#Glow Ups by Colleen

[apixellife]

PRIDE

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[age-of-moonknight]

“A Little Chaos,” Moon Knight Annual (Vol. 5/2024), #1.

Writer: Dan Watters; Penciler and Inker: Marco Renna; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[astrotruther]

Astro Observations

misc. (ii)

🐉 Narcissists may have Mars-Uranus aspects in their chart. Mars’ energy can be either constructive or destructive; pair that with Uranus' erratic quality, and it may make one manipulative. Mars & Uranus having harsh aspects to multiple other planets could further confirm this. Look out for squares, especially Moon square Mars!

🐉 Sun hard aspects (square, opposition, conjunction) to Neptune can be somewhat superficial. Neptune may bless them with a mystique that attracts public attention, but they stick to a surface-level public persona. Artists with these aspects may stick to cookie-cutter projects. E.g. Colleen Hover responding to criticism by saying "I write to entertain not to educate". Jake Paul also has this aspect. At its worst, there's a delusional egotism to this aspect. On the other hand, easy aspects may be more willing to go within and proudly display their shadows, creating art that is meaningful and leaves a lasting legacy.

🐉 I've observed Scorpio Sun / Moon in charts of those who backhandedly bully people over things such as their appearance. Water Moons in general are capable of inflicting deep emotional wounds to others when unevolved. Pair it with Mercury in a fire sign, it becomes a lot worse as the words become harsher. I've had a Scorpio Sun - Pisces Moon girl admit to me that she makes fun of people because she had the same done to her while growing up.

🐉 Libra MC are often told they should be models. Understandable because they're so photogenic!

🐉 Pluto-Ascendant soft aspects & conjunction are always reinventing themselves. It's easier for these people to let go of things that don't serve them and realign themselves with their inner selves. They're skilled at coming to terms with their dark side and alchemizing it to create a positive impact in the world.

🐉 On the contrary, hard aspects may feel like they can't be themselves due to external factors or a certain image / aesthetic that they have to uphold. Some may be child actors / activists or made it big in their early years making it hard to disrupt their public persona. It's much harder for them to branch out within their career field. Ascendant at 0° might have the same effect. E.g. Billie Eilish, Demi Lovato, Finn Wolfhard, Darsheel Safary, Malala Yousafzai, Meghan Trainor, Hilary Duff.

🐉 I've seen so many takes on the 0° & most people romanticizing it somehow. It may manifest in a divine way for those who are self-aware / have evolved. However, most people aren't. So it gives a somewhat negative quality to the placement, e.g. Jake Paul's MC is at 0°.

🐉 Moon-Pluto aspects not only symbolize a strained relationship with the mother but also with other women. A lot of trauma you accumulated while growing up was because of the women around you. Some of them may have made you feel bad about yourself because they were threatened by you. The signs Moon & Pluto are in could give more context, e.g. Aries Moon, Sag. Pluto = invalidating your anger, not letting you be yourself and forcing you to be someone they like, forcing religion on you from a young age etc.

🐉 Uranus square MC may have a career-ruining public scandal at least once in their life. All I can say is avoid doing shady stuff and if it's external factors beyond your control, handle it with grace, lay low, you'll get your chance to shine again.

🐉 Moon square Lilith is an enemy placement. Moon person hates Lilith person's guts because Lilith person may have hurt them in some way. Lilith here is prone to harming the Moon person, whether mentally or, in worst-case scenarios, physically. You need multiple positive aspects to balance this one out. Jodi Arias (Lilith) had this aspect with Travis Alexander (Moon).

🐉 Venus-Saturn aspects may have had people criticize their appearance while growing up, but they end up having insane glow-ups. Their most attractive years come somewhat later in life and they age very gracefully.

🐉 Moon in Cancer / Moon conjunct Jupiter people possess the ability to manipulate, sometimes on a mass level. It's on them to use their emotional superpowers to influence people in a positive way and not just keep banking on their victim narratives. Nonetheless, these people can hold public interest for a long time.

Click daily to help Palestinians🍉🙏🏽: https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

[captainuranium543]

Ft headcanons nobody wanted part 2

-natsu will occasionally get genuinely jealous over his friends owning appliances for heating. Why should they need those things when they have him, if they just call him over her do a way better job then any of those stupid gadgets. He finds out gray owns a hair dryer and immediately becomes a jealous ex girlfriend. He confronts Lucy in her apartment one night acting so serious he she doesn't even get mad that he broke in, then just goes "care to explain this?" And puts a lighter on the table.

- Wendy is very very quiet. Creepily so. Not elaborating but I think you can imagine the kinds of situations this leads to.

- Mira's eyes glow in the dark and it creeps everyone the fuck out

- erza has the worst hoarding problem. Her dorm room is entirely piled floor to ceiling with boxes of meticulously organized random items she refuses to throw out for some reason

young Mira: "alright this is ridiculous why do you even have this"

Young erza: "say what you want but when you need 746 packets of Mcnolias sweet and sour sauce and find your supply baron I'll be laughing"

- levy is one of the few members of the guild who actively sought it out to join. Before fairy tail she was an orphan and a student studying magic. She left to join fairy tail to learn more about magic in general from real world experience.

- laki will sometimes build creepily realistic wooden statues of her guild mates and leave them around in inconspicuous places so when you find them they scare the shit out of you. Sometimes she hides them too well and it takes years to discover them.

- Lucy has actually written several unpublished novels and the only other person who's ever seen them is levy. Lucy thinks their crap but levy carefully annotates every single one.

- laxus used to occasionally be forced to go on jobs with erza and Mira when they were young both to help and to make sure they didn't kill each other and he hated it.

- I think I might have said this before but I firmly believe levy, Lucy, freed and jellal later on all form a book club because they love reading, the problem is they all have vastly different tastes in book so they can never decide what to read each week and usually just end up playing Scrabble and talking shit about their various teammates

"please guys trust me this one's good"

"I am NOT reading Colleen Hoover Lucy and that's final"

- this one's based on city hero but I personally believe erza and Erik find a shocking common ground over motorcycles. Erza likes vehicles in general and Erik took up bike racing as a hobby, since discovering this is the longest they've been able to be in the same room together without someone throwing a punch.

- Wendy visits lamia scale regularly still to hang out with chelia. she usually brings romeo and they all go out to do whatever dumb kid stuff they want. (Tbh I just like her having friends her own age)

-lucy sometimes randomly lets her rich girl's heritage show in random conversation and it's always jarring. You'll be having a normal chill convo with her and then she'll look you dead in the eyes and ask you what colour your personal carriage was growing up.

- Natsu is genuinely a really good cook he just has a terrible taste so nobody wants to eat his food. For reference he only ever cooks his food because he enjoys doing it to him it tastes fine either way.

- if you had asked the fairy tail guild who the scariest guild member was in early season 1 the answers would have been erza, guildarts, laxus etc all the usual suspects. Once season 2 starts however the answer is unanimous. It's juvia. Juvia is fucking terrifying when she gets mad. You don't realize how scary water can be until it's filling your lungs and as your vision blurs until all you can see is her merciless stare.

- Mira and freed can drink blood for demon reasons. gray can too after getting devil slayer but he thinks its gross. Surprisingly so can gajeel because of the high iron content.

- gray the type of guy who's bed has only the smallest thinnest blanket on his bed and usually it's on the ground cuz he gets too hot

- meanwhile erza is the type of girl to have so many pillows, blankets and plushies on her bed you wonder how she fucking sleeps in it. Mf has a NEST.

- Lucy isn't even surprised anymore when she finds people in her house, she doesn't know how they keep getting in and honestly she doesn't care anymore she's to tired to deal with it.

- freed plays a lot of really fucking weird instruments. Idk it just seems like something he would do.

- bixlow can speak most languages and it's always really surprising when he randomly says smth like "oh yea I can speak ancient nirvid no prob" like that's totally normal

- if laxus and freed ever did get together (in my heart it's cannon) evergreen and bixlow would be their biggest haters. Yea they love them and they're happy for them but also EW. GROSS. GET A ROOM.

[sellasstories]

CLOSE (II)

word count: 4.9k

pairing: paige bueckers x azzi fudd

⚠️warnings⚠️:

slightly explicit themes, light angst, swearing

prompts:

what happens when two best friends with strong, undefined feelings quarantine together (part 2: paige)

in other words, the pazzi covid fic

Azzi gazes at the girl beside her, taking in Paige’s long lashes and the way the sun streaming in from the window is practically making the blonde glow.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Azzi says softly, leaning in and placing a hand on Paige’s arm. She realizes too late that she doesn’t know if her best friend is awake yet.

“Fuck, Az, not so loud,” groans Paige, not bothering to open her eyes.

Azzi jerks her head back in disgust. “Your breath smells awful!” She ignores the other part of herself that fixated on how the words sounded coming out of her best friend’s mouth. “Sorry, I just need to know what you did with the bottle,” she whispers, a hint of anxiety piercing her voice.

Paige only gets closer. Seemingly unbothered by Azzi’s concern, she buries her face in the dark-haired girl’s neck. “It’s hidden, we’re good.”

After the night she’s had, the feeling of Paige’s lips on her neck (which, she quickly realizes, has never happened before) is entirely too much for Azzi to deal with.

“Paige, tell me.”

“Closet. Hamper, under clothes.” Her head falls back onto the pillow and it seems like the blonde falls asleep almost instantly.

Azzi bites her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. And since she already seems to be in her own personal hell, she admits to herself that Paige may have had a hand in (or entirely been the cause of) the sudden swooping sensation in her stomach.

Looking around for her phone, Azzi takes two photos. The first shows the curtain of blonde hair doing little to hide all the points of contact between Paige’s face and Azzi’s neck. The second shows the pale hand nearly digging into Azzi’s exposed side, the pushed up hoodie (she’d always recognize it as Paige’s) making it look even more suggestive.

She knows it’s a bad idea, maybe even a terrible one, but she tells herself that she’s going to use them for something productive, like sending them to Imani (whoever she is) and telling her to back off. It doesn’t even sound convincing to her. She’s fucking ridiculous.

Reluctantly, Azzi pulls herself out of her best friend’s tight embrace, only managing to do so as the blonde appears to have completely knocked out again. She gives her head a firm shake but instantly regrets it as she feels her headache worsen.

Sighing, she stands up and makes her way to the bathroom. Soothed by the familiar morning routines of washing her face and brushing her teeth (the bitter aftertaste in her mouth taking a while to go away), Azzi is able to look at her reflection without wanting to scream.

Making fun of herself has always been her best defence mechanism, so she does a stupid pose in the mirror and takes a stupid photo of herself in Paige’s hoodie and posts a stupid ‘Who wore it better?’ poll on her private story. She’s been sitting on the counter brainstorming what to do with the bottle for less than three minutes when a FaceTime from Colleen covers her phone screen.

Azzi is quick to answer, not even getting a greeting in before her friend blurts out, “So what’s up with you and Paige?”

Eyes widening, Azzi hops off the counter to find headphones, frantically mashing the volume button down before Colleen can say anything else.

“What are you even talking about?” She whispers once she’s settled back in the bathroom.

The other girl shrugs. “Did something happen between you two?”

Azzi still doesn’t get it. “Like, a fight? We’re fine, I promise. Why are you asking, though? Did Paige say something to you?” She hopes her voice doesn’t sound as paranoid as she feels. It’s been a long 24 hours.

“Your story? It looks a bit… y’know,” Colleen smirks. “I figured it was only a matter of time, but I didn’t think you’d post it like that. I have to say, though, I thought Paige would be the type to leave hickies. Unless they’re just somewhere el-”

“SHUT UP!” Azzi shrieks, immediately slapping her hand over her mouth. “How are you getting all of this from a photo? We’ve never even kissed!”

Colleen has the decency to look slightly apologetic. “Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t see it that way. Look at the photo again, Az. Try to understand, because I promise I’m not the only one.”

“Fine.” Azzi clicks on her story. Shit. Her hair is messy, her tongue is out in what she realizes now looks like a smug smile, and Paige’s hoodie is hanging off her in a way that makes it look like she’s not wearing anything else. Colleen is totally right.

“Oh, my god.” Her reaction is so genuine that Colleen finally drops the teasing.

“You really didn’t know, huh? Look, forget I said anything, but you might wanna think about taking it down if you’re worried about what people could say.” There’s an awkward silence as Azzi sits with her head in her hands.

Suddenly, she raises her head, eyes narrowed accusingly. “Care to explain what the fuck ‘a matter of time’ is supposed to mean? Does everyone know something I don’t?”

Colleen fails to suppress a giggle as she raises her hands in the air. “I was never gonna assume anything, but I figured you two wouldn’t be able to spend that much time together without… figuring it out. Apparently,” she rolls her eyes, “I was wrong.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but I can’t deal with this right now,” Azzi squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “I’m so hungover, and I still have to deal with P and my parents.”

“You’re WHAT?!” Colleen’s screech of disbelief nearly sends Azzi falling off the counter a second time. “You don’t even drink… what the hell happened last night?!” It’s really more of a statement than a question, and Azzi has no choice but to explain.

Briefly, she considers telling Colleen everything, but she’s given up enough secrets recently, and it hasn’t gotten her anywhere good. The other girl believes her when she claims to have forgotten a large part of the night, and the story is apparently more interesting than the original subject of the call, of which Azzi is very grateful.

Miraculously, Paige is still asleep when Azzi hangs up the call and goes back into the blonde’s bedroom. She really needs to focus on making sure that she doesn’t get in a massive amount of trouble, but she can’t stop her eyes from continually drifting to her best friend’s sleeping form.

Telling herself that she and Paige can come up with a lie if worst comes to worst, she finally allows herself to do what Paige definitely can’t help her with — process the previous night. The cold wall against her back grounds her as she sifts through her feelings.

In hindsight, her best friend being queer isn’t all that surprising (Azzi does have eyes, after all), and really neither is Paige liking a girl. Even when it comes to Paige, Azzi tries to be logical and reasonable, but she’s only human. She can’t help but imagine all the girls that must be throwing themselves at the blonde (her brain conveniently chooses to ignore the fact that she doesn’t even know if Paige is out), and the jealousy sits heavily in her stomach.

Paige must be used to it, then, and according to Colleen, it looked like Azzi was one of the aforementioned girls. She cringes internally. Was it really that obvious? The problem is, though, that it must look like Paige has been reciprocating this hypothetical, unintentional flirting in some way. Azzi can’t think of any other reason for what Colleen had told her, and her friend had been very clear about it being something with both of them. She thinks about the way Paige held her while she cried, and she thinks that she might understand.

Azzi can’t tell if her head hurts from the hangover or the absurd mental gymnastics she’s undertaking, and she hasn’t even considered the dream yet. Wanting Paige is nothing new for her, but she’d broken too many of her own rules the previous night. She’s never messed up with Paige like that before, and she worries that it’s only going to get worse.

As her thoughts drift back to her conversation with Colleen, Azzi realizes that she never actually deleted the photo on her story. Maybe it speaks to how far she’s fallen, but it fills Azzi with a sick sense of pride as she looks at it with new perspective. Maybe she wants people to see this- maybe she wants Paige to see this, wants to know how her best friend would react.

Shutting her phone off, Azzi feels like she’s just made a pivotal choice, one she knows she wouldn’t have made a few months ago before Paige was living with her, and she’s going to have to make another purposeful concession to keep her sanity. Rationalizing once again, Azzi reasons that flirting with Paige just a bit wouldn’t be all that bad. The older girl might just be oblivious if Colleen is to be believed and they already have that outward dynamic.

Maybe her sudden feeling of giddiness is preventing her from seeing the obvious flaws of the idea, but the more she thinks about it, the more Azzi likes it. While there’s no guarantee that it will make her life any easier, it’s something that she can control, and she hasn’t felt in control of anything when it comes to Paige for years now.

By the time Paige wakes up, Azzi has two plans: the first one being another secret that she’s going to have to keep, and the second being something that she immediately goes to share with the other girl.

Paige is groggy and hungover, but somehow she gets past the rambling and mild panic in Azzi’s voice to understand what she needs to do. They’re able to sneak craft supplies onto the back deck, and Paige even manages to keep a straight face when she runs into Jose with the bottle under her hoodie.

She nods dutifully as Azzi explains the smashed bottle to her parents as a simple accident while trying to do a TikTok trend, and the girls escape with nothing more than a request to ask before taking anything else after promising to clean up the mess.

“You’re scary good at that,” Paige remarks as they’re squatting on the deck with dust pans in hand.

“At what? Lying?” Azzi asks absently. Smiling brightly, she picks up a big piece of glass and makes a heart out pink and purple glitter on it. The gesture makes Paige melt.

“No, at solving problems. You’re incredible, Az.”

The dark haired girl gives her a look. “Is this what you’re like hungover? All sappy and shit?” Her judgemental tone is offset by the fact that she’s currently making a second heart on another piece of glass.

“I’m like this all the time, what do you mean?” Paige pouts. “I know you love it anyway.”

“Mmm,” Azzi’s busy adding the finishing touches to her masterpieces. She carefully places them on the table before turning back to Paige.

