#(is climbing up the walls over it right now)

[the-quaint-quail]

get stuffed!

jade leech x reader

jade fafo when he messes with the wrong shark.

i can imagine reader purposefully cuddling with a large stuffed animal because jade is being a bastard asshole refusing to snuggle you in favor of space.

fine. cool.

you understood, you get it you do.

jade’s just like that sometimes…

so he should be fine with sharing a bed with sharkie right!

jade’s eyebrows furrow and head tilts to the said, parroting what you said as you excitedly jump off the bed. matching pj set, courteous of jade, rubbed against itself as you made your way off the bed and yo your bookbag.

floyd’s curious now as he rolls on his side and haphazardly drops his home onto his bed.

you find what you’re looking for after removing a few belongings…. and y/n, he’s gonna be honest, how the fuck did you fit that in there??

the shark is a fat, fluffy navy shark the size your upper upper body.

floyd rolls back in hysterics, looking at you then his frozen twin as you skip your way over. falling onto the bed with a giggle, you land and bounce on the shark until it rolls you onto your side.

you squeeeeeze what would be considered the shark’s neck as you feel pairs of eyes watching you intently. you squeeze in intervals, breath and body relaxing with each tensing of your muscles.

it’s only when jade sees your body limp a few seconds later does he realize you’re asleep.

“ha! looks like your future mrs. would rather squeeze a shark to sleep than you” floyd teases, screaming when jade launches a pillow mock 5 at him in retaliation. 

jade looks back at you ignoring his twins whining and the pillow that smashes into his head.

he stares like this for a good ten minutes, unmoving despite floyd publicly stating for the record he’s creeping even him out. jade ignored this as his wrist and elbow cracks with disuse. hos hand slowly reaches for the shark with concentrated look.

once he had the shark’s nose in his grip it expertly yanks it out of your tight embrace and switches it with himself.

“threes a crowd, dont you think” he looks over your sleeping head, tucking it into his chest as he heard a soft thud in the other side of the room. floyd’s complains but eventually pack his things and calls azul, most likely going to another guest room so jade could have more… privacy, with his courting partner.

he untangles himself from you momentarily and rushes to the plushie. with the skill of a soccer player he manages to wedge it between the door that floyd was in the middle of closing. sharkie can only stare in horror as jade’s face was covered from the darkness of night.

he was sprinting towards the sharkie before punting it out the door and down the hallway. the stuffed animals thumps against the wall like a ping pong ball. he stares into its beady eyes the moment it stops ricocheting off the lilac walls and comes to a sad roll.

he closes the door with a victorious smile.

“jade leech.”

his eyes widen and shoulders hunch as he spins to see you sitting up in bed, arms crossed. he couldn’t see your face as the water’s netty light didn’t reach that far up and instead illuminated the carpet.

“where’s sharkie.”

“ in a better place” he says earntsly eith a hand across his heart.

“you better bring him back or i’ll withhold sex from you for a month. a month. “

his smile falters… so no kitty time? 😞

“she’ll miss me” jade whips a tear as you throw a pillow at him.

“2 months and i won’t help you during your season!” you hissed, flopping back into bed with your arms crossed. jade pictures steam blowing out in steady streams from your ears and nose.

“it was good while it lasted.” he sighs, fighting a smile at the annoyed whined at his name.

“i won’t cuddle you then.” you’re pouting now. upping the punishment has jade’s smiling slightly faltering… he could live with that as you’ll get tired chastity eventually.

jade climbs back into bed ready to snuggle when you jerk away, feet kicking at the covers as you shoot up from bed.

dropping to under the bed jade pens over as he watches you stretch and feel around. he’s able to catch a glimpse of your distressed look as you scurry around the room in search of your shark plushie.

after snooping around, you’re facing the door angrily when he you break the pregnant silence. “jade, if he’s in the hallway im not giving you kisses for 2 whole months”

jade’s body moves instinctively as he shoots up in bed. eyes blinking owlishly as you open the door.

wait, were you actually mad at him? for booting out the competition??

you peek around the hallway bobbing your head to try seeing through the flashbomb of light. after a few minutes you close the door sadly, your head thumps against the wood as you let out a shuddery breath.

jade stand immeditaly andslams open the door.

the shark is gone.

he butes bacl his toothy grin. you’re his again. all his.

…so why were you crying, “it’s a stuffed animal, you have me to cuddle and dote on instead. not some inanimate object incapable of reciprocating affectionate. lets go to bed and look for it in the morning.” jade steady hand finds your shoulder, attempting to guide you back to bed when you flinch out of his touch.

body contorting like you’d just been touched by a a cough. you bend down towards the door to your bad, gather your things and jacket as its colder outside this time of year and sniffle out “im gonna go back to ramshackle… back to grim tonight” you dont look at him when you slip through the door.

…”is my relationship dependent on a stuffed shark?”

yes jade. yes it is.

you ignore jade for an entire week after sharkie goes missiong. floyd sends his deepest condeolences and gives you a free meal at the lounge to ‘soothe your heartache,’ you ignore jade the best you can throughout your meal.

but jade is a D1 problem starter and annoys people for a living.

he pomes you once when you drop your fork and knife, pick up the plate and walk out the lounge. azul is furious that you stole a plate, running after you like he was on the Jerry Springer show.

he comes back after an hour and redirects his anger to jade. “look, what you do in your relationship isn’t any of my business- just give her the blasted shark back”

jade’s had enough of this childishness as it’s starting to bleed into his work life, his social life was drastically altered now that you saw him as the plague- and jade was sick of it.

he’s about to barge into ramshackle when he hears your cried through the rotting oak door. he peaks through the tiny door window to see a mountain of blankets and pillows.

a frown is on his face when he sees you, sobbing your eyes out into a blanket.

“he- he’s so mean” you hiccup “ he won’y cuddle me to sleep so i i brought sharkie right, but then he killed him and destroyed his body” your haggard breathing has you falling back into a pillow as you nuzzle it.

a whine leaves yiu as you throw it across the living room.

“sh sharkie was the only thing i brought with me from home and and he’s gone- im gonna break up with him if he doesn’t find him at the end of the week!”

jade’s blood freezes when he hears voices of approval and comfort. telling you that ‘they didn’t like jade anyways’ and ‘you could do so much better’

.. they’re not wrong… but, he had thought your friends finally came around to your relationship, it appears that was just wishful thinking.

jade himself doesn’t really know why you said yes to him. pausing the moment you said yes to a date to ask if you were sure. that you didn’t mind his cruel reputation and eccentric habits. you embraced them, yet he couldn’t embrace yours…

you had given him space when requested, and sought out an alternative source of affection and comfort because jade withheld it from you. he didn’’t expect you to pull out a damned shark, thinking you’d whine and crawl on him like usual until he’d give in with a sigh and secret smile.

letting you know he’s allowing you to cling like a barnacle to him.. the shark just accepted and soaked up your love like a sponge.

jade turns his heel with a sigh, he needs to fix this. immediately.

it isn’y until three days later, on friday do you text him with a ‘we need to talk.’ it was the only text sent by you in the entire week, jade being moved to ‘silenced’ as another string of barbs around his body.

but not to worry, he called in a favor.

there’s three confident knocks on ramshackle dorm. fanning your heated face you prepare yourself for the breakup.

you open the door-

“hi y/n! i missed you so much!”

you gasp “sharkie!”

you thrust yourself at the slightly discolored shark and trap him in a tight squeezing embrace as you take a long, deep inhale. the scent of laundry detergent and lingering dirt fills your nose as jade watches you visibly relax.

“don’t forget about me” jade’s hiding his face again as he talks in a silly voice. you look up at him ready to chew him out when you close your mouth. in his hand is a long, thick stuffed eel. its eyes closed with a smile itched with black thread. its teal green body had speckles of lighter blues running along it as you excitedly gasp.

jade wraps it around your neck and lands its smiling head on top of yours. your smile falters at his serious face.

“…i didn’t know how much the shark meant to you.. i apologize for the distress i’ve caused you as it wasn’t my intent”

you nod, listening to his apology.

“ i had no idea it was from your home…” your eyes widen, you never told jade that but just chalk up the sudden information leak as jade being jade. you side step him and motion for him to come inside.

he declines, “i have a shift at monstro in 10 minutes so i must be on my way.” he’s about to bend down for a kiss when he stops himself with a hand politely covering his mouth.

“dear me, almost forgot i have another 7 weeks to go with no kisses” he deflates “ill be on my way then”

just as expected you grab for his collar and yank him to your height. smashing your lips onto his jade hands reflexively goes to your cheeks, smushing them slightly as he deepens the kiss.

“next time” jade pulls away, wiping your lip of salvia, then swiping his on lip his the covered thumb. “don’t bring ‘sharkie,’ as eels are very territorial of their mates.”

[natsaffection]

I absolutely loved the vampire nat fic. What would you think about a fic where nat is thirsty and bites reader (with consent) right before she cums so that their pleasure mixes with the pain and become extraordinary.

Ruined. | N.R

Vampire!older!Natasha x Human!younger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N= 100+ r=23), edging, fingering, oral, vibrator use, orgasm denial

Word count: 2,2k

A/N: I had this already in my notes, and it kinda fits the asks, soooo

The night had been perfect.

You were curled up against Natasha on the couch, your head resting on her chest, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on your arm. The only sound in the room was the soft hum of the TV, the dim glow flickering across the walls as you both sank into comfortable silence. This was your routine. A movie, a drink, Natasha’s arms around you, her steady breathing soothing you like a lullaby. Your wine glass rested on the coffee table, right beside Natasha’s. Identical shapes. Same deep red color. Stupid idea..

So, naturally, when you reached for your drink, you didn’t think twice. Natasha stiffened. Her fingers froze mid-stroke against your skin, her entire body going still. The smell of fresh blood hit her senses instantly, wrapping around her like a drug, flooding her instincts.

Her eyes snapped to the glass in your hand, her pupils blown wide. “W-Wait-” But the taste hit you already. The thick, metallic tang flooded your tongue, warm and wrong, so unlike the sweet wine you had expected. Your face twisted immediately, your throat working painfully to swallow the liquid before you could spit it out.

“That’s..not wine..” Natasha’s head snapped toward you. Her eyes widened as she watched you set the glass down. There was a moment of silence. She let out the deepest, most heartbroken sigh you had ever heard. “Nooo..” she whispered, dragging the word out dramatically, her tone equal parts horrified and devastated.

You blinked at her, still processing the taste in your mouth. “You just-” Natasha’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it worse. “You drank my blood..” Oh god. Your lips twitched immediately. Because Natasha Romanoff..legendary assassin, trained killer, feared vampire..Was now pouting. Not just pouting. Puppy-pouting. And God help you, she looked like a disappointed golden retriever who just had her favorite toy taken away.

You had to physically bite your lip, forcing yourself to hold back a laugh. “It was my first sip..” she murmured, her voice soft, betrayed. Your whole body tensed, trying so hard not to break. Because she was seriously mourning her drink. It was one sip but to her? It was the end of the world.. “I-I’m so sorry..” you giggled out, barely able to contain yourself. “I wasn’t paying attention, Nat! I swear!”

She sighed again, the saddest, most heartbroken sigh yet. “I was looking forward to it..” she muttered, still pouting, her fingers twisting together. And that was it. You lost it. A sharp snort-laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, your shoulders shaking as you tried to cover your face. “Seriously?!” Natasha gasped, scandalized. “Are you laughing at my pain?!”

“Noo!” you lied, giggling into your hands. “*I swear- I feel really bad..!” She let out an offended scoff, her arms crossing even tighter as she turned away from you, sulking. “No, no, go ahead!” she muttered, tilting her chin up. “Laugh at your poor, suffering girlfriend who just had her most anticipated drink ruined.”

You climbed onto her lap immediately, cupping her face, pressing tiny, apologetic kisses all over her pouty cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” you whispered between kisses, hoping it would soften her dramatic little heartbreak. She sighed again, but this time, she nuzzled into your touch, her arms loosening just slightly.

“You owe me..” she mumbled against your lips. You smiled, pressing your forehead to hers. “Anything you want.” She perked up at that. A glint of mischief flickered in her green eyes. Oh no. “Anything?” she repeated, voice suddenly low, teasing. You didn’t expect her to suddenly shift, her arms tightening around your waist, her emerald eyes darkening as she tilted her head slightly, watching you. That look was definitely not innocent.

Before you could react, she flipped you, gently pressing you into the couch, her body hovering over yours, caging you in. Her soft lips brushed against yours, barely, teasing, taunting. Her fingers trailed down your sides, slow, intentional, making you shiver beneath her. Then she kissed you. Deep, Slow and ungry.

Your entire body melted as she devoured you, her lips moving against yours with purpose, stealing your breath, pulling you under like a current. You let out a soft whimper, your hands grasping at her hoodie, needing her closer. She smirked against your lips, clearly pleased by your reaction. Her fingers ghosted over your waistband, slow, teasing, sending heat pooling deep in your stomach.

You gasped softly, your body already responding, pressing into her on instinct. Natasha let out a low hum, her lips trailing down your jaw, leaving soft, slow kisses against your skin. “Careful what you wish for..” she murmured against your throat. She’s nipping at your pulse point, making you shudder. “Be a good girl..” she whispered, her voice thick with desire, “and let me enjoy something even better than my drink.”

Her smirk was sinful, her lips barely brushing against your ear as she whispered sweet, filthy things, letting her touch work you up, keeping you in that delicious haze where everything felt too hot, too overwhelming, too good. Your thighs shook, your breath hitched, and just when you were about to tumble over the edge..She stopped. Her fingers vanished. Her warmth disappeared. Your body jerked in frustration, a loud, desperate whine escaping your lips before you could stop it.

Your eyes snapped open, finding her smirking down at you, her green eyes dark with amusement. “Aw.” she murmured, tilting her head, feigning innocence. “Were you about to come?” Your cheeks burned, your body still aching, pulsing, needy. “Natasha!” you whined, squirming beneath her, your hands reaching for her but she grabbed your wrists effortlessly, pinning them above your head.

“Hmmm.” she hummed, dragging her lips down your neck, teasing, making your breath hitch all over again. “That’s too bad, Detka.” Your body was so sensitive, still so close, and now? She was wandering downward, her hot breath fanning over your stomach, your thighs, lower. You could barely think. She was going to finish it! She had to but then? She stopped again. Just inches from where you needed her.

Your entire body arched, another loud, needy whimper slipping from your lips. “F-Fuuckk, please!” She grinned against your skin, her hands pressing down firmly on your thighs, keeping you still as you squirmed helplessly beneath her. “What’s wrong, Moya lyubov?” she purred, her tone mocking, amused. “You look…desperate.” You were. So desperate. “Nat-“

“Oh.” she interrupted, mock surprise dripping from her voice, “Does it feel bad to be left wanting? To be so close, only for it to be ruined?” She leaned in, her lips ghosting over your inner thigh, so close but not touching where you needed her. “Because that’s exactly how I felt.” she murmured, smirking, “when you ruined my drink.”

