @karlachismylife for the help and inspiration :) ho ho ho to the nikprice community too!!

Returning from an op and immediately running to kiss your hot pilot husband under the first snow of the year 🌨️🚁

[bullet-prooflove]

Hey hey! How about "Fog up the windows in the parking lot" for Buck please?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mckinleysbones @sophiah2253 @qutequeersstuff @gatefleet

Companion piece to:

Catalina Island - You and Buck meet for the first time during a daring rescue.

Not Yet (NSFW) - Buck loves it when you tug at his curls.

Burning Down The House - You and Buck cause a fire during date night.

Buck is in heaven, pure unadulterated heaven. His face is buried in the curve of your throat, his hands on your hips holding you in place as he thrusts into you in the passenger seat of his Jeep. Your back is pressed against his chest, your khaki forest ranger shirt rustling against his navy LAFD as the windows of the car start to fog up, drowning out the rest of the quiet parking lot.

It's been a couple of weeks since you’ve been able to do this. Between his shifts and your stints on firewatch there’s barely been time to catch up with each other. When you’d requested he come up here to the national forest and do a fire safety talk he’d jumped at the chance to see you, even if it was surrounded by 20 excited Eagle Scouts, who were about to disembark on their first overnight field trip.

The two of you had headed out with their leaders to make sure they set off ok before you were back in Buck’s Jeep kissing the hell out of each other because ten days, it’s a little too long to go without seeing you.

“Harder.” You whisper and that thin thread of restraint that Buck’s been holding onto, it snaps. He picks up the pace, his hips arching, plunging deep. His fingertips gripping your waist so tight, it’s going to leave bruising and he gets a little thrill out of that, out of the idea of you looking in the mirror, seeing his marks.

The sound of your hitched breathing fills the car, each one punctuated with his motions as he drives you to that peak, driving you higher and higher until you finally hit nirvana, shattering around his cock. The way you say his name in that moment, it has him coming with you, his release spilling inside that perfect pussy of yours, his teeth biting down on the fabric of your shirt, stifling the sound of his orgasm.

“God, I’ve missed this.” You murmur as you lean back against him, your head coming to rest in the hollow of his neck.

“Me or the sex?” He whispers, his breath ghosting in your ear as he cradles you against his chest.

“You.” You tell him and there’s a sense of satisfaction in that because there’s a lot of physicality and as much as he enjoys that aspect of the relationship it’s the intimacy he craves. “I know we haven’t seen much of each other lately and I’m sorry, it’s just my job…”

You’ve been pulling a lot of extra shifts lately because it’s the busy season and another search and rescue operator was injured a few weeks ago. You’re picking up the slack the best you can and he understands the pressure of that.

“Hey.” He murmurs against your temple. “I get it, you know I do. My jobs not exactly a 9-5 either, that’s why this works. There’s no pressure, we see each other when we can and that’s good enough for me right now.”

He knows where this stems from, the man before him. He didn’t understand the job, he made impossible demands on your time and in the end he gave you a choice.

Him or the job.

You’d picked the job and you haven’t been in a relationship since. You hadn’t seen the point because you’re job won’t change and you can’t expect someone else to understand that, or at least you couldn’t until you met Buck.

“We’re forever you and I.” He tells you, using his fingertips to tilt chin up to meet his gaze. “We’ll always find time for one other, no matter how busy we may get.”

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[cgogs]

all i wanted | c!dnf oneshot | 4k c!George breaks c!Dream out of prison and tries to fashion a normal life.

secret santa for @rglozwriter (happy holidays! i hope you enjoy!!)

George has never once in his whole life thought of himself as a hero. He could count on one hand, maybe two, the number of times he ever came close. 

When he saved a little girl from the wolves. Oh, but he was rather little as well, and just as terribly afraid as her. So maybe it doesn’t count. When he restored clean water to a dirty river village— oh, he’d only broken the dam to help Dream, and that’s far too selfish in nature to be considered heroic. He hadn’t done it on purpose. 

And that’s precisely the problem, George isn’t sure he’s done anyone any tremendous good on purpose, and furthermore out of the pure goodness of his heart. He doesn’t think that makes him a bad person, not everyone is meant to be a hero. Not everyone has the heart for it. 

It was always Dream who was the hero. In all their childhood adventures, Dream was the one who would have them stop in their path to help the needy, the sick, the suffering. George was the one who would try and fail to get some sense through his head. It’s not that he’s a bad person, he just didn’t think they were in the means to be heroes, needy, starving, and sick as they were. 

But Dream had a habit of being a hero, and it’s one that didn’t break until they settled down. Until they invited more people into their lives. George watched that heart of gold dull and hide itself away. The heroism didn’t leave, it just turned itself into something else. And it was unfortunate because no matter how much George protested his selflessness (because it was so often at the cost of his wellbeing and safety), it was something that he truly loved about him. His hero.

It’s half of why George doubts the reality of his situation. It can’t be. Because George would never claw his way through obsidian in the water like a half-drowned rat to save someone. He would never put his own neck on the line for someone else. He would never do something so stereotypically heroic, something straight out of a book. 

He stares at Dream, sitting on the floor weaving a basket from flax and reeds. 

Dream once called him a selfish damsel. It was a joke, but George didn’t think it was untrue. Well, the damsel part was untrue. Mostly. Maybe. Their scoreboard of saving each other is… uneven. Breaking Dream out of Pandora has to count for fifty tallies. George demands it.

George is in his weirdness again. The heavy state between sleeping and waking, where he doubts everything he sees. Dreaming, he dares to think. How many times has he dreamt about saving Dream? Saving Dream and convincing him to run away? Too many times. And he remembers the feeling of waking up after all too well. The heartache and disappointment and hatred for everything and everyone.

The memories of walking the halls of the prison seem so distant, filled with water and oil. They seem impossible. 

Dream pinches himself and hisses, the half-done weave unfurling slightly as his hands recoil. He checks his fingers as if they were cut. George takes too long to react.

“Are you okay?” he says finally. Dream looks up at him, green eyes shining. He looks embarrassed.

“Yeah, no, yeah. I just cut myself a little.” Dream’s voice is soft and a little embarrassed in a way that makes George’s heart stop and start again. It peels one layer of fog off his mind. “Good morning. How long have you been standing there?”

Dream is nervous and awkward like a new roommate. It could be appropriate if they haven’t loved each other all their lives. Well, George never actually got confirmation if that’s wholly true. Dream could have stopped loving him for a little while there. But he’s at least mostly sure that Dream loves him now. Hopefully not just for saving him. 

George blinks, looking around. His feet are deathly cold in the doorway. Dream sits in front of the fire weaving his basket, and the world outside is pure white with snow. George comes to sit with him, vision glossy, like the world was smeared with grease.

“I dunno,” he answers, too late, “I just woke up.”

Dream pulls the pile of flax and reeds and willow to the side to make space for him. George pulls his blanket further around himself, rubbing his eyes. He’s sitting on a couple crumbs of dried plants but he’s decided he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to move to fix it. Luckily for him, Dream notices and pulls the bent reed out from under him. George mumbles a gratitude. 

“Are you okay?” Dream asks. He doesn’t cast his voice like he used to. He’s quiet these days.

“Uh… yeah.” 

“Are you feeling weird? The soup?”

George laughs a little like it’s the first time he’s heard him call it that. All the memories come to him a few moments too late. Yes, right, this is a common occurrence. George’s smile drops in a way that’s too obvious. Dream frowns at him.

George is remembering himself. The heroics he thinks of as so alien aren’t quite so against his nature as he thought. It’s just that they only show their face if it’s for Dream. It doesn’t make him a hero, he’s still a selfish prick, but it means this is all a little more real than before. He’s remembering more and more as he wakes up, feeling more and more grounded. 

“Do I need to, um… do anything for you?” Dream asks. George hates how he asks for things now. Like he isn’t sure how to be a person anymore. This time isn’t as bad as others, but sometimes just the questioning quirk of his voice will make him sad. “I can jog your memory again. Or I can get your journal–”

George replies too fast. “I don’t want you to get up.”

“Okay. Um… this is our house,”

“I know this is our house.” George rolls his eyes.

“Okay. How about you just ask me, then.” Dream picks his basket weave back up, setting to work tightening the braids that went loose while he wasn’t holding it down. George feels bad snapping at him, even if it wasn’t much. He rubs his knuckles on Dream’s wrist as an apology. The little nod he gets back means it was accepted. It’s always nice to know Dream still remembers their old rituals. 

“I’m just, um… it doesn’t feel real.” George leans his head on the edge of the coffee table, the one Dream pushed up against the couch to make room for his weaving. George lets his eyes get lost in the braids and patterns, following the maze of reed. He thinks Dream must be planning to use it as a fish trap– he’s always been partial to pike. “I don’t remember how we got here.”

This must happen more often than George thinks, because all of the concern he was expecting is pushed to the back of Dream’s mind. He watches it happen. 

“You broke me out of prison. We’re waiting out the winter until summer, and then deciding what we want to do.” Dream’s voice is a practiced calm, like reciting a textbook. “You want me to stay. I want to tie up loose ends.”

“Why are you here… if you don’t want to be here?”

“I can’t do anything in the state I’m in right now.” Dream almost-laughs, only letting out a small sardonic snicker. The details of his face and body finally load in George’s mind, suddenly, as if they only just now took form, and he feels so stupid for not noticing before. The skinniness of his body, the scars on his arms, the two prosthetic fingers. Having just woken up is the culprit, it dulls his senses and replaces them with delusions. Or maybe he’s simply gotten used to the way he looks, and his hindbrain took no issue. “And you keep my bedroom door bolted from the outside.”

“What? Is that true?”

Dream smiles at him. “No.” 

“You’re an ass.” 

“I know.”

“So– how? How did I get you out?” George tries to imagine it. Clad in shiny armor with a formidable weapon, a getaway horse and a real plan. It’s just not him, even if it was for Dream’s sake.

“I don’t know.” He says it in a way that suggests he wishes he did. “You were– weird. Like this. And sopping wet, and like… sleepwalking.”

“How long ago?”

“Um… it was when the trees were just starting to turn orange.”

He’s not good with time. George groans, rubbing his eyes still. His memories are slow to appear, but they do. It’s not cause for huge celebration. They fade in and reveal themselves at his prompting like the tide reveals the stones.

He looks around at their house, hidden somewhere deep in the tundra. Nobody for miles. He remembers Dream, in a state, hiding food and weapons in every nook and cranny he could finagle. He thinks of it as safe. Dream feels, to some degree, safe here. That makes George happy.

“I remember.” George nods. 

“It’s not very complicated.”

“Everything with you is complicated.”

Dream rolls his eyes. He’s farther away from the fire than George– and then a memory hits him, one of Dream in that cell. Cowering from the heat, eyes big like dinner plates. He went off his head, if his memory serves. Begged him to leave: he couldn’t be here, he has to leave, he wasn’t real…

He remembers guiding him through the tunnels and corridors by the hand, leading in front and pulling him along. He was so skinny he weighed nearly nothing, and when he protested and tried to yank away, George was able to keep him in his grip. Which meant that there was something very very wrong with him.

Dream has asked him, over and over, how he’d managed to get in and out, and George has never been able to tell him. He still isn’t able. He truly doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s made it a habit to always get what he wants. Maybe something in the universe finally bowed to that will. 

And in true fashion to tradition, when he got what he wanted, Dream was the one who had to figure out the logistics of their situation. What they were going to eat, where they were going to go. If you heard Dream tell it, you’d think George fainted or something as soon as they could look back over their shoulders and not see Pandora’s Vault any longer. But Dream just doesn’t remember the nitty gritty of it. George remembers holding him close to his chest while the sirens went off for hours, felt like days. They hid like foxes in a hole in the ground. 

Dream is paranoid. He’s always been paranoid but it’s worse than ever. It’s not like George can blame him. It’s just different. And ‘different’ is neither bad nor good, but it certainly means ‘not the same.’ 

George knows he’s changed too. He doesn’t know the exact ways how, or if it’s anything like how Dream has changed, but he knows Dream isn’t the only one who’s different. They’ve been making it work, regardless.

Sometimes he catches Dream staring at him when he thinks he can’t see him, or when he thinks George is asleep. He looks at him with something sick– something so grateful and reverent it’s awful. A new cog in his hero– he’s been well trained by someone else. It makes him angry. Possessive in ways he’s too ashamed to let materialize. He can’t let himself feel good about the way Dream looks at him now.

Dream takes his new fish trap and gets them a pike and a rabbit. Presumably not caught with the fish trap. By the time he comes home, George is at his wits again. The journal helps, notes his fully-awake self writes for his sleepy-self so they’re both on the same page. It was Dream’s idea. They both have one– George isn’t proud of it, but he reads through Dream’s every time he leaves the house.

Today, he reads through Dream’s before he even cracks open his own. Dream writes about his week, the things he’s been eating and when. Sometimes George is blessed to read his own name. 

george has been remembering easier lately. i should be waking him up earlier

The guilt from invading Dream’s privacy washes away when he opens his own journal and sees Dream’s annotated his latest entry in green ink. They’re equally in each other’s business, and that makes his day. The entry itself is mortifying, but George would be lying if he said he didn’t secretly wish Dream would read it and answer him.

I don’t know if we’re still together. don’t act like it because if he weirdchamps me again i’ll kill you 

^ when did i weirdchamp you?

They eat fish together with nothing to talk about. Dream’s been doing better, too. With touch and being less… like he’s always in a crisis. They’re sleeping in the same bed again. Dream preferred the floor for a long time. 

In the middle of the night George wakes slightly to the feeling of kisses being planted to the back of his neck, down his spine and over his shoulders. Dream pulls aside his shirt to reach his skin and everything. George smiles where he can’t see.

Since it’s winter, they don’t have a lot of vegetables. Sometimes Dream brings back a pumpkin from god knows where– George suspects Techno, but it’s not like Dream tells him anything. They have some berry bushes in the backyard, good for juice and pie. 

Dream says he finds peace in hunting. George can’t imagine how, but he goes with him sometimes and it seems to be true. Maybe it’s easier for him to focus his thoughts. George isn’t sure. George is just a half-functioning damsel, after all. He’s useful for skill shots and skinning the rabbits, at least. It’s hard sometimes, sitting around and letting Dream do everything. 

It’s how it used to be, but… well, it’s just different now. George frequently finds himself out of character. He wants to be useful– it seems like Dream has grown a love for useful things. He wants to be in that category. He wants to be all the things Dream loves and deems important. If only he’d let him in whatever hell he’s thrown himself into.

“I love you,” Dream says one night, in the hallowed hall they call their bedroom. Where the deepest secrets are confessed. It takes George by surprise, lungs and heart still racing. He’s not quite all-there after fooling around for so long. He blinks, processing the joy, the accomplishment– but also the exhaustion. He turns his head to look at Dream, hair messy, like gold threads on the pillows. “I’m sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry for that?”

He shrugs hopelessly. “I just think it puts you in a bad spot.”

“Ugh, I don’t care.” George rolls into his chest. It’s all too cold without him. “I want to be there. In the bad spot.”

An arm comes to wrap around his back and hold him close. A soft kiss is planted to his bruised mouth, already sore and bit from kissing all night. George is quickly becoming too sleepy to stay awake. Maybe Dream knows that, maybe he can feel the magic in the air when George starts to slip away. He presses his cold, cold hand to Dream’s heart. He wishes he could pull it out and keep it safe. Keep him.

“I wish you knew what was good for you.”

“I don’t have to. That’s your job.” George mumbles against his lips. Dream doesn’t kiss him again, lowering his head to let him rest. “I know what’s good for you.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I know that.”

As time passes and the worst of winter is over, George can’t help but pray for the frost to stay. In Dream’s journal, he writes about the steps he’ll take when he goes back home. He still calls it home. George’s eyes sting with tears as he closes it and tucks it away. 

At dinner, George doesn’t sit. Dream doesn’t sit either, despite food already plated for him. He knows what it’s about. 

“Are you really going to leave again?”

“...yes. When summer comes.”

George leans back against the counter. “Are you going to come back?”

“I want you to stay here. It’s, safe here.”

“But you won’t come back?”

Dream looks stressed almost instantly. George can’t bring himself to feel bad. His heart is too close to breaking, even though Dream never promised him anything, so it really isn’t fair to him. 

“I won’t promise you anything. For your sake,” Dream runs a hand through his hair, and George scoffs, “But I want to come back. Until this is all over. And– and when it’s over, we can be together all the time!”

“Is that what you want?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

George’s crossed arms fall to his sides. His mind is full of cotton. He pronounces his words emphatically. “I want to be what you want. If you’ll only come see me out of– pity, then don’t bother.”

“That’s not what I said,”

“You’re barely saying anything! Do you not feel like you owe me anything? I don’t– I won’t ask for a lot, I just, I just thought–”

“Okay, okay, George, please, just listen to me.” Dream is in his space now, which is unusual. It makes his spikes lower. Dream is trying. “I’ll– I’ll come see you. I promise.”

And there’s that look again. The one where his eyes train on George, hyper focused on his expression and body language. The one that feels like all the devotion and obedience in his body rise to the surface to prove that they’re still there. It makes his skin crawl. 

“I just– I can’t have you involved. I can’t. I got a taste of it months ago and I can’t ever feel that way again.” Dream lowers himself. For a second George thinks he’s going to drop to his knees and the mere thought makes his stomach invert. But Dream’s posture only bends, eye to eye as he pleads with him. “You understand that, right? Please.”

“Dream, stop, I’m not– you’re not–” 

In trouble, he wants to say. But as it stands, that isn’t true. Dream is very much in trouble with him. Should he change that? How can he reach inside himself to turn his heart off and talk to him like a normal person? Or should he accept the reverence, should he think it appropriate?

No, he shouldn’t. Because it isn’t his. This isn’t what he trained Dream to do. This isn’t anything like their old rituals. Or maybe it holds remnants, he can recognize some of it, but it’s become corrupted now. It’s not an affection he can accept, because it wasn’t written with him in mind. He’s not Dream’s authority. He may want Dream to obey him, bend to his will, but George knows the subtle differences between love and obedience.

“Dream. It’s okay. I just, I don’t…” He looks to the window, then to the floor, desperately avoiding his eyes. “I don’t want you to act like I don’t exist. Okay. That’s all I want.”

“I love you.” Dream says. “I just want to keep you safe.”

A subtle confession. Abandoning him was all in the name of keeping him safe. George almost laughs. It’s so stereotypically heroic, so self sacrificial. George should have ironed out the heroics in him when they were younger, when he still had the chance. 

“We’re not good people.” George looks at him. “I wish you’d stop acting like it. You don’t have to go back. You don’t owe anything to anyone.”

“I owe everything to everyone.”

“And you want me to stay here. You’ll come by when you need a warm body, right?” He says it like it’s a deal he wouldn’t gladly accept. 

“I will come by when I can. You know. When it’s safe. And we can do anything you want.”

“Don’t make it sound like– like I’m renting you!”

He steps on one of the hair triggers that rule over Dream’s frustration. George thinks it’s a victory. “How do you want it to sound? I’m really trying here!”

“I want it to sound like you actually want to be with me, you ass.”

“I do!” Dream says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is, and George just can’t see it from this angle. “I have responsibilities that aren’t– negotiable.”