Their gazes cross briefly and Azzi thinks maybe she sees something that looks like love. As she goes back to sweeping up the glass, she has to physically shake her head as she tells herself to get it together. She figures she must still be drunk or something.

But Azzi isn’t seeing things. Paige is lucky that the younger girl is distracted, because the lovestruck gaze that she’s failing to hide is the least of her worries. Since she woke up, there’s been a feeling that she just can’t shake, and she’s run out of explanations of what it could be.

Except for one, that is. Waking up tangled in Azzi’s arms this morning had felt different, and so, so right. Paige wouldn’t hesitate to say that Azzi was the person she was the most comfortable with, but never before had she considered the feeling that they belonged together.

That feeling had only intensified when Paige had accidentally brushed her lips against her best friend’s neck and then compounded it by holding Azzi’s side like she belonged to her.

Sure, that would’ve looked really bad. But what felt worse — not worse exactly, just… new and kind of scary — was when Paige, still drifting in and out of consciousness, heard Azzi’s anxious demands and found them only endearing.

Not long ago, she would’ve found herself getting annoyed, but even with the stress of covering their tracks pushing Azzi into her controlling state, the fondness in Paige’s heart still hasn’t dissipated. Does this mean Paige… has a crush on her best friend?

There, outside on the deck, Paige metaphorically gives Azzi her heart as the younger girl gives Paige a physical one. Paige thinks the broken glass that is the medium of Azzi’s creation makes a pretty good metaphor for her perception of their friendship. Shattered, splintered, permanently altered.

Trying not to say anything too sappy (or too insane for that matter, she has no idea how she came up with the broken glass thing), Paige elects to admire the methodical way that Azzi is now checking for missed pieces of glass.

When they finally go back inside, the first thing Paige does is place the glass heart on her night table so she can look at it every day. The second thing she does is open Snapchat, which is apparently a terrible decision. As soon as she clicks on Azzi’s story, that weird feeling is back, but it’s less surprising.

Azzi wears Paige’s clothes all the time, but she doesn’t normally draw attention to that fact the way this story so clearly is. Has the dark-haired girl always looked so good in Paige’s hoodies? Probably. Somehow, Paige had just been blind to it. She wishes desperately that it was still the case, because it would definitely be weird to ask her best friend to share clothes more often.

Groaning, Paige throws her phone onto the bed before flopping facedown after it.

“Whatcha doing, Paigey?” says Azzi in a singsong voice from the doorway.

Paige rolls over, not bothering to open her eyes. “I’m sleeping- or at least I was,” she says exasperatedly.

“Can I join you?” Azzi’s sounds seductive in Paige’s ears, and she has to open her eyes to confirm it’s just in her imagination. Fuck.

Azzi’s still wearing her sweater, and there’s definitely a slight smirk on her face as she stands with her arms crossed and her head tilted to the side.

“You look good in my sweater,” Paige mumbles sleepily. Shit, shit, shit. There’s no way she just said that out loud. Throwing her arm over her face to hide her blush, Paige misses Azzi’s smile widening.

“I know I do,” Azzi is closer now. She traces a finger down Paige’s bicep. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Just come here,” Paige whines. She moves her arm so Azzi can rest her head on it. At the younger girl’s sigh of contentment, Paige has to squeeze her eyes shut. She is so, so fucked.

•••••

‘Fucked’ is maybe an understatement. Paige doesn’t know what to do anymore. She really wishes she was able to keep her thoughts locked away. She knows Azzi would be able to.

At first, they’d been manageable and fairly harmless. She’d just catch herself staring at Azzi here and there and find that she had the urge to ask the other girl if she knew how beautiful she was. Sure, she’d noticed that Azzi was pretty before, but she hadn’t had time to really appreciate how her features complemented each other so well. Friends look at each other like that, right? Paige wasn't totally sure, but she’d sort of been able to convince herself that they did, backtracking on her earlier realization. That had worked for all of a few hours. Then she was right back to where she started, looking at Azzi like she wanted them to be something more than best friends.

Now that a few days had passed, it seemed that Azzi coming out to her had been both a blessing and a curse. Fortunately, it had allowed Paige to come out with much less stress. She was never planning on keeping it from the younger girl (she didn’t think that was something she was even able to do), but she had never found what felt like the right time and it had been weighing heavily on her. She really didn’t think they could get any closer, but since the mutual confession, their bond felt even deeper.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have unlocked something in her subconscious mind. And that was the problem — not when she realized that Azzi was pretty, but when she realized that Azzi was hot. Like, really hot, so hot that she regularly got Paige worked up. The blonde would toss and turn in bed, thighs squeezed together, as she tried to push away some of the crazier thoughts, reminding herself that they were about her really hot best friend, not some random crush.

Knowing that Azzi liked girls had apparently given Paige’s brain new material and explicit permission to use it. Even though she was quick to dismiss the thoughts as soon as they popped into her head, she was bombarded by images of Azzi in various states of undress, doing things with her that girls who like other girls do. While they did make her feel a bit guilty, she wasn’t going to lie to herself and pretend that she didn’t also enjoy them. She also wasn’t going to pretend that, on the rare nights where Azzi wasn’t wrapped around her, her hand wouldn’t dip below her waistband as she allowed herself to briefly indulge in her newfound forbidden desires.

There is also a second (and admittedly more complicated) problem: Paige isn’t just attracted to Azzi, she’s pretty sure she’s in love with her. Like, the full-blown ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’ kind of love. She’d been drawn to the dark-haired girl since the day they met, and the more she actually thinks about it, the more she realizes that there was probably never a time where she wasn’t in love with Azzi. She goes back and forth between cringing at her own obliviousness and thanking the Lord for not making her have to live with it for all these years. She can’t imagine grappling with these feelings at the age of fifteen when even looking back at the mess of interactions from her short time at the Fudd’s is enough to give her a headache.

Even if this whole love thing is new, Paige would still consider herself something of an Azzi expert, or at least an expert on the way that Azzi acts around her. And she’s sure that it’s not the same as it was last week, or ever, for that matter. Because in all their years of friendship, Azzi has never whispered in Paige’s ear so close that her lips ghost across her skin, never ran her hands across Paige’s upper thighs, and certainly never looked at Paige with those eyes. And at the family dinner table, no less.

Well, she’s at least somewhat sure. Technically, Paige realizes she can’t be completely sure because she wasn’t exactly looking for it before. Maybe it was there all along and she was just oblivious. Or worse, maybe Azzi isn’t even doing anything and Paige is making it all up to serve her own interests.

But whether or not it’s in her head, it’s absolutely torturous. Nighttime fantasies aside, Paige wants it to mean something when she holds her best friend at night. She wants Azzi to know that the forehead kisses (a new habit she’s picked up) and words of affection whispered in the dark are a million little confessions, all uttered in place of one that she will never dare voice out loud.

She never imagined the thought crossing her mind, but sometimes Paige wants all of this to be over, almost needs to get away from Azzi for both of their sakes. But then her best friend will flash a smile in Paige’s direction and everything else melts away. Because Azzi has Paige wrapped around her finger, and Paige is hardly fighting it anymore.

•••••

Paige has seen Azzi in a bathing suit before, but not since she’s… figured some things out. When the dark-haired girl runs out of the house in a simple black bikini, Paige doesn’t even know where to look. There are so many places that she wants to but basically nowhere that she thinks would be appropriate at this point, so she settles for the safest option of locking eyes with Azzi. That turns out to be a mistake, because of course Azzi’s looking at her like that, and Paige wants to go back inside to hide from her.

Being unable to make eye contact with her best friend, Paige’s gaze inevitably shifts downwards. The blonde has enough self-awareness to realize that the look on her face as her eyes snag on Azzi’s lips and collarbones is something she never wants the other members of the household to see. She schools her features into neutrality as she turns around, confusion quickly clouding them when she sees only Tim at the grill.

“Where are Katie and the boys at?” she asks.

A brief smile ghosts across Tim’s face. “Inside, I guess,” he shrugs dismissively. “They’ll be out soon, I’m sure they’re getting dish soap or something.”

Paige doesn’t have long to ponder his evasive answer before Azzi is calling her over.

“Come help me with these staples!”

The DIY slip-n-slide was another idea they’d seen on Tiktok, and when the forecast predicted a particularly hot and sunny day, it seemed like the perfect time to try it.

Paige and Azzi are securing the last corner of the plastic sheet when they’re finally joined by Azzi’s mom and brothers. Only Katie is holding a bottle of dish soap, which Paige registers as somewhat suspicious, but she’s quickly distracted by Tim’s call to come eat.

—

They try the slip-n-slide after lunch. After much bickering, Azzi gets to be the first to go. She slides gracefully on her stomach, laughing joyfully the whole time, before jumping to her feet and turning to Paige with a huge grin on her face.

Paige would be the first to tell anyone how much she loves Azzi’s smile, but she barely registers it this time as her eyes latch onto a water droplet on Azzi’s shoulder and her earlier attempts not to look are all for nothing. Almost hypnotically, her eyes follow the trail of water past her best friend’s collarbones, between the valley of her breasts, and across her abs before it soaks into her bikini bottoms. Paige fully takes in the warm brown skin glistening with soapy water and it’s just so much. All Paige wants to do is touch, anywhere she can. She’s imagining running her hands down her best friend’s body in very inappropriate ways when Jon’s voice next to her snaps her back into the present.

“Hello, Earth to Paige?” he yells, practically screaming in her ear. Face burning, the blonde’s eyes snap away just in time to watch Azzi’s youngest brother turn the hose on her.

“Oooh, you’re so dead for that!” she shrieks, chasing after him.

It soon becomes apparent what Katie and the boys were doing when Jose comes running out of the house with a huge bucket of water balloons. He starts chucking them at Paige and Jon, who are wrestling in the grass, and soon the whole family is having a water balloon fight.

Paige and Azzi try to seek shelter behind a table, but it turns out to be a bad decision as the rest of the Fudds gang up on them. With their supply dwindling, both girls jump up and run across the yard, dodging many balloons but still getting soaked.

“Please, spare us,” Paige cries as she ducks behind Azzi. “You wouldn’t hurt your sweet sister, would you?”

Jon and Jose consider it for about three seconds. “Fuck family, this is war!” Jon shouts, earning a cheer from Jose and poorly masked laughter from Tim and Katie. The onslaught continues, with Paige still trying to use Azzi as a human shield.

If Paige’s hands slide when she puts them on Azzi’s sides to reposition her, surely it’s just because of the soapy water. If they brush across Azzi’s abs as she turns around to push the older girl away, Paige’s breath certainly doesn’t catch in her throat. And when the girls lose the water balloon fight, it’s definitely because it was basically two against four and not because Paige was horribly, atrociously distracted.

—

“Today was really fun,” Azzi muses as they lie in her bed that night.

“Easy for you to say when you didn’t get a sunburn,” Paige winces at the slight sting as her back rubs against the sheets.

“That’s because I’m better than you,” Azzi shrugs like it’s obvious. “Don’t worry, I still think you look cute… even if it means you won’t let me cuddle you tonight.” She yawns and rolls over.

Paige freezes. What the fuck? Her brain is telling her that there’s no way she heard Azzi right, but with the way her best friend has been acting, it almost makes sense.

Shaking her head, Paige shifts around before deciding that the least painful sleeping position is flat on her back. When Azzi slinks her way into Paige’s arms, the older girl grits her teeth against the pain, never once considering pushing the dark-haired girl away to ease her discomfort.

—

Paige is in a desert. Her burnt skin stings under the sun and the hot sand scorches her feet as she stumbles desperately towards a jagged mountain, the only landmark for miles. She’s disappointed to discover that it offers no shade, but hope blossoms as she circles it.

The back of the mountain is an imposing rock face, but all thoughts of trying to climb it are dispelled when a small dark line running down it catches Paige’s eye. She draws closer and is relieved to find that it’s a trickle of water descending from the top of the mountain hundreds of feet above her. The rivulet is scarcely wider than one of Paige’s fingers, but she desperately presses her tongue to the rock, needing to get as much as she can in case it runs out.

The first drop of water invigorates her. It tastes like dreams and desires and a million other things all at once, and soon Paige doesn’t think she could stop lapping it up if she tried. The water drips down her chin and she welcomes the sensation. The trickle grows into a stream and still Paige keeps drinking, closing her eyes as it washes over her like a baptism.

Paige’s senses are flooded by vanilla and jasmine and she has only one thought. Azzi. When her tongue brushes against the rock face again, it’s not the rough feeling she’d gotten used to, causing Paige to open her eyes in shock. She’s on her stomach on what appears to be a flat rock in the middle of an oasis.

But Paige barely has time to take in her surroundings because right under her is the source of her desires. Azzi has an arm thrown carelessly over her eyes, legs spread so that Paige can lie between them, her head inches above the other girl’s smooth, toned stomach. Paige realizes what she’d felt on her tongue and dips her head down, experimentally tracing the path of a water droplet up Azzi’s stomach. She swallows thickly, revelling once more in the heavenly taste of it.

“Why’d you stop?” Paige’s head snaps up. They make eye contact for the first time, Azzi’s relaxed body language juxtaposed by the lust darkening her deep brown eyes.

Paige realizes that Azzi’s wearing the black bikini top she loves, but as her arm brushes the dark-haired girl’s bare hip bone, she’s not brave enough to look down.

“It’s just us here,” Azzi purrs. She arches her back slightly so she can reach the knot holding her top on. “Just you and me.” Azzi fixes Paige with an intense stare, not once breaking eye contact as she begins to pull her top off.

Azzi’s scent is intoxicating, clouding Paige’s senses and leaving her almost in a trance. “You know what I want, baby.” She licks her lips.

Paige doesn’t know if it’s the pet name or the sultry tone of Azzi’s voice, but her head is starting to feel fuzzy.

“I- I do,” she says almost reverently.

“Good girl,” Azzi murmurs. “Think you can do that for me, then?”

And Paige finds herself nodding eagerly, letting soft hands tangle in her hair as Azzi gently pushes her head down.

—

Paige wakes up absolutely parched. She tries not to be disappointed when the water she gulps down tastes nothing like the elixir from her dream. There’s only one thing that she thinks could possibly taste that good, and it’s the one thing she can’t possibly have.

[ladysif8]

BookTok Made Me Do It

•Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Size OFC

•Rating: Explicit

•Tags: Alternate Universe, Modern Day Bucky, Motorcycle Driver Bucky, Plus Size OFC, She Thick & Curvy, Body Dysmorphia, Weight Issues, BookTok, Bestie Darcy, Sam Wilson Has Seen Somethings, Smooth Talker Bucky, Sex, Flirting.

Summary:

In the heart of steamy Savannah, Georgia, tucked between Spanish moss and cobblestone streets, sits Bean There, Read That-a chaotic little bookstore-slash-coffee-shop serving up caffeine, filth, and every BookTok rec under the sun.

Madison is the unapologetically plus-size, smut-loving owner with a dirty mind and a soft spot for morally gray book boyfriends. Her bestie and chaos partner, Darcy Lewis, helps keep the espresso shots flowing and the spice levels dangerously high.

But nothing could've prepared Madison for the day her walking wet dream strolled through the door in the form of Bucky Barnes-gruff, inked, and sin wrapped in leather. One motorcycle ride later, and Savannah's heat has nothing on them.

Author Note

Look, I've got one WIP. Possibly another, depending on whether caffeine or chaos wins today. I'm also writing an original novel like some kind of overachieving lunatic, working full-time, Mom-ing full-time (yes, it's a verb now), and casually battling insomnia like it's an Olympic sport. And yet... my brain, that twisted little goblin, keeps throwing one-shot ideas at me like it's trying to win a prize I didn't sign up for. Do I know how I'm still functioning? No. Do I know what day it is? Also no. But am I writing anyway? Absolutely. Send snacks.

P.S Also send caffeine!

Savannah, Georgia, is a city that breathes history and charm, where cobblestone streets wind through a landscape draped in Spanish moss. The live oaks stretch their gnarled branches over the walkways, their silvery-green canopies filtering the golden sunlight. Their leaves rustle with a soft, whispering hush in the warm breeze, which carries the mingling scents of blooming jasmine, fresh earth after an afternoon rain, and the briny tang of the nearby river.

Historic buildings with sun-faded facades and ornate wrought-iron balconies stand like silent storytellers, their walls softened by time, their windows reflecting the ever-shifting light of day. Gas lanterns flicker on as dusk settles, their glow casting long shadows across the uneven brick sidewalks. The air feels thick with stories—some whispered through the creak of an old porch swing, others echoing in the hidden courtyards behind ivy-covered gates.

Tucked along one of Savannah's quieter side streets, between a weathered brick coffee shop and a row of historic townhouses, sits a small bookstore with a name as charming as its atmosphere—Bean There, Read That. A faded green-and-gold awning shades the paned front windows, which are crowded with artfully stacked books, handwritten recommendations on notecards, and a small chalkboard announcing the latest arrivals. A brass bell jingles softly as the door swings open, ushering visitors into a world where the scent of aged paper and freshly brewed coffee wraps around them like a well-loved quilt.