You knew Natasha could be dramatic. But you never expected her to be this petty. All over a single sip. One. Sip. “Natasha, please, I said I’m sorry!!” you whined, tugging at her hands, your thighs shaking with need. She sighed, dramatic as ever, her mock sadness returning as she pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh, her nails scraping teasingly along your skin.

“I don’t know…” she mused, her tone sweet, teasing. “You didn’t really seem to care when you took my first sip. Why should I let you have yours?”You whimpered, arching desperately beneath her. She laughed softly, her lips trailing higher again— And then, just when you thought she would give in..She stood up.

Her warmth vanished. “Wait, wait, wait- where are you-?” Your words died in your throat when she was returning and you saw what she was holding. In her hand was a vibrator, and the mischievous glint in her gaze made your stomach clench. “What..” you breathed, your heart pounding. She took a slow sip from her glass..her still full, 'untouched' glass of blood!

“You said 'anything', didn’t you?” she reminded you casually, rolling the vibrator between her fingers like she wasn’t about to ruin you completely. “Since you ruined my evening, I think it’s only fair that I…take my time now.” Your breath caught in your throat. You knew what that meant. “T-That’s!-”

She smirked, leaning back down, pressing a soft, innocent kiss to your lips and flicked the vibrator on. Your body jerked immediately, a sharp gasp escaping you as the sensation hit you all at once. Natasha chuckled against your lips, her free hand cupping your cheek. “Good girl.” she whispered, amusement dripping from her voice. “Now, let’s see if you’re as patient as I had to be.”

Your body trembled, your thighs clenching helplessly, your hands gripping at nothing, desperate, needy, wrecked. She had been building you up, pushing you to your breaking point, bringing you so close, only to steal it away at the last second. Over. And over. And over again.

She was toying with you, watching as your body reacted to every slow, torturous flick of the vibrator, every teasing whisper against your skin. And now?You were so ruined, so desperate, so shattered by the pleasure she had been denying you, that you were reaching for it yourself.

Your fingers twitched, instinctively moving toward the vibrator, you couldn’t help it. You needed it. But before you could even touch it, Natasha’s hand snapped around your wrist. Her eyes flashed, her grip tight, her body tense. “Hands. Off.”

Your heart pounded. Her voice was Low and Dangerous. You whimpered, your entire body shivering under the sheer power in her tone. “I-I wasn’t-”

“You weren’t?” Natasha mocked, tilting her head, amusement flickering across her face. “Because it sure looked like you were trying to touch what doesn’t belong to you.” You swallowed hard, your body still aching, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. “I-“

“Don’t lie to me..” Her grip tightened, her green eyes dark, her fangs slightly exposed as she loomed over you, her presence dominant, overwhelming, intoxicating. “You wanted to take control?” she murmured, voice silky, taunting. “Did you really think I’d let you?”

You shuddered, your thighs clenching around nothing. “Please, Natasha..” She laughed softly, her grip loosening, only to let go and move back to the vibrator. She pressed it against you again. Your body jerking, squirming, writhing, the pleasure hitting you so hard you nearly saw stars.

“Ohhh..” Natasha purred, watching you tremble, her free hand stroking your inner thigh, slow, possessive. “That’s it, baby. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yes..” you whimpered, breathless, shaking. “You want more?”

“Yes, yes, please-“

“Then don’t touch.” Your fingers twitched, still aching to reach out, to hold it there, to push yourself over the edge. But Natasha knew that. She could see your struggle.. “Go on.” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “I know you want to. But if you do..” She paused and lifted the vibrator away. You cried out, your body jerking forward, desperate to chase the feeling. “N-NOoo…!!”

“Oh, Darling.” Natasha sighed, feigning disappointment. You whimpered, your eyes watering from frustration, your body trembling violently. “P-Pleasee!!”

“I don’t know if you deserve it now..” Natasha teased, smirking, twirling the vibrator between her fingers. “Natasha- I swear..pleaseee, I-“ Your thighs clenched around nothing, desperate for any friction, your hips twitching, needing, aching. She dragged her lips along your neck, inhaling deeply, her fangs just barely grazing against your pounding pulse.

“Mmmm.” she hummed, her voice syrupy-sweet, taunting. “You’re so close again, aren’t you, Detka?”You shuddered, barely able to breathe. You could feel it. It was right there. So sharp, so intense, so overwhelming that you thought you might black out. Natasha froze. Her body went still, her breath hitching. Her fingers twitched and then you realized. She could hear it..

Your blood rushing, your pulse racing, the sheer anticipation sending her feral. She groaned, deep, primal, needy. “Fuck..” she whispered, closing her eyes, pressing her forehead against your neck. Her fangs brushed against your skin, teasing, tasting, but she wasn’t biting. Because she wanted to taste you at your peak.

She wanted you so lost in pleasure, so wrecked and ruined, that your blood would be the richest it had ever been. “One more.” she whispered, her voice dark, seductive. “One more. Then I’ll take what I need.” You whimpered, shaking. “No, no, please-“

“Shhh, my love,” Natasha cooed, mock sympathy dripping from her voice. “You want me to drink, don’t you?” Your breath caught. You did. God, you did. She was so close to sinking her fangs in, so close to devouring you, and you wanted it.

But you had to endure. She needed you to hold on. You could already feel yourself unraveling again. Natasha can hear it now clearly. The way your blood pumped harder, faster, richer. “Yes, yes, yes, yes…”And the moment you let go, the moment your body finally surrendered, trembling violently as your pleasure erupted, your blood rushing, your pulse spiking..She sank her fangs in.

Your loudest, most wrecked cry filled the room as pure bliss exploded through you, the sharp, intoxicating bite of her fangs sending you into overdrive. Natasha moaned deeply, her fingers digging into your thighs as she drank, devoured, indulged, taking everything you had to offer. And when she finally pulled away, her lips red, glistening, completely wrecked with pleasure. “Worth the wait..” she purred.

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[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Dom!Steve Harrington x Sub!Reader • SMUT • play fighting/dominance, grinding, light degradation, pet name ‘Princess,’ is used, partially-clothed sex, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, squirting

Steve’s thigh crushes over yours, pinning you down. Your stomach meets the thick beige carpet under you as he easily flattens you against the floor. Steve chuckles arrogantly, his handsome grin beaming. “I’ll admit it,” he says in between breaths. “You put up a good fight.”

Steve wraps his arm across your chest from behind, locking you under his forearm. You wriggle and thrash to free yourself, but it’s no use. Steve won; he has you pinned. He climbs astride you, grunting when the hard bulge in his pants nudges your ass just right. Steve adjusts so his erection is lined up in the space between your cheeks, his arms caging you. You’re both still fully-clothed at this point. The fabric separating your bodies is a small obstacle for Steve to overcome, and he’s in no hurry regardless.

He takes his time enjoying your ass, humping between the soft curves of your form. The weight of his body on you is simultaneously comforting and slightly intimidating. Steve is much stronger than you; the pressure he exerts holding you in place is proof of it. He overpowers you easily, grinding your crotch into the carpet with his. “Y’gave me a lot of trouble, Princess,” Steve scolds. “Instead of putting out like a good girl, you made me work for it.” Steve’s fingers slide through yours as he pins you, his big hands closing into fists around them. Lowering his lips to speak, Steve’s breath kisses the shell of your ear in a delicious threat: “Now you’re gonna make it up to me...”

He flattens against your upper back, pinning you in place while bringing his hands around behind you. You twitch under Steve’s weight, fighting to free yourself but not really. It’s the illusion of danger that excites you, the game that is your struggle. Steve is the only person you trust when it comes to playing rough.

Accepting defeat, you lay your cheek against the carpet. Steve hooks his fingers under the waistband of your leggings, ripping them down off your ass. You wince at the sting produced by the fabric being yanked down your thighs. Steve doesn’t fully remove the leggings, leaving them cinched around your calves. It only makes his win more degrading for you, fucking you partially undressed. It’s as if you’re nothing but a piece of meat that doesn’t even deserve to be comfortable while Steve takes what he wants from you. The gritty scruff of his pubic hair rubs against your ass as he adjusts on top of you. Steve grunts at the delightfully frustrating fun of pinning you, his stiff cock throbbing against your ass. You instinctively arch into him, which Steve finds amusing. “Maybe you wanted to lose, s’that it?” he gloats. You nod meekly, your face rested against the carpet. Steve reaches between your legs and teases his fingertips along your inner thigh. You shiver as his touch ghosts over your lips. Steve exhales awestruck at the feel of your slick on his fingertips. He pulls his hand to his lips and samples the flavor of you on his fingers. The groan that leaves Steve’s chest is animalistic, the sound of a hunger so deep, it’s primal. He shoves one finger inside you, then a second, cursing when your gummy walls suck around him. Your eyes close, fingers clawing at the carpet for some kind of control as Steve removes the last bit of resistance from you. He pumps in and out of you with just the right amount of force. His fingers work your cunt in a perfect blend of aggression and tenderness. The sound of your juices sloshes audibly around Steve’s fingers as he thrusts them in and out of you. His cock prods your inner thigh like a third arm poking into you, your movement completely restricted by the confine of your leggings. Steve fucks an orgasm out of you with his fingers, cum gushing between your squeezed-together thighs, muttering praises over your back in a voice you can barely make out over your grunts of pleasure. The muscles inside you contract around Steve’s fingers in a sucking motion that has his tip leaking onto your thigh, his cock lodged between your legs. Your mouth is spread open in a dull scream, a line of drool spilling from your lips and melting into the carpet.

Steve releases your pussy and smacks his wet palm against your ass. He admires the slippery print his hand left, leaning in to lick the cum off your ass like a reward. Squeezing the fat of your hips to brace himself, Steve mounts you again, his cock wedged between your legs. With a hard thrust, he enters you, growling as your walls spread around him in a warm, wet grip. You whimper gratefully as Steve takes you, arching into his thrusts, wanting nothing more than to be used for his pleasure. After the orgasm he just gave you, Steve knows your brain is switched off at this point. His hips smack against your ass in hard thrusts, stroking your insides in a delicious rhythm of dominance.

He shoves his arm under your stomach, pulling your body up into his. Steve’s stomach ruts against your back as he pumps into you, each thrust pulling him closer, your gummy walls milking him for all he’s worth. Even in your blissful delirium, you can’t help but come again. Steve whimpers into your shoulder as your walls choke and suck around his cock. He can’t hold out any longer, joining you in climax. Steve’s body shudders against yours as he comes, his hips flat against your ass, grinding you into the floor. Semen jets inside you in thick bursts, spattering your cervix in Steve’s cum. Sweat drips from his hair onto your shoulder, his heartbeat thudding against your back. Steve releases some of his pressure on top of you, shifting his weight to his arms.

The warm gust of his breath dusts your neck, sending one final shiver through you. Steve feels it inside you, your walls fluttering around his cock. He kisses your shoulder gently, nuzzling his nose against your neck. “Looks like we both won,” he teases, his voice groggy and satisfied.

Twisting under Steve’s weight, you manage to flip over onto your back. His cock slips out of you and onto the floor, heavy and wet. “I don’t mind being a sore loser,” you reply. “As long as you’re the reason I’m sore…”

[onebadassunicorn]

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst

word count: 2.8k

Taglist: @motheroffae @tele86

Chapter 1

********

Chapter 2

The Sidra Inn was quiet at this hour, the soft murmur of distant voices and the occasional clink of glass the only sounds cutting through the thick fog of your thoughts. The innkeeper barely looked at you as you handed over a few coins, your hands trembling, your face likely still stained with dried tears. You must have looked like a ghost—a hollowed-out version of the person you had once been.

“Room 3C,” the innkeeper muttered, sliding the key across the counter.

You took it without a word, clutching it tightly in your palm as you climbed the narrow staircase. Each step felt heavier than the last, your limbs sluggish, your heart dragging behind you like dead weight.

When you finally reached your room, you stepped inside and locked the door behind you, sealing yourself away from the world. The room was small but clean, a single bed against the far wall, a modest fireplace in the corner.

But none of it mattered.

Nothing mattered.

You dropped your bag on the floor and walked to the bed, barely kicking off your boots before curling into yourself, pressing your face into the pillow. The sheets smelled unfamiliar, but that was good.

You didn’t want anything to remind you of him.

You fortified your shields, throwing them up so high, so thick, that not even his shadows could slip through.

Not that they would.

Not that he would even try.

Because he didn’t care.

He hadn’t stopped you.

He hadn’t followed you.

He had gone to bed while you packed your things, had dismissed your pain like it was nothing.

Had called you selfish, ridiculous, childish—as if you hadn’t spent years by his side, as if you hadn’t loved him with every aching, fragile piece of yourself.

A broken sob wracked your body, curling your fingers into the sheets, trying to ground yourself against the memories clawing at your mind.

Solstice.

It had been Solstice when you first realized you were mates.

Years ago, in front of the roaring fire at the House of Wind, when everything had been good, when Azriel had still looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world.

You could still hear his voice, the rasp of it thick with wonder, with something deep, something that made your whole body tremble.

“You’re my mate.”

His hands had cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming rightness of it all.

“You’re my mate.”

His forehead had pressed against yours, his wings curling around you as if he could shield you from everything. And then he had smiled—really smiled, in that rare, breathtaking way that made his hazel eyes shine.

“This is the best Solstice gift I could have ever asked for.”

The memory felt like knives piercing through your ribs.

Because now?

Now, you were nothing more than a burden to him.

Something he could brush aside for her.

Your body shook as more memories clawed their way through—memories of him before, when he had loved you openly, fiercely.

The cabin.

You had bought it together, high in the mountains where the world felt untouched, where the only sounds were the rustling of trees and the distant rush of a waterfall. Azriel had loved it there—you had loved it there. You had spent your mornings hiking the trails, your hands clasped as he pointed out rare birds, his shadows dancing between the branches.

And that first night in the cabin…

The fire had crackled in the hearth, bathing the room in flickering golden light. Snow had fallen in thick drifts outside, but inside, you had been warm, wrapped in his arms, in his love.

He had made love to you by the fire, his hands reverent, his voice a whisper of devotion against your skin. “I love you,” he had murmured between every kiss, every touch. “I will never let you go.”

And you had believed him.

Gods, you had believed him.

Now, it all felt like a cruel dream, a distant illusion that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

You curled in tighter on yourself, pressing a hand to your mouth to smother the sobs threatening to break free.

Days passed, but time felt meaningless.

You didn’t leave your room.

Didn’t eat.

Didn’t sleep for more than a few restless hours at a time.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your body heavy with grief, your mind spiraling with questions that had no answers.

How had it gone so wrong?

How had you lost him?

How had he let you go so easily?

Every night, you cried yourself to sleep, only to wake up to the same aching emptiness.

And Azriel never came.

Never knocked on your door.

Never tried to find you.

Because he didn’t care.

And that realization hurt more than anything else ever could.

*****

The absence of your presence did not go unnoticed.

It started subtly at first—the empty seat at family dinners, the lack of your laughter filling the River House, the way your usual presence beside Azriel had disappeared like a shadow dissolving into the wind.

But then, it became more than just an absence.

It became a question.

And no one had answers.