George doesn’t understand why he’s fighting this. Maybe he’s scared of what will happen if there’s no one around to wake him. Maybe he’s ambitious enough to think he can haggle a better deal. The strength it takes to fight with Dream is quickly leaving him. It’s a great arrangement. More than he could ask for just half a year ago. Something he clawed through obsidian to obtain. 

He’s seen the leash prison put on him. He’s held it, even. Pulled on it, led Dream around with it. George has decided he doesn’t want it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it takes the words out of Dream’s mouth, whatever he was going to say. “You have no idea what it was like to be without you. I can’t do it again.”

“I promise–” 

“I trust you.” George’s eyes are furrowed and serious. “But I can’t wait until it’s all over.”

If he can’t make Dream see how futile this all is, then it’s something he’ll have to discover himself. But George won’t wait another two years for it to happen. 

It’s the spring after their winter together, and George hasn’t seen Dream in two months. He knows because he’s been tallying it in his journal, which has seen an uptick in use without a roommate. 

Techno visited, once. Gave him supplies. They must be closer than they thought, George somewhere on the fringes of the tundra where the four seasons are allowed to exist– watered down as they are. It pissed him off more than it should have– of course Dream would send someone else before he came to do it himself. 

Maybe he’s making a name for himself again. Maybe he’s in hot water and can’t come, or he’ll be followed. It’s not like George gets a lot of news out here. He’s slept through days straight, he’s sure of it.

He’s pouting at the ceiling, in the middle of some pessimistic bratty rant about his life when he hears that stupid knock Dream does on everything. It knocks the gloom straight out of his chest. He races down the stairs, everything in the world leagues and bounds less important than opening the door. 

Dream stands in his mask, a light smattering of snow on his hood and cloak. George reaches to pull him in by the neck before Dream can even get a word out. A promise kept. He’s halfway through pulling his mask off when George jumps up to hug him. The force of it makes them both wobble. 

“Are you real?” George asks in his shoulder. He almost doesn’t believe it. An armored hand rubs his back. 

“Yeah,” Dream’s voice rumbles in his chest, vibrations sending through George’s bones. It’s his new favorite feeling. 

George pulls away. He interrupted the de-masking process, so half his face is still covered. It looks stupid. It’s George’s new favorite thing. 

George couldn’t care less about the gift. It's nice, and he'll use it every day, but all joys are overshadowed by the presence of the man in his home– even if covered in dirt and scorch marks as he is. If he could choose any gift, he’d wanted a burner comm that he would be allowed to message him from, but the quilt is nice. George leaves it folded on the kitchen table, all pleasantries said and done with. Yes, he loves it, it’s beautiful, I love the color green. 

He pushes himself up to kiss him. He tastes like gunpowder and blood. It’s George’s new favorite taste. 

[mehiwilldoitlater]

No pressure but really liked the yandere macaque so what if reader was found by some miracle by DO or by someone else and had escaped the mountain what could Macaque do then🤨

You thought that after the torture, the Kills, and the so many bodies, you would finally get used to the violence, that in the end you had at least enough stomach to not throw up. Instead, while he was holding the severed head of another monkey, with his annoyed face that seemed like the one of a parent that is scolding his child, you had to put your hands on your mouth to resist.

"So," he said, with a calmness that made you shiver, "should I know something about this young one?"

Your eyes Met those two orbs, now completely drained from their life. You averted that gaze, feeling your guts moving and contorting in your body. He stopped closer, moving that head to the left and right.

"He was roaming not far from her... saying something about searching for the Lost One... and about some message..."

You started to shiver uncontrollably; the knowledge struck you like thunder. He looked at you, sighing, reminiscing about how easy it was to see how ready you were.

"May I know something about it? ...Have you sent some message around?... Did you?" He kept that head high ,treating it more like something trivial, as a broken vase, not what was left of a living being. You tried to cower in the corner, trying to not look at it, to not smell the blood, or hear it dripping on the floor. You felt his grip on your stump, a bad habit that he had when he started to get angrier, harshly twisting you around, forcing you to stand closer to the head and to face him and your own actions.

"I'm talking to you! Answer me, did you or did you not send a message?!"

"YES! YES! I'M SORRY, PLEASE, I'M SORRY!"

You tried to cover yourself with your good arm, afraid of some kind of repercussion. Instead, he just sighed, and after a loud thump, the head that was thrown away, he gently guided you into his arms, caressing your shoulders, comforting you in that sorry state. You didn't dare to even lament yourself in your cry; you were too afraid to even make a sound.

"I know, Draling... I know you're sorry... I know you hate this thing... but I have to..."

His voice was sweet like honey and soft like a breeze, and everything seemed so wrong on your ears, and yet you kept listening to his words.

"I can't let them hurt you... and I can't let you leave... the more you try to run, the more I have to kill them; do you understand?"

He spoke as if he were talking with a child that had made a mistake or misbehaved. It was his trick, tripping and guilting you to make you believe that it was your own responsibility if he had killed every kind of monkey that had tried to rescue you or even crossed those mountains. You even started to believe those lies.

"That's why you must stop sending messages...stop trying to get away from me...understand?"

You nodded; your hiccups were stuck in your throat and made you jump here and there, or it was his hands that were roaming too far?

"You must feel so bad... Let me take care of you..."

And while he kissed your neck, you started to zoom away in your thoughts. It was easy that way.

///

Every time he left, you used those moments to find a way to escape. You thought that, if you were lucky enough, you would be able to get as far away from him, cover your tracks, and maybe be able to find some help.

Then you lost your arm, and then he started to bring dead people that had found your messages...

You stopped; those moments were made now for something else. You liked to stay in the grass, alone with your thoughts and the soft wind on your skin. You preferred to close your eyes.

It was easy like that, to imagine being so far away from that nightmare. And, like that, you could pretend to sleep, and, at his arrival, he would just take you back to your bed and leave you be.

You hated his kindness. It felt wrong, used to make you feel guilty about your resistance to his love. But even the idea of loving him was just wrong...

You didn't want to love him, but what if giving in was your only way to finally stop the pain?

Abandon yourself to him... Maybe it was easier that way...maybe it was the only way...

When you felt a pair of steps coming closer to you, a sigh escaped to your left. He had come back sooner than the others. Days, he must have found food quite easy this time...but...what was that?

You kept your eyes closed, and yet you wanted so badly to open them up. You felt a rush of adrenaline, like a calling. Your heart pounded in your chest...was that a panic attack?! No, no. It was different! You still could breathe correctly!

Was that another of his tricks?! No, it didn't seem like that...

And this feeling seemed familiar... When did you feel it before?

You decided to finally open up your eyes, and when you did, you felt like a warm wind had rushed towards you.

Instead of those black pitch eyes, you met a pair of brown and warm eyes; they seemed gentle and ready to start a fire at every second. His ragged clothes moved with the small breeze, showing the many signs of struggle that he just endured climbing the mountain, fighting the demons and monsters. A brown chocolate fur, a few scars and cuts here and there...

You met him before... the day that you realized that the Macaque had lied to you.

He had found you,After months from your first encounter, he had found you! The first time he saw you and the macaque, he knew something was wrong, especially since he had found out your role in this story.

He was searching for you even before actually meeting you, sensing your presence on these lands; the calling of his Destiny resonated with yours.

And then you had disappeared again... No, the macaque made you disappear, holding you away from whoever tried to rescue you. The many heads on pikes that he had encountered along the road were quite the message...

But now that he was there, in front of you, all of the fear and thoughts were gone. What really mattered was that he had found you at least.

He made one step ahead in your direction, and suddenly you awoke from that trance. The images of the many monkeys killed by your captor came like a cold wave. No, he wasn't supposed to be here! 

In one move, you rose up and started to walk away as fast as you could, trying to reach the house.

"WAIT!" His voice followed you like a prey; his bare feet resounded behind you, "Don't go! Please, I'm here for you!"

"Stay away!" You try to control your voice: "You can't stay here; go away!"

"I can't! I've been searching for you for so long! He had taken you away and—

"I know what he did! Now leave me be!"

"Stop! Look at me at least!"

He had reached you, and his hand tried to grasp yours to hold you and stop you, but he felt nothing.

In his fingers, he didn't feel your warmth or your flesh, only air and the fabric of your robe.

You felt his grasp only when the sudden pulling of your sleeve made the hand slip from your shoulder, revealing, still covered in bandages, the clean cut of your arm. The macaque had ripped it off from your body, and to save you from infections, he had to cut the damaged tissues and use a piece of red-hot iron to cauterize. And he was kind enough to let you sleep while he fixed the damage that you have done by denying your love for him.

"...what...what is..." His confusion met your look, and a river of ideas came when he saw those pitiful eyes. You tried to cover your mouth, feeling tears coming in your eyes, full of shock from the fact that he had seen what the macaque did to you. He let go of your sleeve, looking at your good arm holding your trembling body, and attempted to calm you down from what had happened. You didn't dare to look at him; you wanted just to hide in that house and never come out in fear of being seen again.

He didn't need to hear you; he was smart enough to know what he had seen and to understand that your reaction was connected to your injury. 

"Did he do this to you?"

A small movement in your shoulder was a clear response. 

He felt a fire in his chest, diacamping in his veins like a poison. His breath became heavier, and his hands squeezed to the point that the knuckles had turned white. He felt a growl trying to escape from his chest.

The macaque did this to you... He had hurt someone who had no fighting skills, and the monkey knew that he did it because you had done something that the macaque had disliked.

Maybe it was the connection with the Bián Huá, but even you were still now a total stranger; he felt a deep sense of hunger for what had just happened to you.

He was furious, and he felt shame for not being able to protect you. Now, he wanted nothing more than to crack open the head of that macaque.

But seeing you like that made him remember that he wasn't there for him. He took a big breath, trying to calm down a little...his face turned back to a gentle one.

"...I'm...Sorry... I wanted to meet for so long... Tell me how I can help you!"

"I don't need your help!" You were fighting with every being of yourself to speak without crumbling, "I need you to leave before he comes back!"

You wanted to believe that you were used to the pain and the fact that many had died because of you, but you were a terrible liar. You wanted to be strong enough, cold enough, maybe an insensible bastard, but no, you had to feel all of the guilt. And this connection between you and this monkey, you felt that if anything was going to happen to him, that would have been your breaking point.

But he... he knew that he would have never forgiven himself for leaving you behind.

"I can't just leave you like this!"

"Please," you begged now, "if he comes back and finds you, he'll... he'll kill you! I can't... I can't take it anymore... Please leave!"

So it was this? You feared that he couldn't handle the macaque?  In some way he should have felt his pride hurt, but in the way that you were saying that there was nothing of it.  All those monkeys killed on the road, all of them came for you, and he had made sure that you felt responsible...

"I'll leave," he said with some determination, "but you have to tell me this to my face! Tell me that you want to stay here, and I'll leave you alone! But just tell me NOW in my face!"

You thought that maybe, with enough time, you would be able to accept that fate. You really wanted to be strong enough to accept the pain, to indulge in his own fantasy, and to protect others from his sick love.

"...I don't want you to trust me... it's too early for that, but just know that I would protect you..."

But you know you weren't; you weren't strong enough to hold it together, to not crack in a spiral of madness. It was easy to succumb, but you didn't want that at the same time.

And there he was...After months, he came. After the fear and tears, he came. Despite the danger, he came.

He came for you. You could just accept everything; you just needed to tell what you needed...

But, with tearful eyes, you met his pleading gaze.

"...help....me..."

///

A whistle echoed around, a simple melody. Heard some time ago from you while he was walking towards your shared house. 

He was in a good mood. After that last problem from the other day, he had found fewer creatures roaming his mountain, meaning that his warnings were making their effects. He wanted to create a small heaven for you and him, and no one needed to find it. 

He had found some good pheasants ,fat enough to be roasted and being served as dinner! He Remembered the last time you had pheasants, it was the day that he had decided to finally stop starving you after your silent treatment. You were so cute with your check-all stuff up on food!

He started to humming happily, thinking about your feast when he stopped in his tracks, his heart perching around, his face now painted in a worried expression. One of the main reasons that he had chosed that mountain was that it was quiet, very quiet, and his warnings, still unmatched from everyone, could get a single cricket even from km apart.

His power didn't allow him to have eyes in the future like in the past, but he was still capable of hearing from a great distance, listening to conversations from houses apart, hearing the songs of the phoenixes in the skies, and hearing the cries of dragons. He had learned that what had led him to calm in his stressful nights was your heartbeat, a rhythm that reminded you that you were there and alive.

That rhythm now was absent.

Leaving the pheasants behind in his rush, he started to march upon the mountain towards the house that he had always made sure was harmless for your own good.

No, no, you couldn't possibly be that broken already. Yeah, he had always been harsh, maybe a little too rough with you, and took drastic measures when needed, but he wanted you sane and safe! He wanted you complacent towards his affection, never too far in his own madness!

Did you find any poisonous herbs around the area? No, he was smart enough to have cleaned around, even from the most harmless mushroom! Did you harm yourself?! Maybe you broke a window, or maybe you had used part of your robes and...

The single image of your hanged body made his muscle move faster. When he reached the house, the fear of the worst made him rip away from the wall the door, throwing it away like it was nothing. He called for you, frantically searching for a single trace of you everywhere.

He found nothing; the lunch that he had left for you was still on the table, completely cold and untouched. The bedroom was empty; everything was like he had left it in the morning, just like in the living room and in every other part of the house. When even in the bath he had found no trace of your lifeless body, a sigh of relief escaped from him.

You were not dead; you were alive; simply, you weren't there...

Ah...you weren't there...you just disappeared... His teeth start to clench, feeling his own blood boiling in his veins. You had finally managed to leave the mountain, but how?! Even with a body with both arms, it was suicide trying to leave that place, especially without a trained body and agile like his own!

Like a monkey, he exited the houses and started to sniff around. He detected his own smell, your own, and... another scent... a male... someone that he had met... the Destined one...

He started to growl; he had found his secret heaven; he had found you! That DAMN MONKEY! He had really ruined everything he had conquered, right?! Can't he just let this one slide, eh?! Leaving you alone with him?!

Then, his growling stopped...he started then to chuckle, then a laugh, then more, more strong and sinister.

You really didn't learn your lesson, huh? You were enjoying seeing so many of his own kind dying and getting killed by him, eh? Darling, you were just as evil as him...

He retrieved his weapon and prepared a few other trinkets, slowly approaching the road and searching for your scent and heartbeat and the stench of the other one. You wanted to get chased? Fine, if that was the way to show his love to you, then he was ready to rip his rival's heart out of his chest and gift it to you.

He was coming for you, and you had better be ready.

[spiritually-a-blorb]

gang the arcane brainrot got too good.

so headcannons it is. And character study beacuse my ass is never beating the allegations.

starting off with my schizophrenic princess Jinx

- she definitely did not know she was the favorite for Silco. This is literally a whole arc, I feel like, with her. From my foggy-ish recall of my first watch, Jinx didn't know Silco did the eye thing without her sometimes. She's older, she tries to rebel. It's a thing. That's like, half the plot of the first arc. And she, by the end, looks back and realizes just how much she was really loved. Like a lot of us do, I think.

- Jinx would have totally begged for a cat. A black one, specifically. Silco tried really, really hard to say no. He's the leader of Zaun, he's intimidating, cruel-

- so they have a cat named Lucky. It's a black cat, with a little spot of white in the middle of her chest. And Jinx absolutely dotes on this cat. Or tries to, anyways. The cat is a bit feral at first. But it settles in.

- Jinx and Ekko were SO CUTE IM GONNA CRY. LISTEN THEY, THEY GET A HAPPY ENDING THIS TIME, IGNORE CANON- 😭

Jinx never had someone who chose her and stayed. Silco was great, don't get me wrong. 10/10 dad. But I would argue he didn't choose Jinx. Jinx came to him. Jinx chose him, not the other way around. And he put her above all else after that.

- My point being, Ekko did. He stayed. He found a world that was perfect, everything he had wanted - and he left. For Jinx. And Jinx, this time, had to be the one to let him in again.

- AND ITS SO FULFILLING THAT JINX HELPED SAVE THE WORLD. NO, NO, HEAR ME OUT PLEASE.

In our world, we saw the moment Jinx's trust, her hope in a good life, was shattered by Vi picking Kaitlyn over her, and her dad dying by her hands. She's on that bridge, her dad died, the one constant in her life - and she fires the missile.

But then we see Ekko in the perfect world. Where Jinx could afford to trust in a future. A future she keeps pushing away. To help people. She trusts him, and she helps. And they create the time-travel. And Ekko saves the world, sure. My favorite boy Savior.

But in the end, it was her tech, too.

The narrative... is consuming me...

- Anyways! It's Jinx and Viktor time. They would be the absolute best chaotic besties to ever serve.

- Viktor matches her crazy to an INSANE degree. Like this girl helped invent time travel, a whole ass arm, and a NUKE. I'm never letting anyone forget that thing. And he makes it 10x worse. Like, she says one thing and now they're throwing the Hex crystals into anything they can get their gremlin paws onto.

- I believe Jayce would try, for like three seconds, to mediate. Then he offhandedly corrects their math or something and they turn to him with a wicked grin and he just melts into the floor and wants to die.

- Jinx would create bigger, bolder ideas until eventually Jayce manhandles the two into getting some rest (for once). They are NOT happy about it, don't you DARE assume so. Even when they're very cozy in their onezies.

[evelynvipah]

what is your thoughts on the argument between vi and cait in episode 8 of season 2 ? Like when vi first of all blamed cait for not trusting jinx and daring to lock her up when she saved her life (which is something cait would never have done - I mean obviously - as vi reminded her). I understand that vi is upset because she knows that her sister has changed but I find that it is really unfair that she told cait all of that. I notice that no one talks about this single sentence but I still find it very important because it proves that vi is far from innocent in her relationship with cait given what she told her

I enjoyed this scene a lot because many people think Vi just trusted Cait right off the bat because she called her Cupcake, but really she still didn’t know where Cait mentally was even after.

I think during that scene Vi’s faults or flaws come in when she’s angry and she feels like she needs to get it all out before someone else. She’s not actually hearing or understanding the other person because she’s focused on why she is angry. We see this way back when she’s talking to Mylo and he’s validly criticizing her taking Powder everywhere they go, and it being a liability. Also the talks with Vander and her taking action herself getting other people in situations.

We know Vi cares for Cait a lot, but when her sister is in the question, she’s not going to tolerate anything getting between them. Like you said, she’s seen Jinx change or embrace more of who Powder was through Isha and Vander again. So, to let it be known how much that meant to her and find out that Cait “put” her in a cell (prison trauma for vi), it must’ve been so jarring. She also knows that Caitlyn understands how damaging prison was so she probably freaked out thinking Cait was still on that streak of putting people in Stillwater where you are only to be left broken and isolated.

Now about the fair part, I’m not sure I really understand what you mean (if it’s her telling information abt Jinx or just saying she didn’t trust her) but I think Vi having Jinx apart of another plan was just a smart move because the last time she knew Caitlyn—like she thought she did—the girl wanted to flat out murder her sister and was going to do whatever it took. I don’t blame Vi for giving Jinx the opportunity to either subdue Caitlyn or Singed because her father, and two sisters (if you count Isha) are now on the line and her love and loyalty to her family comes first.

I don’t think I fully answered your question, but I want to say I do love how Cait called out that she did have two plans working simultaneously because it does show where both characters are in their relationship. I think it’s less of Vi’s innocence and more showing that she is not that trusting person she once was with Cait. Things truly have changed between them.