This bookstore is a BookTok lover's dream, the kind of place where readers can get lost in every trope imaginable. Dark romance, enemies-to-lovers, morally gray heroes, spicy fantasies, cozy romances—the shelves are overflowing with every genre that has dominated social media feeds. A section near the entrance is dedicated entirely to trending books, their covers displayed with small sticky notes bearing staff recommendations and excited exclamation points. Posters of H.D. Carlton, Nevesa Allen, Penelope Douglas, Colleen Hoover, and other BookTok-favorite authors adorn the walls, their quotes scrawled in looping script beneath their images. A neon sign near the register reads, "One more chapter..." casting a warm glow over the counter where stacks of pre-orders wait for eager readers.

The bookstore's walls are lined with towering wooden shelves that bow slightly under the weight of their treasures. Hardcovers with cracked spines and dog-eared paperbacks sit alongside glossy new editions, their pages whispering with the promise of adventure. A rolling ladder, its rungs worn smooth, glides along the highest shelves, inviting readers to explore hidden gems tucked into forgotten corners. The honey-colored hardwood floors creak gently underfoot, a soothing counterpoint to the distant strains of jazz playing from an old record player near the counter.

A wide archway on the right leads into the coffee shop, a warm, inviting space where the hiss of the espresso machine blends with the rhythmic clinking of ceramic mugs. The walls here are exposed brick, rich and dark with age, adorned with framed literary quotes and watercolor paintings of Savannah's famous squares. The seating is eclectic—mismatched chairs and cozy booths, with a long window seat running beneath the wide front window where customers linger over their lattes, watching the world drift by outside. The air is thick with the scent of roasted coffee beans, cinnamon, and vanilla, punctuated now and then by the buttery sweetness of fresh-baked scones.

The two spaces flow seamlessly together, creating a sanctuary where time slows just enough for stories to unfold—whether on the page or in quiet conversations over steaming cups of coffee. Some customers come for the books and stay for the cappuccino; others arrive for the coffee but find themselves drawn into the aisles, trailing fingertips over well-worn spines as if searching for a story that's been waiting just for them. Here, amid the ink and steam, strangers become friends, words become memories, and for a little while, the world outside feels a little softer, a little slower—just enough for the magic to take hold.

It was a beautiful morning, the air thick with humidity, the kind that settled on your skin like a second layer of clothing. The air clung, heavy and wet, turning every breath into something you had to work for. As you stepped outside, it felt like slicing through a wall of heat—each step a deliberate push through the dense atmosphere. The world shimmered faintly under its weight, the pavement already warm beneath your feet, and it wasn't even 8:30 yet, the scent of damp earth and blooming magnolia hanging in the air like perfume. Even the breeze, when it stirred, was no relief—just a reminder that the heat could move, too.

Standing behind the scuffed wooden counter of Bean There, Read That, Madison's fingers flew over the register, efficiently ringing up a customer's latest haul. Her ombre red hair—shifting from deep auburn to fiery copper—was haphazardly twisted up, secured with a skull-hand clip, looking like something straight out of a gothic fairy tale. A few wild curls had escaped, framing her round, freckled face as she shifted her weight. The hem of her knotted T-shirt—boldly declaring, "Morally Gray Is My Favorite Color"—rode up slightly over the waistband of her worn-in denim shorts, the fabric soft and well-loved from years of wear.

The familiar beep of the scanner blended into the comforting soundtrack of the store—the occasional rustle of a turned page, the murmur of conversation from the café side, and the soft hiss of Darcy expertly steaming milk for a latte.

"Alright," Madison said, flashing her bright, bracey smile as she slid a receipt across the counter. "You're leaving here with some serious heartbreak and highly questionable moral choices, but in the best way." She tapped the top book in the customer's stack—a dark romance with a moody, black-and-red cover—her grin turning downright wicked. "This one? Total emotional devastation. Have snacks ready. And maybe a support group."

Before the customer could respond, a frozen coffee drink—towering with an absurd amount of whipped cream and caramel drizzle—landed on the counter.

"Did she bully you into that one?" Darcy asked, raising an eyebrow at the customer before glancing pointedly at Madison. "She did, didn't she?"

Darcy Lewis—Madison's best friend, her other half, her partner in crime, her soulmate in everything but romance, and, most importantly, her business partner.

They had met in middle school, drawn together like two characters from wildly different genres thrown into the same book club. Madison had been quirky, quiet, and reserved—the kind of girl who got lost in fantasy worlds and always had ink smudges on her fingers from scribbling notes in the margins of her books. Darcy, on the other hand, had been loud, outgoing, and unapologetically blunt—the type who talked too much in class but always had the best book recommendations.

Somehow, they had balanced each other perfectly. Madison thrived in chaos—stacks of books, half-finished projects, and an endless supply of Post-it notes filled with story ideas. Darcy kept things moving, bringing order to the madness with an easy confidence and the kind of attitude that made people believe she had everything under control, even when she didn't.

Now, years later, their dynamic remained the same. Madison sold people on stories; Darcy kept them caffeinated enough to stay up all night reading them. Together, they had turned Bean There, Read That into something more than a bookstore and café—it was a haven for book lovers, a caffeine-fueled sanctuary where mismatched souls found the stories they didn't know they needed.

Madison rolled her eyes, grabbing another book from the pile and slipping it into a tote bag. "Ignore her. I do."

"Gah!" Darcy clutched her chest dramatically. "That is just rude. Why do I put up with you?"

Madison smirked, handing the now-full tote to the blonde on the other side of the counter. "Because nobody else will put up with either of us?"

Darcy narrowed her eyes. "Touché." With a playful glare, she turned and sauntered back toward the café.

The customer—a sweet girl named Abby—laughed, her hands curling around the tote bag's sturdy handles. The bag, printed with the phrase 'Just One More Chapter,' sagged slightly under the weight of her new bookish obsession.

"I'm so excited to read these!" Abby gushed. "I just came across BookTok last night and was immediately intrigued."

Madison adjusted her thick-framed glasses, absently pushing them back up where they had started to slide. "Let me know if you enjoy them," she said, nodding toward the bag. "I've got some new books coming in later this week, you might like if those turn out to be your thing."

Abby's face lit up. "Oh my gosh, really? I totally will!"

Madison grabbed a Bean There, Read That bookmark—this one sporting a doodled stack of books with tiny stars around it—and tucked it into the tote. Enjoy your books! And if that plot twist ruins your life, come back and yell about it with me."

Abby practically bounced out of the store, her grin wide and her arms loaded with stories, and Madison leaned against the counter, exhaling happily as she took in her surroundings.

Books were stacked in precarious, to-be-shelved piles, some dangerously close to toppling. Handwritten staff picks—taped to the shelves with colorful washi tape—were scrawled with passionate notes and doodled hearts, exclamation points, and tiny warnings like "Wrecked me in the best way."

A nearby section, labeled BookTok's Worst (Best) Influence, boasted everything from spicy romantasies to grumpy/sunshine tropes and forbidden love stories so intense they made people clutch their chests dramatically in the aisles. The walls were decorated with posters of BookTok darlings—H.D. Carlton, Penelope Douglas, Neveesa Allen—some of which had cheeky annotations scrawled in Sharpie. Someone—probably Madison herself—had added a sticky note to one cover that read, "This man is RUINING LIVES and I am HERE FOR IT."

At that moment, a low thud echoed from the fairy section, followed by the sound of something clattering to the floor.

"Kyle!" Madison called without even turning around.

From behind a nearby bookshelf emerged the store's resident menace—Kyle, a stocky orange tabby with a white chin, a kinked tail, and the deeply chaotic energy only orange cats possess. His fur was a perpetual mess of static, and his wide, unbothered eyes made it very clear he had no regrets. He hopped onto the counter with a dramatic flick of his tail, narrowly missing a stack of bookmarks.

"He knocked over the Meredith Gentry series again," Darcy called from the café. "Tell your furry son to get a job!"

Kyle blinked slowly, then began aggressively licking his paw like the very picture of innocence.

"Don't let the toe beans fool you," Madison muttered, scratching him under the chin. "He's a menace."

Kyle purred loud enough to vibrate the counter.

The orange terror leapt down again, making a beeline for his cat tree tucked beside the romance section. He clambered up the tower like he owned the place—because, honestly, he did—and then flopped dramatically in the cat bed nestled in the sun-warmed front window. Within seconds, he was sprawled out on his back, paws in the air, basking in a sunbeam like he hadn't just terrorized a customer ten minutes ago for trying to pet him uninvited.

From the café, Darcy muttered something about abandoned coffee cups, and Madison smirked, grabbing her own iced coffee before turning back to the register, already scanning the store for her next victim.

Someone in this shop needed to be lovingly bullied into their next bookish obsession.

And Madison was just the woman for the job.

Madison trudged down the sidewalk, the brown paper takeout bag in her arms rapidly soaking through with sweat from her palms. The air was a sauna, thick and muggy, and every step felt like wading through hot syrup. Her thighs stuck together uncomfortably, and her denim shorts were riding up in places she definitely didn't appreciate. Her T-shirt—normally loose and soft—now clung to her skin like shrink-wrap, damp and suffocating. She felt like a busted can of biscuits, about to pop at the seams. Her face was flushed, a bright red she could feel without needing a mirror, and sweat was collecting at the small of her back in a way that made her want to scream. Not to mention her damn glasses were fogged up. It was one of those days where every inch of your skin just aches from being too hot.

As she turned the corner toward the bookstore, she barely registered the low purr of an engine until it rumbled to a stop right in front of her. A motorcycle. Big. Loud. Sinfully sleek. The guy riding it pulled up with effortless confidence, boots hitting the pavement as he kicked down the stand. Madison's steps slowed. Her eyes widened.

She couldn't see his face thanks to the matte black helmet, but everything else? Lord help her. His black T-shirt was plastered to his chest like a second skin, showing off a body sculpted like he lived in the gym—or maybe just wrestled bears for fun. His jeans were criminally tight, the kind that made her forget how to blink. They clung to him like they were made specifically for him, tracing every muscle, and it was so distracting that she almost forgot to breathe. His motorcycle boots were scuffed in a way that suggested they'd actually seen the road—and that was somehow even hotter. She caught the flash of woven and beaded bracelets on both wrists, and something about that tough guy with artsy wrist candy made her brain short-circuit. He looked like one of those guys she followed on TikTok just to thirst over in silence at 2 a.m.

And then he pulled off the helmet.

Madison tripped over absolutely nothing.

Because underneath that helmet was a face so stupidly beautiful it should've come with a warning label—thick dark hair, messy but perfectly styled, long on top with a fade on the sides. A lightly stubbled jaw that made her heart stutter, and the prettiest damn blue eyes she'd ever seen, framed by lashes that looked like they belonged on a model, not a guy who probably spent half his time getting mud on his boots. She nearly dropped their lunch right there on the sidewalk.

For a split second, all she could do was stare, wide-eyed, her entire brain unable to process anything other than the fact that this man was real and not a figment of her overheated imagination. The heat of the day felt miles away for just a moment, as if the world had narrowed down to just him, the kind of gorgeous that made her feel dizzy.

Bucky swung his leg off the bike, the engine's hum dying down as he pulled the helmet off with one hand and ran the other through his sweat-damp hair. The air hit him like a slap, thick with Southern heat—stifling and relentless, wrapping around him like a damn wet blanket that didn't let go. His shirt clung to his back, sticky and uncomfortable, and even his jeans felt like they were suffocating him. He should've worn something lighter, but honestly? He hadn't exactly planned on sticking around long enough to feel like he was baking in an oven.

He'd been down here a week, visiting his college best friend Sam Wilson with his other lifelong best friend, Steve Rogers.

Steve and Bucky had met Sam one night at a college party—Steve and Sam hit it off right away. Bucky and Sam? That had taken a bit longer. But now the three of them were thick as thieves.

Somehow, Sam had managed to convince them to spend their summer in Savannah fuckin' Georgia. Bucky had been all set to hop back on the bike, head out of this sticky, suffocating town, and get back to somewhere cooler—preferably with fewer bugs.

And then he saw her.

She was coming down the sidewalk, arms full of takeout, looking like every step was a battle she was losing. The way she moved—like the very air was conspiring against her—had Bucky's attention locked on her. Her face was red, hair clinging to her forehead in damp curls, her thighs sticking together in the heat just like his. Her glasses, perched on her nose, were fogged up from the humidity, making her squint slightly as she tried to navigate through the oppressive warmth. But despite the obvious discomfort, there was something endearing about the chaos surrounding her. Her T-shirt was clinging to her in all the right ways, the fabric stretching slightly as it molded to her curves, her shorts—well, they'd definitely seen better days. She looked like she might throw the food in frustration or maybe just break down and cry. Or both.

Then she looked up. Saw him. And stumbled—like walking had suddenly become an Olympic event she hadn't been prepared for.

Bucky blinked, half a smile tugging at his lips as her bag nearly tumbled from her arms. He stepped forward, instinctively ready to catch it or her—if either one fell.

He couldn't help it. He was already stepping in her direction, the rush of the moment pulling him forward without thinking. If anything was going to hit the ground, he was damn sure it wasn't going to be her lunch.

"You okay?" His voice was low, rough from the heat, but with an undercurrent of concern. He shifted his weight, standing just a little too close—but the heat in the air, combined with her flustered expression, made the distance feel a lot smaller than it probably should've been.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, like she'd just seen a ghost—or maybe something even better. For a second, Bucky wondered if he was the one who looked out of place. Maybe she was seeing something about him that he didn't even understand.

Her face flushed deeper, a mix of embarrassment and surprise, and she scrambled to steady the bag, a flicker of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. It was small, hesitant, but it was there, like she was trying to regain her footing—and not just physically. It was a look of intrigue, maybe even curiosity.

In that moment, Bucky couldn't help but think that maybe—just maybe—this stop in town wasn't going to be as quick and forgettable as he had planned.

Madison opened her mouth, but no actual words came out. Just a soft, breathy sound—maybe the beginning of a "hi" or an "I'm good," but it completely derailed somewhere between her foggy glasses and his very distracting face.

"I—uh—you—yeah, I mean—I'm fine," she finally managed, voice high and shaky as she fumbled the bag in her arms again.

Bucky bit back a grin, watching her scramble to string together a sentence like it was the hardest thing she'd done all day. He thought it was kind of adorable—how her cheeks went pinker the more she tried to act casual. Definitely more endearing than annoying. And considering the number of people he dealt with who couldn't shut up, he found her flustered honesty kind of refreshing.

"Let me get the door for you," he said, stepping around her with ease and pulling it open like it was no big deal.

Madison blinked and followed, feet moving on autopilot as she stepped gratefully into the shop's blissfully cool interior. The whoosh of air conditioning hit her like salvation, and she silently sent up a thank-you prayer to Willis Carrier, the patron saint of people who sweat through their clothes by noon.

She barely had time to adjust to the drop in temperature before a familiar voice called out from the back.

"MADDY! Please tell me that's food and not your ghost 'cause I swear, I was about five minutes away from going out there and scraping your melted remains off the sidewalk!"

Darcy came barreling out from behind the counter, her dark curls piled on top of her head, eyeliner still sharp despite the heat, and a wide grin on her face—until her eyes landed on the man behind Madison.

She skidded to a stop, blinking once, then twice. Slowly, her gaze traveled from his scuffed boots to his jeans to the black T-shirt still clinging to his broad chest. Then up to the helmet tucked under his arm, and finally to his face.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "Did I die? Did I actually pass out from hunger, and now I'm in heaven? Because if you tell me that man came with the food, I'm gonna propose."

Madison groaned softly, wanting the floor to swallow her whole.

Bucky? He just chuckled.

"I will literally throw this bag at you," Madison muttered under her breath as she shoved the takeout into Darcy's hands, avoiding eye contact like it might spontaneously combust.

Darcy, completely unbothered, cradled the bag like it was a newborn. "Worth it."

Bucky leaned against the nearest bookshelf, his helmet tucked under one arm, watching the whole exchange with a spark of amusement in his eyes. The air conditioning was helping, but the flush on Madison's cheeks wasn't going anywhere.

Suddenly, from the far corner of the shop, there was a low hiss. Madison's gaze snapped to the side as Kyle, the shop's orange tabby cat, slinked out from his perch by the window, his amber eyes locked on Bucky.

The cat's ears flattened, and he let out another warning growl, tail flicking in agitation.

Darcy, noticing the commotion, grinned. "Don't mind Kyle. He's just making sure you're not here to steal his girl."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, looking down at the cat, who was now crouched low and giving him a menacing stare.

"I don't mind a little competition," Bucky said with a smirk, watching Kyle warily. "I've got plenty of fight in me."

Kyle responded with an even louder hiss, his back arching slightly.

Madison, half-annoyed and half-amused, knelt down and gave Kyle a soft pat on the head. "Relax, buddy. You're the only man here, okay?"

Kyle gave a disgruntled meow, but he wasn't convinced. He let out a final growl at Bucky before wandering off to find a spot on the counter, eyeing him suspiciously the entire time.

"Looks like he's not a fan of the competition," Madison said with a smile, standing back up.

Bucky chuckled, watching Kyle carefully. "I'll win him over. Maybe."

Darcy was still grinning like the cat was the least of her concerns. "Kyle's a little protective of Maddy. But don't worry, she's got a soft spot for all things fluffy—except you, apparently."