Rhys was the first to bring it up, during a quiet moment as they gathered in the sitting room, nursing drinks and the embers of conversation. He leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes scanning Azriel, who was standing near the window, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

“You’re alone again,” Rhys noted, sipping his wine. “Where’s your mate?”

Azriel barely flicked a glance his way. “She’s at home.”

The answer was clipped, dismissive, as if it required no further elaboration.

But Rhys wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Cassian, lounging with his boots propped on the table, furrowed his brows. “She hasn’t come to dinner in weeks, Az. What’s going on?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “We’re going through a rough patch. But we’re working things out.”

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a look, one that Azriel either ignored or refused to acknowledge.

“Well,” Mor said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, “we should have her here more often. You both should come. We have dinners almost every night now, and we haven’t seen her in awhile.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he nodded once. “I’ll try.”

Mor frowned. “You’ll try?”

“She doesn’t like getting out of the house much these days.”

Cassian let out a sharp breath, setting his drink down with a thud. “That doesn’t sound like her at all.” His hazel eyes locked onto Azriel, sharp with concern. “She loves being around us. Something’s not right.”

Azriel’s face remained unreadable, but his shadows curled tighter around his frame. “She just needs time.”

Silence stretched through the room, thick and uneasy. Rhys studied his brother, something calculating in his gaze. “Az, is everything actually okay between you two?”

Azriel’s fingers curled into his arms where they were crossed. “We’re fine.”

None of them believed him. It was written all over their faces.

Azriel shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “She is fine,” he insisted. “I know her.”

“Are you sure?” Amren challenged, her voice quieter now, but cutting all the same.

A shadow of doubt flickered across Azriel’s face. But then he exhaled sharply and pushed off the window, grabbing his jacket. “I have to go. Elain needs me.”

The moment it shut behind him, Amren let out a slow breath and turned to Cassian. “I don’t believe a single word that came out of his mouth.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, tension rolling off him. “Neither do I.”

Rhys drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, his expression unreadable. But when he spoke, his voice was low.

“Azriel has never been dishonest before. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt before we jump to any conclusions. Perhaps he just needs some space and so does she.”

But Amren wasn’t buying it.

*****

The morning air was crisp as Amren made her way through the streets of Velaris, the Sidra glistening under the sunlight. She wasn’t one for meddling in affairs she deemed trivial—but something about the way Azriel had spoken last night, the way he had dismissed you so easily, didn’t sit right with her. And she trusted her instincts.

So she went to your house.

The moment she arrived, something in her sharpened.

The place felt empty.

Not just empty, but abandoned.

The usual warmth that clung to a home lived in was absent, replaced by a hollow stillness that made her mouth press into a thin line.

And yet, despite your absence, she found Elain there.

Amren didn’t bother knocking as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Azriel was there too, standing near the fireplace while Elain sat comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. They both turned as Amren entered, surprise flashing across their faces.

Amren’s sharp silver eyes narrowed as she took them in—the way Elain sat so easily in your home, the way Azriel stood beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She cut straight to the point. “Why is Elain here?”

Azriel’s expression hardened, but before he could speak, Elain answered softly, “We were out shopping in Velaris, and I got tired. Azriel brought me back here to rest.”

Amren’s eyes snapped to her, the steel in her gaze unwavering. “And you thought his mate’s home was the appropriate place to do that?”

Elain’s hands tightened slightly around her cup, and she cast a glance at Azriel.

He said nothing.

Amren’s voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the sharp edge in it. “You are in another female’s home, in her space, while she is gone.” She tilted her head, eyes glinting like polished silver. “That is highly inappropriate.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, and for a moment, she hesitated. But then, she gave a small nod and set her cup down. “I should go,” she murmured, rising from the couch.

Azriel shifted beside her, as if to say something, but Elain gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she assured him before quietly making her way to the door and slipping out.

Amren turned to Azriel then, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locking onto him like a predator sizing up its prey.

Azriel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “That was unnecessary, Amren.”

“What’s unnecessary is her being in your home when your mate is not here,” Amren countered coldly. “Where is she, Azriel?”

Azriel stiffened. “She’s… taking some time for herself.”

Amren’s lips curled in displeasure. “So, you don’t actually know.”

Silence.

A slow, dangerous realization settled over her as she studied him, as she pieced together the puzzle.

“You don’t even know where she is,” she said, her voice almost quiet with disbelief.

Azriel’s jaw tightened. “She left. I assume she needed space.”

Amren let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “And you let her?” She huffed a bitter laugh.

“No, of course you did.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice to something cold, cutting. “Tell me, Shadowsinger. While you were so busy helping Elain, did you ever once ask your mate what she needed?”

Azriel said nothing.

His expression was blank, but Amren saw it—the flicker of something dark in his eyes.

Guilt.

Good.

Without another word, Amren turned on her heel and stormed out of the house.

She had no patience for Azriel’s ignorance.

If he wasn’t going to find you, she would.

So she set off, making her way through the streets of Velaris, her sharp gaze scanning every face, every shadowed corner. She stopped at shops, at taverns, speaking in low tones to those who might have seen you.

Every answer was the same.

No one had seen you in days.

Her irritation deepened into something colder.

Where the hell were you?

*****

Later that evening, Azriel sat on the couch, staring at the front door, waiting.

He had been waiting for hours.

The house was too quiet.

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it.

Maybe you’d gone for a walk, or maybe you were at the market, or visiting a friend.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, as the stars began to emerge in the night sky, a gnawing sense of unease settled in his chest.

Where were you?

He furrowed his brows, trying to recall if you had mentioned anything about going somewhere. But the more he searched his memory, the more it frustrated him, because there was… nothing.

No recollection of you saying you’d be gone for so long.

No note left behind.

Had he missed something?

The shadows whispered around him, but they carried no answers.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face.

Maybe he was overthinking this.

Maybe he was letting exhaustion get the better of him.

He had been stretched thin lately, dealing with… what, exactly?

He frowned, trying to piece together the last few days.

He and you hadn’t fought—had you?

There was a vague memory of tension, of conversations that had felt heavy.

He remembered you looking sad, but why?

What had he done?

Gods, why couldn’t he remember?

His body felt heavy as he sank back into the cushions, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. He kept his eyes trained on the door, willing it to open, for you to walk through and put an end to this wrongness clawing at his chest.

But you never came.

Eventually, he drifted into restless sleep.

The dream started softly.

You were smiling, laughing, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you stood in the sunlight, your hand reaching for his. Warmth spread through him as he stepped toward you, as his fingers brushed yours—

Then the light dimmed.

The sky darkened.

And suddenly, you were falling.

Azriel lunged forward, but his hands met nothing. You were slipping away, disappearing into the abyss, your voice calling out for him—

Azriel.

He couldn’t reach you.

Azriel, please—

A scream.

Your scream.

And then—silence.

Azriel woke with a gasp, his entire body jerking upright, sweat clinging to his skin. His heart slammed against his ribs, his breath ragged.

His eyes darted to the room, searching—where were you?

But the house was empty.

You weren’t there.

His hands trembled as he pressed them to his face.

It was just a nightmare.

Just a dream.

But it didn’t feel like just a dream.

The panic settled deep in his chest, a wrongness spreading through him like rot. He didn’t think—he just acted, winnowing straight to the House of Wind.

He needed to find you.

*****

“Where is she?”

Cassian groaned, barely awake as he propped himself on one elbow, his hair a mess.

Azriel stood at Cassian’s door, his breathing uneven, shadows curling around him in frenzied, erratic movements. Startled by the sudden noise, Mor appeared moments later from her bedroom.

Cassian blinked at him. “Who?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. “My mate. Where is she?”

Mor furrowed her brows. “Az, it’s the middle of the night. What the hell—”

“Where is she?” he demanded again, his voice sharp, strained.

Cassian sat up fully now, alert. “She’s not here. She hasn’t been for days.”

The answer sent a fresh wave of panic coursing through him.

“Days?” His voice was hoarse.

Mor nodded slowly, watching him carefully. “Yes. You told us you two were having a rough patch.”

Azriel stilled.

“I told you what?”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “That you were working through things. That she wasn’t feeling up to coming to dinner.”

Azriel shook his head. “I never said that.”

Mor’s expression twisted in confusion. “Az—”

“I never said that,” he repeated, voice tight, his chest constricting.

Because why would he say that?

Why wouldn’t you be here?

Why couldn’t he remember what had happened?

The weight in his chest grew heavier, a crushing, suffocating thing.

The door creaked open then, and Elain stepped out, her soft brown eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. “Azriel?”

He turned toward her, still disoriented, still trying to understand.

“You should sit down,” she said gently, stepping closer. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I can’t sleep,” he admitted, voice raw.

She gave him a small, knowing smile. “I’ll make you some tea.”

He nodded absently, running a hand through his hair.

As she turned, leading him toward her room, Mor and Cassian exchanged a look.

Something unsettled.

Something bordering on concerned.

Because Azriel—the Shadowsinger, the male who never lost control—looked lost.

And instead of searching for you, instead of demanding to know what had happened—

He was okay with you missing.

And neither of them could make sense of why.

Chapter 3

[senitylolz]

Drugged up in love♡

!!WARNINGS!! nam-gyu x reader, p in v, fingering, sex under the influence of drugs, unprotected sex, degradation ( us of the terms "slut, whore" and such), public sex, choking, overstimulation

Also, english isn't my first language, so sorry for the typo mistakes!(⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠)

Nam-gyu can't sleep because the drugs are keeping him up all night long anyways, so what's better than pulling all nighters? Impregnating your gf while pulling all nighters together~~ ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

After the second game, things started to get boring, and with Thanos giving nam-gyu a damn pill, it still only hyped him up a little bit. And good thing he already did drugs and such because this thing was STRONG. So Thanos wasn't over exaggerating the effects, even if it was an hour into night-time in here, he still couldn't even close his eyes for a minute!

So there you were, the pretty little chick he pulled years ago, his precious little girlfriend.

He quickly got up from his bed from the other huge bunks of beds and climbed down to yours. He didn't say anything. He just laid down beside you and pulled you closer.

Your body heat and closeness (and the drugs) were quick to show its effects on his body, which was a raging hard boner right up against your stomach.

After a few minutes, he got enough and pulled his pants down, grabbing your leg and putting it over his hip. He then started to slowly thrust his dick between your legs, your pants kind of hurt as the material wasn't the best for this type of thing (and the sensitivity of his dick) it kind of scratched, but he couldn't have minded less right now.

After a few moments of that, his tip was redder than a strawberry, it was just aching to be inside of you already and paint those pretty little pink walls of yours white, he was an impatient man, after all.

He changed positions so he was on top of you, pulling your pants down along with your underwear, and the moment those were off, he slid his tip up and down your entrance, he was leaking so much pre-cum it was good for lube.

He then slowly entered you with a small huff, and when he was halfway in, he gave some deep thrusts so his tip was kissing your cervix.

Of course, at this move, you were starting to feel it, still not waking up fully from your slumber though.

He pulled back slowly then set an immediate brutal pace, and THAT woke you up now

"h-hah? Nam-gyu?"

You moaned out, still not sure what was happening completely. He just put a hand over your mouth and leaned down to your ear to whisper in it

"you don't wanna wake the others now, do you? Be a good little bitch in heat and take it, whore~"

Now you slowly started to get your senses back and you nodded slowly as he kept thrusting in and out of you. He continued whispering dirty things in your ear, some groans and grunts leaving him here and there. You also tightened at his sounds and the things he was saying, sucking his dick deeper into your gummy walls.

As you two were both nearing your peak, he reached down to rub your clit fast while he sped up his hips with a long groan in your ear and you bit his hand.

You tried to keep silent but when he came in you, you let a louder moan slip out as you slipped over the edge too.

His hips slowed down after that, panting next to your ear with a little curse word. When you thought it was over, he started to move his hips again and again.

As you were ready to complain you bit back a moan as he bit your neck so hard you were sure he broke skin.

You were already starting to get overstimulated so you just whined and whined until he slid his hand from your mouth to your neck, choking you a little bit

"awh.. poor little slut needs a break? I'm not stopping 'till i knock at least triplets in ya~"

He chuckled darkly and now went slow but so deep you swore his tip was in your womb. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, just nodding again. You were seeing stars, already knowing that your legs would be sore tomorrow morning.

He sped up again, not loosening his grip on your neck, pulling you up into a sloppy kiss as he came in you again.

You came together, but your pussy clenched so hard around his dick he moaned into the kiss. After he pulled away, he started to move his hips again, your combined juices leaking out of your hole as he thrusted in and out

"just another 5 more rounds won't hurt, princess~"

[loulou-land]

I’ll Give You the Stars (These Pieces of Me)

Day 6 of @bucktommyfluffebruary | Stargazing | 1,639 words | on ao3

(cw: some sadness before the fluff, implied domestic abuse and implied death of a parent, I don’t go into details)

Tommy had always looked to the stars—sometimes as an escape, letting himself get lost in the vast darkness just holding on to those tiny specks of light. Other times, they were a comfort, a reminder of how small his problems were in the grand scheme of things. Whatever the reason, they had been a reassuring presence in Tommy’s life for as long as he could remember. 

As a kid, when the voices inside the house grew too loud—his father’s yelling sharp and cutting, his mother’s pleas breaking beneath it—Tommy always climbed out his bedroom window and onto the roof, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stared at the night sky. 

The stars never yelled at him. They never told him he wasn’t good enough. They were just there, steady and silent, stretching infinitely across the sky.

The first time his mother found him there, Tommy was afraid she’d drag him down or worse—tell his father. But she just sat beside him, pulling her own sweater tightly around her and tilted her head toward the stars. 

“Do you see those stars over there? The ones in the shape of a W?” she asked, pointing to a constellation of stars above. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said, squinting critically at the tiny specks. 

“Well, that’s Cassiopeia. She was a queen,” his mother's voice turned conspiratorial, “but the stories say she was immensely vain, and so the gods punished her by making her hang upside down forever.”  

Tommy had wrinkled his nose. “That’s dumb.” 

His mother had laughed, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “Yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Because it looks like a crown,” he said, tracing the shape in the air with his finger. “So, not a punishment. Just a reminder that she was a queen—that she was important.” 

His mother had hummed, thoughtful. Then she pressed a kiss to the top of his head, whispering, “You’re right. Sometimes there’s more to a story than meets the eye.” 

After that, it became a routine. Something they did every now and then. They’d look at the stars and his mother would tell him all the stories behind them. And even after she was gone, Tommy kept climbing onto the roof, whispering the names of the constellations. Some nights, if he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her voice beside him, telling him his favorite stories—like she’d never left at all. 

As he got older, the stars became something else. 

In the military they hadn’t just been a comfort—they were also a tool. Out in the field, surrounded by uncertainty, Tommy learned to navigate by them. The night sky told him where he was, where to go. And in that unfamiliar, lonely place they became a sort of anchor. Unchanging. Untouchable. The one thing he could rely on when everything else felt unsteady. 

When he was working under Captain Gerrard though, the stars took on a different meaning. 

By then, Tommy had begun to understand something about himself—something he couldn’t afford to say out loud. It wasn’t just fear of what that truth meant. It was fear of what would happen if someone like Gerrard found out. 