EDIT: Anon if you mean it’s unfair that Vi expected Cait to fully trust Jinx then I definitely agree. Jinx had been terrorizing Caitlyn directly for a whole season, it’s completely understandable that she isn’t able to believe in her the way Vi does. Once again I think Vi expects everyone to see things from her point of view because she feels like she knows better than them (not in a condescending way). We obviously see it in the way she repeatedly tries to convince Cait Jinx has changed, and we also see it when she tries to convince Ekko of the same when he’s been the one going head to head with her for seven years.

[roseworth]

btw i think rose shouldve gone apeshit after finding out that slade started drugging cass like a week after he stopped drugging her

[voidcat]

You and your annoying uni friend slash occasional roommate Endo who likes to crash at your place unprompted and unannounced at random times. Despite your pouts and groans you enjoy his presence as much as he does.

He’s an impressive artist with wonderful line work, his newest works always has you waiting to see the end result, watching with great focus as he works on them on your floor in the dead of the night

And he’s great company too. A beer cracked open, snacks all around and it’s just the two of you shittalking others, gossiping and being mean just because you can and oh—

is it not fun to spend time with him like that- to the point he has become perhaps the closest to you. Each others confidants, secret keepers, the number one victim to drag when the other one is trying something new or going to a new place.

So it’s no surprise when you whine about how boring and lonely things have gotten lately and you just miss a good ol heated making out session. Maybe a little handsy if türe feeling up to it, maybe even a little grinding if the night looks promising.

Before the two of you know, your hot breaths are all over each other, Endo’s hands at both sides, pulling you into his lap with strength and pressing you against that aching spot in his pants just to relieve himself as you bite into his neck and mark him up in red

[icewindandboringhorror]

little man on my shoulder whispering into my ear: you are SO so correct about everything ever, all of your fears are reasonable and make total sense, you are always right, everyone is silly for not thinking the way you do

little man on my other shoulder: Friendly Reminder That You Have Been Diagnosed With Severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

[malkaviian]

i am having a great time here on life dot com

[brunchable]

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙

Part Two Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Heavy Mutual Pinining, Heavy Sexual Tension, Longing, Yearning, Right Person-Wrong Time. Friends to Lovers, a bit Angsty but Happy Ending. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky being obsessed with tiddies, unprotected piv, creampie. Summary: Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt. A/N: This is a Two Shot, so another one will be coming soon.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @classicrebound

The first time it really hits is when you see him with her.

It’s a crowded room, warm bodies pressed close together, the low hum of music barely louder than the thudding in your chest as you watch Bucky Barnes wrap his arm around the waist of a woman you don’t know. 

She’s beautiful, of course—someone you'd expect to be by his side. Her laugh is soft, melting into his as he leans in close, whispering something that lights her face up, his lips brushing her ear like he can’t help himself.

You glance down at your drink, the sudden bitterness pooling in your throat harder to swallow than the wine. You tell yourself to look away, that it’s none of your business who he holds, but you can’t. Every time you look up, he’s there, still wrapped around her, laughing at something she’s said, his hand resting on her back in a way that feels too familiar, too tender. You know that look—the way his fingers splay protectively, pulling her close like she belongs to him. Like he’s finally let someone in.

It’s torture, standing there with a smile plastered on your face, pretending not to notice. Pretending that it doesn’t crush you.

Because when you’re alone—when you’re single—he’s taken. And when he’s got nobody, you do. Every single time. You’ve gotten used to seeing him across rooms, with someone else in his arms, with that look in his eyes that you wish, desperately, could be meant for you.

And he’s always looking at you that same way, that glance just a second too long, that warmth held back by a fragile thread of restraint. Just enough to keep the lines from blurring.

Tonight, he finally looks away.

When he glances up, catches sight of you, his smile falters. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, and something soft flickers in his eyes—something like regret, the same regret you carry. But her hand tightens on his arm, and he turns back to her, his smile returning, wider than before. You hate how easily he can pull away from you, how quickly he can make you feel invisible.

“Hey, Bucky,” you manage, your voice steady though it feels like your chest is caving in.

He looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Hey.” His gaze drops, and for a second, you think he might actually say something, that he might admit that this hurts him too. But then she shifts closer, and he wraps his arm around her more firmly, giving you a look that’s both a dare and a dismissal.

“This is Emily,” he says, and she gives you a polite, too-sweet smile.

“Oh.” You swallow, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “I didn’t know… I hadn’t realized you were…” You can’t finish, the words catching in your throat.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s tone is almost too casual, too final. “We’re together.”

The finality of it slices through you, sharp and clean. You nod, trying to hold onto whatever scraps of dignity you have left, but all you can manage is, “Well… congratulations. I’m… I’m glad you’re happy.”

There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—anger? Hurt? But his jaw tightens, and he nods, looking away as if to spare you. 

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” he says, his voice steady, controlled.

Emily pulls him closer, a satisfied smile curving her lips as she glances at you. 

“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” she says, and there’s a challenge in her tone, a silent declaration that she’s won, that whatever you think you had with him is nothing compared to this. She presses a kiss to his cheek, her fingers curling possessively around his shoulder as she tilts her head, catching his gaze.

“Yeah,” you murmur, your voice hollow. “Yeah, he is.”

And for a brief, desperate second, you think he might look at you—really look at you, see how much this is tearing you apart. But he doesn’t. His gaze is on her, soft and full of warmth, a look he’s given you a thousand times. And it feels like he’s choosing her, like he’s making the decision to let go of whatever fragile orbit kept you two circling each other all this time.

You turn away, trying to hold yourself together, but the ache in your chest is all-consuming, a raw, relentless reminder that he’s moved on. That he’s chosen her.

And as you walk away, you can still hear their laughter, the sound twisting like a knife in your chest, leaving you wondering if he was ever yours to lose.

And then one night, fate flips, and you’re the one with someone new by your side.

It’s been months since you last saw Bucky. You assumed he was out of your life for good, until tonight, when you walk into the cozy warmth of a private dining room in a restaurant, your hand firmly held by your boyfriend Andrew. It’s Steve’s dinner party, a small gathering of friends, and the lighthearted chatter fills the air, mixing with the warm glow from the dimmed overhead lights.

You’re laughing at something your boyfriend said as you step into the room, but your laughter dies in your throat when you see him.

Bucky is seated across the table, leaning back casually in his chair, but the moment his eyes meet yours, a spark flickers there—surprise, mingled with something darker, something that quickens your pulse. You hadn’t expected him to be here tonight, and judging by the way his gaze lingers, he hadn’t expected you either.

Steve stands, grinning as he greets you and Andrew, and you introduce him to everyone. You smile, trying to seem natural as you move around the table, your hand still resting in your boyfriend’s. But it feels wrong, the warmth of your boyfriend’s fingers against yours suddenly strange, like it doesn’t quite belong.

When you reach Bucky, he stands, his jaw tense, his eyes unwavering as he offers a hand to shake. You almost expect him to make some dry remark, to cover up whatever unspoken tension lies between you. But he’s silent as he grips Andrew’s hand firmly, while looking at you. His fingers are steady, a touch too tight, like he’s barely holding something back.

“So, you’re the boyfriend,” Bucky says, his voice calm but laced with something you can’t quite place.

Your boyfriend laughs, unaware of the tension. “Yeah, I am. And you’re the famous Bucky I keep hearing about.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into a half-smile, but his eyes remain cold. 

“I’m sure you have.” He releases your boyfriend’s hand, his gaze shifting back to you, lingering a second too long before he forces himself to look away.

It should feel like a victory—that, for once, you’re the one who’s found happiness while he’s left to watch. But the second you meet his eyes, the air shifts. You feel the weight of everything unspoken, of the years that have passed with both of you just out of reach, orbiting each other but never colliding.

You take your seat next to your boyfriend, aware of every brush of his arm against yours, every gentle squeeze of his hand on your knee under the table. He leans close, murmuring something soft and sweet, and you offer a small smile, but your focus is entirely on Bucky, sitting across the table, his gaze flickering between you and Andrew, his jaw set with that same restrained tension.

As the night wears on, Bucky remains quiet, only contributing here and there to the conversation, but each time he speaks, his words feel weighted, almost directed at you.

“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence, his voice cutting through the chatter, “I’m guessing you’re happy?”

The question is simple enough, but there’s a challenge hidden beneath it, a question he doesn’t ask outright.

“Yes, I am,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Your boyfriend glances over, squeezing your hand, unaware of the undercurrents in the room. 

“She’s stuck with me now,” he jokes, nudging you. “No escape.”

You laugh softly, but the sound feels hollow, especially when you catch Bucky’s expression—something dark and raw flashing in his eyes before he schools his features again.

“Good for you both,” Bucky replies, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “It’s about time.”

There’s a pause, the kind that seems to echo louder than any conversation, and you can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, filled with a thousand things he can’t say. Your chest tightens as the weight of everything unsaid settles heavily between you, filling the air with a tension you’re certain everyone can feel.

As people start to leave, you find yourself alone with Bucky by the door. Your boyfriend is across the room, saying goodbyes, and it’s just you and Bucky in the dimly lit entryway, a fragile bubble of space and time.

“So…” His voice is low, almost too soft, his eyes searching yours. “This is it, then?”

There’s a vulnerability in his words that pierces through you, a rawness you’ve never heard before. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to deny it.

You glance away, your voice barely a whisper. “Yep. This is it.”

A shadow crosses his face, and he just stands there, watching you, his gaze heavy. He doesn’t say anything for awhile, his hand lingering just inches from yours, as though he’s contemplating reaching out, breaking whatever boundary lies between you. The air feels thick, and you wonder if he can hear the frantic beat of your heart.

But he lets his hand fall back to his side. 

“Guess there’s nothing left to say,” he murmurs, a bitter edge coloring his voice. His eyes linger on you, as if he’s memorizing every detail, every second of this final, silent goodbye.

You open your mouth, but the words die on your lips, caught between everything you want to say and everything you can’t. You reach out, almost instinctively, but Andrew calls your name from across the room, his voice shattering the fragile stillness.

Bucky’s gaze flickers, and he takes a step back, his expression falling into something guarded. 

“Take care, doll,” he says softly, the words laced with both a goodbye and a promise. His eyes linger on you one last time, and then he’s gone, slipping out into the night.

He’d spent years replacing your lips with so many others, all in an attempt to forget the mark you left on him.

Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled her in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

× × × × 

Present

It’s one of those nights, another dinner gathering among friends, the kind that’s almost become routine. You’re already seated in the cozy living room, surrounded by the familiar warmth of Steve’s place. The soft glow of lamps and low bable of conversation wrap around you like a comfortable blanket, and for the first time in a long time, you’re truly at ease.

Beside you, Sam nudges your shoulder. 

“Hey Boo,” he says, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, “remember when you and Bucky were practically attached at the hip? What happened there?”

The question catches you off guard, and you feel warmth creeping up your neck as a few heads turn, curious eyes glancing your way. You roll your eyes, nudging him back. 

“Leave it to you to bring that up, Sam.”

He chuckles, unrelenting. “C’mon, just saying. You two were tight. I mean, tight.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh, feeling the weight of a few more gazes on you, even if they aren’t pushing the question. 

“It’s… complicated,” you finally say, giving him a look that tells him to drop it. But Sam just chuckles, clearly amused, like he knows something no one else does.

“Complicated.” He echoes with a slow nod, a knowing grin spreading. “Right. Complicated.”

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, barely suppressing a smile, but you can’t deny the fondness in your tone. Sam just winks, nudging you again, and the others quickly move on, the brief moment of attention fading as conversation flows around you.

And that’s when the front door opens, and you hear his voice.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bucky calls out, his deep voice filling the space effortlessly as he steps in, slightly flushed from the cold outside. His eyes scan the room, and the moment they land on you, you swear the air shifts, that it crackles with something electric, something only the two of you seem to feel.

Your heart stumbles over itself as he walks further into the room, tugging off his jacket and offering smiles and nods to everyone. But it’s like a magnetic pull—his eyes keep flickering back to you, and each time it does, your stomach does a nervous, excited flip.

He looks good. Better than good, really. There’s a slight scruff along his jaw, and his hair falls just so, framing his face in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch it. When he finally reaches the empty chair directly across from you, he stops, fingers lingering on the back of it.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asks, his voice low, and there’s something almost hesitant in his eyes, like he’s waiting for permission to be close to you.

You shake your head, trying to keep your cool, even though every part of you is screaming, yes, sit, sit right here and don’t you dare move.

“No, go ahead,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds steady.

He sits, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted, and the faint scent of his cologne drifts over, warm and familiar, making your head spin.

As he settles in, he leans slightly closer, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Long time no see.”

“Feels that way, doesn’t it?” you murmur, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. Every subtle movement, every small smile he throws your way feels like it’s weaving a thread around you both, pulling you in.

The conversation around you resumes, but it’s like you’re in a bubble, the two of you orbiting each other again. Every so often, his knee brushes yours under the table, just enough to send a shiver up your spine, to make you bite back a smile. His hand rests on the table between you, his fingers drumming absently, and you find yourself staring at them, remembering every time those hands had nearly, almost touched yours.

After a lull in conversation, he clears his throat, glancing at you sideways. 

“So… where’s the boyfriend?” he asks, almost casually, but you catch the underlying question. His tone is light, but his eyes are cautious, searching yours, looking for an answer he can’t ask outright.

You raise a brow, unable to hide the grin pulling at your lips. 

“Well,” you say, tilting your head slightly as you meet his gaze, “the lack of presence should answer your question.”

For a second, Bucky just stares, and then a slow, dawning smile spreads across his face, his whole expression softening, the guardedness falling away. He looks like he’s holding back from saying something, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table, his knee pressing just a little more against yours as he leans in.

And before you can think twice, you match his question with your own, barely above a whisper. “And where’s your girlfriend, Bucky?”

“Nonexistent.” he said almost instantly.

His eyes hold yours, and something subtle shifts in them—a hint of a smile playing at his lips, but he doesn’t look away though he plays it off with a small, casual shrug. “Guess I’ve been waiting for the right person.”

You nod, feeling the smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

“Nice,” you say, trying to keep it casual, though your heart’s picking up a pace of its own.

“Yeah… nice.” He lets out a quiet chuckle, raising an eyebrow as if he’s catching onto your attempt at nonchalance. 

Deafening silence settles between you, but it’s charged, a silent exchange that makes you feel more breathless than words ever could. Neither of you seems to move, his knee still brushing yours under the table, and it feels like he’s lingering in your space, right on that line between friend and something more. 

You glance around, feeling the tension rise, and blow your bangs out of your eyes, hoping it might ease the knot in your stomach. But when you sneak a look at him, he’s still staring, his gaze solid, unblinking, and suddenly you’re hyper aware of every tiny shift in the air between you. Your cheeks warm, and you look away quickly, pressing your lips together, but it only makes your heart pound harder.

Your cheeks warm instantly, and you quickly look away, focusing hard on the table.

A small smile tugs at his lips, his voice soft. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Your pulse quickens, and you swallow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe a little,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

A spark lights in his eyes, and his smile widens, soft but undeniably mischievous. 

“Good,” he murmurs, his knee pressing just a fraction closer to yours, enough to send a thrill up your spine. “Because, for the record… you make me a little nervous too.”

Your heart does a flip, and you feel a grin tug at your lips despite yourself. 

“I make you nervous?” You try to keep the surprise out of your voice, but he just nods, his gaze intense, that teasing warmth settling over his expression.

“Yeah, you do,” he says, his tone light but honest, like he’s been waiting to say it. “Especially when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you ask, barely breathing.

“Like you’re about to bolt… but part of you doesn’t want to.” His voice is low, and his eyes search yours, as if he’s daring you to deny it.

You feel the smile you’ve been holding back break through, your heart racing as the last of the distance between you seems to dissolve. Just as you’re about to respond, a voice calls from the dining room, breaking the tension as everyone calls you both to join.

“Guess we should go, huh?” Bucky lets out a soft chuckle, pulling back just slightly, though his gaze lingers on yours for a heartbeat longer. 

“Yeah,” you manage, feeling a little breathless.

But as you both stand and head to the dining room, his hand brushes yours, just enough for his pinky to link with yours for a brief, secret moment. The warmth of that tiny touch lingers, and you can’t help but feel like something just shifted between you, something new and thrilling, waiting just under the surface.

× × × ×

As you both step into the dining room, Sam raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “There they are,” he teases, his voice just loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “We were wondering what’s taking so long.”

Heat creeps up your cheeks, and you catch Bucky’s gaze, a subtle, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You feel your pulse quicken, but you don’t say anything, slipping into the room to find only two empty seats—right beside each other.

Bucky gestures to the chair beside him, waiting until you sit before settling in next to you. He settles in beside you, his broad shoulders and steady presence enveloping the space, making you feel smaller.

Conversations swirl around the table, but you’re painfully aware of every tiny shift Bucky makes. The subtle brush of his arm against yours, the steady warmth radiating from his shoulder—it all has your heart racing. His hand rests on the table beside yours, fingers drumming lightly, and your pulse hammers as his knee presses just slightly against yours under the table, a connection so subtle yet electric that it makes your skin tingle.

Then he adjusts his position, angling himself more toward the group—and you. The small movement brings him even closer, and you’re immediately enveloped in his scent, something warm and cedar-like, filling the air around you until it feels almost overwhelming, in the best possible way. You take a slow breath, fighting the urge to close the distance even more, feeling trapped between wanting to be near him and feeling breathless because of it.

As Bucky joins the conversation, you find yourself watching him, captivated by the way he leans in, his voice low and steady, his easy confidence only pulling you in deeper. His lips curve as he speaks, and you can’t help but linger on every detail, the way his eyes light up, the rough timbre of his laugh, every tiny thing about him that’s impossibly distracting.

And then, in the middle of a sentence, his eyes flick back to you, catching you looking. You quickly look away, feeling your cheeks burn as you fixate on your plate, hoping he didn’t notice the way you’d been studying him.

But out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His pinky grazes yours again, a gentle, teasing touch, sending a thrill up your spine as he continues his conversation, his presence unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

You try to focus on anything else, but his gaze keeps finding you, even when you’re not looking. And with every shared glance, every quiet brush of his fingers, the air grows thicker, charged with something unspoken, as if each tiny touch is daring you to lean in, to close that final distance.

You’re doing everything you can to keep your composure, to focus on the laughter and stories being shared. But Bucky’s presence beside you is inescapable, it’s a thrill that’s leaving you silent, lost in your own thoughts as the night goes on.

Sam’s voice suddenly cuts through, pulling you back to reality. 

“Hey,” he says, smirking as he leans back in his chair, his gaze playful but sharp. “You’re unusually quiet tonight. What’s going on with you?”

Feeling everyone’s eyes on you, you force a small laugh, trying to brush off the tension simmering under your skin. 

“Just… food coma, I guess,” you say, waving a hand and attempting a casual smile. 

Sam raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Food coma? Really?” He drags out the words, as if he’s not buying it for a second, and you can see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Pasta’s got you this speechless?”

Beside you, Bucky’s lips twitch, and you can feel his gaze, that familiar, subtle amusement making it impossible not to blush. You risk a quick glance at him, only to find him looking back with that same knowing smirk, like he can see right through every excuse.