Bucky shook his head, clearly entertained. "Guess I've got to start with the cat first, huh?"

Madison sighed, pushing the takeout bag into Darcy's hands once more. "I hate both of you."

"Aw, don't be like that, Maddy. You're the one who walked in with him like the opening scene of a romance novel. I'm just the best friend who's legally required to say inappropriate things when that happens."

Bucky chuckled under his breath. "She's funny."

"She's relentless," Madison corrected, peeking out from behind her hands. She looked at him, finally meeting his eyes again. "Thanks...for the door. And for not letting me faceplant on Main Street."

"Anytime," he said, voice still carrying that easy, gravelly tone. "You looked like you had your hands full."

"I looked like a heatstroke victim," she muttered.

He shrugged. "You still looked cute."

That made her brain stop working again. Full system reboot. Darcy outright choked on her bite of food.

Madison blinked. "I—uh—thanks?"

He nodded, then looked toward the front door, like he should probably be leaving—but didn't actually move. "This place got coffee?"

Darcy, ever the opportunist, grinned. "Best in town. And since I'm on break—Mads, why don't you show him where the good stuff is?"

Madison gave her a look that said I will kill you in your sleep, but Darcy just hummed and took another bite of her sandwich like the conversation was over.

And just like that, Madison found herself walking toward the coffee bar with Bucky trailing behind her, his presence warm even in the cool air.

"You sure you're not a mirage?" she asked without thinking.

Bucky chuckled. "You sure you're not still overheating?"

She smiled despite herself.

Maybe Steve convincing him to stay another week wasn't such a terrible thing after all.

Madison busied herself behind the counter, pretending the espresso machine required her full attention even though she could work it half-asleep. Her hands moved automatically—grabbing a cup, pressing buttons, avoiding eye contact like it was a weapon. Bucky, of course, leaned casually on the counter, like he had all the time in the world and was fully aware of the way he was throwing her off.

"Y'know," he said, voice low and teasing, "if I knew small towns came with cute girls and decent coffee, I might've started showing up sooner."

She paused, her fingers tightening slightly around the cup. "You don't even know if it's decent yet."

He smiled, slow and deliberate. "Don't need to. You're making it. I trust you."

She finally looked up at him, eyes narrowed in amused suspicion. "Do you flirt with everyone who nearly trips in front of you?"

"Nah." He tilted his head, that smirk not letting up. "Just the ones who look like they walked straight out of my daydreams."

Madison scoffed, trying not to let her smile show. It was a losing battle. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe. But I'm also very hot, according to you."

Her jaw dropped. "I did not say that."

"You didn't have to." He leaned a little closer across the counter, his voice dropping. "It was written all over your face when you looked up at me."

Madison's cheeks went nuclear. "That was heatstroke."

"Oh yeah? Guess I should check your pulse, then."

She turned away before he could see her laugh, grabbing the cup and pouring the coffee like it was suddenly urgent. "You're awful."

"I've been called worse." He straightened up just enough to give her space, but not before brushing his knuckles lightly along the counter, like he was fighting the urge to reach for her. "But I like the way you say it."

Madison handed him the coffee, fingers brushing his for the briefest second. "Careful. That's hot."

"So am I, apparently."

She almost dropped the cup.

From across the store, Darcy let out a not-so-subtle cackle.

Bucky took a slow sip, blue eyes watching her over the rim of the cup. "Mmm. Not bad."

"Told you," Madison mumbled, folding her arms to keep her hands from fidgeting.

"I'll be back for another," he said, straightening up, still holding her gaze. "And maybe lunch, if you're on the menu."

Her mouth fell open.

He winked, gave a lazy salute with his coffee cup, and headed for the door—boots thudding softly against the wood floor, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm like he was walking off a movie set.

Darcy wandered over, grinning like a lunatic. "So...when's the wedding?"

Madison stared at the door, still slightly dazed. "I hate you."

"Sure you do, babe. But you love me more."

The sun had finally dipped below the treeline, giving the sticky heat of the day a slight reprieve. Cicadas still hummed outside, but the air felt a little less like soup as Bucky flopped down onto the worn, but surprisingly comfortable couch in Sam's living room. A box fan buzzed lazily in the corner, barely circulating the lukewarm air. The faint scent of grilled chicken and charcoal still lingered from earlier, clinging to the curtains like a memory.

Steve stood in the kitchen doorway, nursing a bottle of beer, his free hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans. He looked relaxed—sun-kissed and content in that way only Steve Rogers ever seemed to manage.

Across the room, Sam was locked in battle with the ancient TV remote—the kind that only worked if you sweet-talked it and held the batteries in just right. His tongue poked out slightly in concentration, thumb jabbing the buttons like it owed him money.

Bucky cracked open a cold bottle of water, the condensation slick in his hand. "Ran into someone interesting today."

Steve glanced over with a knowing grin. "Oh yeah? That why you came back later than you said you would?"

"Yeah, I stopped in that bookstore café—"

"Bean There, Read That?" Sam cut in without looking up.

Bucky raised a brow. "You spying on me now?"

"Nah," Sam said, giving the remote a final, triumphant press. The TV beeped in surrender. "I just know the place. That little indie shop with the espresso bar in the corner and the plants hanging from the ceiling, right?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, kicking his boots up onto the scuffed coffee table. "She works there. Walked right into her—well, almost. She was two seconds from face-planting with a bag of takeout."

Steve chuckled and shook his head. "And let me guess—you turned on the full Barnes charm."

Bucky shrugged like it was nothing, but the way his lips curved said otherwise. "Maybe just a little."

Sam snorted. "Man, you better be careful messing with those BookTok girls."

Bucky blinked. "Book-what now?"

"You know—TikTok, but for readers," Sam explained, flopping into the armchair. "Morally gray romance junkies. They'll flirt with you, write a whole spicy novella about it in their heads, and then ghost you 'cause fictional you broke their imaginary heart."

Steve burst out laughing, nearly choking on his drink.

"I'm serious!" Sam grinned. "They're dangerous. One wrong smirk, and boom—you're the villain in their slow-burn enemies-to-lovers arc."

Bucky looked amused, leaning back like he was settling in for the show. "She didn't seem like the TikTok type."

"They never do," Sam said with a knowing nod, like a man who'd seen things. "Next thing you know, someone's turned you into a broody vampire and tagged you in a thread called 'the man who ruined me and also my credit score.'"

Bucky snorted, clearly entertained. "Sounds intense."

"They're also kinda kinky," Sam added casually, reaching for his own drink.

Bucky perked up. "I could get with that."

Steve groaned dramatically. "He's doomed."

Sam pointed the remote at Bucky like it was a weapon. "Just don't go acting like a walking trope, Barnes. These girls can sniff out emotionally unavailable men like bloodhounds."

"I'm plenty available," Bucky said, overly confident.

"Emotionally?" Steve raised a brow.

Bucky hesitated, then tilted his head. "...I'm workin' on it."

Sam snorted into his drink. "Godspeed, man. Godspeed."

Steve shook his head, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth as he lifted his beer. Just before taking a sip, he paused and glanced at Sam.

"Wait—how do you know BookTok girls are kinky?"

Sam didn't miss a beat. "Because I read, Rogers. And because I made the mistake of dating one once. Let's just say... she owned more rope than a rock-climbing gym."

Steve choked on his beer mid-sip, coughing and laughing as Bucky grinned wide.

"I told you," Sam said, smug. "Dangerous."

The weeks went by in a blur of humidity and heavy summer air, but Bucky's visits to Bean There, Read That became a regular part of his routine. He found himself at the small bookstore-café nearly every afternoon, slipping in with a casual grin, like he was a man on a mission. And, in a way, he was—his mission? Madison.

He'd never been much of a reader. Hell, if you asked him, he'd probably tell you the last book he'd finished was in middle school. But here he was, buying a coffee every day, then standing at the counter like a damn sponge as Madison went off about books he barely understood, just so he could be close to her.

It was some kind of masochistic charm, how she could speak about a book series like she was giving him a tour of another world. Her hands were always moving, her eyes lighting up as she described characters, plot twists, love triangles he didn't even know existed. He hung on every word. He even bought a couple of books based on her recommendations—none of them had gotten read yet, but that wasn't the point.

He just wanted to see that spark in her eyes when she spoke. Wanted to hear her voice, even if he didn't know the difference between Grishaverse and Throne of Glass. He'd even started pretending he understood all the references, nodding along and trying to sound like he knew what the hell she was talking about.

That is, until one afternoon when she caught him.

Madison had just finished talking about The Shadow and Bone series for what felt like an hour. Bucky had been nodding along, his gaze fixed on her face, watching her animated expressions, but his mind was miles away, completely lost in the pull of her words and the way her lips moved when she talked.

She stopped mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Okay, Barnes," she said, crossing her arms. "I don't think you've heard a word I've said."

Bucky blinked, looking at her like she'd just accused him of murder. "What?"

"I said, you've been standing there like you've heard every word, but you're not even listening, are you?"

His lips curled into a sheepish grin. "I'm listening."

"No, you're not," she challenged, her tone playful but firm. "You're pretending."

He gave an exaggerated sigh, looking defeated. "Alright, you caught me."

Madison raised an eyebrow. "What's your deal, huh? You keep coming in here, asking about books, listening to me ramble, and you don't even read them. Why?"

Bucky leaned against the counter, his hands casually resting on it, a half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, his voice softer now, like he was letting her in on a secret.

She leaned forward, arms still crossed, looking skeptical but intrigued. "Try me."

He paused, the air between them thick with something neither of them had quite put into words yet. "You have no idea, do you?" he said quietly, his voice dropping an octave, making the words feel like they carried a weight. "You have no idea how absolutely beautiful you are, how you drive me crazy every damn time I walk through that door."

Madison froze for a second, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel her face heating up, and she quickly looked away, trying to mask her reaction. "That's cheesy," she said, but even she could hear the way her voice wavered.

Bucky's grin widened. "Yeah, maybe. But it's the truth."

Madison swallowed hard, unsure of how to process the sudden shift in the air between them. She wanted to roll her eyes, to dismiss it as just another line, but something in his gaze made her heart skip a beat. And that was dangerous, because she didn't have the time or energy for anything complicated right now.

But Bucky wasn't done.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice again, his eyes locked on hers in a way that made her pulse quicken. "I come in here for the coffee, sure, but I also come in here because I get to see you light up when you talk about the things you love. And that," he said, letting the words settle between them, "that's worth coming back for."

Madison blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. She didn't know what to say at first, so she just shifted awkwardly, letting the silence hang in the air before finally speaking.

"Finally!" Darcy shouted from the back of the store.

Madison's eyes widened, and she realized how close she and Bucky were standing, their faces only inches apart. She quickly took a step back, clearing her throat, but Bucky didn't move, his eyes still locked on hers.

"I have been waiting for this for weeks!" Darcy called as she emerged from the back, holding a tray of pastries like she'd just won a battle. "I mean, I was about to give up hope! You two have been stuck in this endless 'will they, won't they' flirt-fest forever! I was about to just leave and go find you two smooching on the sidewalk."

Bucky and Madison exchanged a look, both of them a little wide-eyed at Darcy's bluntness. But before either of them could react, Darcy was already talking again.

"Listen, Romeo," Darcy said, hands on her hips. "If you're not going to read those books, at least stop acting like you're in the prelude to a rom-com. You've got her wrapped around your finger with all that smooth talk, but I'm done with the games. You want her to notice you for real, Barnes? Here's the thing—at some point, it's time to turn the flirty banter into something else."

Bucky blinked, thrown off for a second by the sudden shift in Darcy's tone, but his smile never fully disappeared. He glanced at Madison, his expression now a little more serious, and she felt the sudden tension between them.

Madison, however, felt a flush creeping up her neck. Darcy was pushing them into uncharted territory. It wasn't that she didn't like the flirting—it was just... well, she wasn't sure where it was headed, and Darcy wasn't giving her any room to breathe.

Darcy was clearly having none of it. She leaned over the counter, glancing between the two of them with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You're both clearly over the whole 'will they, won't they' routine. So how about we cut the crap? I'm tired of waiting for you to make a move, Bucky. You either kiss her already or stop wasting both of our time."

Bucky's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before it returned, sharper, more confident. "I like where your head's at, Darcy. I was just trying to take my time... you know, be a gentleman."

Darcy scoffed, leaning back, crossing her arms. "Gentleman? Bucky, please. The only thing you've been a gentleman about is wasting my time." She turned back to Madison, raising an eyebrow. "You are noticing the difference between banter and the real stuff, right?"

Madison cleared her throat, trying her best to look unaffected by Darcy's bluntness. She could feel Bucky's gaze on her, the tension shifting between them. Darcy was right—she was getting tired of the back and forth, the playful teasing. She was ready for something... more.

Bucky leaned closer, his voice suddenly low, thick with meaning. "Darcy's right. I didn't want to rush it, but hell, I'm done pretending."

Madison's heart skipped a beat. She opened her mouth to say something, but Darcy cut in, winking at her.

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. Bucky Barnes is totally head over heels." Darcy reached into the pastry box, pulled out a cinnamon roll, and took a big bite. "I'll just be over here, trying not to gag on the sweetness. Don't mind me."

Bucky's laugh was deep and genuine as he turned his attention back to Madison. "So, what do you say, Madison? Go out with me. You think you can handle me when I'm not pretending to be some 'bookish' guy who's just here for coffee?"

Madison met his eyes, the playful tension finally breaking as a smile tugged at her lips. "I think you might be more than I can handle, Barnes."

Darcy clapped her hands together. "Finally! The R-rated version. I knew it was in you two."

Madison shot Darcy a playful glare. "You're insufferable."

Darcy gave her a sweet, innocent look. "Oh, I'm just getting started."

Madison stood in front of her full-length mirror, arms crossed tightly over her chest, a deep frown pulling at her lips. She pulled another dress over her head, adjusting the straps as she turned side to side, trying to see it from every angle. The fabric clung awkwardly to her stomach, highlighting every bump she didn't want noticed. Her arms—soft and untoned—felt completely exposed.

"God, I look awful," she muttered, tugging at the hem. The material refused to cooperate.

All she wanted was to be comfortable. Cute and comfortable. Was that too much to ask?

She had a date with Bucky tonight. Tonight. Her stomach fluttered just thinking about it, but one glance at her reflection sent that flutter spiraling into full-blown anxiety. She looked less like a confident woman and more like a sack of potatoes in pastel lace.

"Ugh, this is ridiculous," she groaned, throwing her hands up. "Nothing looks good on me!"

With a frustrated sigh, she yanked the dress off and flung it onto the growing pile on her bed. Her closet loomed like a battleground behind her, hangers askew, clothes draped in chaos. She scanned the racks desperately, already half-dreading her next choice.

"Still struggling, huh?" came a familiar voice.

Madison turned to see Darcy leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place.

"I don't know what to wear!" Madison exclaimed. "I want to look good, but I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard. How am I supposed to balance that when I look like a potato?"

Darcy snorted, stepping inside like she was entering a fashion intervention. "First off, breathe. Second, you are a sexy potato. And third, I wouldn't wear a dress."

Madison paused, one hand still gripping a hanger. She narrowed her eyes. "No dresses? Why not? You know I was thinking about the cute blue one with the lace trim..."

Darcy flopped onto the bed with all the drama of someone who'd seen this meltdown coming. "Not unless you want to flash the entire street when you hop on the back of his bike."

Madison blinked. "Wait—what?"

Darcy tucked her arms behind her head, fully relaxed now. "He rides a 2024 BMW S1KRR. Sleek, all black, probably purrs like a damn panther. He definitely babies that thing. You wear a dress, and one wrong breeze, and bam—instant Marilyn Monroe moment."

Madison stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "How do you know what kind of bike he rides? Are you stalking him or something?"

Darcy shrugged, entirely unbothered. "I have my ways."

Madison blinked again, still processing. She looked down at the heap of clothes on her bed, then back at Darcy, a mixture of shock and suspicion clouding her face. "I hadn't even thought about his bike."

"Exactly." Darcy sat up and grabbed something from the laundry basket on the floor. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a pair of soft black shorts onto the bed. "These'll work. Comfortable, flattering, and—bonus—you won't flash the neighborhood. Pair it with that white blouse we found at that boutique, the one with the flutter sleeves and the cute neckline?"

Madison picked up the shorts, running her fingers over the fabric. Soft. Easy. She could sit, move, breathe in these. "Okay... yeah. That would be cute."

"Damn right it will be," Darcy said, standing and brushing invisible lint off her leggings like a job well done. "Now that you're sorted, I'm going to grab a bottle of wine and drown my single sorrows in Grey's Anatomy... and possibly the last of the cheesecake."

Madison laughed, the tension in her chest finally easing a little. "You better leave me a bite."

"No promises," Darcy called over her shoulder as she left.

Madison shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips as she turned back to the mirror. She set the shorts on the bed, peeled off the last of her indecision, and stepped into them, tugging them over her lacy white panties. The fabric settled perfectly around her hips—comfortable, but still cute.

Her eyes lifted to her reflection again. Better.