The 118, under his command, had been suffocating. A place where silence was survival. Tommy learned to laugh at the right jokes, look the other way when he had to, keep his head down and his walls up. 

But at night, after the station had quieted down, when he was alone and staring up at the sky—he could admit it. 

Not in words. Never that. But in the way his chest loosened, the way the tension drained from his shoulders, the way he let himself breathe. There, the stars were the only witness to his truth. 

And Tommy had always kept them to himself. Until now. 

The woods hummed around them, the occasional breeze rustling through the trees. The steady chirp of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl filled the night air. 

Tommy lay on a blanket beneath the endless sky, the cool air a welcome relief after the sweltering heat of the day. Beside him, Evan shifted, his shoulder brushing against him. The touch was warm, sending a pleasant spark of heat through his body. He let himself sink into it. 

They had taken a couple of days away from the city, away from the noise—just the two of them. The day had been spent hiking, Evan excitedly pointing out trees and birds, rattling of whatever random fact crossed his mind. Tommy had listened, throwing in his own knowledge here and there, his amusement barely hidden behind dry quips.

Later, they swam in the lake, splashing water at each other, laughing freely in the quiet of nature. At one point, Evan had wrapped himself around Tommy’s back, nibbling at his ear, pressing playful kisses to his neck. Tommy had promptly turned around and kissed him stupid, wet and grinning, until they were both cold and pruny. 

Afterward they had stretched out in the sun, letting the heat warm them again before finally making their way to the clearing where they’d set up camp. Tommy had taken charge of the tent while Evan spread out a blanket, setting up a picnic as the sky deepened into rich shades of orange and gold. 

And after the sun had slipped beyond the horizon, Tommy had found himself looking up at the sky—just like he always did. 

And Evan—without a word—had settled himself beside him and looked up too.

Tommy exhaled, eyes fixed on the sky above them. The stars stretched endlessly, a familiar sight, but tonight felt different. 

“I used to look up at the stars a lot when I was a kid,” he murmured, his voice quiet. “My mom taught me all about them. She always knew so many things.” 

Beside him, Evan stilled, before shifting closer to him. “Can you tell me about her? Evan asked softly. 

Tommy’s breath caught for a moment but then he nodded. 

“She was sweet,” he said, a small wistful smile tugging at his lips. “She had this way of making everything feel like a story—even when things were hard, she could turn anything into something magical. And the way she talked about all these constellations, so vividly. I wanted to fly up and join them.” He chuckled quietly. 

Evan’s expression was soft, his voice gentle. “She sounds amazing.” 

Tommy swallowed, chest tightening. He hadn’t expected this to feel so easy. But maybe that was just Evan—steady, patient, supportive. 

“Yeah…” his throat felt thick, but he pushed through it. “I think she would have loved you.”

Evan inhaled sharply, like the words had knocked the wind out of him. Then, without hesitation, he reached for Tommy’s hand and squeezed. 

They sat like that for a while, quietly looking at the stars. 

After a moment, Evan’s voice broke the silence, light and curious. “Which one’s your favorite?” 

Tommy hummed thoughtfully, pretending to think about it. But he already knew. 

“I always loved the ones about heroes, so Perseus,” he admitted, a small smile playing on his lips. 

Evan grinned, “That makes a lot of sense.” 

Tommy gave him a side-eye glance, smirking. “Yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Because you’re kind of a hero yourself,” Evan said simply. 

Tommy scoffed, shaking his head. “No, I’m not. That’s ridiculous” 

“I’m serious!” Evan said, turning to look Tommy in the eyes. “You literally flew into a hurricane to save lives. That’s got ‘hero’ written all over it.” 

“I was just doing my job,” Tommy countered, rolling his eyes. “And, you were there too. Besides, you’re more of a hero than I am.” 

Evan shook his head. “Okay, so we’re both heroes then. You just happen to be more badass than me.” he finished cheekily. 

Tommy groaned, but he couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up his neck. 

Evan, grinning like he knew exactly what he was doing, leaned up and pressed a kiss to Tommy’s chin, right in the cleft. 

Tommy huffed out a laugh, wrapping his arms around Evan and pulling him closer.  

“Tell me more,” Evan murmured against his neck, his warm breath sending a shiver down Tommy’s spine. 

 And so, Tommy did. 

First, about the constellations—heroes and quests, about the stories his mother had told him. Then, he talked about himself. About his childhood. About the military. About how he felt working under Gerrard. 

He wasn’t sure how long they lay there, tangled up in each other, Evan pressed against him, warm and steady. Eventually, the words ran out and silence settled between them. 

Evan moved slightly, resting his chin on Tommy’s chest. His eyes, illuminated by the faint glow of the stars, were soft and shining. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For sharing the stars with me.” 

He was looking at Tommy like he had given him something precious. Like Tommy was something important. Something worth knowing. 

Tommy exhaled, his throat tight, his heart full.

Of course, Evan knew. 

What this meant for Tommy. How much it had taken to share this part of himself—to use the stars as a way to talk about things he never said to anyone else before. 

Tommy lifted a hand, cupping Evan’s face gently before pulling him in for a slow, deep kiss. 

He poured everything into it. All the gratitude, all the love he had for this wonderful, caring, impulsive man. 

And he thinks Evan understood. 

They fell into silence again, but this time, it wasn’t just comfortable. It was full. Full of warmth, of quiet understanding, of love. 

Soon, they’d head inside the tent and fall asleep wrapped around each other. 

But for now, they stayed like this. 

And for the first time, Tommy didn't feel small under the stars. 

The stars weren’t just his anymore. 

They were theirs. 

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter 33

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

I was really exhausted yesterday because it has been A Time. We had Charlie's appointment, but I have also been super busy with work and union things.

Charlie update: For those who didn't know, my sweet boy Charles had some super concerning bloodwork a month ago and his specialist appointment to get him checked out was Tuesday.

His appointment was 4 hours long they did a full blood panel, physical exam, and an ultrasound. Thankfully he doesn't appear to have any masses. They found a little heart murmur (they were not so concerned about it right now) and his liver did look darker than normal. They suspected he has a liver infection (our boy is on anti-biotics). In two weeks we will follow up with another blood test and see how his levels are.

But for now better than I thought to be honest. I was so scared it was cancer or fully liver failure.

Taking a breath, enjoying a comfort black tea

Let's get into chapter 33!!!

Oh buddy, over here neglecting prayers for his sad rain side quest. p73

Okay, but could he not give the rain hat to someone else, like Mu Qing or Feng Xin and have them do it while he took care of his own prayers? p74

ooof. And then in Xianle, they're just imprisoning refugees, because they make the land look less aesthetic. So gross. p75

Fuck. Again I am struggling with the themes ins this book. All these people blaming their issues on the refugees, poor, and non-citizens of xianle is so awful. I hate this rhetoric so much. It's too real right now. p78

Ah, my question from earlier was answered. The hat requires a shit-ton of spiritual power (probably why only he can really do it) p81

Expelling the refugees is just horrible. p83

Xie Lian is just running himself ragged with his day divided into thirds. Do heavenly officials have to sleep? p85

This is so dark. I literally had to put the book down and walk away for a second. The entire scene with the kid being ill and his father climbing the wall really fucked me up. :( p87

This chapter actually has me a little unwell.

I don't even have any comments

This was incredible hard to read. I can't help but drawing parallels to the the state of the world right now and it is really messing with me. Especially with the social othering and dehumanizing people based on their status as refugee or "other"; I can't.

[suddencolds]

. not snz

on healing and on fear (tags)

[gregmarriage]

genuinely so fucked up right now, and so desperate to leave the house, that i would consider my pap smear, a holiday

[jellbell]

working out my problems and issues disorder by rating the books i'm reading based off vibe not my opinion on technical skill. yes this is making me feel like tearing my hair out and climbing up walls

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Disney princess Danny

It’s known that animals can sense death. Instances where pets gravitate to someone on their death bed and dogs barking at ghosts. Danny already knew this from before he half died, so he was expecting animals to rat him out with their sixth sense or become aggressive or cower from him. Instead, they all behaved the complete opposite than he anticipated.

Stray cats come running to rub against his legs, dogs nearly pull arms out of their owners sockets to get close to him, birds bring him trinkets, raccoons lead him to trash cans full of food, and even squirrels and rats get close to just sit on his shoulders. It’s… weird, but not unwelcome. He always loved animals.

Danny had come to semi-trust the animals that come to him. They know where the good food is and drinking water, they know when to steer away from a certain area right before something happens, and they always know when a person is bad or okay. So when an animal leads him somewhere, he follows. Sometimes they need help and he’s the one they go to. He’s helped plenty of raccoons out of garbage bins and cats out of gutters to have a good relationship with the animals of the streets.

What he isn’t expecting is to be led to Robin again and again.

The first time it was a cat. A mangy old Tom cat that rubbed against his torn up jeans and looked back with - Danny swears- a raised eyebrow. Danny follows and soon enough he finds himself standing a few paces away from Robin who is kneeling down to give clean water to the momma cat and her three kittens.

Robin freezes and so does Danny. They stare at each other.

“Um, hi?”

Robin straightens immediately, leaving the water on the ground where the cats can drink. Tom cat swaggers over to guard them.

“Civilian. Is there something I can assist you with?”

The dude is probably a year or two younger than Danny himself and he has to suppress a smile at the formal tone.

“Oh, uh, no? The cat just led me here.”

He can see Robin glance at the Tom cat who was now licking himself.

“Is that so?”

“Yea. Sorry to interrupt. Animals just like me for some reason.”

The three kittens one by one all totter over to him on unsteady legs after they had their fill. The orange one starts trying to climb his pant leg with its short and sharp claws digging into the jean material.

“They really like me.”

He carefully sits down crossed legged so the others could also climb all over him. Robin watches for a moment silently and when he sees Danny react well to the little pricks from tiny claws, he seems it safe enough to return to patrol.

The second time it’s a couple of rats that lure him away to find Robin fighting off more thugs than he probably should by himself. So taking the rats’ movements as encouragement, he takes the closest thing, a piece of plywood, and hit the nearest guy over the head with it. The guy crumbles like a wet sock and Danny is moving on to the next thug.

They sweep the floor with these guys with only a few splinters and a twisted ankle.

“It was dangerous to intervene,” Robin tells him. “I had it handled.”

“Yea, I know.”

The vigilante didn’t seem to be expecting that response from his stunned silence. He straightens as much as he can with bruised ribs.

“Well, I’m glad you know your mistake. Don’t let it happen again.”

Danny neither agrees nor disagrees, just shrugs and allow the rats to climb up his leg to his shoulder. Robin looks at them curiously. Danny gives a salute before leaving. Robin gives him a nod.

The third time it happened the roles are reversed.

Some people from the local gang are bullying the lonely, homeless teen to run drugs for them. They don’t seem to understand the word ‘no’. It gets to the point where Danny finds himself with his back against the wall and all his exits blocked with a guy shoving him again and again.

“Stop it!”

“I’ll stop if you agree.”

“I’m not doing it!”

Frank the raccoon and his buddy Bobby launch themselves at the guy’s ankles. The guy shrieks and pulls a gun.

“No!”

Before Danny can dive for it, a projectile comes out of nowhere to knock it out of his hands. He can’t even process what happened before the three are running away, two raccoons chattering at their heels before coming back to crowd him in worry.

Danny looks up to see Robin with a sword out threateningly, staring at where the three fled. He sheaths the sword after a few seconds.

“Are you okay?”

Danny realizes he’s breathing a little heavy and slows down a bit as he leans over to pet the top of the two heads.

“I’m- yea, I’m okay. Thanks for the save. Those guys were jerks.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

Robin is staring at the raccoons and it takes Danny a long moment to piece things together.

“Did- did they lead you to me?”

Robin doesn’t answer right away.

“You have loyal friends.”

Danny smiles at the weird compliment. Looking down at the two heroes of the evening Danny is also inclined to agree.

The fourth time is funny in a way Danny doesn’t know how to describe.

It was the pigeons. They were at fault of course for how Robin’s secret identity was outed. By pigeons.

The grey birds swarmed Danny and settled in a cloud of feathers. One holding something in its beak before plopping it down in his lap like a golden retriever. It flaps off as Danny picks up the obvious wallet clip holding quite a bit of cash and a student ID. The card says Damian Wayne from Gotham Academy. Just then Robin comes skidding around the corner, clearly out of breath and freezes.

Danny looks down at the clip in his hand and back up at the vigilante. He looks at the crazy amount of birds around him and again at the vigilante.

Said vigilante straightens and approaches like he called Danny there.

“If I could have that so I could return it to its proper owner.”

He holds out a hand with false arrogance, but Danny can see the nervousness in his stance. Danny looks down one last time before putting the clip in the outstretched hand without a word.

Robin nods once, pockets the ID and money, and immediately leaves.

The fifth time just cements what Danny had already figured out.

He was at the park. Not Ivy’s park of course, the one where people actually like to go. He was helping the squirrels find and hide acorns when he’s nearly knocked over by a massive black dog.

“Titus!”

The end of the Great Dane’s leash is a familiar face. Damian Wayne’s eyes widen in recognition as he finally sees who Titus was so excited to get to.

“Uh-“

Danny has to close his mouth quickly or else the massive tongue on his face would have turned into a French kiss.

“Titus! Heel!”

Danny laughs at the embarrassed blush on the other’s face, obviously not used to his companion going off the rails like this.

“It’s alright. We both know how animals like me.”

Damian narrows his eyes to analyze the teen. Danny wasn’t about to pretend and Damian looked like he was debating whether to follow his lead or not. There was literally no one within hearing distance.

“Have you told anyone?”

Danny thought about redirecting, but thought better of it. He actually liked Robin and what he did.

“Nope. I haven’t and I won’t. I swear.”

Damian tilts his head and then looks down at Titus. He seems to come to a decision before looking back at Danny.

“You’re homeless, are you not?”

Didn’t think they were being that direct but sure.

“Yea?”

“I will pay you in food and shelter to take care of my animals.”

Danny blinks. Then actually considers the offer.

“What kind of animals? How many we talking?”

Damian grins.

The family finds out pretty quickly when a teen they’ve never seen before walks into the Batcave with two pails of food for the bats, Titus at his heels and Alfred the cat perched contently on his shoulders.

Duke stares and Bruce short circuits.

“Um, who are you?”

“Hi! I’m Danny. Damian employed me to take care of the animals.”

“O…kay?”

“And where is Damian?” Bruce sounds like it physically hurts to ask and Danny does not envy Damian’s position right now.

“Upstairs. I think he said he was going to his art studio.”

Bruce marches past the boy to the stairs before stopping abruptly and turning to Danny and Duke.

“Don’t touch anything. Watch him.”

Duke and Danny blink at each other for a moment as Bruce disappears up the stairs.

“I’m Duke by the way.”

Danny grins.

[shycoconutt]

“S–hic–so full, Ken,” you whimper as the last ropes of his cum spill out into your insides. You have never felt a sensation like this before, being absolutely filled to the brim with all of what Nanami Kento has to offer.