“Maybe she’s just tired of all your talking, Sam,” Bucky says smoothly, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he speaks. The movement is so casual, so effortless, that it almost seems like an afterthought. But the warmth of his arm behind you, his fingers just brushing the curve of your shoulder, makes your heart race in ways you can’t ignore. His tone stays casual, but there’s a hint of laughter in his eyes as he looks at Sam, his thumb grazing your shoulder in a subtle, grounding touch.

Sam raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d check,” he says, throwing a playful wink in your direction.

You feel yourself sink back just slightly, leaning into the warmth of his arm, and it’s impossible to ignore the way his fingers stay near your shoulder, steady and unassuming but unmistakably there. The conversations resume around you, but the space between you and Bucky feels even smaller, the quiet thrill of his touch pulling you in.

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping so only you can hear. 

“That food coma excuse was almost convincing,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with playful challenge as he watches your reaction.

× × × ×

As the night winds down, people start to gather their things, saying their goodbyes. You slip on your coat, waiting for Sam to finish up his goodbyes, but he suddenly turns to Steve with a grin.

“Hey, Rogers,” Sam says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “How about we hit that bar down the street? Just a quick nightcap.”

You raise an eyebrow, deadpanning as you fold your arms. “Seriously, Sam?”

He flashes you an unapologetic grin, shrugging. “What? You’re always saying you’re an independent woman. I figured a little alone time wouldn’t hurt.”

“Unbelievable.” You shake your head, muttering, “You’re an asshole.”

Sam just laughs, looking over his shoulder. 

“Hey, maybe Bucky can give you a lift. It’ll be like old times.” He gives you a wink, completely ignoring the way your cheeks warm.

You glance at Bucky, trying to keep your expression neutral. “It’s fine, really,” you say quickly. “I’ll just grab an Uber.”

“Suit yourself,” Sam says, grabbing his jacket and heading out with Steve. “But you know Bucky’s free.” He gives you one last smirk before slipping out the door, leaving you standing there with Bucky, who’s leaning casually against the wall, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Need a ride?” he asks, his voice warm, that familiar glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flutter.

You open your mouth to decline, still feeling a bit of resistance. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll just grab an Uber.”

Bucky chuckles softly, tilting his head toward the door. “I’ll drop you off. It’s fine.”

You hold his gaze for a few seconds, trying to gauge his sincerity, but there’s that familiar steadiness in his eyes, a quiet patience that leaves you with no real reason to argue. Finally, you sigh, giving in with a reluctant nod.

The car ride starts in silence, the engine’s low hum filling the tense quiet between you, only occasionally interrupted by the soft rattle of snowflakes pelting against the windows as the blizzard starts to gather strength. 

You shift in your seat, fidgeting, your hands smoothing over your coat, your fingers picking at invisible lint. Nothing feels comfortable. Every second, your eyes flick to the window, tracing the passing streetlights, trying to focus on anything but him.

But you can feel him there. The warmth of him beside you, the steady, calm presence that somehow has you on edge, unable to breathe fully. His familiar scent fills the car—a mix of cedar and something undeniably him—sharp and soothing all at once, making the small space feel even smaller.

You cross your arms, uncross them, uncross your legs, then cross them again, pressing your back firmly into the seat as if that might stop the quick, relentless beat of your heart. But each turn he makes, each slight shift of his shoulders, sends a fresh rush of awareness through you, and your mind is racing, trying to keep pace with the pulsing tension that seems to settle between you like a third presence.

Finally, desperate for a distraction, you reach over and flip on the radio, hoping for anything to ease the silence. But the first song is almost too on the nose, the lyrics hitting like they were made for this moment:

"All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you…”

A breath catches in your throat, and before the verse can continue, you reach over and quickly press the button again, changing the station, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

The next station crackles to life, and it’s somehow worse.

“Cause when I got somebody, you don’t and when you got somebody, I don’t. I wish that the time would line up so we could just give in…”

Your pulse races, and you switch stations again, more urgently this time, and the next song fills the car with a familiar pop beat.

“You ain’t my boyfriend and I ain’t your girlfriend. But you don’t want me to see nobody else and I don’t want you to see nobody…”

You press the power button, cutting off the music entirely, and the silence that follows feels heavier than before. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your coat, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him glancing your way, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Bucky clears his throat, his voice a low murmur. “Trouble finding a station?”

You manage a quick, nervous laugh, eyes fixed on the road ahead. 

“Yeah… something like that.”

He just nods, his gaze returning to the road, but you catch the lingering smile in his expression, like he’s perfectly aware of the tension simmering between you, the unspoken things filling the silence.

And as the quiet stretches, you can hear his breathing, steady and unhurried, and it only makes you more aware of your own. You try to breathe normally, in and out, but each breath feels too loud, too obvious, like you’re trying and failing to hide something you both already know.

× × × × 

Bucky pulls up in your driveway, and for a moment, the relief you thought you’d feel at reaching home is overshadowed by something else—something closer to disappointment. The quiet tension that’s been hanging between you feels almost unfinished, and you find yourself wishing the ride could somehow stretch on just a little longer.

He leaves the engine idling, the faint rumble filling the silence as you both sit there, neither moving to get out. After a few seconds, you clear your throat, glancing over at him with a small, reluctant smile.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, voice softer than you intended.

Bucky nods, returning your smile, but you can see a similar reluctance flicker across his face as he glances toward the house. 

“Anytime,” he murmurs.

Your eyes drift to the porch, and you remember the old habit the two of you shared, back when he’d drop by after a night out with everyone—those late nights with coffee and the dessert your mom always made, the one he loved and never turned down.

The memory brings a small smile to your lips, and before you can second-guess yourself, you look back at him. 

“Actually… my mom made her chocolate tart. The one you like. If you’re up for coffee and dessert, that is,” you say, feeling a twinge of nerves despite the casual invitation.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard, but you catch the hint of warmth in his eyes. 

“Chocolate tart, huh?” he echoes, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know I can’t say no to that.”

You shrug, playing it off, but your heart races as you nod toward the door. 

“Figured it’d be a shame to let it go to waste. Besides,” you add, trying to keep your tone light, “it’s been a while since we did coffee and dessert.”

Bucky’s smile widens, and he cuts the engine, pocketing his keys before glancing at you with that familiar spark in his eyes. 

“Guess it’s tradition,” he says, opening his door. “Wouldn’t want to break it.”

You step out, leading him up the walkway, and as you unlock the door, the feeling of anticipation settles back over you, even stronger now. It’s like the tension from the car ride has followed you inside. 

As you head into the kitchen, Bucky follows, his gaze drifting over the familiar space. He takes in the room, noticing what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. The same cozy lamp in the corner, casting a warm glow over the soft cushions on the couch, the same framed photos on the wall—but a few new things catch his attention.

A navy-blue jacket, draped over the armchair, too large to be yours. A set of keys on the counter with a small metal keychain that he doesn’t recognize. And a book on the coffee table, a spy thriller with a bookmark halfway through. He frowns slightly, his mind racing as he takes in these small, unfamiliar details, each one lighting a spark of jealousy that flares bright, unbidden.

He hadn’t asked about Andrew—hadn’t wanted to. But now, surrounded by small traces of him, the thought of someone else being part of this space, of sharing moments with you that once might have been his, digs into him with an unexpected force. The sight of it sparks something sharp and unbidden within him, jealousy flaring up like a match struck in the dark. He swallows, trying to ignore it, trying to remind himself that he has no right to feel this way, but the thought of Andrew’s things still lingering here sends his mind racing.

In the kitchen, you’re busy slicing the chocolate tart, setting two plates with practiced ease as you fill the silence with the familiar rhythm of preparing coffee. But every now and then, you feel his gaze on you, heavy and searching, like he’s taking in every detail of the room and of you.

Bucky clears his throat softly, his voice low as he leans against the doorway, watching you pour the coffee. “Things… feel different here,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual, but there’s a roughness in his voice that betrays him.

Your eyes follow his gaze to the jacket, and a flicker of understanding crosses your face. You give a small, almost sheepish laugh. 

“Oh, that. He left it here ages ago. I keep meaning to get rid of it, but it’s… just kind of stayed.” You shrug, looking away as if embarrassed by the attachment. “Guess I’m just lazy.”

He nods, the answer somehow not as satisfying as he’d hoped. His gaze shifts back to the room, trying to reconcile this familiar space with the small hints of someone else. 

“Ah,” he says, his tone lighter. “I get it. Hard to let go of things sometimes.”

You nod, a knowing look in your eyes, as if you both understand the layers beneath his words. You hand him his plate, the rich scent of chocolate and coffee filling the room as he takes it, his fingers brushing yours for a brief, lingering moment.

Settling down at the table, he watches you from across the coffee cup, the quiet tension between you only growing thicker. And as he takes a bite of the chocolate tart, the flavors familiar and nostalgic, he can’t help but feel like he’s grasping at something he’s been missing for too long.

You try to focus on your coffee, but Bucky’s gaze is unwavering, fixed solely on you. He takes another slow bite of the chocolate tart, and the way his eyes soften, paired with the slight curve of his lips. It’s like he’s seeing something he missed, something he can’t look away from.

After a beat, you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, unable to take it anymore. 

“What?” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady, but your heart’s racing too fast.

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just holds your gaze, eyes dark, thoughtful, and a little teasing, as if he’s enjoying watching you squirm. 

“Just… wondering why it took so long to get back here— it feels good to be here. With you.” His voice is low, quiet, but there’s a warmth behind it that makes your stomach flip.

You glance down, biting back a smile, but you can feel his gaze still on you, unrelenting, like he’s waiting for you to look back. 

“It’s just dessert, Bucky,” you murmur, trying to keep the moment light, but your cheeks betray you, a blush blooming under his attention.

“Maybe,” he replies, his tone teasing, eyes glinting. “But it’s the best damn dessert I’ve had in a long time.” He takes a slow bite of the tart, watching you with that infuriatingly soft gaze that makes it impossible to breathe.

"Christ..." you mutter under your breath, barely aware you’ve said it aloud. His gaze is so intense, it feels like he’s peeling away every defense you’ve carefully built.

“Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice, like he’s testing just how far he can push.

You let out a shaky laugh, glancing down at your coffee to avoid those piercing eyes. 

“You’re not… it’s just—” You don’t know how to finish the thought, every word slipping away under his unwavering stare.

He lets the silence hang for a beat, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk that’s equal parts infuriating and heart-stopping. Then he leans forward, just a bit closer, his eyes still locked on you, the teasing glint in them intensifying.

“You sure about that?” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-smooth. His fingers toy with the edge of his coffee cup, but his attention never wavers, every inch of him focused on you. “Because if I’m honest… I think I like watching you get flustered. Kind of makes me wonder what else I could do to make you look at me like that.”

Your breath catches, and you feel your pulse race, cheeks burning as his words sink in, every nerve suddenly buzzing. You’re caught, and he knows it, the challenge in his gaze daring you to look away—but you don’t, rooted to the spot, every nerve in your body humming.

But in that moment of stunned silence, something in your expression shifts, your eyes widening ever so slightly. It’s not discomfort, but a soft vulnerability—an openness he wasn’t expecting.

He misreads it entirely.

Bucky straightens abruptly, his face softening as he lets out a quick, self-conscious laugh, breaking eye contact. “I—sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, his smirk fading. “I’m just messing with you. Didn’t mean to… you know, make things weird.”

Your heart clenches at the quickness with which he pulls back, his retreat sudden, like he’s trying to undo the last few moments. You open your mouth, words rushing to the tip of your tongue to stop him, to explain, to tell him he hadn’t made you uncomfortable at all.

“Bucky…” you say softly, reaching out before you can think twice. The moment your fingers brush his hand, he glances up, eyes wide, almost searching yours for permission.

And before you can lose your nerve, you let the words slip, your voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable… I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

The tension between you flares back to life, sharper, deeper, as he studies you, realization dawning in his gaze, as if he’s daring himself to believe what you’re saying.

× × × × 

The blizzard outside has intensified, blanketing everything in a thick layer of snow that doesn’t look like it’ll be easing up anytime soon. By the time you both finish your coffee and dessert, the wind is howling against the windows, and the soft glow from the streetlights barely penetrates the wall of snow outside.

You walk to the window, peering out into the swirling white, and let out a small sigh. 

“Looks like it’s getting worse,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Bucky, the words carrying a quiet invitation you don’t fully realize.

Behind you, he steps closer, joining you by the window, his hand resting on the edge of the sill as he gazes out into the storm. 

“Guess I might have to wait it out,” he says, a hint of reluctance in his voice, though his eyes flicker with something warmer as they meet yours. His tone is casual, almost nonchalant, but the unspoken question lingers between you.

You turn to face him, folding your arms, trying to play it off casually. 

“Yeah, probably not the best idea to be out there in this.” You pause, giving him a small smile. “I mean, I have a couch. Wouldn’t be the first time you crashed here.”

He chuckles softly, nodding. 

“Right. Wouldn’t want to risk life and limb just to get home.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, like he’s just as reluctant as you are to let the night end.

You manage a laugh, a quiet, slightly nervous sound as you gesture towards the living room. 

“The couch is all yours if you want it. I can grab a spare blanket.” The offer feels both genuine and like an excuse, a small plea for him to stay, if only a bit longer.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice soft, a warmth in his tone that makes your heart skip. “Appreciate it.”

As you disappear down the hall to fetch a blanket and pillow, he lingers in the living room, glancing around the familiar space. He’s barely acknowledged how much he’s missed this—missed you—and now, surrounded by small remnants of your life, it all feels heavier than he expected, like he’s on the brink of something he’s not ready to let go of.

You return with a thick blanket and a pillow, handing them to him as he sets them down on the couch. 

“Here you go. It’s not much, but… I think you’ll survive,” you say, though there’s something tentative in your voice, almost as if you’re testing the waters, hoping he’ll stay a little closer.

Bucky chuckles, sitting on the edge of the couch, his hands settling over his knees as he looks up at you. 

“Yeah, I’ve handled worse, I think,” he replies, his gaze lingering just a bit too long.

A quiet pause stretches between you, neither of you moving. Outside, the snow falls in thick, relentless waves, cocooning you both in this shared moment, and you feel the weight of what’s left unsaid, lingering like an invitation neither of you dares to speak aloud.

Finally, you clear your throat, offering a small smile. 

“Well… goodnight, Bucky,” you say, your voice softer than you intended, and you find yourself hesitating, like you’re reluctant to leave.

He nods, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. “Goodnight, doll.”

× × × ×

Bucky was asleep on the couch. Your couch. Crashing at your place, as he had so many nights before.

The man you wanted more than you’d ever wanted anyone in your life.

You couldn't sleep, tossing and turning and thinking of him lying not thirty feet away from you on the other side of your bedroom wall. He had stayed over countless times, what was it about tonight that had you squirming beneath the sheets? 

God, the subtle, masculine scent of him, the warmth of his body so close to yours—maybe he'd actually seen the little shiver of sexual awareness that had rippled through you during dinner.

Whatever it was, you were suffering now. His smile, his voice, his deep, infectious laugh...so what if he had been your friend since, so what if he could be a bit of a doofus at times—okay, a lot of the time—so what if you were both single now and feeling that familiar itch, that longing, that uncomfortable awareness of being without someone just a bit too long.

Fuck.

You both had talked about this. Once—a long time ago. You had agreed; getting involved wasn't the right thing to do—look how many friendships were ruined by relationships.

You threw back the duvet and swung your legs over the side of the bed, wiggling your toes nervously as you bit your lip. 

You needed a drink, that's what you needed. Not that kind of drink—although God knew you weren't far from it. You needed a cool glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and maybe some splashed on your face for good measure. 

Then you could come back to bed and read. Or listen to some music. Or... something. You had an early start in the morning, you had to find some way to get some sleep. If you were really quiet, you could slip right past him and he'd never even know you'd been out of your room.

You creaked open your bedroom door and listened for the sound of his quiet snoring. Sure enough, the soft sounds of sleep drifted towards you and you straightened, relaxing a little. 

He was sleeping just fine. He wasn't tossing and turning thinking about you.

You slipped out into the chilly living room, and shivered involuntarily. You'd set the thermostat low in the living room to save energy, completely forgetting to turn it up for his sake, so while your bedroom was toasty warm, the living room was cold and still. 

Guiltily you cast your eyes over his sleeping form, sprawled inelegantly over the couch with one hand thrown over his eyes and one leg up over the back of the sofa. He wore only a t-shirt and boxers, and lying with the blanket kicked to the floor instead to cover himself with, he looked vulnerable somehow, and uncomfortable.

And incredibly, almost achingly sexy.

Your eyes roamed over him in blatant appreciation. He was a powerhouse of strength, with thick, chiseled muscles that seemed almost carved from stone. Broad shoulders tapered down to a torso built from years of dedication, and his arms were thick with veins and ridges that caught the light. 

Your gaze slid down his powerful legs, the defined muscle of his thighs flexing beneath the hem of his shorts. He was the embodiment of rugged masculinity, intense and undeniably commanding. His stubbled jaw caught your eye, and you let your gaze linger on his lips—the lips you’d dreamed of tasting so many times...too many times, in fact. So often that sometimes you imagined the fantasy as if it were a memory. So delicious, so sensual and hot.

Only he wasn't hot—you try to tell yourself. You dragged yourself back to reality, frowning as you looked down at him. He was cold.

You went back to the bedroom and pulled an extra blanket off the closet shelf, and carried it back to lay across his sleeping form. He stirred slightly as you draped it over him, and his eyelids fluttered open.             

“Hmmm…” Bucky mumbled thickly, his voice hoarse and low. “Good morning.”

“It's not morning, it's two a.m,” you whispered. “I was just getting you another blanket. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmmmm…” he said, cuddling it around him.

He pulled his leg down off the couch and straightened himself out, stretching languidly, shuddering, like a cat. You loved watching the way his muscles tensed and relaxed. You loved watching him do anything, in fact.

“It's so cold,” You said by way of an unasked-for explanation, and looked away from his body. His eyes were still closed so you could have looked a little longer, but didn't want to risk it.

“Cold?” he murmured. “Just a second.” He pushed aside the blanket and reached for you, tugging you down towards him.

You gasped and lost your footing, sitting down hard on the couch beside him. He pulled you down and enveloped you in his arms, pulling you tight against his chest.

He flipped the blanket over top of both of you. “There. I'll keep you warm.”

A sleepy duskiness coloured his voice, and something in the intimacy of it, the familiarity of it, made your heart flutter rebelliously in your chest. He smelled so damn good, like a mixture of soap and the sweet warm and musky scent of cedar wood. He drew you in closer, molding his body against yours, and God help you, you allowed him. You settled in more comfortably beside him, your leg thrown over his, your arm stretched across his chest.

“I was saying you must be cold,” you whispered. “Not telling you I was.”

“I know.” Bucky said without missing a beat.

You lay there, entwined, quiet, saying nothing more. You rested your head against his chest and could feel more than hear the lazy beat of his heart, and the quiet, smooth passage of his breath. His hand languidly caressed your arm, the rhythm growing slower as he drifted back to sleep. 

Sleep threatened to claim you, too, so you stirred, trying to disentangle from him. You'd have to be near your alarm clock or you'd never get up in time.

“No, don't go,” Bucky murmured as you tried to move. He held you tighter.

“I have to,” you whispered. “I have to get some sleep, I have to get up in a few hours.”

“Stay.”

“I can't.”

He was gradually coming awake, slowly becoming more oriented. He shifted position slightly so that he was more on his side, looking down at you as he rested his head on his bent elbow. He stretched his other arm across you and pulled you closer, gently caressing you back.