Her mind wandered as she pulled the white blouse from her closet. Bucky. BMW S1KRR. How did he even afford something like that? She knew he had a cool, kind of mysterious vibe—but Darcy seemed to know details that Madison hadn't even thought to ask about.

She slipped the blouse over her head, adjusting the hem as her fingers lightly traced the fluttery sleeves.

As she smoothed the fabric down, she couldn't help but wonder—just how much more did Darcy know about Bucky? And more importantly... what exactly was Madison walking into tonight?

The low, throaty growl of a high-performance engine broke the quiet of the late afternoon as Bucky pulled up to the curb in front of the apartment tucked behind the old brick storefront. The sun caught the sleek lines of his matte-black BMW S1KRR, making the whole thing look like it belonged in a movie—polished, powerful, and just a little dangerous.

He cut the engine and kicked the stand down, pulling off his helmet with a practiced flick of his wrist. His dark hair was tousled beneath it, a few strands falling over his brow as he scanned the familiar building with calm eyes and a restless energy that buzzed just under the surface.

Out on the stoop, Darcy was lounging in a weathered patio chair like she was holding court, one leg slung over the other, sunglasses perched on her nose, and a sweating glass of something suspiciously tropical in hand. She looked entirely too pleased with herself.

"Well, well, look what the alley cat dragged in," she called out, flashing a grin like she'd been waiting all afternoon for this moment. "Dark Knight's here!"

Bucky chuckled, one corner of his mouth tugging into a crooked smile. "Hey, Darcy."

Without missing a beat, she turned and hollered toward the open front door like she was trying to wake the dead. "MADDY! YOUR DARK KNIGHT IS HERE TO WHISK YOU AWAY! HOPE YOU WORE PANTS!"

From inside came a muffled groan. "I hate you."

Darcy raised her glass like it was a trophy. "Love you too, sugarplum!"

A few seconds later, the screen door creaked open, and Madison stepped out onto the porch. Her expression was equal parts unimpressed and faintly amused. She ran her fingers along the edge of her flutter-sleeved white blouse, smoothing the fabric as she moved. The blouse was soft and airy, the kind that fluttered with the breeze, and it tucked neatly into black high-waisted shorts that showed off a generous amount of thigh—enough to turn heads, but still casual enough to say I didn't try too hard, this is just how I look.

Bucky had just started swinging a leg off the bike when he spotted her—and immediately froze mid-motion.

He blinked. Then blinked again. His breath caught somewhere between his lungs and throat, stuck like he'd just been sucker-punched.

Madison descended the porch steps at an easy pace, not trying to be graceful but somehow hitting every note just right. His eyes followed the motion of her scuffed-up Doc Martens, up her strong, tanned legs—thighs that shifted and curved as she walked—past the cinch of her waist and the dip of her neckline. Her lips had a faint shimmer of gloss, her cheeks flushed from the heat or maybe just the attention. The glasses she usually wore were gone, leaving her soft eyes more open, more striking. Her chestnut hair had been French braided into two neat pigtails that trailed down past her shoulders, just messy enough to be cute.

Bucky barely remembered how to move.

"You okay there, Barnes?" Darcy called, clearly enjoying herself. "You look like you just got hit with a two-by-four."

He cleared his throat and straightened up quickly, shutting his mouth before it could hang open any longer. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

Good was generous. He was hanging on by a thread.

Madison reached the bottom step and shot Darcy a dry look, though the twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed her. "You're impossible."

Darcy raised her glass again, beaming. "And you're hot. Go have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"That leaves a very small list," Madison muttered, shaking her head, but her laugh spilled out anyway—light and warm and addictive.

Bucky stepped forward, offering the spare helmet. Their fingers brushed, a spark of contact that made something low in his stomach flip. Madison hesitated for just a moment before taking it, her gaze flicking to his, something unreadable passing between them.

She pulled the helmet on and fumbled with the straps, her fingers unsure.

Without a word, Bucky turned toward her, gently lifting his hands to fasten the chin strap. His fingers grazed her jaw, and for a moment, everything slowed down—the noise of the street, the heat of the sun, even the sound of their breathing. Just him. Just her. Just this.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice lower than he intended, a little rougher—gravel and velvet.

She looked up at him with a slow, knowing smirk. Pure trouble. "You tell me."

And just like that, Bucky knew one thing for certain—

He was screwed.

Bucky swung a leg back over the bike and got situated, his hands moving over the controls like second nature. Madison stood beside him, helmet secured, fingers flexing at her sides like she was gearing up for a skydive instead of a motorcycle ride.

She hesitated for a second, eyeing the seat behind him like it might bite.

"You good?" Bucky asked, glancing over his shoulder, voice calm and patient. The helmet muffled his words a little, but she heard the smile in them.

"Yeah. I just..." She looked down at her hands, then at his back. "I've never ridden one of these before. I don't really know where to—uh—hold on."

She shifted her weight, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Also, what if I mess something up? Like, I don't know... shift my weight wrong and tip the whole thing over? Or break something?"

Bucky blinked, then let out a soft laugh—warm, not mocking.

"Madison," he said gently, "This bike can take corners at a hundred miles an hour and not flinch. Trust me—you're not gonna break anything."

She gave him a doubtful look, still hovering uncertainly.

"I promise," he added, voice dropping just a little, steady and sure. "You're safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you or the bike. I've got you."

Her heart did a weird flip at that. I've got you.

He reached back, gently taking her hands in his gloved ones. His touch was firm but careful, guiding her arms around his waist and pressing her palms flat against his stomach. His hands lingered just a second longer than necessary.

"Right here," he said. "Hold on tight when we get moving, but otherwise just relax."

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and swung her leg over the bike, settling in behind him. Her thighs hugged the seat, her knees brushing his hips as she scooted closer. The moment her chest touched his back, Bucky bit down on a curse.

The contact was soft, warm, and far more intimate than he'd prepared for. He could feel the rise and fall of her breath, the slight tremble in her hands as they rested against him. She smelled like coconut shampoo and vanilla lotion, and it was doing dangerous things to his ability to think straight.

"You okay?" he asked, half turning his head.

"Mm-hmm," Madison hummed, even though her heart was hammering like a drum in her chest. "Yeah. I'm good."

He smiled again—more to himself this time—then started the engine.

As the bike rumbled to life, Madison instinctively tightened her grip around his waist. Her helmet brushed the back of his shoulder as the powerful machine lurched forward and melted into a smooth glide down the road.

Bucky couldn't help it—he loved the feel of her holding onto him. The way she molded to his back, her legs snug against his sides, her breath occasionally ghosting over his neck. He told himself he had to focus on the road, but her presence made that nearly impossible.

She was nervous. He could tell. But she trusted him. She held on like she believed he'd keep her safe. And he would. No matter where the night took them.

He revved the engine just enough to make her squeak and bury her face briefly between his shoulder blades—and damn if he didn't grin the whole way to their first stop.

The world blurred as they sliced through the quiet streets of Savannah, the late afternoon sun spilling gold across the sidewalks and casting long shadows that danced beneath the tires. A salty breeze rolled in from the coast, carrying the scent of the ocean, warm pavement, and fresh-cut grass. The air was thick with summer, touched by the rich, old-soul perfume of brick buildings warmed by decades of sun.

Bucky's grip on the handlebars was steady, controlled. The weight of Madison pressed against his back was grounding—comforting in a way he hadn't expected. As they zipped past rows of historic townhouses, their iron railings blooming with ivy and flowers, and oak trees heavy with Spanish moss, he felt like the city was guiding them along its winding path.

Streetlights blinked on one by one, painting the cobblestone roads in a soft amber glow. The bike purred beneath them like it belonged to the rhythm of Savannah itself—smooth, easy, timeless.

Behind him, Madison clung tighter, her arms locked around his waist. Her palms rested against the firm muscles of his stomach, and he felt her breath rise and fall in time with the engine's vibrations. The wind tugged at her hair where it peeked out beneath her helmet, strands fluttering like streamers. The breeze was cool, but her body against his was warm—too warm—and the contrast made his skin hum with awareness.

She shifted slightly, trying to find her balance. The movement pressed her thighs closer around him, her knees brushing against his hips. Every dip and lean of the bike molded them together, until the space between them barely existed. Her chest was flush against his back, her breath soft and quick, and he could feel her pulse thudding through her fingers.

They passed an old brick pub with wide windows, laughter and music spilling out into the night air. Strings of lights glowed overhead, and people on patios looked up as they sped past. A moment later, they cruised by a row of art galleries—windows glowing with soft lamplight, paintings gleaming through the glass like secrets waiting to be discovered.

Savannah held a kind of quiet magic this time of day. It was calm but alive, humming just beneath the surface. Like something was always about to happen.

Madison swallowed hard, her thoughts racing almost as fast as they were. But beneath it all was peace—real, solid peace. She hadn't expected to find that with a helmet on her head and her arms wrapped around someone like Bucky Barnes, but here she was. It felt a little like flying. A little like falling. And nothing like fear.

Bucky leaned into a curve, and she moved with him, instinct kicking in. He shifted like the bike was an extension of him, fluid and sure, and she couldn't help but marvel at how natural it looked. He didn't fight the road—he danced with it. She could feel the power in his body, the quiet control in his posture, and the care in the way he kept her steady.

Her heart thudded harder. There was something wild about him, something untouchable—but also something deeply steady. The way he handled the machine, the way he let her be close—it made her feel like maybe they weren't so different after all. Maybe he was just as tightly coiled inside as she was.

They veered onto a side street, quieter than the rest. Old Victorian houses lined the road, their wraparound porches lit with porch lights and flickering lanterns. The trees above formed a soft canopy, branches whispering to each other in the breeze. Even the crickets seemed to hush as they passed.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, catching her eyes through his visor. There was a spark there—teasing, maybe, or something deeper. It made her breath catch. He revved the engine slightly, a playful jolt that sent the bike forward and Madison closer, her chin brushing between his shoulder blades.

She laughed, quick and breathless, and though the wind swallowed the sound, he felt it. And he smiled.

"Hold on tight," he called, voice muffled but clear. There was something in the way he said it—like it meant more than just the ride.

She tightened her grip, pressing close. Her body molded perfectly to his, and as they sped forward, the lights and sounds of the city melting behind them, she stopped trying to hold herself apart.

The buildings blurred into streaks of color. The trees arched above them like a tunnel. The wind roared past her ears and kissed her skin. Everything she'd been holding inside loosened, like knots finally coming undone.

Bucky was solid in front of her. Unshakable. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn't just surviving.

She was alive.

This was freedom—fast and warm and a little reckless. This was something she hadn't even known she'd been starving for.

And with her arms wrapped around him, the whole world finally felt just a little more within reach.

The bike slowed as they turned onto Habersham Street, the steady hum fading into a softer purr. Warm lights spilled from the windows of a corner brick building ahead, and a neon sign glowed in the dusk—The Green Truck Pub.

Bucky guided the bike into a spot along the curb and cut the engine. The sudden quiet buzzed in Madison's ears after the wind and motion of the ride, and for a second, she stayed still, catching her breath and letting her nerves settle.

He swung a leg over the seat and stood, then reached back to help her down. His gloved hand curled gently around hers—warm, steady, easy.

"Gotcha," he said, guiding her feet to the pavement.

Her legs wobbled a little when her boots hit the ground, but she managed a laugh. "That was... a lot."

Bucky smirked, pulling his helmet off. "You didn't scream once. I'm starting to think you like danger."

"I was too scared to scream," she joked, then tugged her helmet off and shook her hair out. "Also didn't wanna embarrass myself."

His smile widened. "You wouldn't. But I'd have teased you for it anyway."

Madison laughed, brushing her fingers through her windblown hair and glancing up at the pub. "I love this place. It's kind of a local secret."

"Sam pointed me toward it," Bucky said, nodding at the building. "Said it's his go-to when he wants good food and no tourist crap."

She arched a brow, impressed. "Sam's got taste?"

Bucky held up a hand and tilted it side to side. "In food? Hell yeah. In other things?" He made a face. "Debatable."

Her laughter bubbled up again, and some of the tension slipped from her shoulders.

They walked side by side toward the door, the smell of garlic, burgers, and something fried floating in the warm evening air. Inside, the pub was cozy—exposed brick, old wood, chalkboard specials. Vintage soul music hummed softly under the clink of glasses and low conversation.

Bucky held the door open with an exaggerated flourish. "Ladies first."

Madison hesitated, smiling shyly. "Thanks."

"Anytime, darlin'," he said with a wink, following her inside.

They settled into a booth near the back, tucked beneath a ceiling fan that lazily stirred the warm air. Bucky shrugged off his jacket and draped it on the seat beside him, then flopped back like he owned the place.

Madison slid into the other side, tugging at the hem of her shirt. She was hyper-aware of herself—her curves, the way she took up space, how she probably looked after the ride. Her eyes flicked to the menu, grateful for the distraction.

"You like burgers?" he asked, glancing over the top of his menu.

She hesitated. "Yeah, I mean... I was thinking maybe just a salad."

Bucky tilted his head, lowering his menu.

"If that's what you want, salad it is," he said easily. "But just so you know, I'm about to destroy this double bacon jalapeño burger because it looks like it might change my life."

Madison laughed despite herself.

He leaned in, his voice softer. "If you're worried about eating in front of me, don't be. I'm not here to judge you—I'm here to spend time with you. You're beautiful. And you're allowed to enjoy your damn food."

Her cheeks flushed, eyes darting down. "You're really not subtle, huh?"

"Never been accused of that," Bucky said with a grin. "But I am honest."

She smiled, a little shy but warming to him. "Okay... I'll get the burger too."

He grinned, looking pleased. "Atta girl."

The server came by, and they placed their orders, with Bucky adding fries "the size of my face" and a chocolate milkshake "for balance."

As the server walked away, Madison bit her lip to keep from grinning.

"You always flirt this much on a first date?" she asked.

"Only when I'm nervous," he teased, then gave her a wink. "But seriously... you're easy to talk to."

She blinked at that, a little stunned. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," he said, resting his arm along the back of the booth. "You've got this quiet thing going on. Makes a guy want to lean in and listen real close."

She shook her head, half laughing, half disbelieving. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're gorgeous," he shot back. "We all have our flaws."

Madison laughed, ducking her head, a blush blooming across her cheeks.

Their food came, and the conversation flowed easier now—soft teasing, warm glances, the kind of comfort that felt rare. Every time her self-consciousness tried to creep back in, Bucky countered it with something light, something kind.

He caught her staring once as he licked a bit of sauce off his thumb.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Nothing," she said quickly.

"Mmhmm," he said, grinning. "Just so we're clear, I know I'm pretty."

Madison snorted. "Modest too."

"Terribly," he agreed. "It's a curse."

When the check came, Bucky slid his card in before she could reach for her purse.

"I could've—"

"You could've," he said, sliding out of the booth. "But you didn't."

They walked slowly, neither in a rush to end the night. The buzz of Savannah nightlife hummed softly in the distance, but here, beneath the hush of swaying Spanish moss and golden streetlight, it felt like they were in their own little world

"You full?" Bucky asked, glancing sideways at her.

Madison nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair back with one hand. "Yeah."

He sighed, exaggerated, and dramatic. "That's a shame, I could go for some dessert." His eyes lingered on her lips at he bit his bottom one, the hint of a smirk curling at the corner.

She shot him a look, half amused, half flustered. "Do you ever not flirt?

He grinned, cocky and unbothered. "Only when I'm sleeping."

Madison shook her head, laughing, but there was no hiding the flush in her cheeks or the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him.

Bucky stopped under a tree, its branches arching low and heavy with moss. The warm light overhead painted gold across his face, and he turned to her, the teasing softening just a little.

"You've got that look in your eye," he said, stepping closer.

She raised a brow. "What look?"

"Like you want me to kiss you."

Her breath caught, but she didn't look away. "And if I do?"

His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with feather-light care. "Then I probably would."

"Probably?" she echoed, breathless.

His voice dropped to a slow, southern drawl. "I'm tryin' to be good."

She smiled, lips parted, her eyes locked on his. "I don't I want good."

That was all it took.

In one smooth step, he closed the space between them, his hand cradling the back of her head as he pulled her in. The kiss wasn't soft or tentative. It was hungry—full of heat and tension that had been building from the moment she'd climbed on the back of his bike.

His mouth moved over hers with purpose, tongue brushing hers as her fingers clutched the front of his shirt. He kissed her like he'd been waiting all damn night for permission—and now that he had it, he wasn't going to hold back.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, her lips tingling, Madison stared up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

"I don't usually do this," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"I know," he murmured, brushing his nose against hers. "That's what makes it so damn good."

She swallowed hard. "If we get back on that bike right now, I might not be able to keep my hands to myself."

Bucky grinned like the devil himself. "Then maybe we should get back on the bike."

He kissed her again—slower this time, deeper—right there beneath the moss-draped tree, as Savannah swirled softly around them. The rest of the world faded into the background, leaving nothing but heat, lips, and the slow burn of something that was quickly spiraling into more than either of them expected.

The night air was balmy as they tore down the quiet road, Savannah fading behind them in a blur of golden streetlights and weathered cobblestone. The rumble of the motorcycle beneath them was steady, low and hypnotic, vibrating through Madison's entire body as she wrapped herself around Bucky.