You feel the deep hum Nanami lets out in response everywhere–his overwhelming being currently consuming your own. Currently mounted over you, he holds you up by the plush of your ass so your hips are lifted to meet his thrusts. Your body is so contorted that your knees fall and press against your shoulders with every piston of his cock. How the hell did you even end up in this position?

“Oh darling, fuck, I missed you so much,” he moans as he languidly pushes his cock in and out of your sopping wet pussy. You watch as his abdomen flexes with every thrust, and you can’t help but marvel at how the low light of your bedroom reflects on his glistening, sweat-slicked skin. Eyes trailing upward, you soak in the constellation of freckles on his shoulders, the swell of his deltoid muscles, the way his damp hair falls forward, messy and unkempt after rounds of orgasms.

Another one of his moans snaps you out of your trance, and you focus your eyes to meet his blown-out, lust-filled gaze. Instinctually, your walls clench at the sight, and your eyes widen in horror when you realize it’s too late.

“Tsk,” he smirks as he breaks his gaze from your own to down where you’re both connected, “she’s so greedy, begging for more after all I’ve given her.”

One of his hands leaves your ass to swipe a thumb against your sensitive clit, causing you to gasp and clench again. “Should I give her what she wants, sweetheart?”

“I-I don’t think there’s any more room, Ken, you’ve filled me up so much,” you mewl.

His eyes flick up again as your words trail off, and you can’t help but notice how the intention behind them has changed, looking as if he has been given a new life–a new meaning. Reaching somewhere behind him, he fiddles around until he finds what he’s looking for–his phone.

Slowly, he shifts backwards to release himself from your gushing heat, being careful to not let any of his seed spill from your folds. He groans as his tip finally slips out and quickly grabs your hand to press against your opening.

“Yeah, just like that, hold it all in for me,” he praises. 

You feel your heartbeat quicken, curious and interested. Climbing off the bed, he stands off to the side and holds out his hand, beckoning you to join him, which you do without question.

“There we go, pretty girl, stand right here for me.”

Following his request, you stand before him with your hand still pressed up against yourself. You feel yourself tremble, not in worry, but in anticipation of what’s to come. Nanami must have taken note, because he is now grazing his fingers up and down the skin of your shoulder.

Leaning in close, lips ghosting over your own, he whispers, “Do you trust me?”

“Always, Ken.”

Your heart flutters as he smiles and kisses you, tongue slipping from his parted mouth to swipe your lower lip. With one final peck, he keeps eye contact with you as he kneels, light pooling into the room from the flashlight of his phone.

You hear a little ding, signaling that he is recording.

“Do you remember what you said to me, baby?” he murmurs, voice filled with love and adoration as he points the camera up to you while his other hand rests against your lower tummy. 

“W-what I said?” you stutter, mind trying to think back to moments ago.

“Yes.”

You try to think, mind still in a daze. What you said?

Oh.

Ah.

So this is what he wants.

Looking at the camera, eyes blinded by the light, you pout, “I don’t think there’s any more room, Ken, you’ve filled me up sooo much.”

You hear a soft groan, and the light moves down your body to your lower half. 

“Show me.”

Slowly, you remove your hand from your core, a mix of your cum and his already pooling at your fingertips, to place your hand above his own on your abdomen. You don’t have to look down to confirm–hot liquid is already dripping down your thighs at an intense rate.

You jolt and gasp when you feel his firm hand pressing into your body, a fresh new wave of semen spilling from your insides. There’s so much–maybe too much–as it trickles past your knees. There’s another groan that escapes from Nanami’s lips.

“Good girl.”

Your body is trembling, your pussy fluttering around nothing, just wanting so badly to be filled again and again. Would it be so bad to ask for more?

a/n: well, well, well, here we are again. what can I say? nanami kento is always on my mind. hope you enjoy! ੈ♡˳

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[cherienymphe]

Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, mentions of prostitution, mentions of infidelity

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

summary: turning your life around is easier said than done when you tempt the very man meant to lead you to salvation.

♱

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned…”

The familiar words tumbled from your lips, and your gaze remained on your lap, eyes following your finger as you traced patterns into the solid black skirt on your frame. It kissed your ankle as you shifted your feet, and the reminder of the long fabric had you swallowing down less than gentle thoughts. You slowly reached up to touch the collar of your shirt, eyes briefly falling closed as you cleared your throat.

You’d spent hours agonizing over how you’d leave the house…

“It has been seven days since my last confession. These are my sins.”

Like clockwork, you listed the time you cursed for some accident or another and the time you took the Lord’s name in vain and the brief impure thought about that attractive man you’d seen in the grocery store. Every week, it was the same. Sins that you yourself would never have considered as such months ago that you were now hyper aware of. They climbed out of your throat seamlessly, remembering every single one until only one was left.

The silence between you and the man just on the other side of that wall stretched—a familiar occurrence—and you took your lip between your teeth. You could taste blood as you worried it, swallowing it down before clearing your throat again. You smoothed your hand over your skirt, and you furiously blinked, struggling to blink away the tears that had started to collect. As you sat in silence, you wondered why you were trying so hard to impress people that had already written you off?

“I’ve had…some hateful thoughts as well.”

You struggled to get the words out, always struck by just how emotional this made you. You looked up towards the ceiling, eyes roaming, and you hadn’t even realized that your breathing had started to pick up until he spoke.

Father Mayhew.

“Take your time,” he gently encouraged. “Speak when you are ready.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words, recalling your first ever confessional and how you’d cried. It was as embarrassing now as it was then, but it was necessary. You were determined to live differently now—to be different, now.

“Although I have abandoned my former life and…occupation…” you thought you heard him shift. “...I feel as if I will never truly be forgiven for it.”

You swiped your tongue between your lips.

“...will never be accepted.”

You recalled the eyes that often found their way to you during mass—the judgment, the disdain, the way in which some stared at you as if they didn’t know how to place you. 

Every sunday it was the same. You’d wake up and agonize over how to present yourself in a place as holy as this. You’d fret that this skirt was too short and that dress was too tight. You’d fiddle with your hair for far too long and every lipstick you wiped off would stain your lips a little more than the last. You were constantly at a crossroad, torn between wanting to look nice for church and concerned about looking like…well…a whore.

You struggled to swallow.

“I see the way they look at me,” you eventually whispered, staring at nothing. “I can’t hear what they whisper, but I know it’s about me.”

You touched your throat, hating how tight it felt.

“It’s…discouraging.”

You didn’t want to use that word, but it was the only word that was appropriate. It made you sad, and you often wondered why you kept returning to a place that made you sad. Surely a church wasn’t necessary to ‘find God’...right? You didn’t think so, but you had wanted to start somewhere, and considering that none of your friends even owned a bible, they had been of no help. Stepping foot into a place that had only ever served to be ominous and oppressive in your eyes was the most terrifying thing you’d ever done.

…but then you had laid eyes on Father Mayhew.

He’d been the only one in the church at the time, and you would never forget the curious glint in his dark gaze. You’d had no doubt that he could see you were scared and unsure and in an environment you were wholly unused to. You’d appreciated the gentle way in which he talked to you, guiding you towards a pew in the front as you asked him questions that some people had answers to their entire lives. He hadn’t treated you like you were stupid, but more importantly, he hadn’t treated you like you didn’t belong.

You were willing to bet that he hadn’t even known about you then.

Although, months later, you were willing to bet that he did now…even though you’d never told him.

“Humans are flawed,” his smooth voice reached your ears through the wall. “We all fall short—even the most devout of us—and we find ourselves falling prey to the temptation of judgment…pride…lust…”

You intently listened. After all, he’d never said these words to you before, always giving you some speech about God’s love trumping all.

“I have no doubt that it is trying, but I am sure you will come to give them grace for their sins just as they will give you grace for yours. We are all God’s children striving to lead a life in his image…”

His voice lowered at that, and you frowned slightly, looking towards the wall and thinking to yourself that he almost seemed to be talking to himself now.

“He wants his children to love one another, a feat that is not without difficulty I’m sure you know…” that actually made you hold back a chuckle. “...but God’s love is powerful and he always grants forgiveness to those who genuinely yearn and ask for it.”

At that, you did smile.

You told him that you were truly sorry for your sins, and he told you to say ten Hail Mary’s, and you stepped out of the confessional feeling better than you did thirty minutes ago. You didn’t know how long the feeling would last though, and so you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could, but you knew from experience that was easier said than done.

You touched the crucifix around your neck as you stepped out of your building.

It had once belonged to your mother, and despite how long she’d been gone and how down on your luck you’d been ever since, you could never quite find it in you to pawn it. It was real gold—probably the only real piece of jewelry you ever owned—but you just couldn’t do it, and you supposed that you were never meant to. Despite the many years you’d lived life as the complete opposite of a God fearing woman…it felt right sitting just below your collarbone.

Even if many would not agree.

You were no stranger to several men in this town—and the ones who often passed through on their truck routes—but that had not stopped you from seeking solace and guidance from a place you’d never stepped foot into in your life. You couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel…strange to be in the same building as some of the men you’d serviced before, their wives and children at their side as they furiously avoided making eye contact with you. It felt even worse to watch the way the women would congregate together after church, excluding you all the while talking about you.

It felt somewhat pathetic for your only ally in the place to be the priest.

Although you sometimes wondered how true that was these days. You’d never once confessed that you used to be a prostitute—although the kids called it sex work these days—but you weren’t stupid. As godly and devout as they claimed to be, you knew that the church was filled with gossip and there was no telling who’d let it slip to the dark haired man. You knew when he knew though…

…because he looked at you different.

It wasn’t a bad different—thank God for that—but just…different, and while it wasn’t necessarily bad, you still didn’t think you liked it. Confession—being anonymous—never allowed for you to tell him your name, and considering you’d only ever spoken to him once outside of confession months ago, you didn’t know if he ever knew it was you he was talking to. You didn’t know if he knew that the woman he spoke so gently with each week and listened to cry on the other side of some window was the same woman who often shrunk under his heavy gaze as he looked down on his congregation.

You never felt like he was judging you, no, but you also never felt like he was looking at you as he did that first day, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t your friend—far from it in fact—but he felt like the closest thing you had to one in this church, and so you often forced yourself to find excuses for it. He watches you because he wants to make sure you’re settling in okay. He watches you to observe how other members of the church are treating you. He watches you because he’s wondering if you’ll ever come to confession, convincing yourself that he’s never recognized your voice all this time.

That is why he watches you, you told yourself.

No other reason. 

“You always come to pray at least three times a week…”

The familiar voice startled you as you stood, hand lowering as you’d just finished signing the cross. Your hand was still on your chest as you turned to face him, a small smile on your lips as he stood directly in the center of the aisle. You hadn’t even heard him make a single sound, and you wondered how long he’d been standing there.

He slowly returned your smile with one of his own, although it was smaller, and the silent way in which he stared at you reminded you that he’d said something to you. 

“Yes,” you finally said, moving away from the altar. “It helps with…um…really everything.”

He blinked at you, and you noticed that a strand of his hair was threatening to go rogue. He always looked so neat and perfect that it was hard to miss. Father Mayhew was handsome—if anyone had seen enough men to know it was you—but he was handsome in a way that you would categorize as flawless. Divine even. In a way that was untouchable and only meant to be admired in the most innocent of appreciation. 

He slowly nodded at your response, and you didn’t miss the way he studied you—dark eyes drinking you in and taking note of every stylistic choice you’d made today.

“You know, I think I might see your face far more than those who have been coming here for years,” he lightly told you, a slight laugh on his lips.

You laughed with him, only offering him a shrug.

“I’m still new. I’m sure it just seems that way because you aren’t used to seeing me.”

He started to shake his head before you could even finish talking, and you watched him move closer.

“No,” he murmured—so low you almost didn't hear him. “I think you are perhaps my most…devout congregant.”

He touched your crucifix as he said this, dark eyes tracing the shape of it, and he was so close that you could smell his cologne. You blinked at the scent, finding it strange to know that he wore cologne. It shouldn’t be strange, you supposed, but you realized then that you didn’t quite view priests—view him—as human. As normal…

His eyes lifted then to finally connect with yours, and a crooked smile danced along his pink lips.

“It’s admirable,” he whispered. “More of my congregation could stand to follow your lead.”

You couldn’t ignore the way your chest bloomed at those words, almost hating how much validation you wanted from this place. Validation that you were a good person…you weren’t who you used to be…that you were worthy of something more, you didn’t know. It just felt relieving to hear such a compliment from Father Mayhew when no one else in the church would even give you a chance.

“Thank you, Father,” you quietly replied to him. “That means a lot to me.”

You watched him slowly inhale as he dropped his hand, and he seemed even slower to step out of your way. When you walked past him, you could feel his gaze on you—always watching—and you smiled when he called out to you, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you on Sunday.

No one was more sad than you when you had to disappoint him.

An unexpected cold had you bedridden for days, and while you knew that an illness was a perfectly valid excuse to miss church, you couldn’t swallow down the disappointment. You hadn’t missed a single Sunday since you first started going, and you thought to yourself that the first thing you’d do when you returned was explain your absence to Father Mayhew.

You had never anticipated him showing up at your door to get it himself.

No one ever knocked on your door these days, so the sound had taken you by surprise. Your friends—while supportive of the direction your life had taken—didn’t quite understand it and so you didn’t see them as often, and as for anyone else… Well, there wasn’t anyone else who would come knocking on your door. You didn’t do that anymore so no customers were going to be greeting you on the other side with their money in their hand and an eager grin on their lips, and you doubted any of the women in town would want to sit down for a chat anytime soon.

Your shock at Father Mayhew’s presence was all over your face.

“Father,” you stated, the lilt in your voice hinting at your surprise.

He looked just as you were used to seeing him—clerical collar still on, not a hair out of place, and a hint of a smile on those pink lips. You stood there gaping at him for all of five seconds before it struck you how rude you were probably being.

“I…I’m so sorry. Um…come in,” you told him, stepping out of the way and widening the gap in the doorway.

He didn’t respond nor move right away, looking past you into your small house with a look in his gaze that you couldn’t name. If he were anyone else, you might worry that he was judging where you lived. You watched his jaw briefly tighten, a noticeable strain in his face, and it only just occurred to you that maybe this wasn’t appropriate? Although you were positive you’d heard of priests and pastors visiting the sick before, and while you certainly weren’t on your deathbed, you didn’t see why this would be different.

Before you could say another word though, his foot crossed the threshold, and you closed the door behind him.

“I do apologize for the unexpected visit,” he said to you, gazing around before his eyes landed on you again. “...but when I noticed that mass was absent of a face I’d grown to look forward to, I became concerned.”

You couldn’t stop your smile at his words

“Oh,” you softly said. “Well, there’s no need to be concerned. It’s just a small cold that will be gone in a day or two.”

You watched him exhale at that, nodding to himself, and you studied him, surprised to see that he looked genuinely relieved at that.

“I’m glad to hear that’s all it is…”

At that, your brows furrowed, and you watched him slowly walk about your living room.

“I had feared that some of your fellow church goers had scared you off.”

Your lips parted at his words, and he turned and looked at you.