“Stay,” he said again. His voice was clearer now. He was fully awake. Still slightly dazed from sleep, but awake.

You hesitated, letting your gaze roam over his face. Finally you whispered, “We talked about this a long time ago, remember?”

“I know. I'm sorry. I just...I want you to stay.”

In the dim moonlight spilling in through the French doors his features were muted, but his eyes—his eyes were large and dark, taking you in with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Bucky moistened his lips, his pupils growing even larger as they roamed over your face and you could feel the pace of his heart pick up and his breathing increase. 

His gaze moved down to your lips and his brow creased in an expression that could have been longing, or frustration, or both. He raised his eyes slowly to meet yours, the haze of desire stealing slowly into his gaze.

“You're not nothing to me,” he said, almost to himself. “That's precisely the problem.”

How on earth were you supposed to resist such a sensual, beautiful, soulful man? Stay? How could you not?

“Please,” he whispered. “Stay. . . I have something I need to get off my chest.”

Your resolve was crumbling as you felt your chest tighten. You looked into his eyes and barely managed to whisper the words. 

“What’s that?”

“This.” 

He lowered his head slowly and kissed you, brushing your lips softly, sensuously, as if in no particular hurry. As if he had all the time in the world to savor you, to taste you, to send pleasure rippling through you with every touch of his lips. He murmured softly as he gently nipped at your bottom lip, teasing your, biting and then kissing-better the lips he was bruising.

You could feel the pleasure he was taking in kissing you, the slow—tortuously slow—pleasure he was enjoying for himself and teasing out of you as he lingered in your mouth. Bucky’s hand slid along your jaw, tilting your face up to him, his thumb caressing your cheek as he kissed you. He broke the kiss and looked down at you in wonder, his eyes glittering in the dim light, then brought your face up to his and kissed you again.

You opened your mouth to him and his tongue slipped in to tangle sensuously with yours. He angled his head from one side to the other, exploring your mouth and pressing kisses along the edges of your lips. You kissed his cheeks, his chin, his light stubble gently razing your lips and making them all the more sensitive. When you found his lips again, their soft warmth was intoxicating and you deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue with your own.

You kissed him back sensually, with equal possessiveness and enjoyment, and knew that your response was emboldening him.

Bucky tensed and pressed against you, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent. His mouth moved over yours expertly, wringing pleasure from you in breaths that came faster and little cries that escaped into the quiet of the room. Your soft moans made him tense even more, and you could feel his arousal along the length of your leg, hard and urgent like the rest of his body. 

You were both warm now, and he threw back the blanket before settling back down on top of you, returning to the slow, rhythmic dance of kissing, teasing, and tasting that was just about driving you mad.

You slipped your hands up over your head, thinking to wrap them around him, but he found them and clasped your wrists together with his left hand and kept them there, holding you down with gentle pressure as he bent to kiss you more deeply. 

The sensation of being held by him, of being pinned down, gently, but with no doubt as to his strength, rushed through you in unfamiliar torrents of excitement. He entwined his fingers in yours, easing up the pressure, dipping his head between your upraised arms to kiss you deeply, slowly, torturously.

As his tongue tangled with yours the fingers of his right hand trailed up the side of your body, stopping at the swell of your breast. He ran his hand over you gently, tentatively, feeling the weight of it beneath him and groaning softly. He slipped his hand inside your robe and cupped you bare flesh, his warm hand gently squeezing, caressing, as he groaned again and grew even harder. His thumb circled over your nipple and you gasped, arching against him at the sudden sting of pleasure. He pushed aside the robe further, revealing your breast with its tight nipple, unbearably aroused by his touch.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, gazing at you breast. He lowered his lips to your nipple and gently kissed it, his tongue tasting and savoring it the way he had just been savoring your mouth.

The wet warmth of his mouth on your sensitive flesh made you ache with a tension and desire you had never felt before. When his tongue swirled around you nipple languidly, when he took the sensitive bud into his mouth and suckled softly, you felt the exquisite torture of it flow down through you body to you very core. How could this feel so damn good? Just the lightest brush of his lips, his tongue, his teeth on your nipple and you felt almost ready to climax.

His free hand slid around to the small of your back and he lifted you gently, sliding you further down the couch and farther under him. You were completely beneath him now, and completely held by him, one strong hand gently pressing your wrists into the sofa cushions and the other splayed across you back while he bent his head and kissed and sucked and teased you breast. You almost couldn't bear the sensation as your nipple grew harder, more tender, and the pleasure started liquifying between your legs.

"Yes..." you breathed. You arched again, wanting him to release you from his mouth and yet hoping that he never would. "Oh my God, Bucky, that feels so good..."

Bucky lets go of your wrists and brings his hand down to your other breast, pushing aside your robe to free you completely. He caressed you, sensuously feeling the roundness of you, and trailed his lips across the rising swell, kissing and tasting and smiling at the way your soft flesh moved under his tongue. He gently grasped your breast and brought your nipple up to his mouth, which grew hard and exquisitely tender under his tongue. His fingers continued to tease your other nipple, the one still stinging from the feel of his mouth on it, still aching to feel it again.

You arched into him, sinking your hand into his hair and pressing him to your breast. The pleasure of his mouth and hands on you was making you weak, making you shiver with pleasure and need, all down the length of you and in between your legs. You could feel  yourself growing wet and ready for him, the pleasure so intense, so unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

You heard yourself moaning softly, whimpering, making sounds you had never made before, all but dizzy with desire and sensation. With every little sound you made he groaned, or his erection surged against you, or he fell onto your breasts again with increased hunger. Your response to him was as intoxicating to him as his mouth was to you—you could feel it in his every movement, his every ragged breath.

“I need you, Bucky.” You pleaded softly. “Please.”

He rose over you, bracing his arms on either side of you. His eyes blazed with heat as he looked down at you, at you eyes, your mouth, your breasts. He took your mouth expertly, hungrily, kissing you fiercely with a dominance that thrilled you. He moved to trail hot kisses down your neck, licking the sensitive skin near your collarbone, barely skimming you with his tongue as if wanting the merest taste. You gripped his shoulders, and turned your head to the side, aching at the sensation of his mouth on you, kissing, licking, tasting. 

You moaned at the feel of his tongue on your neck and the gentle pressure of his lips pressing kisses against your skin. You needed to feel him, to taste his salty sweet skin, his maleness, him.

As if he could read your thoughts he lifted up from you to pull his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. You reached up and ran your hands over his chest, and as he fell on you again his mouth found yours hungrily and his hand slid into your hair, gripping the top of your head possessively as you kissed.

You had never felt so possessed, so taken, so overwhelmed by a man. You broke the kiss and sought his neck, his shoulder, his tense muscles straining as he held himself above you. You branded your own hot trail of kisses into his skin, felt him strain against you at the sensation. You loved the taste of him, so male and wonderful beneath your lips.

"Baby. . ." His voice was hoarse, breathless. 

For one brief moment uncertainty flashed in his eyes and he looked as though he wanted to say something. But when your lips found his again he lost the thought and succumbed to the kiss, slanting over your mouth, teasing your tongue with his.

You ran your hands down his back to the waistband of his boxers, and dipped your hands beneath the elastic to roam over his flesh. He tensed at your touch and you felt him suck in a breath as you moved your hands around to the front. 

He was very hard, and you curled your fingers—which couldn’t wrap around him fully—as you gripped his ass with your other hand. He groaned softly and kissed you even more deeply, surging against you with an almost desperate urgency. You began to stroke him, your fingers gently gliding up and down his smooth shaft until he suddenly let out a groan and broke away, stopping your hand with his own.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly, heat blazing in his eyes. “I can't. . .”

Alarm flared in you. “What's wrong?”

“I won't last long. . .”

“Oh, is that all?” You gently pushed his hand away and began to tentatively stroke him again.

He moaned, closing his eyes briefly, enjoying the pleasure. “If you keep doing that. . .”

“What?” You prompted, nibbling on his lower lips as you stroked.

“I'll have to fuck you.”

“Good.” You took his lips again and you fell into a rhythmic kiss, as if you had been kissing each other forever. He moaned softly into your mouth as you stroked him, making soft noises of your own into his mouth.

Bucky broke the kiss, his breathing sharp and shallow, and gazed down at you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was quiet, urgent, almost desperate.

“Yes,” you breathed, pushing his boxers down with your free hand. He lifted up his hips to help you and shrugged out of them, kicking them to the floor.

“I didn't mean for this to happen, at least not tonight,” he said, his breath jagged and quiet as you continued to stroke him. “I've wanted you for so long, but—”

“I know,” You murmured, kissing his neck as your hand slid over his thick length again and again. His body was rigid with tension and you tried to relax him with your mouth, your whispers, the feel of your body. But you knew he wouldn't relax as long as you were stroking him. You paused and he relaxed slightly, but his eyes still burning and his breath still came unevenly.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, his eyes showing fear through the haze of desire. Heat blazed between them, and you felt such a desperate need in him that you wanted to soothe him, comfort him. But doing so with words seemed the wrong thing to do.

"Mhmmm," You murmured instead, kissing his jaw, his neck, the sensitive skin beneath his ear. He groaned softly as you ran your fingers over his shaft, teasing, tempting, letting you fingernails trail along the sensitive skin below. You cupped him and squeezed gently as he groaned louder, pleasure that sounded almost painful. you laughed softly, kissing along his collarbone, his shoulder, his neck.

“You know how I feel about you. . . ” he managed, his voice little more than a breath. “Don't you? That I—”

"Shhhh," You said, coming back to meet his eyes. He looked so afraid, so vulnerable, and yet so filled with desire. You knew, then, everything you needed to know. And every word he needed to hear. "Please. . . Baby. . .it's okay. We can talk later. Right now. . .please. . . just shut up and fuck me."

His fear melted into a smile so warm, so open, so full of relief that he almost looked ready to cry. He took your mouth again, arching over you as he claimed you. Before his kisses had been searching and sensuous, now they seemed driven by pure desire. He ground his lips on yours  masterfully, taking what he wanted, what he needed.

You could feel the raw need in him, the need for acceptance, the need to let pure passion overcome his fear. Every meeting of your lips sent another jolt through you, every taste of his tongue made you desperate for more, and you knew he was reeling from the same powerful sensations that you were. You could feel him starting to let go, to abandon himself to you, to enjoy making you abandon  yourself to him. 

Here was the lust you had always hoped was there, the powerful sexuality always just below the surface, the desire you had hoped and prayed he felt for you. It was here, pressed against you, an urgent cock and a hard, warm body, roaming lips and soft, male moans of pleasure and need. A careful heart revealing itself to yours.

You moved beneath him, pressing your hips against him to ease the heat that radiated from between your legs. The ache was exquisite, your need growing more urgent as you felt his erection surge and strengthen.

You felt his hand on your knee and then slowly, so damn slowly, he began to trail his fingers up along the inside of your thighs, which parted so easily at his gentle persuasion. His touch was electric, yet soft and sensual, and wherever his fingers played you felt a fiery tingle that made you shiver. Finally his fingers trailed delicately over your sensitive cunt, teasing you, tantalizing you, until you cried softly, silently begging him to touch you most sensitive place.

With a smile that you could feel more than see, his fingers slipped into your slick warmth and you cried out, a spasm of pleasure overwhelming you. He silenced your cry with his mouth, his tongue tangling with yours  while his fingers slipped deeply inside you and stroked, as languidly and rhythmically as you were stroking him.

“Oh my g—” You cried, writhing at the pleasure of his fingers sliding slowly in and out of you, then pulling out to trail up higher and caress your folds. When his fingers danced over your clit you arched you back, your breath leaving you in a gasp. The electricity of his touch, so gentle and sensuous, sent spasms of pleasure rippling through you. 

He didn't hurry the pace, just stroked you with an even, sensual rhythm as he kissed  you. He was holding you, his arm surrounding you, pressing his body to yours, his mouth never far from your lips, your neck, your ear, his eyes never far from yours. You had never felt so close to someone, so protected in his arms, so cherished and adored.

His fingers dipped down to enter you again and his thumb continued the slow, exquisite torture above. Just when you thought you'd go over the edge he'd pull away, pause, caress a different part of you and send you on the upward spiral again and again, or slide his fingers into you over and over while his thumb swirled and caressed and rubbed, driving you mad with an aching desire. 

He smiled down at you, nipped at your lips, pressed his forehead to yours and trailed kisses down your eyelids, your cheeks, until claiming your mouth again, his tongue mimicking the sweet, sensuous motion of his fingers and thumb.

He grew rock hard in your hand as you moaned with each breath, as you came closer and closer to the edge. You could feel him restraining himself, wanting only to pleasure you, anticipating your climax. But it wasn't what you wanted. On a ragged breath you stopped his hand.

"I want you," you said urgently. "Please, Bucky. . .fuck me."

He gazed at you, teetering on a moment of indecision. His chest rose and fell sharply with his labored breath, and he brought a trembling hand up to your hip and gripped you, holding you, moving to settle between your legs and pausing at your entrance.

"Please, I want you inside me." your voice dropped to a whisper so urgent you hardly recognized it yourself. "Please don't make me beg."

And whatever strength he had left vanished.

"Oh baby. . ." He moved forward and slid into you, a breathless throaty sound of pure male pleasure escaping his lips. "Oh my God. . ."

He paused for a moment, looking down at you with heavy-lidded desire, visibly enjoying the new sensation of being so deep inside  you. You were slick and hot, more than ready for him, and as you body adjusted to him, to the exquisite, aching stretch he was causing, you squirmed beneath him on a moan of primal pleasure. He pulled out slowly, torturously, and slid himself in again, filling you completely.

You closed your eyes and moaned, gripping his ass as he lifted your hips up to him, angling you so he could fill you more deeply. He began to thrust, slowly, rhythmically, his hips moving sensuously, making you muscles tighten around him as he plunged into you again and again, your movements coming so easily, so naturally, so deliciously slowly.

You lifted your legs to wrap them around him, loving the way it tilted you back so that his every thrust felt deeper, felt like it was reaching new depths of pleasure in you.

“Yes, yes, yes. . .like that. . .oh my god, Bucky. . .you fill me up so good.” 

He ran his hand possessively along your leg, pausing to look down at your joined bodies as he thrust into you. He raised himself up, his arms braced on the other side of you to keep his weight off you, and moved so he could thrust more freely, more quickly, building the tempo. He pressed his lips to your forehead gently as he drove into you, his breath ragged, panting, yours matching his intensity and need.

“Ugh—you drive me insane, I love hearing you moan my name—don’t stop.”

You could feel him getting close, nearing the edge of his own release, and he slowed, lowering his head to nuzzle your neck as the rhythm of his hips paused, and then resumed again, more slowly this time, building again, savoring you body the way his lips had savored you mouth, the way his tongue had devoured you breasts. His arm slid around you back again, holding you, lifting you up to him as he took your breast in his mouth and teased it with his tongue. His mouth was hungrier this time, sucking your nipple, flicking his tongue over it with such abandon that you felt it in your core. His passion was growing, and you could sense that his desire to be slow and tender with you was losing the battle against his raw primitive need.

You gripped him, lost in the dizzying sensations he was causing in you. His mouth on you, his hand roaming over you, gripping your ass as he thrust into you in a relentless rhythm. You were limp in his embrace, held in place for him to possess, to plunder, to pleasure. You had never been held like that before, and the primal intensity of it, the feeling of being so completely owned by his desire, overwhelmed  you. You were his, completely, your body as loose as a rag doll in his arms. You gripped his straining arms as he sent pleasure coursing through you, gripping you as he thrust and withdrew, plunged and pulled out, drove into you over and over again in breathless ecstasy.

“Keep fucking me like that—Yes! Oh my God, harder, please. . . B-Bucky!”

Waves of pleasure grew stronger and stronger in you, pushing you towards the ultimate pleasure, building with increasing urgency as his rhythm grew faster and harder. 

“Oh—like that? You like that?”

He groaned as he kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breast, and drove himself into you with such exquisite need. You gripped his buttocks, feeling the powerful muscles contracting with each thrust, drawing him deeper into you. When he tore away from your lips and looked down into your eyes you felt the waves rise, growing stronger and higher and faster until with a shattered cry you came, trembling as the pleasure spasmed through you.

His eyes never left yours as he thrust into you, groaning from the exquisite pleasure of your spasming pussy. 

“Shit—fuck, you’re gonna make me come. Ohhhh—” Bucky moaned.

You were so incredibly tight, gripping his cock as you came, milking him as he struggled to last just a moment longer, lost in the heaven of you hot, wet heat. Your cries of pleasure echoed throughout the darkened room and when you whispered his name on a soft, sweet whimper he found his own release, jetting into you over and over again as he cried out in an agony of pleasure and a torrent, a chorus, of your name.

Finally, finally, his hips slowed and he lowered his head and kissed you gently, sensuously, as softly as he had when he had first pulled you down to him. Then he lowered his head to your neck and let himself rest there, lying against you, his heart thundering, his breath ragged and heavy. You lowered your legs from around his waist and wrapped your arms around him instead, cradling him to  you. you rested your head against the top of his and felt your own breath slowing, your own heartbeat returning to normal. His cock was still hard inside you and he shuddered as you clenched around him.

"God, you're incredible." He exhaled a long, deep breath.

He rose up and kissed you, shuddering with each aftershock as his cock surged inside  you. You could feel your inner muscles clenching around him, not releasing him yet, teasing the last drops of pleasure from him. 

He lay his head down against you again, breathing out a sigh that was both release and contentment as the last tremors rippled through him. You loved this feeling, this sensation of his body trembling with the afterglow of pleasure, pleasure you had given him, just as your body was tingling from the intense pleasure he had given you.

He held you to him, sliding out of you slowly, and shifted slightly so that you fit against him perfectly, settling into the warmth and comfort of his arms encircling you.

“Holy shit,” he whispered again, pressing his lips to your temple and leaving them there for a long minute before letting go.

“I'm so glad you stayed over,” you said quietly, kissing the soft skin of his neck.

He stilled for a moment, and you looked up at him, trying to read whatever might be revealed in his eyes. In the darkness both of you were inscrutable, until he leaned closer and bumped your cheek with his nose before lightly pressing his lips to yours for a sweet, soulful kiss.

“So does this mean we're not friends anymore?” He asked, in between luscious nips at your lips.

“You tell me,” you said sleepily, unable to resist his slow, savoring kisses.

You felt his smile as he kissed you languidly, with deliberate slowness, each kiss deepening into something more intimate than the last. Finally his lips stilled and you felt him fall asleep beside you, his breathing soft and slow.

You wanted to stay awake, to freeze this moment in time, to make it last. you wished you could lay there forever, tucked in beside him, your bodies curled to get you. But even as you tried to stay awake, gently caressing the arm that draped over you protectively. you gradually succumbed to a peaceful, contented sleep.