But this time... she wasn't just holding on.

Her hands, once tucked politely at his waist, started to roam—tentative at first, like she was testing the waters. Fingertips glided over the hem of his shirt, then up, brushing lightly against the firm lines of his stomach. The muscles there twitched beneath her touch, flexing with every subtle movement of the bike. She let her palms explore, bolder now, smoothing over the warmth of his body like she'd been dying to do it all night.

Bucky didn't say anything right away—but she felt the shift in him. His posture went a little straighter, tighter. Then came the laugh—low, rough, unmistakably amused.

"Careful, sweetheart," he drawled over the engine's hum. "You keep that up, and I'm liable to forget which one's the brake."

She grinned into his back, heart pounding like crazy. "Thought you said you could multitask."

"Only when I'm sleepin'," he tossed back, a smirk in his voice. "Right now? You're makin' it real hard to focus."

That should've embarrassed her. A week ago, it would've. But something about the way he said it—the teasing warmth, the easy confidence—made her feel bold. Beautiful. Like maybe she wasn't just some quiet girl from out of town. Like maybe she could be his kind of trouble.

So she kept going.

Her hands slid higher, brushing over the planes of his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt. She traced the line where his pecs met his ribs, her fingertips barely there. His breathing hitched. Just slightly. But she caught it.

And then—

His hand slipped from the handlebar, just for a second, reaching back to rest on her thigh. Not just rest—he squeezed gently, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly what that would do to her. His fingers skimmed up, brushing beneath the hem of her dress, a tease and a threat all in one.

Madison gasped softly—not from shock, but from the jolt of heat it sent straight through her. Her thighs clenched around him instinctively, and suddenly, she wasn't just playing around. She was all in.

Her hands dipped lower, confident now, gliding down the center of his abs, tracing the curve of his hip bones before settling on his thighs—solid and warm beneath his jeans. She gave them a gentle squeeze, just to see what would happen.

The groan he let out was low and raw, cutting through the engine's hum like a live wire.

"Mads..." he said, voice strained. "You tryin' to get us killed?"

She leaned in closer, her helmet nudging his shoulder. "You're still drivin' straight."

"For now," he growled, and the gravel in his voice made her pulse skip.

She smiled—giddy, breathless. "You're really easy to fluster."

"You're really easy to throw over my shoulder and take into the woods," he shot back.

"Promise?" she whispered.

That did it.

The bike swerved—not dangerously, but enough for her to feel it. The tension. The restraint. The edge he was skating just to keep control.

And Madison? She'd never felt so powerful.

And Bucky? He was hanging on by a thread—and wondering how fun it'd be to let go.

The road stretched out ahead, winding and shadowed, moonlight painting silver streaks across the asphalt. The engine throbbed beneath them, but the ride was secondary now—just a backdrop to something far more dangerous.

Bucky's hand didn't stay on her thigh for long—not really. Just enough to make a point. To make her think about it. But it burned, a slow heat that lingered, echoing across her skin long after he pulled away. And now, she wasn't just touching him out of curiosity—she was doing it with intention. Like she knew the rules now, and she wanted to break every single one.

Her fingers swept up his torso again, slow and deliberate, pausing to trace every dip, every line. She circled her thumbs just beneath his pecs, her touch feather-light but full of purpose.

"Y'know," he said, voice rough and low, "I was gonna be a gentleman tonight."

"You still can be," she said sweetly, dragging her fingers lower—down past his ribs, across his stomach, and dangerously close to the waistband of his jeans.

He let out a bark of laughter. "That ain't helpin', sweetheart."

She leaned in, her lips close to his ear. "Then stop pretending you mind."

His groan was low and primal, the kind that wrapped around her spine and made her knees weak. His grip on the handlebars tightened, knuckles white under the soft streetlight glow.

"Damn," he muttered. "You were shy a few hours ago."

She grinned against his shoulder. "Guess I just needed the right motivation."

He glanced down, just enough to catch her hands sliding over his thighs again, slow and sinful. His hips twitched under her touch—just a small shift, but enough to make her smile.

"Keep doin' that," he warned, "and we're not makin' it to your place."

"Sure we are," she murmured. "Eventually."

His breath hitched. She felt it in the way his body tensed, in the way his jaw clenched. And God, she loved it. Loved the power in her hands, the way he was unraveling bit by bit under her touch.

"Bet you're proud of yourself right now," he muttered.

She bit her lip. "A little."

He turned his head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes over his shoulder. His look was smoldering—dark, intense, and laced with a challenge.

"Might have to wipe that smug little smile off your face later."

"I dare you."

That shut him up.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was electric. Every beat of the engine, every shift in the wind, every breath between them added to the pressure building under their skin.

He made a sharp turn onto her street, tires crunching over gravel as they pulled into the driveway. The bike rolled to a slow stop, the engine idling for a moment before he cut it off.

But neither of them moved.

Her hands were still on his thighs. His breathing was shallow, almost ragged. The tension between them stretched taut like a wire about to snap.

"You gonna invite me in?" he asked, voice low and intimate.

"I haven't decided yet," she said, her fingers drifting up his stomach again—light, teasing. "You think you earned it?"

His laugh was quiet and dark, more exhale than sound. "Baby, I'm the one who drove you home."

She leaned closer, lips brushing the stubble along his jaw. "Then you're halfway there."

Bucky reached down and turned the key.

The engine died.

The silence that followed?

Deafening.

And full of promise.

The sudden silence was jarring—so sharp it left her ears ringing. Or maybe that was just the blood, rushing fast and wild through her veins, thudding against her skull like a war drum.

Before Madison could catch her breath, Bucky swung off the bike, boots crunching against the gravel. He turned to her without a word, his movements smooth and sure as he reached for her helmet. Fingers brushed her hairline as he lifted it free, strands spilling out in tousled waves. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, chest rising and falling with each uneven breath.

She looked wrecked—in the best way.

Still, he didn't speak. Didn't hesitate.

Bucky dropped the helmet onto the seat and closed the space between them in one stride. One hand found the back of her neck, firm but gentle, guiding her forward as he crashed his mouth against hers.

There was nothing slow about it.

No warning. No build.

Just fire.

The kiss was hard, messy, hot—his mouth demanding, his teeth catching her lower lip as if he couldn't get close enough. Madison gasped, but he swallowed the sound like he needed it, like it fueled him. His other hand found her waist, pulling her tight against his body, hips pressed to hers. The warmth of him soaked through her clothes, and suddenly, she was gripping his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing him back like she might come apart if she didn't.

Her back bumped the side of the bike, but she barely noticed. Her world had narrowed to the feel of his mouth, the weight of his body, the raw heat pulsing between them.

She dragged her hands over his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, needing something solid to hold onto. Her fingers curled, bunching the fabric in her fists as she pressed closer, chasing the friction, the contact, the chaos of it all. Her hips rolled against his without thinking, and the noise Bucky made—low and wrecked—lit her up from the inside.

"Jesus, Mads," he growled against her lips, breath ragged. "You're driving me fuckin' crazy."

She couldn't help the grin that tugged at her mouth. "That's the idea."

He kissed her again, deeper this time, slower but no less intense. It melted her knees, made her sag into him, fingers clutching his jacket for balance. Her heart hammered in her chest, thudding in time with every brush of his tongue, every stroke of his hands.

He groaned into her mouth, hands sliding lower, over the curve of her ass, gripping tight enough to draw a gasp from her lips.

The air between them was thick, crackling with the kind of tension that couldn't last much longer. Every second they stood there, every shift of their bodies, brought them closer to that edge.

And when he finally broke the kiss—just barely—he didn't move far. His forehead leaned into hers, both of them breathless, lips brushing.

"You wanna take this inside?" he asked, voice rough and low. "Or should we give your neighbors something to talk about?"

His lips ghosted over hers as he added, quieter this time, "Can we...?"

The way he said it—like he wanted to devour her but still needed to be sure—sent a thrill down her spine.

Madison didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide, and that cocky smirk returned. "What about your roommate?"

"Darcy?" Her brain fumbled to keep up, already half-melted from the way his thumbs were sliding just under the edge of her jacket. "She's probably not home. And even if she is..." Madison's mouth curved into a wicked smile. "She owns headphones."

That was all he needed.

And from the way Bucky's hands tightened on her hips, the way his mouth found hers again, hungry and unrelenting—he planned to make damn sure Darcy needed them.

She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the front door, practically dragging him up the walkway. He followed with a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. Her keys fumbled in the lock, nerves and anticipation making her hands unsteady, but the door finally gave way. They stumbled inside—lips crashing together again before it even clicked shut behind them.

He kicked the door closed with a boot, their mouths never parting as she backed him into the living room. Their jackets were discarded in the chaos—his hitting the floor with a heavy thud, hers landing somewhere near the coffee table.

"Tell me to stop," he muttered between kisses, his voice gravelly and burning with need, "and I will."

She hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, tugging him closer until their bodies were pressed against each other, no space left between them.

"I'm not gonna," she whispered, her voice low, sultry. "So don't."

That was all it took.

Control snapped.

Bucky spun her around, lifting her effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist with a surprised laugh. "Bucky, wait—put me down," she said, a flush rising to her cheeks. "I don't want to hurt you."

He paused mid-step, brows furrowing as he looked at her. "Madison," he said gently, "you couldn't hurt me, baby."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her quiet—soft at first, then deeper, more insistent. "You think I don't know exactly how strong I am?" he murmured against her lips, already walking them through the apartment again. "You're perfect. Let me hold you."

Her breath caught as his mouth trailed from her lips to her jaw, down her neck, his touch sure and demanding.

By the time her back hit the wall just outside her bedroom, Madison was trembling, hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as he ground against her.

"Bedroom?" he rasped, eyes dark with want.

She nodded, eyes heavy-lidded, her breath shallow and erratic.

With one last kiss—hard and claiming—he carried her through the door, like he already knew he'd never get enough of her.

Darcy had just settled into bed with a glass of wine and the latest episode of The Bachelor queued up. She sat cross-legged on her bed in her favorite oversized hoodie, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, eyes glued to the screen as one of the contestants fake-cried into a rose.

"Girl, he is not that into you," she muttered, tossing popcorn at the TV just as the front door opened.

She didn't even have to look—those heavy boots and that low murmur? Bucky. Madison's laugh followed, soft and breathy, and Darcy just smiled to herself. Finally.

The bedroom door across the hall shut quietly.

Darcy was just getting into a juicy confrontation on-screen when a faint thump echoed through the wall. Then a pause.

And then— yep. That was Madison.

Darcy blinked, tilted her head slightly like she wasn't sure she heard right, then heard it again—softer, a little breathy, unmistakably not part of the TV show.

The door clicked shut behind them, and Bucky didn't hesitate. He tossed her onto the bed, descending after her with a primal growl. His hands slipped under her shirt, his warm palms gliding over her skin, igniting electric sparks of desire wherever they lingered

Madison gasped, arching her back, her skin alive with sensation. His lips found the hollow of her throat, teeth grazing her pulse point, making her tremble beneath him. "God," she breathed, fingers tangling in his hair again. "Where did this come from?"

He smirked against her skin. "Been holding back."

"Well, don't."

Bucky paused, just enough to gaze into her eyes, which were smoldering with need. His chest heaved with a raw, electric tension. In one fluid motion, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, revealing the sculpted strength of his body. Madison's breath caught in her throat as she absorbed the sight——his body lit by the soft bedside lamp, a powerful contrast to the hunger in his gaze.

"You sure, Maddy?" he murmured, his voice thick and gravelly with longing. "Once I start, I'm not stopping unless you tell me to."

She gave a fervent nod, pulling him back to her with urgency, their lips colliding in a heated embrace. "Shut up and kiss me, Barnes."

It was all the invitation he needed.

His mouth crashed onto hers with a consuming hunger, his body pressing her firmly into the mattress. His hands wandered with intent—over her ribs, tracing her plush waist, and caressing the curve of her thick hips—each touch igniting a blazing inferno within her. She couldn't pinpoint when she had become so daring, so insatiable for him, but with him? It felt utterly right.

As if she was finally seizing the desires she had longed to embrace.

Bucky devoured her lips like a man famished, as though he had been yearning for this moment for an eternity. Her clothes disappeared, piece by tantalizing piece, his lips trailing every newly revealed inch of her skin. His touch was both worshipful and voracious, as if he could never have his fill.

When he finally slid her pants down her legs and settled between her thighs, he gazed up with a wicked, knowing grin.

"Still with me, darlin'?"

Madison's breathless reply escaped in a trembling whisper: "All the way."

His grin widened with wicked intent. "Good. Because I'm just beginning."

Bucky's lips descended upon her inner thigh, each kiss and languorous lick igniting torrents of molten heat through her core. She quivered, her hips arching instinctively toward him, drawn like a moth to flame. He chuckled, a low, dark rumble that reverberated against her skin.

"Easy," he murmured, his lips grazing the tender spot below her hip. "I intend to savor every moment."

Madison's fingers clutched the sheets, her heart a wild drumbeat in her chest. "You're driving me insane."

"That's precisely the plan, darlin'," he murmured, his voice a sultry caress, thick with desire.

His strong hands firmly gripped her hips, anchoring her in place as he traced a fervent path of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Each electrifying touch ignited an inferno within her, a fire that blazed and spread through every fiber of her being. She whimpered his name, a desperate plea that echoed with urgency, and he succumbed, tasting her with a ravenous intensity, as though he could not endure another moment of restraint.

He licked and sucked at her clit, maintaining a rhythm that had Madison writhing beneath him, breaths coming in ragged gasps. His name tumbled from her lips over and again as pleasure mounted, coiling tightly deep within her. Bucky responded by deepening his ministrations, his movements both teasing and assertive.

Madison's fingers found purchase in his hair, guiding him insistently, her body language spelling out exactly what she needed from him as pressure began swirling into an overwhelming crescendo. Her back arched off the bed, pushing against his face as her voice broke on a high, keening wail.

The world narrowed down to the overwhelming sensation spiraling from where Bucky's mouth was fervently at work. Then, with a final cry torn from deep within her throat, Madison climaxed intensely, waves of pleasure breaking over her like a relentless storm her vision burst into a kaleidoscope of stars.

Gradually, the waves ebbed away, leaving her panting and spent on the tangled sheets.

Bucky lifted his head, his lips wet and glistening in the dim light, grinning with the satisfaction of a man who had just conquered untold territories. His eyes sparkled with pride and an unmistakable look of adoration as he watched her come back down to earth.

"Okay?" he whispered, voice husky and laced with affection.

Madison nodded weakly, still catching her breath, her chest heaving. "More than okay," she managed to say, her voice a sultry murmur. She tugged him up by his hair gently to bring his face close to hers.

Their lips met again, this time in a kiss that was sweeter, slower, grounding them both after the intensity of their passion. Bucky's weight shifted as he maneuvered above her, each careful movement calculated not to break their connection. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead tenderly, his gaze locked on hers.

"Ready for more?" Bucky's voice was a whisper against her lips, laced with both challenge and promise.

"Yes," she whispered back, pulling him down for another kiss, her hands roaming over his powerful shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle that tensed under her touch.

Bucky's grin was pure mischief as he shifted his body, aligning himself with hers. The flushed head on his weeping cock breached her slowly.

"Oh fuck me—" Bucky grunted.

Madison's nails dug into his shoulders as he thrust into her, their mutual groans filling the room. The intense, carnal sensation of their bodies joining was almost unbearable, their desire having reached a fever pitch.

"Y-you feel so good," Madison moaned.

His movements were deliberate, each shift and touch sending a new wave of anticipation rushing through Madison. He took his time, kissing her deeply, thoroughly, as if each kiss could tell a story of its own.

She wrapped her arms around him, vice-like, crushing her body against his, desperate to feel every inch of him.

Their rhythm started languidly, a primal dance of rediscovery, each sensation raw and exhilarating. But patience was not a virtue they possessed tonight. Their movements quickly turned wild and untamed, each chasing their own pleasure, hungry and relentless. Bucky's hands roamed her body, fingertips mapping the landscape of her curves with reverence and a desperate hunger. Madison met each of his thrusts with an urgency that matched his own, her hips rising to meet him, urging him deeper.

"You're so beautiful," Bucky breathed, his voice raw, eyes hungry.

Bucky's hand slid up her side, slow and sure, then higher—until his fingers curled gently around the front of her throat. Not tight. Not rough. Just there.

The weight of his hand made her breath catch.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, something sharp and electric pulsing between them. She didn't expect to like it. But the truth hit her fast and hard—she loved it. The heat of his palm, the way his thumb rested just below her jaw, grounding her, claiming her. It was possessive in a way that made her knees weak.

Bucky didn't say a word, but his eyes darkened when he saw the way her lips parted, her chest rising faster. He felt it—the way her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. The way she arched into it, into him. Her velvety pussy gripping his cock like a goddamn vice.

"Didn't know you liked that," he murmured, voice low and rough with want.

Madison swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Didn't know I did either."

But now? She never wanted him to stop.

Madison's breaths came in short bursts, and every nerve in her body seemed to sing with pleasure from Bucky's relentless pace. He watched her beneath him, his gaze burning with intensity as he studied every reaction, every little sigh and moan that escaped her lips.