“They often fall into the temptation of judgment, after all…”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you didn’t know how to react with the knowledge that he knew it was you who came to see him once a week. You’d only spoken to him face to face twice, and you swallowed, looking away.

“I thought it would be a shame if they scared you off,” he confessed, and you noted that he was closer now. “I wondered what I would have to do to convince you to come back. Drag you, perhaps.”

You gave a soft laugh at that, although he didn’t join you, and it awkwardly faded. He stared at you in silence for what felt like a long time, and just when you were considering asking him if he wanted anything to drink, he reached out to touch the crucifix around your neck again.

“So devout,” he quietly said to himself. “It almost makes me ashamed…”

At that, you gave a heavy laugh, wondering how you could ever shame a priest.

“Why?”

“...because I see why they flocked to your door…money in hand.”

His gaze lifted as he said that, and you were still as you both just stared at each other. His words made you blink, and you were suddenly very aware of his hand practically on you. You couldn’t stop the slight frown that fell over your face, and for the first time in months—since you first stepped foot into that church—you felt…wrong.

“I see why their eyes trace every inch of you when you’re not looking…as if to relive the memory of what you felt like—tasted like.”

You finally took a step back, hand coming up to cover your necklace as if protecting it from his touch.

“What memories they must have of you…”

You wrapped your other arm around yourself, mind whirling to reconcile the man before you with the same man who’d always been so welcoming and gentle. Not once did you ever think he judged you for your past, and you supposed that you were right, but not once did you ever think he also might…

You hadn’t done that in over a year, but had it really escaped you so quickly that a seemingly devout man was still…a man?

“Father, I think you should-.”

“I don’t say any of this to offend you,” he interrupted, tilting his head. “I say it because I fight the urge to touch you every time you’re in my presence.”

You moved by him to make your way to the door, but like an ever present shadow you only just noticed, he was close behind.

“You can cover up as much as you’d like—wear skirts down to your ankle and shirts up to your chin…” his hand on the door halted your movements. 

You felt his chest just barely grazing your back, and his lips followed suit, the softness of them brushing against your ear as he spoke. That familiar cologne invaded your senses.

“...but none of it can hide the temptation you pose by merely existing.”

You shrunk away from him at that, tears in your eyes as he verbalized the same fears you had every time you walked into the building. You flinched when his lips touched the back of your neck, heart dropping to your stomach, but you reached for the door handle anyway.

“Father, I’d like you to leave-.”

Your words were cut off by your own sharp scream, taken aback by the feel of his fingers harshly pressing into the skin of your throat. His hand rested on the back of your neck, and you pressed your hand to the door when his lips grazed your cheek.

“They’re all like rabid dogs…just waiting to pounce,” he mused against your skin, sliding between you and the door and forcing you further into your house with every step. “Just waiting for you to give up this charade and go back to taking their money for a quick fuck.”

You blinked, and a few tears escaped.

“...but they don’t know you like I know you.”

He grinned against your cheek, and you winced as he lightly nipped at the skin there.

“They don’t know that you come to church at least thrice a week to light candles and pray…”

You were full on sobbing now, and you could feel the cool metal of his ring against the back of your neck.

“They don’t know that you never miss your weekly confession, telling me every time you so much as say the Lord’s name in vain.”

His free hand was reaching for the buttons of your shirt, popping them open one by one, and you gasped when his fingers finally met skin. He dipped his head, mouth finding the skin of your shoulder and collarbone interesting before his hand searched for your wrist.

“They don’t know that you are the most pious woman to walk through those doors,” he purred, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. “...and that I just want to ruin you for it.”

When his hand dipped between your legs, you were quick to try and stop him, still wincing at the tight grip on the back of your neck. Father Mayhew made a noise of disapproval, and your hand faltered when he harshly bit your shoulder.

“We are…and always will be…sinners…”

Once his fingers were inside of you, it was like the point of no return. You found it funny that he likened the men in church to that of rabid dogs when he himself was behaving like the very thing he used to insult them. When your knees buckled, he followed—one arm around you and holding you in place while the fingers on his other hand curved into you.

Every thrust of his fingers made you wetter—embarrassingly so—and when he pulled your head back, he forced a kiss onto your lips. He swallowed down your whimpers and noises of protest, a moan escaping him as he tasted the inside of your mouth. With him so close to you, you could feel the muscles and contours of his frame beneath his clothes, and you were forced to recognize your predicament and his strength and what that meant for you.

When you were face to face with him again, his hair was nowhere near as neat as it was when he first walked through your door. His pink lips were swollen and reddened from kissing you and dragging over your skin. Your pajama top had long been discarded, the bottoms long ripped and pulled off of you. Father Mayhew’s—Charlie—clerical collar was long gone, his shirt pulled open and hanging off of him.

You recalled the way your mouth had parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock finally dipped into you, stretching you with every inch and making your heart momentarily stop. His hand covered a breast, the feel of his ring cooling that singular part of your skin, the rest of you so overheated. His other hand was wrapped around your throat, and you clawed at his hand as he fucked you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in your tiny home, the only sound to rival it being his harsh grunts and your strained voice. Any fight that you’d put up had been quickly squashed down, shown in the harshest manner just how strong your priest was. You hated how good it felt, hated that you didn’t want this but was now forced to enjoy it. Nevermind the fact that you hadn’t enjoyed sex for the act itself in years…

…but of all people to find yourself in this predicament with.

Father Mayhew’s hands never stayed in one place for long. He seemed determined to touch every part of you he could get his hands on, lips tasting the saltiness of your skin. Sweat clung to your frame and his, his fingers sliding over you as he kneaded your thighs and your waist and your chest. Every time you reminded yourself how wrong this was, he’d push his cock into you to the hilt, and you’d involuntarily throw your head back.

You could feel your crucifix pressing into your skin, and your eyes watered.

“I must admit that I was—am—jealous,” he dragged out, voice hoarse and throaty and wholly unlike how you were used to hearing him. “Your devotion to God inspires an envy within me that I never knew existed.”

You took note of the scars on his back underneath your fingers.

“...a desire to have you completely devoted to me,” he bit out, covering your lips with his own. “You so desperately desire forgiveness and acceptance…and all the things you didn’t think you were worthy of having.”

He harshly thrust into you, making you gasp.

“...and I can give that to you,” he whispered into the kiss.

The power behind his thrusts had you scratching at both his back and the floor, eyes squeezing shut at the way his fingers dug into your skin. It was like he was both holding you to him and trying to prevent you from ever walking away. Your chest arched up into his as you gasped, choked whimpers climbing out of your throat with every push of his hips. He growled against your skin as his lips traveled to your neck, the sound almost demonic to your ears.

When you came around him—your first orgasm in over a year—you couldn’t swallow down the noise it forced out of you. You could feel blood beneath your nails and a slickness on the inside of your thighs, but all the while Father Mayhew didn’t stop.

With one hand pressed against the floor, he pushed himself up to look down at you. His free hand slid up your sweaty frame, coming up to wrap around the crucifix that rested against your skin. He tightened his hold around it, and he pulled on it, forcing you to lift your head and meet him halfway for a kiss.

“I want you just as eager to get on your knees for me…”

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 3 ]

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Game of Cat and Mouse. Bucky being stubborn as shit. Summary: Things have turned awkward. You and Bucky hasn't spoken with each other for a few days now. But is the much needed space making things better or worse? A/N: Sorry this took so long lmao. My boy got sick and needed my undivided attention my poor baby but he's better now thank god. A/N: I honestly don't know how to top-up the previous parts but shit, I need them to connect to a deeper level first before jumping into full on smut okay? maybe in the next part. The song sums up the whole fic to be honest lol.

You’d become a master at memorizing Bucky’s schedule, knowing exactly when to leave your apartment to avoid any chance of running into him. But lately, it seemed like Bucky had developed the same strategy, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his presence around the building had become increasingly scarce. It was almost as if he was avoiding you instead.

Today, though, you decided to switch things up by taking the stairs. Sure, it was three flights down, but anything was better than the awkward tension of waiting for the elevator and possibly bumping into him. You clung to the faint hope that the odds would work in your favor, that the stairwell would be empty and uneventful.

But as you descended, the sound of footsteps echoed from below, growing louder with every step. Your stomach flipped, an irrational hope bubbling up before you could quash it. Maybe it’s not him, you thought, though deep down, you already knew better.

Rounding the corner, your heart sank and raced all at once. There he was—Bucky, just a few steps below you, pausing mid-step with his hand gripping the railing. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His expression shifted, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by something guarded, his jaw tightening as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh,” you breathed, your voice softer than you’d intended. “Hi.”

His lips pressed into a tight line before he offered a stiff nod. “Hey,” he replied, his voice low, carefully neutral.

You stared at each other for a beat too long, the air between you thick with unsaid words. He looked almost annoyed—not at you, but at the situation, as if running into you had thrown him off his game. And maybe it had, because for the first time, it wasn’t you avoiding him. It was him avoiding you.

“So…taking the stairs now?” His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed a hint of tension, a wall firmly in place.

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “Yeah, um… decided to switch things up. Exercise, you know.”

He nodded once, his grip tightening briefly on the railing before loosening again. “Right. Exercise.”

Another awkward silence settled over you, the sound of distant voices from above faintly filling the void. You shifted on the step, clutching the railing a little too tightly, your mind scrambling for something to say—something that wouldn’t make things worse. But before you could speak, Bucky cleared his throat and took a step to the side, making way for you to pass.

“Alright,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ll… see you around.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, hesitating for a moment before you stepped past him. “See you.”

As you descended the stairs, your pulse pounded in your ears, each step feeling heavier than the last. You risked a glance back, only to find him already climbing upward, his shoulders tense, his head down. The image lingered in your mind, the sight of him retreating, the weight of his silence pressing down on you like a stone.

You reached the bottom landing, gripping the railing as you let out a slow breath. Part of you wanted to turn around, to call after him. But the words stayed stuck in your throat, tangled up with your own doubts and fears.

If he didn’t want to talk, you wouldn’t force him. But that didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to bear.

× × × ×

You arrived at work, your mood sour and your thoughts tangled up in that awkward encounter with Bucky on the stairs. The usual morning chatter of the office greeted you. Trying to focus, you went to your desk, arranging your things in a futile attempt to bring some order to your day.

But then you heard them—Trish and Amy, huddled at the corner near the coffee machine, voices low but still clear enough to reach you.

“I just don’t get it,” Trish was saying. “It’s been days, and there’s still no new uploads from SergeantBarnes. Maybe he’s got a new project or something?”

“Or maybe he’s seeing someone?” Amy added with a conspiratorial tone. “I mean, think about it. He’s been off the grid lately. That’s got ‘new fling’ written all over it.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to block out their conversation. It was the last thing you wanted to hear today, and every word just stoked the frustration simmering inside you. You took a deep breath, attempting to rein in your annoyance, but they just kept going, their words grating at you.

“Honestly, it’s like he’s gone quiet for no reason,” Trish went on, sounding genuinely disappointed. “What am I supposed to watch while I’m waiting for Dan to finish his gaming marathons?”

“Is that all you two talk about?”

You couldn’t help it; something inside you snapped. Before you knew it, you turned around, your voice sharper than you intended.

Both Trish and Amy blinked in surprise, their expressions shifting from confusion to embarrassment. You continued, unable to stop yourself now that you’d started. 

“You both have partners, for crying out loud. Do you really need to spend every second gossiping about some guy online?”

They exchanged glances, clearly taken aback. “Jeez, sorry,” Trish muttered, looking both defensive and a little hurt. “We didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“It is when we’re supposed to be working,” you replied, more irritated than you’d intended. “Maybe keep the fan talk out of the office? Or, I don’t know, find a hobby that doesn’t involve obsessing over someone else’s life?”

Silence fell as they looked at you, wide-eyed and a bit stunned. Realizing how harsh you’d sounded, you took a step back, immediately feeling a pang of regret. But the frustration from this morning was still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize just yet. Instead, you turned back to your desk, jaw clenched, hoping the tension in the office would dissipate as the day went on.

At the end of your shift, the weight of the day felt heavier than usual. The tension with Bucky hung over you like a cloud, lingering in your thoughts despite your best efforts to shake it off. It shouldn’t even be this deep—so why were you so affected? It’s just a casual thing, you reasoned with yourself. We’re barely even… whatever this is.

Yet, no matter how many times you told yourself to move on, the thought of Bucky—the way he’d looked at you, the frustration and hurt in his eyes—gnawed at you. You found yourself mentally bargaining, trying to find some middle ground, some way to keep your guard up but let him in a little, too. Maybe if I didn’t overthink it… if I just let it be whatever it is, I wouldn’t feel this way.

As you gathered your things, ready to head out, Trish and Amy approached with hesitant smiles. 

“Hey, you okay?” Trish asked gently, her earlier excitement replaced with genuine concern.

You managed a small, apologetic smile. 

“I’m so sorry about this morning,” you said, glancing between them. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you both. Just… a rough few days.”

They nodded in understanding, exchanging a quick look before Trish turned back to you. 

“No worries, but hey, if there’s something bothering you… maybe we can help? What do you say to grabbing some dinner with us? We can talk or not talk about it?”

Amy’s face lit up as she chimed in. “Yeah! You shouldn’t have to stew over whatever it is alone. Come on, let us treat you to some comfort food.”

Their unexpected warmth and support tugged at something in you, and you felt the weight on your shoulders ease just a little. 

With a small smile, you nodded. “Sure, that sounds nice. Thanks, guys.”

They grinned, and without missing a beat, each linked an arm through yours on either side, leading you toward the door as if they were determined to help you shake off every ounce of stress you’d been carrying. As you walked together, their chatter filled the air, and you let yourself settle into the easy companionship, hoping that maybe tonight would give you the reset you needed.

× × × ×

Across town, Bucky was pouring everything he had into the punching bag in front of him, each hit landing with a force that reverberated through his whole body. The gym was nearly empty, giving him the space to unload, each punch fueled by the frustration and confusion that had been building inside him for days. His jaw was clenched, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he moved, his muscles tense and coiled with pent-up energy. The sharp sound of his fists colliding with the bag echoed through the room, filling the silence as he worked to dump every complicated thought he’d been grappling with.

He had no reason to be as affected as he was, but the whole situation with you had hit him harder than he expected. He’d thought he could brush it off, ignore the strange ache that crept up every time he thought about your last conversation, but it stuck with him.

After a final, powerful jab, Bucky took a step back, breathing heavily as he let his hands drop to his sides. His mind was still a storm of thoughts, the adrenaline from his workout doing little to clear his head.

When he wasn’t working off steam in the gym, Bucky’s day-to-day was far less chaotic than most people would assume. As an automotive engineer at Ford, he spent hours each day under the hood, designing, testing, and refining high-performance engines. His focus had always been on innovation, on precision, on building something that could withstand any test. It was work he loved—real work, with real meaning, where every bolt and every part had a purpose.

The other job, his work in front of the camera, was different. It was an outlet, a separate side of himself he’d chosen to explore. People saw it for what it was on the surface, but it never felt like the core of who he was. You, however, had somehow managed to blur the lines between the two worlds in a way that left him unsteady. And for the first time, he found himself wondering if keeping his other job had been the right one.