[chosok-amo]

SAY HIII! TO THE CAMERA s. geto

☆ sum. stay quiet and keep him warm and hard, while he is playing video games, that’s the order. but it seems like too much hardness making you lose control of your body.

warning. non-sorcerer au, roommate geto, spank, cōck-drunk reader, petnames, dirty talk, overstim, praises, fem! reader, sugu gets annoyed when you can’t stay still, he’s annoyed because you make him lose, lol, tats-spank, háir-pulling, choking, bit exhibitionism.

there’s something deeply comforting about having geto suguru as your roommate, a kind of unspoken reassurance that no matter how life twists and turns, you have someone in your corner. he’s not just kind; he’s the kind of person who’s genuinely considerate, remembering the little things that most people overlook. his gentle humor fills even the quietest moments with warmth, and his manners, always so natural, make you feel valued and understood. he’s the type of person who holds open doors, who waits for you when you linger on your way home, and who genuinely listens when you speak, as if your words are the only ones that matter.

living together, you’ve come to depend on him in a way that feels both new and familiar. in the late hours of the night, when silence settles over the apartment, there are moments of connection that you’ve never found with anyone else. he's seen you in every state — the vulnerable, raw moments when you’re barely holding it together, the giddy highs when you’re spilling over with excitement, and even the quiet days when all you need is to be near someone without saying a word. every joy and every sorrow, he’s there, a constant presence, filling the empty spaces of your life.

over time, though, there’s another unspoken need that starts to creep in. it’s there in the lingering glances, the way your touches linger just a moment too long, the awareness that builds between you both, each brushing touch leaving a faint trace of longing. you’ve found yourself drawn to him, in a way that goes beyond friendship, a desire simmering under the surface that you don’t dare voice. it’s been a while since you’ve had anyone to share that kind of closeness with, and every time he’s near, you can feel that need building, that craving that he seems to sense. and that ‘desire’ you crave so much, geto is there with an open arms and. . . open legs.

it was one of those days a mix of emotions swirling, a growing desire that had been building in the space between you two, bubbling to the surface. without overthinking it, you found yourself outside geto’s room, feeling a thrill as you opened the door without knocking. you were wearing only your skirt and a simple bra, skin tingling under the weight of anticipation.

geto was at his computer, focused on whatever he had been doing, but as soon as he heard the door creak open, he turned, spinning his chair around slowly. his gaze swept over you, eyes darkening with a spark of something unmistakable as he took you in. he let out a low whistle, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the view. “well,” he drawled, his voice a touch rougher, “looks like someone’s feeling bold today.”

his own appearance was casual but undeniably alluring. he wore only a pair of loose grey sweatpants, his toned chest bare, catching the soft light from the room. his long, dark hair fell loosely around his shoulders, framing his sharp features and giving him an almost untamed look that made your heart race faster. he watched you with a steady, appreciative gaze, that familiar, playful glint in his eyes turning to something deeper as his eyes traced over your form.

“you here for something, or just planning to drive me crazy?” he teased, his voice low, dripping with that lazy confidence he always wore so effortlessly. you felt your cheeks warm as you stepped into his room, but you didn’t waver, letting your gaze flicker over his chest, taking in the way his muscles shifted.

“i think you know exactly why i’m here,” you replied, keeping your voice light but letting the meaning behind your words settle between you. his smirk widened, and he straightened, reaching a hand out to you, his touch gentle but insistent as he pulled you closer.

his hand brushing your waist, guiding you to stand between his legs. his other hand came up to rest on your hip, fingers tracing small, lazy circles along your bare skin as he looked up at you.

god, the way he looked at you, with that sultry gaze sweeping over every inch of your body, made it nearly impossible to keep your composure. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare skin, each touch almost enough to send a shiver down your spine. the air between you two felt thick, electric, as if it held every unspoken thought, every lingering glance and desire that had built up over time. you could hear the faint hitch in his breath as you stepped closer, closing what little distance remained between you.

“is that right?” he murmured, voice low and rough, his tone thick with barely concealed amusement. “and what did i do to earn this little visit? not that i i’m complaining.” his fingers toyed with the edge of your skirt, tracing a slow line up your thigh that sent waves of warmth through you, each touch building a sweet tension that had you leaning in, craving more.

you couldn’t help but hum in response, letting your fingers glide over his bare shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid strength beneath your touch. your other hand found its way to his hair, threading through the long, dark locks that framed his face so perfectly handsome, your fingers lingering as you gently pulled him closer.

“it’s not what you did,” you replied, your voice a low, teasing murmur, your lips close enough to brush against his ear. “it’s what you can do.” the words hung between you, dripping with anticipation, each syllable filled with a promise you knew he could hear.

geto chuckled, a warm, low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. he leaned into your touch, his hand sliding up under your skirt, fingers splaying against your skin, and you could feel the heat of his palm, the barely suppressed tension in the way he touched you.

“oh?” he drawled, tilting his head so his face was dangerously close to your bellybutton. his lips grazed the shell of your skin, his breath hot against your skin. “and what exactly is it that you need me to do, pretty girl?”

before you could answer, his hands found your waist, gently but insistently pulling you down to sit on his lap. his arm wrapped securely around your bare waist, the other hand still warm and steady on your thigh. you felt yourself sink into him, the heat of his skin against yours, the way he held you close with that effortless confidence.

you leaned in, lips close to his ear as you whispered, voice teasing but edged with a hint of urgency. “you know exactly what i want, suguru,” you murmured, your fingers tracing along his collarbone, feeling his breath hitch as you spoke. “stop pretending to be stupid.”

a lazy smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze darkening with satisfaction as he tightened his hold on you, his hand slipping higher on your thigh, tracing lazy circles that sent a spark of anticipation through you. “oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with restrained desire, “i’d never be that stupid.”

geto shifted his hips, the heat of your bodies pressed together, his hand sliding slowly to the curve of your hip. there was a raw, unabashed hunger in his eyes, his gaze traveling over every inch of your exposed skin, taking in every subtle shudder, every quickening breath.

he pulled you even closer, desperate, and you could feel the tension building between the bitten of you as his other hand slid further up your skirt, his knuckles brushing over your inner thigh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. his hand squeezed your thigh, fingers digging into your skin, an unspoken promise that sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

“if you want something,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough whisper, “all you have to do is ask.” then he leaned in, his lips trailing a warm path from your collarbone up to your shoulder, and you could feel the low rumble of his voice against your sensitive skin. he nipped at your ear, his voice a dark, lustful murmur. “beg me for it, sweetheart.”

his lips traveled back down to your neck, teeth scraping against your skin, and a small gasp escaped your lips as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. his lips curled into a satisfied smile against your flesh, and his hand slid even higher up your thigh, the heat of his touch searing through you.

“beg me,” he repeated, his voice low and gravelly. “beg me to give it to you… and i’ll give you everything you need.”

and he lies.

you sit on his lap as he games, his cock buried deep inside you, you trying to stifle moans as occasionally he thrusts up into you, barely— either too distracted by his stupid games or he just being his usual self, a fucking jerk and a tease. “such a gooood girl, baby,” he growls lowly into your ear, muting his microphone. after all, he didn’t want his teammates hearing what a good little toy you were being, taking his cock like you were.

how had things turned out like this, you wonder? you were the one that was supposed to be teasing him, not the other way around. now you were the one, stifling whimpers and moans, and almost begging him to fuck you.

“s-suguru, p-please..” you whimper.

he ignores you completely as he goes back to his game, turning his microphone back on, saying, “son of a bitch, you fuckers can’t do anything right, can you?” you wiggle your hips on top of him, trying to get him to pay attention to you more, and his hand comes to rest briefly on your thigh, squeezing it tightly. a warning to knock it off. but you continue doing it. you had to take things back under your control, and what better way than by wiggling your hips, feeling him brush up against your sensitive spot, and letting out a quiet whimper.

he mutes his microphone again, letting out a warning growl, and lowly says, “y/n.. stop moving and be a good girl for me, hm?” his voice is dangerous, a sign to dare you to move even just a beat. but youuu, you tilt your head back, peering back into his face, and smile innocently. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about, suguruuu. . .”

your back was facing him as you sat on his lap, elbows resting hard on his computer desk. only you cute pink skirt wrap loosely around your waist with no underwear. your bare nipples pressed against the hard surface. geto’s fingers dig into your thigh, holding you still as he continues playing his game, ignoring your attempts at seduction. his breathing grows heavier, the scent of his arousal filling the air between you. he’s clearly struggling to focus on the match with you writhing atop him like this.

“y/n... i swear if you keep this up, i’m going to bend you over my desk and fuck you senseless,” he warns through gritted teeth, voice menacing. despite the threat, there’s an unmistakable note of desire lacing his words.

“now be a good girl and sit still,” he warned, his hand reaches up to grab your hip, pulling you down harder onto his throbbing erection and continue to cockwarming him while he’s playing games with his friends— stupid gojo satoru. a choked gasp escapes your lips as he grinds up into you, stretching you deliciously around his girth.

his grip tightens on your hip, guiding your movements to grind yourself against him even more. he doesn’t care who hears anymore, his mind consumed with thoughts of claiming you right here and now. his game character takes a hit from an enemy player the moment you do a harsh slammed on his cock, causing him to curse loudly into his mic.

“fuck! ’m distracted,” he admits before cutting himself off mid-sentence, realizing just how loud he’d been. he quickly mutes his mic once more, though he makes no move to stop grinding you against him. “that’s what you wanted, isn’t it, y/n? for me to lose focus so i could finally give you what you've been craving.”

his hand slides up your spine from your hip, gripping your neck firmly enough to let you know he means business. “i’m not going to repeat myself y/n, stop fucking moving.” his other hand comes up to slap lightly against your ass after retreating from the keyboard, leaving a warm imprint on your skin before he pushes your chest further to his desk and continues to play his game. gasp!

geto’s dominant grip on your hips and neck sends shivers down your spine, your body responding instinctively to his commanding touch. the sharp slap on your ass makes you gasp and gasp, the sting mixing with the pleasure of having your bare bottom exposed to him.

despite his warnings, you can’t help but subtly rock your hips, seeking friction against his thick length still buried deep within you. your upper teeth sinking lowered on your lower lips, a subtle way to hide the desperate moaning. your breath hitches as he pushes you harder against the desk, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body beneath you.

as geto focuses back on his game, you find yourself leaning forward more— your nipples touching the cold surface making you shiver, bracing your hands on the edge of the desk under you. this position allows you to sink deeper onto his cock, your inner walls clenching reflexively around him.

with each subtle roll of your hips, geto lets out a low groan, his focus waverting from his game momentarily. he pulls you closer, forcing his cock deeper inside you until you feel every inch of him pressing against your most sensitive spots.

“fucking hell, y/n...” he curses under his breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control. but it’s clear that he’s losing the battle against both his own desires and yours, even against his own stupid games. he smacks your ass again, this time harder, leaving a bright red mark on your flesh.

“be still!” he demands, his voice laced with both frustration and lust. his fingers dig into your neck, applying pressure just shy of pain. the smack on your ass sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your body arching back against him instinctively. the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you panting, your pussy clamping down on his cock as if begging for more.

despite his command, you can’t seem to obey. instead, you press your breasts further into the desk, enjoying the sensation of your hardened nipples rubbing against the cool surface. each movement sends ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the ache building between your legs.

“suguru... please,” you whisper, your voice barely above a whimper. the desperation in your tone is undeniably begging. geto’s grip on your neck tightens, his thumb brushing over your pulse point rhythmically as he fights against the urge to simply throw caution to the wind and claim you right then and there. instead, he focuses back on his game, cursing loudly when his character takes another hit.

“shit... y/n, shut up before i really lose my shit,” he growls, punctuating each word with a deep thrust of his hips. his cock surges deeper inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes stars burst behind your closed eyelids. his other hand losing the touch of his keyboard for a beat to sending a slaps down on your ass again, this time in slow deliberate strokes meant to draw out your pleasure. he’s punishing you for making him lose focus, but also rewarding you for being such a tease.

geto’s punishing thrusts send waves of ecstasy crashing over you, your nails digging into the desktop as you struggle to hold back cries of pleasure. the slow, deliberate slaps on your ass echo through the room, each impact sending tingles racing up your spine.

“ahh!” you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths, your pleas growing more desperate as the coil of tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. the combination of his thick cock stretching you open and the relentless stimulation to your sensitive ass has you teetering on the brink of climax. you can feel the telltale fluttering in your core, signaling your impending release.

geto’s jaw clenches as he battles to keep his composure, refusing to let go and indulge in the sweet release that beckons him. his fingers waltz down from your neck to the curve of your hip, tightening on the soft flesh, his grip bordering on bruising as he holds you in place, denying you the friction you crave.

“not yet, y/n... you don’t get to come until i say so,” he rasps, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. his hips buck upward sharply, burying himself to the hilt inside you for the countless times and grinding against your clit with a forceful thrust.

he repeats this motion several times, using your body for his own pleasure, before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in with brutal intensity. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled moans and his guttural groans.

the rough treatment only fuels your desire, pushing you closer to the edge with each powerful thrust. your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him for more as you ride the wave of pleasure he’s forcing upon you. the way you roll your hips like you are either desperately looking for the climax you’ve been craving for the past hours, trying to get revenge for keeping you waiting, or just simply trying to suck his soul— geto are fine either way.

“pleaseee. . . sugu’—’m gonna cum,” you stutter out, the words trailing off into a series of whimpers. your inner walls clench and flutter around his cock, pulsing with the intensity wanting of your release, “please, ’m sorry,” you cry. your body convulses, each tremor rippling through you as you cling desperately to the desk.

geto grunts, feeling your walls clamp around him, urging him towards his own climax. but he refuses to give in just yet, determined to make you pay for distracting him with your teasing. “not good enough... beg properly,” he commands, his voice a low growl. he slams into you again, driving his cock even deeper than before, stretching your inner walls to their limit— kissing your cervix each time. his hand moves from your hip to your dripping cunt, his fingers delving into your wetness, stroking at your swollen clit.

he keeps up this merciless pace, alternating between hard thrusts and swift withdrawals, driving you to the brink of madness. your pleas become more frantic, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensations. “please— let me cum, i need to...” you gasp out, your voice hitching on each word as you fight to maintain coherence.

each stroke of his fingers against your clit sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, amplifying the ache in your core. the combination of his thick cock pounding into you and his skilled fingers working your clit has you teetering on the precipice of obliviation.

“i’m sorry, i’m sooo sorry— pleasee...” you sob, your plea turning into a keening wail as you about to reach your pea only for geto to lift you up off his cock before slamming back into your pussy— playing with your climax and just generically being an asshole.

geto leans over you, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispers darkly, “not yet... not till you learn your lesson.” with each thrust, he aims to prove his dominance, showing no mercy as he punishes you for your disobedience. his fingers never relent from their torment of your clit, adding fuel to the fire that’s consuming you from within.

he reaches around to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. the sharp pinch sends an unexpected surge of pleasure coursing through you, making your back arch off the desk and the game long forgotten.

“beg better...” he taunts, knowing full well that he’s playing with fire. without saying a word to his friends, geto left his game to open his computer camera. he grab a fistful of your hair to pull your face away from the desk. a soft light illuminating your face. geto smile to his camera as he saw your fucked-face, ruined by your tears and your mascara.

he pulls you closer until your back touches his sweaty chest before snake his arm under your thighs and opens your legs wider to his camera. “say hi, to the camera y/n,” he whisper in your ear as he rest his chin on shoulder. your breath comes in short gasps, each thrust of his cock sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. the split pinch on your nipple only adds to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

you whimper, your voice choked with unshed tears. the sight of his hand gripping your hair tightly sends a shiver down your spine, reminding you who’s in control. with the way he pressing your back against his chest, knees straight glue to your chest, you can’t help but squirm on top of him. his heavy breathing in your ear, the warmth of his body against yours—it’s all too much.

“hi. . .” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible. the words are directed towards the camera, but they’re laced with desperation and pleading.

geto chuckles, dark and mocking, at your feeble attempt to address the camera, his amusement evident in the way he tightens his grip on your hair. he increases the tempo of his thrusts, his cock pistoning in and out of your drenched cunt with ruthless efficiency— visible to the camera of his computer.

“that’s iiiit... look pretty while you’re getting fucked,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends chills down your spine. he watches you through the screen, purple eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as he observes your reactions. his free hand trails down your body, exploring every curve and crevice with possessive intent. he cups your breast, giving it a firm squeeze before smacking it hard enough to leave a red print on your skin.

“still think you can distract me?” he asks, his tone laced with challenge.

your body quivers under the onslaught of sensations, each thrust of his cock sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of his thrusts. “n-no—can’t, i won’t,” you stammer out, your voice choked with emotion. the sting of his slap on your breast makes you flinch, but it also intensifies the heat coiling in your lower belly. despite the pain and humiliation, you find yourself pushed closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of orgasmic bliss.

geto smirks at your admission, pleased with the submission in your voice. he drives into you harder, relentlessly in his pursuit of your pleasure—and your punishment. “mmm, good girl... now cum for me,” he orders, his voice a seductive mix of command and promise. he lets go of your hair to grasp your throat, applying just enough pressure to ensure your attention remains focused on him and nothing else.

the hand that had been smacking your breasts now finds its way between your bodies, rubbing circles onto your clit while still keeping a firm hold on your throat. he watches intently, observing how your face contorts in pleasure, enjoying the sight of you succumbing to his will.

“let me hear it... let me hear how good it feels when i fuck you senseless,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “come on baby, i know you are dirty girl.” your entire being focuses on the sensation of his cock plunging into you, each thrust hitting spots inside you that send waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the pressure on your throat and the stimulation of your clit combine to push you closer to the edge.

a strangled moan escapes your lips, your voice breaking as you try to comply with his demand. “it- it feels so good— so fucking good...” you pant, your words punctuated by gasps and whimpers. your pussy clenches around his cock, desperate for release as you cling to the last threads of sanity.

geto grins at your words, satisfaction washing over him as he feels your pussy tightening around his throbbing member. he tightens his grip on your throat slightly, forcing a choked cry from your lips.

“that’s it... that’s my good girl,” he praises, his voice a deep rumble of approval. he quickens his pace, each thrust becoming more powerful and deliberate. the sound of your moans and the sight of your flushed face spur him on further. he wants to see you unravel, to witness the moment when pleasure overtakes reason. “cum for me... show me what a fucking mess i’ve made of you,” he grunts, his fingers rubbing furiously against your clit, eager to draw out your climax.

your body trembles on the brink of release, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. the feeling of his fingers circling your sensitive clit sends you spiraling into oblivion. you throw your head back to his shoulder, closing your eyes as you feel your toes curling and your legs shaking in the air. stars running around behind your eyelids and burst into fireworks.

a loud cry rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt clenching tightly around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your body. your limbs feel weak, your mind foggy as you ride out the intensity of your climax.

“oh god, oh godddd...” you whimper, your body wracked with sobs as you struggle to regain control as geto watches you through his screen. geto relishes the feeling of your cum spasming around his cock, begging to milk him dry and sucking his cum out, and paint your velvet walls white. he lets out a low groan, his own climax building rapidly.

he continues to rub your clit mercilessly, determined to prolong your pleasure even as he approaches his own peak. his grip on your throat loosens slightly, allowing you to breathe raggedly. “look at you... crying and coming like a fucking whore,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. he gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself completely inside you as he releases his seed deep within your womb.

your body continues to convulse with aftershocks of pleasure, your cunt still clamping sporadically around his cock. the sensation of his hot cum filling you up pushes you over the edge once more, another wave of ecstasy washing over you. through tear-filled eyes, you gaze up at the screen, meeting geto’s intense purple stare. your mouth hangs open just a wee, panting heavily as you struggle to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“fuck, suguru,” you whimper, your voice hoarse from crying out during your orgasms. your arms fall limply to your sides, unable to support your weight any longer. you’re utterly spent, drained of all energy and willpower, finally. all you can do is sit there on his lap, impaled on his cock, as he fills you with his essence.

geto watches you intently, drinking in the sight of your ravaged expression and trembling form. he keeps his cock buried deep inside you, relishing the feeling of his cum slowly leaking out of your used hole.

he finally releases your throat, his hands moving to cup your breasts instead, squeezing them gently as if testing their weight. he strokes your nipples with his thumbs, teasing them back to hardness. “such a beautiful mess,” he whispers, his tone filled with pride and satisfaction. he reaches up to gently wipe away some of the tears trailing down your cheeks, his touch surprisingly tender given the rough sex you just endured.

once he’s satisfied with your appearance, he leans back in his chair, pulling you against his chest as he cradles you in his strong arms. he strokes your hair soothingly, humming a soft melody that seems to vibrate through his body and into yours.