Darcy was knee-deep — The Bachelor was on, and the current episode was packed with tears, too much champagne, and a surprise elimination. When the unmistakable sound of something thudding against the wall rattled her picture frames

She froze.

Then came the rhythmic creak of a mattress and—oh god—Madison's voice, soft at first, then not-so-soft.

Darcy's eyes widened. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, staring at the wall like it had personally betrayed her.

Another bang against the shared wall had her reaching for the nearest throw pillow and launching it with a dramatic groan. "Guys! Some of us live here too !"

No response. Just more sounds of passion and what she could only assume was a particularly enthusiastic movement of furniture.

Darcy grabbed the nearest object—a shoe—and thumped it against the wall. "Hey! I swear to god, you're emotionally scaring me!"

Still nothing.

"Ugh!" She leapt up, practically spilling her wine, muttering, "Where the hell are my headphones—oh my god, is that a moan ? That's it. I'm moving."

She dove into her nightstand drawer like it held the key to salvation, snatching up her noise-canceling headphones like they were sacred relics. As she jammed them on, she mumbled under her breath, "Madison, I love you, but if I hear one more ' Bucky ' like that——"

"Bucky," she gasped out his name, her voice quivering under the onslaught of sensations he provoked.

Hearing his name spoken with such desperate passion only drove him further, and he adjusted his angle slightly, eliciting a sharp cry from Madison that echoed off the bedroom walls. Her response urged him on, and he moved faster, each thrust deeper than the last. Bucky shoved her thick legs further up, adjusting his angle driving his fat cock deeper into her deliciously, wet heat.

The sound of their bodies colliding was punctuated by heavy breaths and soft moans that crescendoed into the night, filling the room with the evidence of their unabashed need for each other. His pace quickened, the air charged with electricity as every muscle in his body worked in intense focus.

Bucky could feel like pressure building at the base of his spine, the way her greedy cunt sucked him back in with each thrust made his balls pull tight.

"Oooh....nnugh," she whimpered.

Madison could feel another climax building, stronger and more forceful than before. Her moans turned into cries as she clutched at his back, nails scoring his skin as pleasure washed over her again, wave after crashing wave.

"That's it darlin'—Jesus fuck," he groaned.

Bucky's movements became erratic, his breaths ragged against her neck. And then, with a low growl and a final deep thrust, he shuddered above her, his body tensing as he reached his own powerful release, collapsing onto her in a heated, exhausted heap. Their slick bodies melded together as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, breaths slowing, but heartbeats still racing.

The room settled into a quiet calm, save for the occasional soft murmur or chuckle that escaped one of them, punctuating the silence with the intimate sounds of their recovery. As they lay entangled, skin sticky and gleaming with the sheen of their exertion, Madison felt a wave of contentment wash over her. Here, in Bucky's arms, everything felt right—like all the pieces of her world fit perfectly.

Eventually, Bucky propped himself on one elbow to look down at her. His hair was a wild array of tangles, his eyes soft with affection. "You okay?" he asked again, his thumb tracing idle circles on her hip.

Madison smiled up at him, her hand reaching up to trace the lines of exhaustion and satisfaction etched across his face. "Better than okay," she murmured, pulling him down for a gentle kiss that spoke volumes of the gratitude and love swelling in her chest.

Bucky smiled against her lips, a contented sigh escaping him as he settled beside her, pulling her close until she was nestled against his chest. The steady beat of his heart was comforting, rhythmic and reassuring.

They lay like that for a while—quiet, tangled together in the afterglow. Madison traced lazy patterns across his chest, her fingers feather-light as they skimmed over the planes of muscle, the curve of his collarbone, the fine trail of hair that led beneath the sheet. Bucky's breathing had evened out, his eyes closed, a rare look of peace softening the edges of his face.

But then her hand started to wander.

Lower.

And lower still.

Bucky's brow twitched. He let out a low groan, his voice rough with amusement. "What do you think you're doing, sweetheart?"

Madison didn't answer. Not with words.

She pushed herself up on her knees, hair tumbling around her shoulders as she leaned in, brushing her lips along the line of his neck. Her mouth was warm and deliberate, kissing just beneath his ear, trailing down to the hollow of his throat. Bucky shifted beneath her, a low rumble in his chest.

Then, with a wicked little smirk, she adjusted the blanket—peeling it back just enough—and swung her leg over him in one smooth motion, settling herself atop his waist.

Still, she didn't speak.

She just smiled, lip caught between her teeth, eyes full of fire.

Bucky's hands lifted for a moment, as if to touch her, but then he chuckled and let them fall behind his head, the picture of smug surrender. "I think Sam was right about you book girls," he drawled, his gaze drinking her in. "You girls really are a bunch of kinky little things."

Madison leaned in close, her mouth brushing his as she whispered, "You haven't seen anything yet."

Darcy was nestled in her cocoon of blankets, resembling a snug burrito ready to be devoured by the Sandman. Her trusty white noise machine hummed like a sleepy bee, and the toasty flannel sheets were the perfect recipe for a snooze-fest. Just as she was teetering on the brink of dreamland, it hit her—a sound low and rumbly, like a bear with indigestion, vibrating through the wall.

A groan. But not just any groan. The kind that should come with a parental advisory warning.

Darcy blinked her eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if it held the secrets of the universe. She was frozen for a moment, like a deer caught in the headlights of her roommate's bedroom antics.

The bed frame squeaked next, confirming her suspicions. She groaned, lifting her pillow and pulling it over her head.

" Again ? Seriously?" she muttered into her pillow, her voice a mix of amusement and muffled resignation. "Girl's gonna kill him."

With a chuckle and a shake of her head, she blindly reached for her headphones on the nightstand. "Guess it's a lo-fi beats and love taps soundtrack tonight."

She giggled, nestling her headphones in place and burrowing deeper into her blanket burrito. "Go get 'em, Mads," she whispered with a grin, allowing the soothing tunes—and the occasional wall-shaking thud—to guide her back into the embrace of sleep.

Mood board

Sif's Masterlist

[meltedbrains]

So hopefully, with the success of daredevil, the other defenders will make the leap from netflix to limbo to disney. So how do you think they will explain their absence from S1 of Dd:BA?

Danny is pretty easy, he left New York at the end of iron fist S2, but who knows what he's been up to since then.

Colleen however was a New York vigilante when we left her, so has she just managed to fly under the radar despite walking around with a glowing silver katana? Maybe she left New York to find Danny, or to hunt down what was left of the hand.

Jessica has yet to get to grips with being a hero so the anti vigilante movement is unlikely to affect her so far (she is however unlikely to go along with anything she doesn't want to do so I can see her getting on the wrong side of the taskforce within a few minutes of her reintroduction).

Luke has either hung up being a vigilante, or quit politics, or both. The taskforce can't do much to him so it's viable that he is still running around Harlem, protecting innocent people from being gunned down by the police (we're past calling them corrupt at this point, right?)

Misty will be one of the 'good' police officers but doing her own thing, keeping out of trouble, in Harlem and so hasn't crossed paths with Matt (there's a rare pair dynamic duo we could have fun with *). In an ideal world she'll have left the police and become a private detective or something similar but she can remain the legal alternative to vigilantism.

And if they manage to bring Elektra back from the dead again I can't imagine her being brought down by the taskforce, or even particularly interested in it until she hears of Matt's counter force.

*think of Matt catching the brick in Spiderman but instead they both try to save the other person, not understanding super senses or advanced prosthetics. Snarky shenanigans ensue

[professionalsillygirl]

Writepril3 - Day 0

Once more, gifted loop around the sun, and once more, time spinning a wheel inside my head, and once more, some invisible hand pulls one more invisible thread and here I land again, the spring with all her mists and flowers like some holy showgirl, mother nature's concubine, April once again.

Three years ago, this practice begun, irreverently dubbed "Writepril" by Ava and I, sat cheeky and youthful and life-drunk in a cafe in some other space and time. To return to this feels religious, to water some budding tradition, to give time and space and oxygen to something that didn't know it ever meant to take root.

To speak with any rhythm is almost sacrilege. The practice serves me well and has served us in years past; a small commitment to some larger thing, a daily promise to write and place a small tile in an invisible mosaic, a promise to a future you who will return in springtime with new lines, new prose, new wrinkles, and reflect.

In all truth, this practice, in the many forms that it has taken over the years (see: its ugly cousins, Writevember on spacehey, and on substack, Rawgust) has always rewarded me in ways that I cannot anticipate, but always meet with openness. Though I've never sustained it for longer than a month, it seems that a ritual of daily writing, especially shared within a group, creates some kind of magic thread, and a portal within time that seems to vibrate, isolated, in experience and retrospect.

I tend to struggle with writing in rhythm and flowery language, something I've teased at abandoning with years of getting-too-close-to-the tongue in my writing, thrilling myself with sudden breaks in keeping it real. I love this practice because it shakes and loosens me up in this way, most of these 30 days, I can't commit to writing something on purpose. Most of these 30 days, I write irreverent, I write sloppy, I write like a heart: not like a glowing metaphysical chest-centre but like an organ, functional, practical, ugly and soft.

So, if this is your first time, thank you for taking this step with me. Welcome to Writepril; the only rule is to write and publish something, anything, every day of April. (If you miss a day, you must write two separate entries the following day.)

Follow inspiration when it knocks, RESIST the urge to edit or censor or refine or perfect, remember the clause of confidentiality between just us; the writepril-ers, the self-identified writers and shy-to-identify alike, it is always the intention that here we should share informally, authentically, ugly and cringey and honest. Sometimes this is a journal entry, sometimes prose, sometimes a grocery list, sometimes a stream of consciousness, often just a mundane couple sentences, often nonsense.

Expect this from yourself, from us, commit only to making and sharing. We are not here to write something good, we are not here to write something at all, we are just here to write.

Parttaking in Writepril this year are:

Ava, Colleen, Gabrielle, Oliver, and (Potentially) Maeve. Welcome and thank you, I hope you all enjoy this experience, grow closer to yourselves and maybe one another, and, ideally, stoke a creative fire to last long after the spring turns hot.

I'm so sincerely excited and honoured to be sharing this with you all, and so looking forward to engaging with and reading all of your entries, bit by bit by bit, on our own timelines, as the month tumbles on.

The gate opens today.

Welcome to Writepril (entrance only for the ugly-duck hearts)!

FREEEEKING LOVE YOU GUYS!!!!!! :D

Yours truly,

Professional Sillygirl

[toomuchracket]

bday party girlie and Matty sitting around, reading reviews of her newest book. Maybe on goodreads. And they’re just shouting snippets they’ve read like Matty going, ‘BABE! Babe! Babe! A triumph of a novel with a brutal honesty that will remain with me for the foreseeable future’. And he’s just so happy that everyone loves her work as he loves her work. Girlie is perhaps a bit bashful but Matty is having none of it like YOU ARE THE NEW DIDION. And then perhaps he jokes like ‘god the greatest frontman in the world and the greatest writer in the world. I think u might actually birth the next messiah, babe’.

Maybe they do something somewhat similar when the 75 release a new album. Though Matty is less arsed about reviews so perhaps it’s more girlie just reading them and glowing silently with pride.

omg like you're fine not knowing how the book is being received (or so you say) but matty's convinced it's the best thing ever written and he's determined to show you that he's right lmao. maybe you're on tour or something and he literally has you trapped in his arms on the sofa on the tour bus with goodreads up on his phone to show you the reviews and make you take the compliments lol. but he's in charge of scrolling in case there's any bad ones that he doesn't want you to see - he snatches the phone away like "well, here's someone who needs their brain checked... ah, yeah, colleen hoover enthusiast. s'what i thought. tasteless", and you just look at him all heart eyes like "i love you so much lol". anyway - obsessed with that comment about you birthing the next messiah, i can just hear him saying it and then softening like "nah fr. you're amazing. i'm awed by your talents every day, my darling. and so is everyone else, as they should be". and god knows you're the same when the roles are reversed; matty's literally hiding his face in your tits so he doesn't have to look at the nme or rolling stone reviews, while you quietly scan them and read out the best parts like "they love it. they love you! not as much as i do, obv, but still. you're the shit, baby. maybe you were right about our kid being the second coming". he just giggles and kisses you like "maybe we should have one, then. people have been asking for us to collab on something for ages, after all" with the most shit eating grin, and you're like "we can try! and then we could write something about it. i'd like that", and matty's like "me too. i love you!" lmao. cute! <3

[colleenmurphy]

"Oh Jesus, Col's comin' and she's got an armful of papers and that..that.." Cage tapered off as he shifted upright in his engineer's seat at the mixing board.

"She looks like she's the cat that got the cream..."

"Fucking christ I know she was up all night last night."

'So do I but for entirely different reasons.' the drummer of the quartette had thought to himself as he busied himself clicking a rhythm in his head out onto his knee. Jerry Withers was a quiet man who kept good time in the studio and very much to himself when out on tour.

"I wonder who she's seeing these days to put a smile on her face like that."

'Drummer's keep better time, asshole.'

A whirl and a jangle and in Colleen bustled glowing brighter than any of her bandmates had ever seen. That same shine had dulled after they had lost Charlie but here it was all over again. The drab earth tones she'd taken to wearing the last four years had been replaced back with the rich jewel tones and the heady scent of weed mingled with the orange blossom, amber and vanilla of her perfume. It made Whip smile softly to himself as he woken up to find that she'd curled herself around him just enough for the scent to linger on his skin. Sully he noted just scowled as he appraised the songbird before him.

"What's with the sudden spark of productive creativity?"

Regarding the guitarist with a cool blue green gaze Colleen merely handed Sully the top set of papers and then went about handing the rest out to Cage and Whip before plopping herself down into the leather loveseat that was kept in the sound area.

"Maurice told me this morning about your plans to leave us, Sully. Might I remind you that you're still under contract for the rest of this album?"

"And?"

Getting to her feet she was nearly nose to nose with the lanky sandy haired guitarist that had once shared a life with her. Her long dark hair spilled from it's clip and down her back like a flow of jet black ink filling the room with the scent that made Whip shift in his seat away from Cage's confused view.

"And that means I own your bony Irish ass until I am completely satisfied with how it sounds."

"Oh when you're satisfied? What about the rest of us? Last I checked we weren't your backing band."

"Technically you are. Without me there would be no band, no music to record. Without me you are nothing, David."

Pushing past him she stepped into the recording booth and signaled Cage to start rolling. Whip shifted to his feet quickly and joined her much to everyone's amazement. He was usually the last one in record his tracks if they didn't record together as a band.

Slipping behind the drum kit he settled and started the beat on the high hat for her. Colleen started to gently sway in time until she opened her eyes, something equally strange for her, and locked onto Sully's almost daring him to look away from her and truth she sang to the reel to reel.

"So I'll begin not to love you  Turn around, see me runnin' I'll say I loved you years ago  Tell myself you never loved me, no  Don't say that she's pretty  And did you say that she loved you? Baby, I don't want to know..."

The realization of Sully's infidelity to Colleen over the years became the elephant in the room as she sang. How he had used her and all but thrown her away until it became time to record a new album or head out on a tour came tumbling out.

"Fuck this! Fuck her!"

"Dave wait!"

Cage turned just in time to see Dave Sullivan grab his coat and slam into the heavy door of the studio only to have Maurice shake his head. If Mr. Groves were here to see this he'd be quite amused he noted to himself. The drumbeat took on a heartbeat rhythm as she sang.

"Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me I know I could've loved you, but you would not let me  I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you.."

The only sound that could be heard from the parking lot was the squeal of Sully's tires on pavement as Colleen continued to purge her soul into the reel to reel.

"He's hurt her badly, Mo..."

The manager simply smiled and pointed towards the booth where the dark haired songbird was now chatting with the drummer.

"But whoever her new fellow is is doing a world of good her."

"Two musical perfectionists together..how sweet."

[sea-owl]

I’m just wondering how Colleen would react to a pregnant pen

This sounds like it would be in my omegaverse polleen au.

Well, I personally believe all the Bridgertons have some sort of level of a breeding kink, and the omegaverse setting probably doesn't help with that sooo. . .

I imagine once their married and mated Penelope writes Lady Whistledown like articles for Colleen to find around the house when she has news to share.

Colleen found this one in the library where she got to taste her omega for the first time.

Dear Gentle Reader,

This author has just heard the news that the Featherington estate might have a new heir in the coming months. Ms Penelope Featherington, now Bridgerton, has been glowing lately in a way only a lady does when she is with child.

Colleen gets clingy when Penelope is pregnant, like she has to be touching her all the time clingy. They eventually work out a system that boils down to them sharing a desk when they have to work, and Penelope sits on Colleen's lap. Colleen is very happy about that arrangement. Colleen is respectful of asking for permission from Penelope about touching the baby bump since most people are rude about it. Colleen also makes a point to get others to ask Penelope to feel the bump. Colleen will not have her wife be constantly touched, especially when it makes Penelope uncomfortable. Thank you very much.

Colleen also finds Penelope's waddle so adorable. She could watch her tiny wife waddling around the house for hours. Colleen is also constantly showering Penelope with compliments and praise for carrying and growing their pups inside of her.