The memory of your face—surprised, hesitant, almost wounded—came rushing back to him, making his chest tighten with something more complicated than he was prepared to face. 

Why did it matter so much? She’s just my neighbor, he thought. 

He sighed, pressing his gloved fists to his forehead as he tried to shake off the ache that had settled there. For now, all he could do was keep hitting, keep moving, hoping that maybe, at some point, the weight of it would finally start to lighten.

Later that evening, Bucky found himself in his kitchen, mindlessly stirring a pot on the stove. The rhythmic motion and steady bubbling should have been enough to distract him, but his thoughts kept drifting—inevitably back to you.

He remembered the first time you’d crossed paths in the building, how you’d barely glanced at him as you carried a pile of boxes through the hallway. It had amused him, how determined you were to act unaffected, especially after that sudden recognition flashed in your eyes. That little double-take when you realized who he was had been priceless. He’d leaned into that reaction ever since, throwing little teases and comments just to see your reaction, to see the way your cheeks would flush or how your gaze would flit away, only to sneak back.

There was something refreshing about the way you seemed to care so little about the reputation attached to him—so different from others he’d met. And maybe that was why he couldn’t resist teasing you, why he went out of his way to bump into you, to throw in a bit of banter just to see if he could make you smile or throw him a comeback.

But he never expected it to go beyond that. He didn’t expect that somewhere along the line, those little interactions would turn into something he looked forward to. And now, somehow, it had gotten tangled up with feelings he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

Bucky stirred the pot a little too vigorously, and a few drops splashed over the edge, hissing as they hit the stovetop. His hand stilled as he sighed, feeling the frustration bubble up all over again. This is my fault, he thought, jaw clenching slightly. I shouldn’t have come onto her too strong.

He hadn’t realized he was stirring so absentmindedly until the pot suddenly began to overflow, the liquid spilling over the edge and sizzling against the hot burner. With a muttered curse, he quickly grabbed a towel, lifting the pot off the heat and wiping up the mess, the sharp smell of burnt food pulling him out of his thoughts.

As he turned off the stove, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make things right with you.

× × × ×

After a long day, you found yourself standing outside Bucky’s door, nerves twisting in your stomach. Just apologize, you told yourself, trying to gather the courage. Get it over with and clear the air. But as you stared at the door, words rehearsed in your mind, you found yourself hesitating. You’d been standing there so long that you’d lost track of time, each second stretching as you cycled through a list of possible things to say, none of which seemed quite right.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock when a light, feminine laugh floated through the door, catching you off guard. You froze, your hand mid-air, as the laughter was followed by a familiar deep chuckle. Bucky’s.

"Alright, alright,” you heard him say, sounding more relaxed than you’d ever heard him with you. There was a warmth in his voice that sent a pang through your chest, the kind that came from comfort, closeness.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you didn’t miss me,” the woman teased, her tone playful and affectionate. “I know you. You’re never this nice to anyone else.”

You swallowed, something tightening in your chest as you listened.

"Alright, guilty," Bucky’s voice softened, almost shy. "Guess you’ve always been a bit of a soft spot."

Your heart twisted, her words and his response echoing in your mind, each line pulling you deeper into a sense of unease. Soft spot? Nice to her in a way he wasn’t with anyone else?

Your mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion, and your cheeks heated as your throat tightened. You felt silly for standing there now, silly for even considering coming over to apologize. What were am I doing? Of course he's with someone.

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching the door, and panic flared. You turned, bolting toward your own apartment, fumbling with your keys as you heard Bucky’s door open behind you. Just as you managed to close your door, you caught a glimpse of him glancing down the hall, his gaze lingering on your door with a curious look.

Bucky’s sister, Becca, caught him glancing toward your door, she raised an eyebrow, nudging him with a knowing smile. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked, a touch of teasing in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky gave his head a quick shake, trying to dismiss the worry that had settled there. 

“Yeah, yeah… it’s nothing. Just thought I saw something,” he replied, though his gaze lingered a moment longer on your door before he finally turned back to Becca.

She didn’t look convinced. Folding her arms, she tilted her head, giving him a look that only an older sister could manage—the kind that saw right through any attempt to hide. 

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed a little off tonight, Bucky. I don’t think it’s nothing.”

Bucky held up his hands defensively, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips as he tried to brush her off. 

“Nothing! Really, it’s nothing. Now go home, seriously,” he insisted, ushering her toward the elevator with a slight push.

Becca rolled her eyes, clearly not buying it for a second. 

“Right. Nothing,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she gave him a knowing look. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, a bit more forcefully this time, though he couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Go on before you start reading my palm or something.”

Becca laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said as she stepped into the elevator, though she gave him one last pointed look as the doors began to close. “But, Bucky? maybe figure out what you want before you drive yourself crazy over it.”

With that, the doors shut, leaving Bucky standing in the quiet hallway, he sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he glanced back toward your door.

Later that night, Bucky found himself slumped on his couch, phone in hand as he stared at the search bar. He let out a huff, rolling his eyes at himself as he typed: signs you’re into someone.

The results loaded quickly, and he clicked the first article, skimming the list with a mixture of skepticism and, admittedly, nervous anticipation.

Sign #1: You can’t stop thinking about them. 

He paused, frowning at the screen. “Okay, that’s… kind of obvious,” he muttered, mentally ticking off that box with a begrudging sigh.

Sign #2: You go out of your way to see them.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at his phone, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“That one’s just stupid. I mean, we live in the same building. I don’t go out of my—” He paused, remembering all the times he’d “accidentally” found himself in the hallway when you’d get back from work, or when he’d gone to the laundry room at oddly specific times. “Okay, fine. Maybe sometimes.”

He kept scrolling, and the list grew more absurd—do you get jealous when they talk about other people? Do you go out of your way to impress them? By the end of it, he’d mentally checked off nearly every box, his expression morphing into a blend of reluctant acceptance and amusement.

Bucky sighed, tossing his phone onto the couch beside him. 

“What am I, sixteen?” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Here he was, a grown man, looking up articles about crushes and ticking off boxes like he needed some random website to validate what he already knew.

But as he sat there, he realized it wasn’t the checklist itself—it was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he felt like this. Like he actually cared about where things went, enough to drive him to ridiculous measures for some kind of clarity.

With a sigh, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of realization settling in. Bucky stared at the ceiling for a few more moments, letting out a deep sigh before grabbing his phone again and pulling up his contacts. Scrolling down to “Steve,” he hesitated for a beat before tapping the call button.

It rang twice before his friend picked up with a cheerful, “Yellow?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling anyway. “Hey, punk.”

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice was light, clearly amused. “What’s up? It’s been a while since you called just to say ‘hi.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I… actually had a question. Kind of. For… a friend.”

“Oh, a ‘friend,’ huh? Sure, I’m listening.” Steve chuckled on the other end, and Bucky could practically hear the grin in his voice.

Bucky cleared his throat, leaning back into the couch. 

“Right. So, uh, hypothetically speaking… how do you know if, you know, if you’re into someone? Like, in a way that’s… not just friendly?” His words tumbled out, each one feeling more absurd than the last.

“Your ‘friend’ wants to know how to tell if they’ve got a crush, huh? Didn’t realize we were back in high school, Buck.” Steve snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Bucky sighed, feeling his face heat up. “Look, if you’re gonna be annoying, I’ll just—”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” Steve said quickly, though he was still chuckling. “Okay, seriously. Well… I guess if your ‘friend’ can’t stop thinking about her, or if he finds himself looking for reasons to be around her, that’s usually a sign. Or if he’s, you know, protective, feels that weird jealousy thing… you know how it goes.”

Bucky was silent for a second, swallowing as he mentally ticked off each of Steve’s points. “Right. Yeah. Hypothetically, that makes sense,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“And,” Steve continued, now sounding suspiciously entertained, “if your ‘friend’ is calling up his actual best friend in the middle of the night to figure it out… well, that might be a bit of a giveaway, too.”

Bucky groaned, falling back into the couch with a scowl. “Alright, alright, I get it. Thanks, Steve.”

But Steve wasn’t finished. “Hey, Buck? If you’re asking for yourself—which we both know you are—maybe just tell her how you feel. You’re not as subtle as you think, and if she’s worth this much thought… she’s probably worth the risk, too.”

Bucky was quiet, swallowing the mix of nerves and excitement that Steve’s words stirred up. “…Yeah. Thanks, pal.”

× × × × 

The next morning, you were practically sprinting down the hall, head ducked and heart racing, when you heard him call out, “Hey! Y/N—wait up!”

You didn’t dare look back, only quickened your steps, praying he’d let it go. But his footsteps grew closer, and just as you reached the lobby, you felt a hand gently graze your shoulder.

With an awkward yelp, you dodged sideways, almost colliding with a potted plant as you called over your shoulder, “Sorry, Bucky—gotta go! Late for work!” 

You bolted through the doors, ignoring the bewildered look he gave you as you disappeared into the morning rush.

You turned off your phone completely, just to avoid the constant notifications. His messages had started out simple—Hey, can we talk?—but quickly escalated. Each ding had become a taunt, a reminder that, even though he seemed persistent, there was no other reason to face him now. You left your phone off for nearly a full day, and by the time you turned it back on, there were over a dozen missed calls and messages waiting for you, each one a pinch of guilt you tried to ignore.

And just when you thought you’d mastered the art of dodging, fate had other plans.

Untik one bleary-eyed morning, as you rushed out of your apartment with a coffee in one hand and your bag slipping off the other shoulder, you came face-to-face with Bucky at the end of the hallway. There was no escape route this time; he was standing right in your path, his arms folded and an expression somewhere between concerned and utterly frustrated.

You tried to step to the left, but he mirrored you, stepping right into your path.

You shifted right, and he stepped left, blocking you again.

You both paused, sizing each other up. Then, in unison, you both moved left, only to collide shoulders. You exhaled in frustration, darting to the right, but he sidestepped with you again.

“Bucky, please,” you groaned, your patience wearing thin, feeling the minutes tick closer to being late. “I have to go.”

His eyes softened just a little, but he didn’t budge. “Not until you stop running away from me. Can we just talk?”

You scowled, giving him one last sidestep to the left, only to be blocked again. With a frustrated sigh, you finally did the only thing left: you placed both hands on his chest and gave him a firm push, slipping past him before he could react.

“I’m late,” you muttered, not looking back as you all but jogged down the hallway, leaving Bucky in the wake of your retreat, his gaze following you with an expression that told you he wasn’t giving up. Hell no.

× × × ×

Until one day, when you were in the middle of work, a receptionist from the ground floor called up to tell you that someone wanted to see you. Curiosity and irritation flared as you made your way down, a frown already forming on your face. And the second you spotted him—standing in the lobby, arms crossed, looking as frustrated as you’d ever seen him—you felt your heart drop.

You turned on your heel, muttering to yourself, “Unbelievable…” But before you could make it far, he called out.

“Y/N!” His voice echoed across the lobby, and you turned back with a glare.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?” you hissed, stepping closer so your conversation stayed private, though part of you just wanted to get him out of the building before anyone noticed.

His jaw was set, his gaze determined. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Nothing should have happened between us. Let’s just… leave it at that.”

He frowned, visibly taken aback by your bluntness. 

“How can you say that?” he demanded, his voice low but intense.

Your throat tightened, but you held your ground. 

“I need to get back to work,” you said, not meeting his eyes. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you once again.

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “I’ll wait right here until you clock out if that’s what it takes. We’re going to talk, Y/N.”

You groaned, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Bucky, go home.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he took a seat in one of the lobby chairs, crossing his arms and settling in as if he were prepared to stay all night. Despite the receptionist’s raised eyebrows and curious glances from passing employees, Bucky stayed put, a stubborn expression on his face that only grew more determined with each hour that passed.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried to focus on your work, but every so often, curiosity and frustration got the better of you. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself messaging the receptionist, unable to resist asking, “Is he still there?”

The reply was quick and confirmed what you feared: “He hasn’t moved. Just sitting there, staring at his phone.”

You sighed, feeling a pang of guilt despite yourself. “Could you… maybe offer him a drink or something? He’s not going to leave, is he?”

The receptionist’s response was amused. “Already tried. Said he’s fine, but he appreciates it.”

The next day, he was there again, seated in the same chair, his arms crossed and his expression set like stone. This time, he came prepared—there was coffee waiting on the front desk with your name on it. When Trish and Amy teased you about the mysterious admirer, you convinced them to sneak out the back exit with you after work.

The day after that, he stepped it up. Roses. A beautiful arrangement of vibrant blooms appeared on your desk, the receptionist delivering them with a knowing smile. Your coworkers were relentless, whispering about your "secret boyfriend" and giving you sly grins every time they passed your desk. Again, you dodged them and Bucky, slipping out the back exit before he could catch you.

But no matter how much you avoided him, Bucky didn’t give up. Each morning, he was there, as stubborn as a mule—or more appropriately, as stubborn as Bucky Barnes. His persistence was unwavering, his resolve impossible to break.

Finally, on the fourth day, the receptionist herself came up to your floor, pulling you aside with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

“Y/N,” she began, her tone friendly but firm, “you’ve got to talk to him.”

Your stomach twisted as you glanced at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. 

“Your man. He’s down there again. Same chair, same determined look. And he’s got flowers. Again.” She folded her arms, her expression softening slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he’s been here every day for the past four days. He’s polite, patient, doesn’t bother anyone, but... it’s obvious he’s waiting for you.”

Your cheeks burned, and you felt the weight of her words settle over you. “He’s not my—”

“Y/N.” She cut you off, giving you a pointed look. “Just talk to him. If for no other reason than to put him out of his misery. I’ve worked here for five years, and I’ve never seen anyone that persistent. Trust me, most guys wouldn’t even wait an hour.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “He’s... complicated.”

The receptionist chuckled, shaking her head. “Aren’t they all? But the way he’s sitting down there, looking like a kicked puppy one minute and a stubborn bulldog the next? That’s not complicated. That’s someone who cares.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t let something good slip away just because it’s messy.”

Her words lingered long after she walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart thundering in your chest. You peeked toward the elevator, debating whether you could sneak out through the back again. But deep down, you knew she was right.

Bucky was waiting. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your things, bracing yourself for what was bound to be another conversation you weren’t sure you were ready for.

× × × ×

You stepped into the lobby, your pulse quickened. There he was, sitting exactly where he’d planted himself hours ago, looking a little rumpled, maybe even tired, but every bit as determined as ever. His gaze lifted the moment you appeared, and for a second, his whole expression softened in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Relief, warmth, maybe even something more—it was all there, clear as day, and somehow it made this moment feel… different.

Bucky rose, a small, boyish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he approached. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, letting the silence between you speak. The noise of the lobby faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet, invisible bubble.

You forced yourself to stay steady, trying to keep the upper hand. Arms crossed, you raised an eyebrow at him. “So… you camped out here all day?”

His smile turned a little sheepish, but there was no hint of apology in his tone. 