“so beautiful,” he coos, his voice a warm caress against your ear, eyes meeting yours in the land of his screen. “shame we’re only roommate,” he smiling softly before kissing your forehead. your body molds against his, seeking comfort and reassurance after the intense session. struggling the way your body trembling, with the energy left you move to face him, nuzzle into his neck and curl up on his lap, breathing in his scent as you slowly come down from the high of your multiple orgasms.

you let out a soft sigh, your breath tickling his skin. despite the tenderness of the moment, you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness at his words. as much as you crave his touch and desire him intensely, you know that this is all it can ever be—a secret tryst between roommates.

“yeah, what a shame,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. you trail off, not daring to finish the thought aloud. you know it would be futile to hope for more, to dream of a future where suguru could be yours openly and without shame. geto holds you close, his arms encircling your waist possessively. he tilts your chin up with one finger, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“don’t look so sad, kitten,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “we have this, don’t we? these moments, just you and me...” he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. his tongue delves into your mouth, exploring and claiming every inch of you. when he finally pulls away, you’re both left panting softly.

“i know it’s not ideal,” he admits, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it? at least we can have this... this connection.” he smiles ruefully, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. “and who knows?”

you nod slowly, trying to convince yourself that yes, this is enough. it’s not ideal, but it’s something—something real and raw and incredibly satisfying. you capture his hand and press it against your cheek, holding it there as you gaze into his eyes. “yeah, whatever,” you agree softly.

you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm before releasing his hand. you snuggle back into his embrace, feeling contented and oddly fulfilled. maybe this was all you needed after all—to share these stolen moments with geto, to experience the depth of emotion and physical intimacy that he alone could provide.

geto’s smile widens at your acceptance, relief washing over him with hummed followed along after. he wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you flush against his muscular frame. “whatever indeed,” he chuckles, the vibrations of his laughter resonating through your body. he nuzzles your hair affectionately, inhaling your scent deeply.

“i’m glad we understand each other, kitten,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “now, how about we take a nap? i think we’ve earned it after that intense session.” he settles back in his chair, cradling you in his lap as he reclines comfortably. his cock, still semi-hard, presses against your ass, a constant reminder of your recent activities.

“just rest here with me,” he whispers, stroking your back soothingly. “let’s recharge our batteries for the next time.” geto grins, a devilish glint in his purple eyes. “what a sweet shit-talker,” you mutter, too tired or maybe too much of a coward to say it out loud.

the soft insult making the raven-haired man snort, “well, aren’t you a cynic?” his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch gentle yet firm. “but hey, even the biggest cynics need a little sweetness now and then, right?” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “and besides, i’m just looking out for my favorite roommate.” he winks, his smirk playful yet dangerous.

you roll your eyes, attempting to put up a facade of indifference, but you can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “oh, so i’m your favorite, huh?” you retort weakly, leaning into his touch. “i must be so honored.”

he lets out another of those low laughs, the sound sending a shiver through you. “oh, you should be,” he says, his voice lilting with playful arrogance. “i don’t just let anyone sit on my lap, you know. you should count yourself lucky, sweetheart.”

you let yourself relax in his embrace, the warmth of his body surrounding you like a comforting blanket. his hands continue their soothing motions, roaming over your back and hair, lulling you into a state of blissful contentment. despite your exhaustion, a cheeky thought crosses your mind as you snuggle closer to him.

“favorite roommate, huh?” you tease, your voice low and sultry. “i thought i was your only roommate.”

geto chuckles once again, his chest rumbling against yours. “ah, semantics,” he replies, his voice a mix of amusement and feigned nonchalance. “details, details. my favorite… my only… same difference, really.” he pulls you even closer, his arms encircling you like a warm, muscular embrace. “besides,” he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck. “you're the only roommate i need.”

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his chest rumbling with his quiet chuckle, his voice laced with that familiar mix of amusement and teasing. his arms tightened around you, drawing you closer until there was hardly any space between you, his embrace both comforting and exhilarating.

as his lips found that sensitive spot on your neck, a soft sigh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch, letting your fingers trail gently along his shoulder. the way he held you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, everything felt like second nature, the kind of closeness that only he could bring.

snuggling closer, you let out a quiet laugh, your eyes half-closed as you nestled against him. “cheeky bastard,” you murmured, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you relaxed into his arms. his warmth enveloped you, and you closed your eyes, letting the moment wrap around you like a gentle haze.

his lips curved into a smirk against your skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back. “damn right i am,” he replied, his voice low and amused. he shifted in his chair, his muscular arms flexing as he pulled you even closer. you were practically pressed flush against him now, the heat of his body seeping through your skin, a comforting and exciting presence.

geto hums, a pleased sound that vibrates through his chest. his fingers continue their gentle, soothing motions, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, as if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body. “but i prefer the term ‘charming, irresistible bastard,’ thank you very much,” he replies jokingly. “and besides, you like it when i’m cheeky.”

a laugh escapes you as his words sink in, a warm, playful sound that melts into the air around you. “i don’t know where you got that idea,” you reply, your voice light with mock indignation. “i never said i liked it when you’re cheeky.”

but even as you deny it, your arms find their way around his bare waist, pulling yourself closer, and you can feel his warmth seeping into you, steady and grounding. the rhythmic beat of his heart thumps under your ear, a soothing lull that makes the rest of the world feel like it’s melting away.

with a soft, relieved sigh, you let yourself relax into him, the tension slowly leaving your body as you settle in his embrace. it’s moments like this—his warmth, his quiet hum, the way his fingers trace gentle patterns on your back—that remind you of how safe and at home you feel with him.

geto's lips curve into a satisfied smirk as he feels you relax against him, as if he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you. his arms wrap even tighter around you, enveloping you in a comforting embrace.

“mmm,” he murmurs, the sound of a low vibration in his chest. “deny it all you want, sweetheart. but we both know you secretly find my cheeky behavior adorable,” he punctuates his words with a light nip at your neck, a teasing gesture that sends a shiver through you.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Actually, I think this does link in with a wider conversation that I have been thinking for a while Tumblr maybe needs to hear.

There's a common meme on this site now that no one here has any reading comprehension skills. The best one is, of course, the original "No offense but reading comprehension on this site is piss poor/How dare you say we piss on the poor" post, which gave rise to the nickname "pissing-on-the-poor website". There's also the "I like pancakes/How dare you say waffles are terrible" one. Both of these are great, because they're silly jokey ways to show two closely related phenomena that are probably the commonest ways to fail a reading comprehension check.

The first is someone reading certain catchphrases or buzzwords in the post, and based on their own biases or prior experiences or whatever else, their brain simply fills in what it reckons the poster is saying on the topic. Instead of reading the rest of the sentence and digesting it, the reader then just uses their assumption as the interpretation, and reacts to that.

The second is closely related, because it also uses biases and prior experiences to to interpret the post, but rather than ignoring what the OP is actually saying, it instead performs a series of gymnastic leaps to construct a whole new assertion on the OP's behalf that simply isn't there.

There's also a third, of course; that one is people being so eager to feel smug and superior over someone they perceive as Bad that they wilfully assume the OP is stupid or being serious when they're actually joking. And if the reader hadn't been so blinded by their desire to get to look down on someone, they'd have seen the very obvious tells, sometimes even including sentences like "Obviously this is a joke." (I think we have all seen examples of these. Also, in a bid to avoid as many reading comprehension fails here as possible, this does not include misunderstandings borne entirely of neurodiverse struggles to parse intentions; but, neurodiverse people are just as likely as neurotypicals to have ego play a part in their misinterpretation of others, and that is what this point is about.)

And the thing is... actually, we are all capable of any of these. I imagine a sizable chunk of people reading until this point were probably thinking "Lol, yeah, people are so stupid," but na, nage, I'm not having that. Literally everyone does these sometimes. And it becomes a particular risk when the topic under discussion is something that might brush against an issue that is a pressure point for you, like a social justice talking point that you are forever having to argue with internet strangers about, for example. Your brain holds schemas! And sometimes it likes to pattern match things before it deigns to tell you about its findings! And that can hit you right in the emotions, which if they are strong enough, really can shut down all rational thought.

But. This brings me to the real point of the post.

Because the thing is, we have all saddled up and gone to war under these conditions, or at the very least been strongly tempted to. And a vital skill that literally everyone has to learn, sooner or later, is:

Before you hit 'reply', double check the post to make sure you fucking understood it.

And that does not mean "simply re-read, confirm your bias, carry on." It means, "Is it possible to read this post from the point of view of someone who doesn't intend it the way I've taken it? If I put myself in the shoes of an innocent, could they still have written these words? Is there another interpretation for these phrases?"

And you do have to do this step. You simply do have to. Because if your desire is to 'clap back' and call someone a gargling knobskin made of garbage, fuck me sideways but you must see that it is imperative that you check if they actually deserve that kind of treatment first. You cannot spend your time claiming that we must all choose to be kind and then not bother doing your due diligence before screaming a person's various and assorted bigotries at them. If you misread it, and they were innocent - you are the raging aggressive cunt in this situation.

It does not matter that you reacted from an emotional place of normally having to defend yourself either, by the way. Sure, that makes the quality of your human soul better than that of the average Redditor who just enjoys anonymously hurting people, I guess? But it's also irrelevant. If you messaged someone and called them a misogynist because you performed several mental somersaults and landed on your own sore spot when they meant no such thing, you are the attacker. You owe them an apology. And yeah, sure, you can explain your over-reaction as the product of your normal experiences if you like, but that is only an explanation, not an excuse. You are still the asshole here. You still need to apologise and mean it.

And you could have avoided it if you'd done that due diligence, as you should have. If you're going to take a swing, make sure it's the right target. This was once described to me as donkey people - they don't think, they just kick. This is admittedly a little unkind to donkeys, who always do their due diligence, but I feel it's an apt metaphor.

TL;DR: If you feel moved to angrily reply to something, first make sure you've interpreted it right. Don't be a donkey person. And if you ask for clarification, people are innocent until proven guilty. Ask nicely. If they are a bigot, you can then smelt them for parts.

[cherie-doll]

I said "do you think you'll kill for me one day?"

(Yes, of course I will, my darling)

― yandere!cod men x reader ― ε price, ghost, soap, gaz, roach, makarov, alejandro, rudy, phillip graves, keegan, könig, horangi, nikto з suggestive?

꒰ ͜ ‿ ͜ ♡ ͜ ‿ ͜ ꒱

ଘ You're no plaything for Price. He doesn't just like you, he adores you. Cups your pretty face in his hands; delicately. His rugged and rough hands become gentle as soon as he comes into contact with your skin, treating it as if it were finely-grained porcelain. He treats you the exact opposite of how he treats anyone else. Whilst he leaves everyone else covered from head to toe in blood for coming near you, you're covered from head to toe in the most expensive items you wish for. But, he doesn't want you to forget that his money doesn't represent his love for you, it does not begin to cover not even half of what it should. He'll be sure to remind you not to be spoiled rotten. He's fond of you and while he's interested in you, you should listen and obey to what he advices you. He is more experienced after all.

ଘ Compare what Simon's scars and bruises are to your unscathed body. Let his hands roam over your body, taking in all he works for. Let them wander and familiarize with what he's toying with. His breath on your skin as it quickens, losing his train of thoughts as he fondles you. He's convinced you're meant only for him. No one else should touch you this way, no one could do it like he does. And please return it! Cradle his head in your lap, so the sizzling subsides and he feels alive. Let him know he's the best, the one. Let him lean in and capture those soft, plump lips in a passionate kiss. Don't pull away, don't deny him his heaven. And don't you dare let anyone else trail your body with their eyes like he does. Why, he'll feel as if they're already doing what their mind desires. He's screwed up in his mind but he'll move heaven and earth for those thighs to wrap around his waist at night spilling the warmth between them. Make him feel warm and welcome, give him the world he burns everyone else for. He sacrifices others at the feet of your altar.

ଘ Johnny's smug smile can fade rather quickly with one sensual move from you, watch him get lost as his breath is winded and his body is overtaken with an all-consuming fire of passion. Oh, he can't even fathom the idea of anyone before or after him experiencing such things. He'll be paralyzed the moment you sit on his lap and putting your hand to his chest, let it trail over his heart which at the moment beats wildly. It's a sensation he experiences when plunging a knife deep within someone else's chest, he reckons the feeling is almost the same. He thinks his victims rather lucky they die this way. How many other people can experience that fleeting, overwhelming feeling?

ଘ Kyle's hand kisses are done with such reverent trembling and respect that he'll have your skin tingling with warm sensations as if the late evening sun was seeping into your skin. Let his and your body blend together like the watercolors on an artist's canvas does. Bask in his affection like you'll sunbathe on the beach. Take in all the good he brings you, accept every touch of his that starts with a secure embrace and ends with the colliding of your bodies. The cold with which he lashes out for others has no place with the gentleness he entreats you with. Keep your eyes on his, locked in his steady gaze immerses himself in fantasies. He feels dizzy as if his world was spinning, losing himself in the sensations. And after the elation, let him shower you in praises, caresses and gifts. Let him buy you two rings for each finger, how many could you want to show off having a caring partner when you slide his card at the register? Make your hands look pretty whilst his are leaving a trail of crimson blood after him.

ଘ Roach couldn't ever hurt anyone else, he didn't know what he was capable of until the importance of you came all too clear. You're something that shouldn't belong to anyone else in the world. It's a quick descent down the spiral of violent devotion. His soft gaze usually filled with admiration and sentiment for you hardens, his pupils dilating as fear takes over. He's only acting on behalf of all his anguish, you haven't the heart to condemn him. He's shown you what your heart is worth, couldn't you give him some sort of heaven? He will do very well at whatever it is you ask of him, just wait while he shows you. There isn't anyone else like him he says over and over as if a prayer or spell he could make come true.

ଘ Makarov does not care whether he deserves you or not. Unlike the others who will commit unspeakable acts out of guilt and use their "pure" intentions to purify their actions, Makarov is selfish and relentless in what he wants. He does not flinch at your attempts of control, it's lost the moment he takes you in. He's determined to taste everything you have to offer, whether it's willingly or not. But he does like things to be served on a platter for him, he also has no problem taking it himself. Let the hand on the back of your neck guide you in the direction you are to walk, be docile and you'll surely receive tenderness. He can never deny that he loves the way your lashes flutter as you look through them up at him as he pats your head for being so good. Overtime you might notice small details showing his exterior cracking and revealing the soft, white underbelly of affection. He feels as if his chest caves in from your actions, the subtle red at the tip of his ears. Keep pulling at his neck collar, he'll like that fake sense of control you have.

ଘ You wouldn't ever catch a glimpse of Alejandro's manipulative strategies until he finds someone threatening. Is it wrong you're not seeing enough of other people? His biggest fear is you falling for someone else, the danger of you getting too close to someone is palpable for him. The intimacy you two share is from the harvest he's worked so hard for. He's been slaving away for so long to just let someone else lay a hand on you. He kneads you into what he desires, anything to feel the beating heart in your chest which pumps only for him. He'll keep polishing you until he gets down to the bare essence of you, which he can only dream to capture. The rhythm he wants to feel rushing through his veins, circling throughout his body.

ଘ Rudy's tenderness blinds you as he takes you to what you can only describe to be paradise. With the shining of luxury, all new and just for you he says. He'll press a million sweet kisses on your face before dropping that a most bothersome person will no longer be graced by your presence ever again. To him it's like a quiet act of love, to you, it's unimaginable. Don't worry your head will all the details, isn't it better to have no worries? He's all smooth indulgence telling you to keep looking at the adorned future he has ahead for you, telling you not to pay attention to the blood that stains the walls of the hallways you walk. He would lay out a new, fancy red carpet over the corpses for you to step over and continue in this fabricated dream.

ଘ Phillip knows exactly how to get the best out of you. Can you blame a man for knowing how to get what he wants from you? Let him tease and tug for he knows what every maneuver of his does. The hands that massage your skin don't get dirty, he'll always have others ready and willing to carry out whatever order he gives. It's what he's accustomed to and how he intends to keep it. But the droplets of blood that splatter do not miss his skin. The stain is still there, still under the skin of the thumb he pushes inside of you, feeling around for that bliss. Let his protectiveness clothe your body, he's already blurring the lines between obsessiveness and possessiveness.

ଘ Keegan's eyes will have you coming to a stumbling halt. Asking for something only you know how to give so good. Those erratic eyes that are unpredictable as they are deep, representing the deep dive you have to be holding your breath for. Are you ready to indulge? Because the impact will have you gasping for air, and when you try to take one you'll only swallow a mouthful of carnal desire. He ignites such a heat it's scalding to the touch, you don't know what's happening it's like you lose control. It happens so fast that when it's all over you'll let his lips, from which hot breaths slip through, kiss all over your sweat glistened body. His eyes might be softer and hold it for a while until he's back to the merciless, cold gaze which freezes everyone's else blood, feeling it lump within their veins.

ଘ Let König go on his fast rampages. They're over quick anyways. And afterwards, when he comes back, cradle his head between your thighs his tongue tangling as he stutters out promises to buy you what you wish if only you let him lap at your sweetness until his thoughts are left to reckless abandonment. Let him get what he can't get anywhere else. Call him handsome as your bury your fingers into his hair, your fingertips trailing his jaw and down his neck to where his adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. Place kisses on his cheek until he turns his head in one swift motion and captures your lips in a desperate kiss. He wants it all, wants all of you all at once it makes him messy, shaky and weak. But he just wants someone to hold him, rubbing his ears and whispering words of affirmation in his ear.

ଘ Horangi could care less what other's want from him. You're in his viewpoint and he's determined to apply as much pressure as possible to make you bend. The reason he justifies himself with is the lullaby he's lulled to sleep with. Everyone else wants something from him, why shouldn't you? Everyone else is just in the way, he says over and over again, trying to make you focus on his lips instead of the bodies on the floor. With what he's done, he expects a standing ovation from you, nothing but complete adoration and servitude. He's a man who chases after impulses, who knows how long until this candle runs out. For now, ignore the brusque hand and acknowledge the underlying intents. He'll keep this lecherous momentum going until you're feeling faint from the mere touch of his hand.

ଘ Resignation is a trait Nikto works hard to work out of you. Surely, you ought to trust him after all he's done for you. In his mind, he's dedicated such gentle caring to you, you should be grateful. Don't be afraid to take directly out of his hand, he prefers you lose that skepticism. And when you do start to gentle, oh he can never get enough of it. His fingers grazing and gliding over your body at any and every chance he can get. Let him delve deeper into you, it's only natural for him to want to know you better. Every quiver of yours, he feels through the epidermis of his skin. He just knows you that well. His jerking movements shouldn't startle you by now. Maybe if you were more open, you would be telling him what you want. Give him some sort of sign before that spark ignites an unyielding fire. Because to him, that trembling is a sign of a smoldering fierceness waiting to break through.