"You know you could technically do the same," Penelope tells Colleen one day.

Colleen makes a face at the suggestion. First of all, Colleen would never stray from her wife, and out of the two of them, Colleen is the only one who can impregnate someone else. Second, Colleen knows herself and knows she could not handle pregnancy the same way Penelope did.

Colleen bends down and kisses Penelope's baby bump. "We both know I don't have the same strength you do, my darling, to carry our children."

Due to Colleen being an alpha and her ovaries creating testosterone and sperm during her ruts, the two can technically have sons, but it is highly unlikely. Like 8 times out of 10, a baby between them would end up being a girl. So Colleen and Penelope were shocked when they got an even split between their four kids.

[cybrstalkrdotgov]

I got random roommates and don't know a thing about them so these r my fears

what if they hate christmas

what if they are OBSESSED WITH CHRISTMAS like wayyy too much

what if their fav holiday Thanksgiving 🫥

what if they put those jelly holiday stickers on the windows

what if they are all evil on their period and we sync up and become triple as evil

what if they think shooting games rots peoples brain (I love call of duty)

WHAT IF THEY HATE MY FAV YOUTUBERS

what if they write really shitty affirmations on the room mirror

what if they try to pull tik tok pranks on me

what if they complain about every single thing

what if they give me no quiet time

what if they care what everyone thinks

what if they do yoga RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM

what if they read colleen hoover books

what if they are a type A person

what if they are really sensitive

what if they are like “aesthetic” and i dont fit into that

what if they analyze everything i do

what if they have really firm morals

what if they think the world is out to get them

what if they sleep with one of those neon glow masks things on and have a 200 step routine

what if they are the sloth

what if they hate rap music/kanye hater

[literaticat]

Pardon me if Im not understanding re: that big breakout ask, but why wouldn't all editors always want books they believe could be big breakouts? It doesn't serve anyone if they're sure the book would be small, does it? It's another thing if they bet on the wrong horse but I sort of assumed that no one would buy or rep anything they don't think could be huge. Is that wrong?

ICYMI, the asker is referring to this question from a few days ago.

Yes and no? I would say all editors (and agents) would like for their books to be successful, of course -- but "success" can be measured in lots of ways, and there are lots of TYPES of books and readers in this wide world of ours. Different imprints/publishers have different needs and expectations.

If a publisher is publishing, IDK, highly literary or esoteric works, "success" would look like getting some good reviews from the right kind of literary or cultural figure, and becoming lauded by cognescenti -- they aren't TRYING to mix around with hoi polloi.

If they are publishing books about some niche topic, they are hoping that everyone who could ever want to know about that topic will get the book, but they aren't expecting that to be literally EVERYONE.

Some publishers, on the other hand, really focus on highly commercial books for a mass audience -- thrillers, romance, fun fantasy -- the kinds of books you see not only at bookstores, but at the airport, big box store, supermarket. There's nothing wrong with that AT ALL, hooray and more power to them -- but you can totally understand why expectations would be a little different for that kind of book than for say, a book of children's poetry about glow worm habitats. Even if the glow worm book exceeds expectations -- it's simply not gonna be sold by the dozen in the airport.

But the publisher always knew that the glow worm book would have a more limited audience and would not be a "huge" book. (That's why the glow worm author got a much much much lower advance than the highly commercial romance author!) -- The agent knew. Hopefully the writer understood that, as well. NONE of them were watching the bestseller lists waiting for glow worm to show up. Should they not have published it at all? Nah. Success just looks different for different kinds of books!

(Success in the glow worm's case is a long-term thing. Success means it gets a starred review or two, maybe wins an award, it gets on some state lists and over the course of years finds its way into school curriculum and stays in print for ages and ages and teaches lots of kids about the power of the glow worm. Maybe it becomes your kid's FAVORITE book? Maybe it inspires little Matilda to become a poet and scientist? It finds its audience. But it's simply never going to be selling on par with Colleen Hoover!)

[touyubesposts]

The Pixar Youtube theory, Part 1: Escape with Markiplier

Hello! The first two I would like to tackle are the With Markiplier series and Escape the Night, and hopefully, next, I can tackle Iris and Sander's sides, talk about Dad Feels and Genloss, try and cross the talking points between them, and at the end I’ll make a post on how they’re all connected and what I think the timeline would be.

Note: I don’t know everything, this is just a theory, tell me if I’m wrong or if you like it!

Let's start with something big;

The houses. In Escape the Night season One, Two, and (arguably) Four are set in houses. In the first season, they contained the evil, trapped in the 1920s, but it sunk its way into Joey. In the second season, they broke a seal to allow them to leave the house, stuck in the Victorian era, and Joey dies and is revived by the crown of oblivion. And the fourth season is the afterlife. Or, I guess, an afterlife, set in a museum, where Joey decides to open Pandora’s box and gets trapped inside.

Now let's look at Markiplier Manor. It is Mark’s estate that he grew up in that has spirits and evil living in the house. Every time he dies, he comes back and gets closer to the entity. The entity then helps him come up with a plan to kill all his friends because the entity wants to leave the house.

Right off the bat, just looking at these two series, we see some obvious similarities. House is evil, has weird spirits roaming inside of it, and makes the people who own it murder their friends. And nobody leaves the house the same. They are still affected by this magic when they leave whether they’d like to admit it or not. Remember this, I’ll come back to it.

Every single time someone new is invited to the chaos, it always comes in a little invitation. Whether written by him or by someone pretending to be him, it always comes in a letter. And what do we get before ‘Who Killed Markiplier’ came out?

Exactly.

Evil house, invitation, good people turning into bad people, and death. In Joey's, there is a lot more beating around the bush, but it gives us a lot of information on how the world works. This leads me to my next point.

The idea of time not being linear, hoping through universes, and getting stuck in loops over and over again. Their dimension-hopping and teleporting back and forth between time all comes... from stones. In Mark’s Space series, you, as the player, replay events, restart over and over again, teleport to different times, and teleport to different universes. And it's all thanks to the warp crystal, this little, blue, glowing crystal tower. It was also used to power the warp core, which caused time loops and paradoxes, and the warp device, which allowed teleportation to different universes.

And now let's look at Escape the Night. Specifically, at the very end of season four, where Bretman and Colleen used ‘The cosmic sphere’ to open a portal and escape purgatory. And what is in the center of this device?

A little blue crystal tower.

This. This one little detail is huge! They look the exact same, they do the exact same things, and they both need to be attached to something to be used properly. And, when attached to something different, it does something different. When attached to the box in Heist, it gives you whatever item you want or need, assuming it takes it from a different time or universe. When attached to the warp core, it's supposed to cause the ship to warp to where it needs to go but caused a time loop in the process. When attached to the warp device, it teleports you to random points across the multiverse. All of the devices work, but it acts erratically and unreliably. But when attached to the cosmic sphere, it projects a portal that you can then walk through. No weirdness, no unpredictability, just exactly where they needed to go.

(My working theory is that the warp crystal needs to be in the cosmic sphere to work properly. If it isn’t, it will be unpredictable.)

The crystal was taken from the afterlife, purgatory. A place completely identical to this one, but slightly different. Darker, scarier, a place filled with spirits and evil, Dark entities.

Kinda sounds like Mark’s upside-down, don’t you think?

But the real question is which one comes first? Well, let's look at what time period each ETN season came from. The events of what happened in the show are linear to how they come out, but the dates of what happens change the timeline completely. Season 2 was the Victorian era, which was between 1837 to 1901. Season 1 was in the 1920s, very cut and dry. And season four was mainly set in the 1940s, but can go completely across time. We know this from the things collected from the different time periods. (Irrelevant for this post, but season three is set in the 1970s.)

And Who Killed Markiplier, according to Google, is set somewhere between the 1920s and the 1950s, meaning the order of events would’ve been S2, S1, WKM, S4, S3. God damn time fuckery, making my job hard.

In season one, the original manor, they ‘contained’ the evil, meaning it couldn’t leave the house. Or we thought it couldn’t leave the house until we see Joey leave the house being corrupted by this evil. Meaning that the evil needs to inhabit someone so it can bring others in. The longer in the house, the worse the effects get. The same thing with Mark’s manor. Two, unnamed, evil entities leave the house through both Celine’s body and your body.

What I’m trying to imply is that, maybe, Mark’s manor is the same house in ETN season 1. “But Devon,” I hear you asking, “How does that make sense? Mark would have to have owned the house at the same time as Joey for that to make sense, considering Mark grew up in the house and Joey ‘inherits’ it at the very beginning.” And to that, I say, “Consider the pockets of time.”

If Joey exists in this pocket of time and then leaves to go back to the modern world, that means the person that owns the house no longer exists. At least, not at that time. Mark was 28 when he made ‘Who Killed Markiplier,’ Meaning he lived in his own place for a while. Since Mark grew up in that time and that house, and since Joey abandoned that house in the 1920s, that means the exact events that happened in that house happened around 1948 at least, which puts us squarely in our timeline.

If Mark’s Manor and Joey’s estate are the same, then that means that the evil and the entities are the same beings. Just like how the warp crystal and the cosmic sphere are the same stone. However, I would like to add one last thing.

Cc! Mark has said that the entities not only trick C! Mark into doing their bidding but also convince Mark that it was his idea the whole time. That idea was to have Wilford kill him in a game of Russian Roulette, have everyone turn on him and kill him as well, and then him and the entity could take his body and get out of there. And I’ve noticed that death description fits two deaths in escape the night season one.

The death of Timmothy DeLaGetto, also known as ‘The Mobster.’

And the death of Arthur.

For those who don’t know, Arthur’s entire role was to manipulate the evil to do what he wants. He was ‘The butler’ of the house, convincing all of the other past owners to feed into the evil so he can do what he wants. It feels like he’s not just working as a butler for the owner, but a butler for the evil. He gets found out, the remaining guests free his brother, the brother then shoots the other two residents of the house along with Arthur.

If I were to guess, Arthur doesn’t like being dead. So after Joey leaves, the bodies get cleaned up, Mark and his family move in, and Arthur is forced to watch Mark, Damien, and William grow up in front of him. Arthur gets replaced with Benjamin, Mark falls in love with Celine, Celine after realizing the house is evil (Because she’s a seer) leaves the house and runs away with William, Damien becomes Mayor, Mark feels worthless and alone and kills himself.

Arthur talks to Mark, Arthur convinces the evil to bring him back, Mark comes back, Mark kills himself, so on and so forth. The entity that works with Mark being Arthur makes sense. He would know that killing Wilford like that would work because he’s seen it work. Once with the mobster and once with him. All he did was combine the two and convince Mark he came up with it.

When Celine comes into the picture, he’s ecstatic because he gets the chance to not just get his own body, but a more powerful body. A body that could do what his and Wilford’s couldn’t. Talk to the beyond and commune with other entities. So he changed the plan and had Mark kick out Celine and Damien from their bodies, forcing them to take yours when they die. But not without taking some evil on their way out.

But, of course, this is just the beginning. This isn’t the last time we see the evil. The evil spreads, and my god does it spread.

(Author’s Note: Joey needs better friends both in and out of canon.)

[charliespoetrygarden]

My Greatest Accomplishment: Colleen 2/7/14

I never would have thought that our love,

Would feel like I’ve known you forever.

To me, you are my greatest friend,

And fill me with hope.

Together we are eternally young,

Similar to the stars.

I wonder what they think of us, those stars,

Do they look down and envy our love?

Seeing us as so young,

As they’ve been the same for forever.

I ponder if we give them hope,

That soon too they’ll find a friend.

But maybe they already have a friend,

Among their fellow stars.

Lighting up the night sky is where we’ll end up, I hope

Up there, we’ll see a version of our love.

To watch beautiful humans forever,

Continuous belief, endlessly young.

Through affection we see the old grow young,

Their joy radiating through their friend.

Maybe they’ll think that they too will be forever,

And picture themselves as stars.

I see the glow within them, and know it’s love,

And it makes my thought on humanity grow with hope.

I will always look to you with eyes filled with hope,

For I know you will never hurt me, though that thought may be young.

I am clean with the shower of your love,

Is that a weird thing to write about a friend?

Whatever people say, I know that we shine like stars,

And we will last forever.

Through the Sun exploding, our endearment is forever,

And maybe that’s why my thoughts on Death are crowded with hope.

Because when we do become stars,

I will feel again as though I am young.

Worried about nothing but my friend,

Lighting this bright universe up with our love.

Intimacy is like a constellation, illuminating our paths with love. Our bond is forever.

You are my foremost friend, and we will be eternal, through trust and hope.

I’ve known you since we were young, and I will know you when we are stars.

[cartoonfanaticmonsterrobotalien]

Solar Opposites in Mighty Solars Issue #50: “Monster Mayhem Pt. 3” Ch. 2

Marissa awaken from the rubble and then gasp upon seeing Luke unconscious.

Marissa: Luke!

The Mighty Solars heads inside the destroyed abandon warehouse and gasp.

Pezlie: babbling

Cherie: Oh my God…

Nova/Heartstar: Damn. What happened here?

Cherie began to moan as she suddenly starts glowing. Then, Marissa began to beg for Luke to wake up as she holds him close to her.

Marissa: Luke! Luke wake up! Please Luke! Don’t leave me….

Suddenly, just as Marissa kissed Luke on the cheek, something caused her to be fly off and crash towards a wall as metal bars trapped suddenly by twisting and then she looks up, she gasp and sees Cherie in her own Mighty Solars suit giving her a death glare.

Cherie/???: You’ll pay for what you have done…

Marissa: Wait. Cherie?

Cherie began to approach Marissa furiously, until Heartstar calls out to her.

Nova/Heartstar: Cherie! Wait! We’ll deal with her later! Right now, we have to save Will, Cindy, Colleen, Hayley and Min-Gi.

Marissa: Ugh. If you go out there, nothing can keep the girls from returning to you.

Cherie/???: And if they do, will that stop them?

Marissa: Yes. For now.

Suddenly, Mundane Mighton and Super Shlorpian Qausarblast turns back to their normal Shlorpian selves as they grow amazed.

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: Oh my god. We’re back.

Korvo Solar-Opposites: gasp in joy as he cries in tears of joy Yes! I’m me again! hugs Janiz Thank you Janiz… you saved my life.

Super Shlorpian Janiz hugs Korvo back. Then, she turns back as Vil-Gil-An-T, Fung-Irl, Mighty Pupa and Nighthowler runs up to their dads in tears of joy. Korvo wipes away his tears and then turns back into Quasarblast as he embrace his kids along with Mighton.

EVA: joins in on the hug Aaaw!

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: EVA?

EVA: Hi, Korvo.

The kids scream as Fung-irl slaps EVA who keeps dodging it while giggling in joy.

EVA: giggles I see you got your daddy’s arm strength.

Jesse Solar-Opposites/Fung-irl: Aw, thank you.

EVA: Sorry to scare you sweetie pies. I’m your AI AISHA’s cousin, EVA.

Vil-Gil-An-T faints. Laserblast laughs and helps Vil-Gil-An-T up as he awakens the two superhero boyfriend kiss. Then, Might Pupa hugs EVA.

EVA: Oh. Hey there.

Miss Frankie/Night Saw: Wow. What a big happy not-so-normal but awesome and loving family.

Pupa Solar-Opposites/Mighty Pupa: EVA.

EVA: Aw your Pupa is a Mighty Solar too? Aaaw, so adorable.

Fizziepop then hands Pezlie over to Cherie who happily embraces her baby daughter.

Pezlie: Mama! Mama!

Yumyulack Solar-Opposites/Vil-Gil-An-T: But damn, isn’t there any other option then going out there and risking our lives to dive tortured out of control monster teenagers. No offense.

Cherie/???: Guys. I think Black Mirror choose them for a reason. We have to try.

Marissa: Quasarblast can’t do this alone! He’ll need my help-

Quasarblast sighs and sheds a tear. But then, Janiz gets up in her face furiously with big brother instincts towards Marissa in disgust.

Janiz: You’re not going anywhere near my brother. Ever again!

Marissa snaps and attacks Janiz.

Marissa: Why you little-

But then, Janiz luckily turns into her Super Shlorpian and manages to get Marissa off her while Fung-irl takes Marissa’s amulet where her powers are in and smashes it with her foot.

Jesse Solar-Opposites/Fung-Irl: That’s for making the 9 princess think I am a monster! Before I even became Fung-irl!

Marissa growls. Quasarblast surprises Janiz with a hug.

Super Shlorpian Janiz: Wow. You are real happy to see me ever since Shlorp blew up, huh?

Quasarblast starts crying.

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: smiling through tears Of course I am. Thank you Janiz.

Janiz smiles.

Cherie/???: Shall be shown the ropes at this darkest hour?

Nova/Heartstar: You bet! Oh and what is your name now Cherie?

Cherie/???: Shining Light!

Cherie, now Shining Light, does a superhero stance. Detroit whistles in smitten.

Montez/Detroit: Damn. You are gorgeous.

Principal Cooke/Trailblazer: Well, what the hell are we standing here?! We got a town to save guys! Let’s fucking do this!

Mighty Solars: Yeah!

As the Mighty Solars rushes off, Marissa looks down in shame with her eyes close.