“Told you I’d wait. Figured you’d come down eventually.” He took a half-step closer, his voice soft and warm, laced with that casual mischief that made it impossible not to smile.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the smile creeping up. “Could’ve just… I don’t know, texted? Called? Like a normal person?”

He tilted his head, his grin widening just enough to make your heart trip over itself. 

“I tried that, remember? Didn’t seem to work on you.” He shrugged, completely unfazed. “So I figured I’d go old-school. Sometimes persistence pays off.”

“Persistence,” you muttered, pretending to sound exasperated. “You mean showing up uninvited?”

Before Bucky could answer, the unmistakable chatter of Trish and Amy echoed from the elevator behind you. Your heart jumped into your throat. Oh no. Absolutely not.

Without thinking, you stepped closer to Bucky, practically pressing yourself against him as you yanked your bag off your shoulder and lifted it up like a makeshift shield to block both of your faces.

Bucky froze, his body stiffening at your sudden proximity, but his expression quickly shifted to pure amusement. His lips twitched as he looked down at you, your bag wobbling precariously on the side of your faces.

“Um… what are you doing?” he whispered, his breath brushing against your forehead.

“Shhh!” you hissed, tilting the bag slightly to peek over it. Trish and Amy were slowly walking toward the front doors, their voices growing louder. “Just… don’t move. They can’t see me with you.”

“And why’s that?” Bucky asked, his voice low and teasing, though he didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned down a fraction, his face hovering closer to yours. “Afraid they’ll get the wrong idea?”

“No, I’m afraid they’ll get the right idea,” you snapped under your breath, glaring up at him.

His eyes sparkled, and his grin widened. “Oh, really? And what idea would that be, sweetheart?”

“Bucky,” you warned, the heat rising in your cheeks as you tilted your bag higher, completely covering his smirking face.

But Bucky didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he seemed more amused, his gaze dropping to your face like you were the most fascinating thing he laid eyes upon. His voice softened, the teasing edge replaced by something warmer. 

“You know, you’re really bad at hiding.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating lightly against you. “Not gonna lie, this might be the highlight of my day. You, using me as a human shield. Very flattering.”

“Oh shut up,” you whispered, but your voice wavered, betraying the way your pulse was racing.

Trish and Amy finally passed by, oblivious to the two of you tucked against the corner. You let out a breath of relief, slowly lowering your bag. But before you could step away, you realized how close you were—Bucky’s face mere inches from yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

His voice dropped, soft and almost reverent. “You can hide from them all you want. But you can’t keep hiding from me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare back at him, caught in the pull of his gaze. The noise of the lobby faded again, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“I told you,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly gentle. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

You tried to ignore the thrill of butterflies that his words sparked. “Like I said, there’s nothing to talk about, Bucky. We should just keep our distance from each other okay?”

He took a steadying breath, his brows drawing together, his voice losing that playful edge. 

“How can you just decide that?” he asked, his tone almost pleading. “You don’t even know…”

You shifted, heart pounding. “Because I know you’re already seeing someone else. I don’t need to be another complication in your life.”

He blinked, visibly taken aback. And then, just as quickly, his face softened, an incredulous, almost disbelieving laugh escaping him. 

“Seeing someone else? Where did you get that idea?”

Heat crept up your cheeks as you tried to hold your ground. “I—I heard her, okay? When I was at your door the other day. The laughing, the… the way you sounded with her…” You bit your lip, looking anywhere but at him.

“Oh.” 

He let out another breathy laugh, shaking his head as if you’d just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. 

“Y/N… that wasn’t a date. She’s not—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of exasperation and utter amusement. “She’s my sister.”

Your mouth dropped open, the realization hitting you like a freight train. “… what?”

“Yeah, my sister, Becca. She was just in town visiting.” He gave you a look of pure, amused disbelief, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “God, you really thought I was seeing someone?”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think?” you muttered, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

Bucky’s smile softened, and he took another step closer, until there was hardly any space between you. 

“You should’ve just asked,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Instead of. . . I don’t know? Avoiding me like the plague?”

You tried to summon a retort, but your heart was racing, your thoughts jumbled by his proximity and the way his gaze seemed to hold you captive.

Bucky chuckled, the sound soft and full of affection as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“All this because of a misunderstanding?” His voice was low, his hand lingering, fingers brushing against your cheek. “I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out why you’re dead set on ignoring me.”

You managed to look up at him, heart pounding as you searched his eyes, suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. 

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?”

“There’s only one person I want to see,” he murmured, his hand dropping from your face and now brushing against your arm. “And I thought I’m making that pretty clear?”

Your mouth opened and closed then opened again, “Okay. . .”

“Okay. . .” Bucky chuckles and steps back, “Shall we. . . restart?”

A flicker of surprise crossed your face, and a warmth bloomed in your chest at his invitation. You’d spent so many days tangled in your own assumptions, convinced things between you were over before they even began, and here he was, offering an olive branch with that disarming smile.

“Restart?” you echoed, your heart skipping a beat as you met his gaze.

He nodded, his expression softening even more. “Yeah.”

You gave him a small, hesitant smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. “Yeah… I think I’d like that.”

Bucky’s grin widened, relief and something warmer sparking in his eyes. “Great. Let’s go home?”

“U-Uh, sure.”

× × × ×

The streets were alive with the hum of the city—cars rushing by, distant chatter from groups of people, and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. But despite the liveliness around you, there was an unspoken tension in the air.

You noticed the way women’s heads turned as you passed, their gazes lingering a little too long on Bucky. It didn’t help that he looked effortlessly handsome, his casual outfit somehow drawing more attention than it should have. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, but another part couldn’t blame them.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. His focus remained on you, his stride matching yours, though there was a slight hesitation in his step.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, glancing up at him as you adjusted the bouquet in your arms.

He let out a soft hum, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Just thinking,” he said, his voice low.

“About?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before he finally spoke. “About that night.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you instinctively looked away, focusing on the ground ahead of you. 

“I thought we weren’t going to bring that up,” you said softly, your voice tinged with both unease and curiosity.

“We have to talk about it eventually,” he replied, his tone steady but gentle. “I don’t like leaving things unresolved, Y/N.”

When you finally reached the corner of your block, you slowed your steps. Bucky noticed, his own pace matching yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The two of you moved to the quieter steps of your building, sitting side by side. The soft hum of the city buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely. Your bag rested on your lap, your face soft under the streetlights, but the tension in the air was anything but light.

Bucky broke the silence first, his hands clasped together as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. 

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while,” he started, his voice low but steady. “That night… I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself.”

You blinked, turning to him in surprise. “Mad at yourself?”

He nodded, his jaw clenching for a moment before he continued. “Yeah. I thought I’d scared you off, made you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to think I was just… using you.”

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet, the ache in his voice tugging at something deep in your chest. 

“Bucky, it wasn’t just about you,” you admitted quietly. “It was me, too. I panicked. I wasn’t sure if I could handle…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Handle what your life looks like.”

His head tilted slightly, his blue eyes softening as he looked at you. “Because of my job,” he said gently, not as a question, but a statement.

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. 

“It’s hard, Bucky. I hear my coworkers talking about you—about SergeantBarnes—all the time. They don’t know it’s you, but it’s constant. They treat you like… like you’re this fantasy, this unattainable thing. And it’s not just them. It’s everyone who sees you online, who only knows that part of you.”

He stayed silent, letting your words settle, his gaze never leaving your face.

“And then there’s me,” you continued, your voice wavering slightly. “I don’t want to be another name on a list or someone who gets overshadowed by… by the version of you that everyone else thinks they know.”

Bucky leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his head to look at you. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the sincerity in his expression.

“I get that,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “And I hate that you feel that way. But Y/N, you’re not another name on a list to me. You’re not someone who gets lost in all of that… noise.”

You held his gaze, the weight of his words settling in your chest. His patience today, his persistence—it wasn’t the action of someone who saw you as fleeting or inconsequential. It was the effort of someone who cared, deeply.

Bucky sighed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I’ve kept my work and personal life separate for a reason. It’s always been easier to compartmentalize, to keep everything from bleeding into each other. But now? Now I realize that I didn’t think about what would happen if someone—if you—became significant to me.”

Your chest tightened, his words chipping away at the insecurities you’d been holding onto. “Bucky…”

Bucky turned toward you fully, his blue eyes locking onto yours, raw and unguarded in a way that made your heart ache. 

“If I told you that I want to spend every day and night with you—not just because I like you, but because you’ve become the one constant person I can’t stop thinking about. If I told you that you’re my sanity when the world feels like chaos, my laughter, my desire, my comfort, my day and my night, my cold and heat—If I told you that, would you think that translates to only wanting you as ‘one of my girls’?”

Your breath caught, the raw honesty in his words shaking you. “Bucky…”

“I know my job makes things messy,” he continued, his voice quieter now, like he was almost ashamed. “But I get it—I get why it’s hard for you. I hate that it’s something that puts distance between us.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I’d do whatever it takes to make this easier for you.”

Your throat tightened, the sincerity in his voice making it hard to speak. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to change who you are for me,” you said softly.

“It’s not about changing who I am,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose something.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hands fidgeting as he leaned back against the step, staring up at the night sky for a moment before turning his gaze back to you.

“I’m gonna be really honest with you, Y/N,” he started, his voice low, hesitant. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about the… other stuff yet. It’s not as simple as just walking away. I’ve got contracts, commitments—it’s not something I can just drop overnight.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you nodded, appreciating his honesty even as the knot in your stomach grew. 

"And that means... what exactly?" you asked, even though deep down, you already knew.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he let out an exasperated chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Do you really want me to say it? Do I have to say it?”

You didn’t flinch this time, your voice cutting through the tension with unsettling clarity. “It means you have to keep having sex with other porn stars… right?”

Bucky winced at the bluntness of your question, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground as he wrestled with what felt like shame.

You sighed heavily, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead as you shut your eyes tightly. Your mind was spinning, your emotions tangled in a knot you couldn’t untie. Out of all the men that could catch your interest, why did it have to be him?

“You are the most complicated guy I’ve ever met,” you said, letting out a short, humorless laugh that carried no amusement, only exhaustion. “Oh my gosh, I honestly don’t even know—” You paused, your voice faltering as you opened your eyes and looked at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “How would you make it easier for me, Bucky? How?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his lips parted, his gaze flickering over your face. He was clearly thinking, his mind working furiously to find a solution, any solution.

"Do you… not like the idea of me with other women?" he asked tentatively, his tone cautious.

You snorted, narrowing your eyes at him. "That’s a stupid question, Bucky."

"Just say yes or no," he pressed, his gaze intent.

"Yes, I do not like the idea," you snapped, your tone sharp with irritation. "But I can’t prevent it, can I?"

Bucky took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. Then, his next words came out carefully, almost testing the waters. 

“What if. . .you do it with me?”

Your eyes widened, disbelief flooding your expression as his suggestion hung in the air. 

Slowly, a startled laugh escaped your lips. 

"Are you joking? You’re out of your mind if you think I’d showcase my body to the world like that!"

"I’m not saying you have to," he said quickly, his hands raising defensively. "I just thought… maybe it’d feel different. Less like I’m with strangers. Maybe it’d feel like I’m with you."

"Bucky," you said, your voice heavy with disbelief, "that’s not a solution. That’s… whatever that is, it’s insane."

His shoulders sagged slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots in frustration. 

“I know it sounds insane,” he muttered, his tone rough. “But I’m trying to find a way to make this work. To make this easier for you.”

You shook your head, letting out a long breath. You stared at Bucky, your frustration and disbelief simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Me… doing that with you? Just so I can handle this better?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“I know it sounds crazy. Trust me, I know. But I hate the thought of you being upset every time I have to perform. And yeah, maybe it’s a selfish thought, but if it were with you… at least it’d feel real. Like it means something.”

You bit your lip, his words tugging at something inside you. But the idea of putting yourself in front of a camera, of having your body displayed for the world—it made your stomach churn. "Bucky, that’s not… I don’t know if I could ever do that. It’s not me. It’s not what I want people to see of me."

He nodded slowly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I get that," he said softly. "But if it’s the only way to make this easier for you… I just thought—"

"You thought what?" you interrupted, cutting him off. "That I’d suddenly be okay with the idea of putting my body out there for millions of people to see? That I’d somehow be okay sharing you like that, even if it’s just on-screen?"

Bucky flinched at your tone, his jaw tightening. "I don’t want you to share me. I don’t want any of this to be a problem for us. But you don’t trust that I’m serious about you, and I’m just trying to find a way to show you."

You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts spinning. He wasn’t wrong—it was hard to trust, hard to believe that someone with a job like his could be serious about anyone, let alone you. But his suggestion… it wasn’t the answer. Was it?

For a moment, you considered something that had never crossed your mind before. The idea was ludicrous, insane even, but it lingered in the back of your thoughts like a whisper. Your lips parted hesitantly, the words tasting strange on your tongue as you said them.

"If I agreed… hypothetically," you started, your voice faltering slightly, "would I… would I have to show my face?"

Bucky blinked, taken aback by your question. For a moment, his expression softened, a mix of relief and regret washing over his face. 

“It’s only a suggestion. . . you don’t have to do this, if you’re uncomfortable." he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I just… I threw it out there because I’m desperate to find a way to make this work.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. 

“I don’t know. But the thought of you with someone else… it makes me sick. And now I feel like I’m stuck, like there’s no winning in this situation.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, his blue eyes filled with understanding. You could see him weighing his next words carefully, as if they could tip the balance in either direction.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft yet steady. “You know what? Forget I said any of that,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s too much for tonight. For both of us.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to feel like this has to be some big, impossible decision right now. We’re both exhausted from this conversation, and I don’t want to mess it up any more than I already have.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, a mix of relief and guilt swirling in your chest. He was giving you an out, a way to step back from the overwhelming weight of it all, and you weren’t sure whether to thank him or cry.

“How about this,” Bucky said, leaning forward slightly, his tone softer now. “Let’s just… hit pause for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll do something normal. Something simple. Let’s go on a date—no heavy talks, no complicated feelings. Just us.”

Your eyes searched his, finding nothing but sincerity in his gaze. It wasn’t an easy fix, and it wouldn’t erase the doubts or the fears that still lingered between you. But it was a step forward, a way to reconnect without the weight of everything else pressing down on you both.

“A date?” you asked, your lips twitching into a hesitant smile.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile growing a little. “Somewhere fun, somewhere we can just… breathe. No drama, no cameras, just you and me.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You make it sound so easy.”

Bucky’s grin widened, and he shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. “That’s because it can be. We don’t have to solve everything at once, Y/N. We just have to take it one step at a time.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the tension in your chest loosen ever so slightly. 

“Alright,”you said, your voice steadying. “Tomorrow, we’ll go on a date.”

Bucky’s smile was warm and genuine, and for a moment, the weight of the evening lifted. 

"Awesome," he said, standing up and offering you his hand. "Now, let me walk you up. Can’t let you carry bag on your own."

You laughed softly, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet. As the two of you walked back into your building, the night air seemed a little lighter. Although at the back of your thought, a question lingers. Should you agree to his suggestion?

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