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . ꔫ

[dolcekissy]

jealous? , ღ

: ̗̀➛ bunny!reader being jealous over bsf!rafe talking with hollis.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ main masterlist | bunny!reader x bsf!rafe masterlist

disclaimer // 18+ content. tbh all this mentions is sort of mentions of sex dats it, dats all.

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you watched rafe talk quietly with hollis, you didn't have a clue what they were talking about but you knew you were fucking annoyed.

watching as she smiled up at him with beady eyes ─ her red lips curling and her pearly whites shining as she basically flirted and drooled over rafe.

taking a sip of your drink ─ looking away and rolling your eyes as you turned your attention to something else. turning your attention to kelce and topper as they joked about whatever they were talking about.

"who is that?" you spoke, looking back at rafe ─ kelce and top's eyes following your gaze.

"i dunno, but she's hot." top said with a chuckle and nudged kelce. "i'm getting cougar vibes ─ think rafes digging it too." kelce added, making your stomach churn and your face heat up.

rolling your eyes and taking another sip of your drink as you looked away from rafe once again. "what's the matter? someone looks mad." topped laugh, nudging your shoulder lightly. "thought you guys don't ever fuck ─ scared she'll get to him before you do?"

glaring at top and kelce, you made your way over to rafe as soon as hollis finally walked away ─ folding your arms over your chest with a soft smile.

"sooo ─ who was that?" rafe looked down at you with a shrug and a small smirk.

"i dunno ─ she's just the biggest realtor/cougar of the island. why you jealous?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest and his smirk widening.

raising an eyebrow at his words ─ arms still folded over your chest and letting out a scoff, "no ─ why would i be jealous?"

he looks away for a moment, running his thumb over his nose and shrugs. "don't think i don't notice how irritated you look whenever i'm talking to a girl ─ 's looking like my little best friend here is jealous."

rolling your eyes and letting out another scoff, "uhm, no. i'm not worried about you talking to other girls ─ was just curious."

he raises his eyebrow and steps closer to you, leaning down and brushing his lips against your ear while looking around to see if anyone is staring, "you lyin?"

"no." you huff out, your arms folded on your chest tensing as he backs away and eyes your body. "you sure?" he teases ─ his lips curled into a grin and his eyebrow still raised.

you stare up at him with an annoyed expression ─ your eyebrow twitching up as you looked away from him. rafe let out a quiet laugh and leaned down again, "she has some kind of deal for me ─ pretty much acting like she wants to fuck too, think i should?"

he notices your body tensing and your breathe hitching ─ he lets out a laugh as his lips brush against your ear, giving your ear a gentle and teasing kiss.

he leans back and cocks his head to the side, raising his brows as he waits for a response, a reaction.

grabbing his arm, you look around to see if anyone's attention has turned to you two and start stomping off to the bathroom ─ occasionally looking back at rafe with a glare as you shove the bathroom door open.

"keep playing with me, rafe. i dare you." he shuts the door and locks it before leaning down and pressing kisses to your neck and collarbones ─ pushing your little white skirt up your thighs.

"someone is jealous, hm?" he lets out a breathy laugh while his hands hover over your pretty, lace panties.

─────────────────────────

[pathologicalreid]

gemini | S.R.

two emotionally wrought people collide at a wedding, and a sexual escapade ensues.

part two

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: softdom!spencer, use of the term "good girl" (i couldn't help myself), unprotected sex, reader on bc, alcohol, spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, lowkey idiots in love, fucking against a wall?, fingering, heavy petting, r has an oral fixation, r is wearing a dress and makeup, explicit consent (hot), public sex, i think that's all word count: 3.42k a/n: this is a little self-indulgent and i don't care! based on literally just the first line of the song gemini by del water gap. probably not ever gonna get a part two. i've never done angsty smut (smangst?) before, so this was fun.

so, here's the setting, we met fucked up at a wedding

Swirling the drink you held in your hand, you watched your friends as they chatted. The pink liquid in the cup, concocted by Penelope Garcia, was far too sweet for your taste, but you needed the liquid courage to make it through the wedding.

It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for Krystall and Dave. It was that weddings oftentimes left a bitter taste in your mouth – one so bitter that not even Penelope’s drink could offset it.

In your periphery, you saw a blur of purple in the corner, looking up to see Spencer. His hand still bandaged from his most recent brush with death, he used his free one to grip a glass of water. Raising your eyebrows, you gave him your best attempt at a smile before you greeted him, “You look good, Dr. Reid.”

He was fully donned in his favorite color, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t notice that your dress matched the purple hue of his suit. “Thanks,” he said shortly, not quite meeting your eyes.

Noting the way he was looking past you, you demurely leaned your head down, glancing over your shoulder so that you could see what he was looking at, only to see JJ. She looked gorgeous in her red dress, laughing at something her husband said before her eyes caught something.

She was staring back at Spencer, and not for the first time, you found yourself wondering what happened in that pawn shop. Bringing your eyes back up to Reid, you watched the confused look in his eyes bloom as he peeled his eyes away from JJ.

Sick of it, you spoke up, “Alright, I had dibs on being the mopey one tonight. What’s wrong?” You had wanted to brush it off as long-lasting nerves from the hostage situation, but he was acting strange.

You knew you weren’t his best friend, that was a title that JJ had been the reigning champion of since the beginning of time. Yet, you still noticed the rigidity in Spencer’s shoulders as he displayed a clear discomfort with his surroundings. You tried to think of something to say to him. How could you ask him if he wanted to get out of here without it sounding like a sexual proposition?

“JJ told me she loved me,” he said, his voice so low you weren’t even sure you had heard him correctly.

Your head snapped up, “Oh.” Swallowing thickly, you tilted your head curiously, letting loose hair tumble to the side. “Do you love her?” Likely not the right conversation for the wedding of everyone’s favorite right-person-wrong-time couple, but you were desperate for a rope to pull yourself out of your wallowing.

He took a sip of his water before setting the empty glass on the bar counter, “I did.” The admission hit you like a ton of bricks, until her continued, “but now…”

Filling in the blanks, you shrugged, “She’s married. They have kids.” Spencer was always doing the right thing, so pushing his feelings aside for the sake of JJ’s family made the most sense.

Furrowing his brows, he pondered this for a moment before speaking, “It’s not just that. I have feelings for someone else.”

“Oh,” you repeated, and somehow the thought of him being in love with an unfamiliar figure hurt more than him being in love with your mutual friend.

The both of you let the conversation lag, watching as Penelope came back up to the bar and poured more drinks. After she accused you of being boring for not wanting another drink, everyone returned to the tables. “Have you dated anyone since him?”

You choked on your newly acquired water, cupping your hand underneath your jaw in an attempt to stop water from getting on your dress. “Uh, no. I’ve kind of sworn off dating ever since,” you replied, shaking your hand out and letting water droplets fall to the floor.

Sighing, you slouched in your seat, remembering that all you’d ever be was a jaded bride. Left by your fiancé on the day of your wedding, doomed to never love again. Until you met Spencer Reid.

“For everyone?” Spencer asked, and you cursed his natural curiosity.

His question caught you off guard. Despite yourself, you shook your head, “I have like… one person who, if they asked me, I’d say yes.” Your skin started to feel warm, and you weren’t sure if it was your proximity to him or Penelope’s drink coming back with a vengeance.

Spencer stepped a little closer to you, leaning casually on the counter as if he wasn’t affecting your ability to focus. “Who’s your person?” The question was innocent enough that it made your heart ache.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s into someone else,” you told him, reaching behind your neck to pull your hair up, haphazardly twisting it. You didn’t have a hair tie, so you let the locks fall once you felt some semblance of relief.

This statement seemingly bothered Spencer because he looked into his glass, “Did he tell you that?”

Nodding, you chewed on the inside of your lip. “Yeah,” maybe not in so many words, Spencer was rarely crass enough to say he was into someone, but you understood well enough.

The conversation lagged between the two of you once again, your own private thoughts were only interrupted when the music changed. It was a slow song, one for the couples of the night to dance to.

You took a chance, “Do you want to go explore the building with me? It’s getting stuffy in here,” you said, taking one final swig of your water before jumping up from your stool.

He looked back at JJ, who was there with Will, and then forward to the girl who was asking to take him away, “Yes.”

David Rossi had spared no expense for his second wedding to his third wife, and the manor that you found yourself meandering within felt never-ending. Something about following Spencer as he led the way and told you facts about the history of the building felt so normal, and you wondered if it would hurt when the night was over. Maybe this would just end as another memory to loathe about weddings.

Trailing him into another room, you stumbled into his back. Quickly, Spencer spun back and caught you before you could fall to the ground.

Steadying yourself, your heart thrummed at the way he was touching you, tightly holding your waist so that you wouldn’t trip. Once you were no longer wobbling, Spencer reached up and gingerly lifted the fallen spaghetti strap of your dress back over your shoulder. Before you had fully thought out your actions, you leaned up on your tip toes and kissed him.

It was hesitant and gentle, but once you registered that you were kissing him you soon realized that he was kissing you back. What started out as a small peck on the lips quickly morphed into full, open-mouthed kisses.

You thought Spencer might eat you alive, and for a moment, you thought you might let him.

Without separating your lips, he herded you over to the wall, pinning your hips to the wall as you felt heat grow between your legs.

Pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth, Spencer pulled away ever so slightly, your faces just inches apart. “Is this okay?” He asked you, his eyes flickering down to your lips like he was holding himself back from kissing you again.

There was fear. A fear that if you moved forward tonight, nothing would ever be the same, but you took a chance  and nodded quickly, “Yes.”

Your answer acted as a release as Spencer dropped his head back down and the two of you reattached your lips. Despite your attempts to ignore it, you felt his hardened length pressing into you through several layers of clothes.

Twisting your head away, you gasped as Spencer took the opportunity to place his lips on your neck, gently suckling on the tender skin as you tried to catch your breath. “Are you sure about this?” You breathed, running your hands underneath his suit jacket, wanting nothing more than to push it off of him.

“Yes,” he answered, giving you the same consent that you had already given him, and it was enough for you to reach for his belt buckle. No matter how badly you wanted to see him entirely bare in front of you, this just wasn’t the place for it.

Gently, you slid your hand down his front, savoring the way his breath hitched against your neck as your fingertips precariously lifted the waistband of his boxers. He gently nipped at your earlobe as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock.

You let your head fall backward, allowing him better access to your neck as you moved your hand. Moving your hand up so that you could swipe your thumb over the tip.

You dragged your other hand down, pulling his boxers down so that you could get a good look at what you were working with, and biting your lip at the sight of it. Slowly, you started to pump his impressive length, noting how his breathing patterns changed with your movements.

Dragging a knuckle up the underside of him, he dropped his head to your shoulder as you collected his pre-cum on your index finger on your way up, bringing your hand up to your mouth and licking the droplet off, peering up at him.

“You’re so good at that, baby,” he told you, sighing as he reached up and placed his hand on the side of your neck, skimming his thumb over your jawline as his free hand started to make its way up your dress, pausing when he only met bare skin. “No underwear?” He questioned, furrowing his brow at you as you bit your lip, trying to refrain from pressing into his hand.

Whimpering almost indiscriminately, you shook your head, “Couldn’t, panty lines would show under the dress.”

Spencer hummed in recognition, moving his hand up to cup your sex so that you could feel your own wetness on his hand. A pathetic whine escaped your throat as your walls clenched with need, still stopping yourself from grinding on his hand. “What do you need?” He asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, “Come on, you can tell me.”

“You, please,” you answered, your voice dangerously bordering on pleading. “Your hands, anything,” you squeaked out, breathing heavily as you awaited his next move.

Gently, he slipped a finger inside your wet hole, causing you to release a satisfied sigh. “You’re so wet,” he whispered in your ear as you tilted your head back and pressed your lips to his.

As his hand picked up in pace, so did your breathing. With each movement of his hand, you struggled to keep your volume at a respectable level, small whimpers continued escaping you even as you bit down on the inside of your lip. “Spence,” you whined, moaning aloud as he slipped a second finger into you, “Oh, god.”

The silence of the room around you only exacerbated the wet sounds that were emanating from your sex, and if it didn’t feel so good, you might’ve been embarrassed. In fact, as you felt a familiar coil winding in your abdomen, you found that you didn’t have the capacity to feel anything other than pleasure.

Crying out, you nodded as Spencer continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, “Fuck,” you said, caring less about your volume levels. Even less so when he responded by pressing the heel of his hand against your clit, the pressure proving to be enough to send you over the edge.

“It’s okay,” Spencer whispered in your ear, “Let it go for me, baby.” His words continued as you felt your walls spasming around his fingers, his ministrations had slowed, but he worked you through your orgasm before withdrawing his fingers and lifting them up to your mouth.

Accepting the invitation, you leaned forward and sucked the sweet juices off of his hand, slipping your tongue between his two fingers as you looked up at him. You half expected him to be watching you with lust-blown eyes, but he was watching you just as attentively as he had when you started this escapade.

He retrieved his fingers from your mouth with a satisfying pop and reached down to ruche the fabric of your dress up around your waist. “Wait,” he said suddenly, gripping the silky cloth, “I don’t have a condom.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, “I don’t mind.” Still breathing heavy from your previous orgasm, you shook your head again, “I mean. I’m on birth control – and I’m good at it. I mean I keep up with it.” Now babbling, you hoped he’d say something. “I’m clean. I trust you.”

Nodding in understanding, he placed a hand on the side of your neck and looked at you intently. “I’m not going to do anything until you catch your breath,” he told you, taking up an authoritative tone.

Blinking rapidly, you evened out your breathing as he ran his hand up and down your torso, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, taking another deep breath as you looked up at him.

Spencer shook his head, “Don’t be sorry.” He leaned his head down, pressing soft kisses down the side of your neck as you finally pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, leaning down to grip the backs of your thighs.

“It’s okay if you can’t lift me,” you rambled quickly, getting his attention as you aired your concern.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, pressing his hips into yours and lifting your feet off of the ground. The leverage that he had, along with the support of the wall behind him, allowed him to get both of your feet off of the ground. You would’ve spent more time being impressed by this feat if you weren’t so distracted by his painfully hard cock that had now slipped between your folds.

Leaning down, you desperately kissed his lips, wanting him to give you those open-mouthed kisses that you had started out with. Instead, you cried out when, without warning, his full length slipped into you.

Placing gentle kisses on your collarbone, Spencer murmured, “Are you okay?” He whispered, seeming like he was using all of his self-control to just stay still.

You nodded, feeling his cock throbbing so deep in you that you were almost afraid you’d come from just that pressure alone. “Been a while,” you murmured, taking a deep, shaky breath.

He hummed in understanding, “I’ve got you, take your time.”

His words filled your stomach with butterflies, and it wasn’t just because he was fully sheathed in you. “Spence,” you whimpered, “Move.”

On your cue, Spencer gave a tentative thrust, permitting your resulting moan to mix with his grunt. “Fuck, baby,” he said, continuing to thrust in and out of your cunt, filling the room with the crude squelching of your actions. “I’m not going to last long,” he informed you.

Throwing your head back in ecstasy, you moaned helplessly when Spencer dropped one of your legs to the ground, hooking his arm underneath your other knee, providing a new, deeper angle. You swore as the sensations started to feel overwhelming.

The new angle gave him more control over his movements, enabling him to use his free hand to pull at your breast through the fabric of your dress. As you tugged gently at his hair, you tilted your head back, “Spence, I- shit,” you cursed, recognizing the tell-tale signs of your second orgasm approaching.

If it weren’t for his words of encouragement, you would’ve been embarrassed by coming too quickly, and if anything, the words only spurred you closer to the finish line. “Come for me,” he said, thrusting harder into you as he tried to reach the same point. “Let me know how good I make you feel,” he said, continuing his thrusts until his hips stuttered.

“Coming,” you whimpered, dropping your head forward onto his shoulder as you felt your walls tightening around his hard length. Crying out as he continued to pound into you, you buried your face into his neck and nipped at the skin to muffle your sounds.

Now he was solely working toward his own orgasm, having given you two of your own. “You’re such a good girl,” he panted.

Suckling gently at the skin on his neck – not hard enough to leave a mark, you littered kisses on his sensitive skin. “Come in me, baby,” you murmured, trying to spur him on.

Your success was apparent as his movements faltered and his cock started throbbing, feeling the pulses of his cum as it filled you, your eyes rolled back at the feeling while Spencer slowed to a halt, waiting for a beat before he pulled out of you entirely.

Shuddering at the emptiness you now felt, you leaned against the wall once both of your feet were on the ground. As your legs trembled, you watched as Spencer crouched to fish something out of his jacket, leaving you with your mixture of fluids running down your legs.

As he grabbed the handkerchief from his breast pocket, you gasped slightly as you realized his intentions. “Spence, you’ll ruin it,” you insisted.

“Would you rather go back out there with my cum dripping down your thighs?” He asked, knelt in front of you with his brows raised in mock innocence.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head, “Jesus.”

He chuckled, using the handkerchief to wipe up the mess the two of you had made on your legs before carelessly tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Noting the way your legs were still shaking, he lifted your chin ever so slightly, “Are you alright?”

Nodding, you offered him a tired, but genuine smile. “I’m great,” you told him, wiping underneath your eyes where you were sure there was a mess of mascara.

Taking your hand in his, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, Spencer led to toward the French doors that led to the balcony, taking you out into the fresh air.

As you leaned up against the railing, Spencer shook out his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, doing his best to keep you comfortable. “Hey,” you whispered, “I really am fine. Are you? How’s your hand?” In all of the hormones, you had forgotten about his injury.

Spencer nodded, looking over the property that Rossi had rented. “I’m good, Y/N. I feel good.” You wished he’d call you baby again, but maybe that was too much to ask for. His eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked him, recognizing the look from years of working together.

He hummed, reaching up and sweeping a strand of hair off of your forehead. “That guy? The one who told you he’s into someone else? I can confidently say he’s an idiot.”

Flushing, you smiled to yourself at the fact that Spencer was calling himself an idiot, especially when he was anything but. Shrugging, you waved him off anyway, “Nobody’s perfect, Spence.”

“No, I suppose not, but even so…” he told you, allowing his voice to trail off like he wasn’t totally sure what he wanted to say to you. “If he can’t see what’s right in front of him, then maybe you need to turn your attention elsewhere.”

Sighing, you leaned your chin in your hand, “Thanks, but I don’t know. Maybe there is better out there, and I’m just not worth it.” No, after tonight, you’d likely never get over him. It might’ve started as a workplace crush, but you felt in your heart that it was now something deeper.

Spencer shook his head, “Now, that’s where we disagree.”

“Spencer, I can’t-“ Your voice is cut off when you hear someone calling your name from inside the building, smoothing out the front of your dress one more time, you step back into the room, coming face to face with JJ.

She smiles in recognition of you, but the grin immediately fades from her face when Spencer walks out behind you, “Hey, we’ve been looking for you guys,” she said flatly. “They’re about to cut the cake.”

Nodding, you took another quick look at Spencer before following the blonde out of the room, leaving your secret in the room behind you.

part two