#I had more pictures but I got lazy

[wherevenusholdssomeofficespace]

Hamster and Gretel Propaganda

Watch Hamster and Gretel cowards

Hamster and Gretel does have a VERY week first episode. However, it does get better and really hits its stride around episode 5 or so. So please don't write it off based on the first couple episodes. If you are a fan of PnF and MML, then you will probably enjoy it. It's full of the clever, slightly meta humor PnF and MML are known for. It's a little more modern in its humor, and that doesn't always work. But PnF itself ALSO had its contemporary humor that didn't really age, so that's nothing new. I'd say it falls in the middle of these two shows in terms of serialization, which isn't saying much, but it is in fact lightly serialized.

I understand preferring serialized shows (as usually I do too). However, that doesn't mean more episodic shows are bad. It's first and foremost a comedy. And it works at that. Granted, humor is pretty subjective, but I think its pretty funny. Its clever, and the unique situations the characters find themselves lends itself to originality. Obviously not all the jokes land, but I think each episode has something I laugh at every time. It is clearly a project that is dear to Dan Povenmire's heart, with references to his family practically everywhere. And that shines through in the interactions between the main cast. The characters are all very entertaining and our main cast show simple, but effective character growth. The characters I think are definitely the main appeal of the show. As is to be expected this show excels in wholesome and realistic family dynamics. Many of the characters echo previous archetypes shown in the Flynn-Fletcher and Murphy families. However, those families worked for a reason, and the Grant-Gomez family has enough of its own spin to keep it fresh.

"I gave birth to both of you. This is nothing."

If you haven't seen any episodes, here's a rundown of the characters. Kevin. The Guy with the minivan. He's the normie older brother, and the real main character, who feels overshadowed by his younger sister by the universe. But he's eager to insert himself into Hamster and Gretel's heroics and carves out a role for himself. While he works from the sidelines, he is a crucial member of the team. His actions often come from a place of protectiveness for his sister, in addition to the jealousy. However he never takes it out on her. Kevin is a teenage boy, and everything that entails. Awkward, a bit of a dumbass, and desperately trying to establish his identity. But he's also genuinely well intentioned, resourceful, and is a sweet and protective older brother to Gretel. I really appreciate how seriously the show, and the other characters treat Kevin and his contributions and struggles.

Gretel is an energetic, cheerful, reckless and stubborn girl. She's often oblivious to how Kevin feels about certain things. Despite her love for Kevin doesn't always take him seriously and is often annoyed with him and how he manages her superheroing, and tries to do things her own way, even when Kevin protests. Though she does value his attention and assistance. Kevin is the first one who Gretel will call out to for help in a pinch and he'll always jump in without a second thought, even if he's literally powerless.

The core of the show is the dynamic between Kevin and Gretel. They love each other, but also do get on each others nerves, and aren't afraid to tease each other. When they first received powers, Kevin was genuinely excited to be a superhero with his little sister, and though that didn't pan out the way he thought it was going to, both are genuinely happy to be a team. They trust each other immensely, and while the first episode is rather weak it does establish the amount of trust they have in each other. Despite Kevin's lack of powers.

The other titular character, Hamster is a talking hamster. He will not allow anyone to expect anything more than what he's already giving (he can talk what more do you want). But he's got a surprising amount out of depth. He's generally pretty inexpressive, but that contrasts with his petty hamster problems and his surprising variety of skills. Hamster's unflinching loyalty for Gretel, dry wit, and a penchant for messing with Kevin, really adds to team and family dynamic. Kevin and Hamster's growing friendship, built on friendly rivalry is another highlight of the show. Hamster may be a bit of a sarcastic grump, but we see him having to swallow his pride and ask for help and accept assistance somewhat regularly.

"We're more like neutral coworkers who live together."

Fred is an amazing character and rounds out the main quartet. Kevin and Gretel's cousin, a woman of many skills. A computer wiz, anime nerd, and talented gymnast among other things. Someone who on the surface seems far more suited to Kevin's role than he is. There's hardly ever a dull moment with Fred on screen who's constant cynicism contrasts nicely with Gretel and Kevin's more cheerful attitudes. Fred has grown up with the two of them and knows them well. She very clearly cares a lot about the two of them, though isn't afraid to call them out and isn't nearly as proactively concerned as Kevin. She's able to act as a mediator of sorts at times between the two of them. Fred also shows growth as she in individual episodes comes to appreciate people who aren't like her (emotional and cheerful), and comes to realize they have more in common than she initially thought.

"Yeah, they're still evil, 'cause you know, they're like teenage girls, but not supervillain evil."

The rest of the extended family is also delightful and has significant presence. Family is a central theme in this show, and the whole extended family often plays key roles in episode plots. It's very clear how important everyone is to each other and how family has made these people who they are. Carolina and Dave are very involved in their kids lives and have their own subplots and developed personalities. In addition Churro the family dog, Carolina's mother, her sister Meli, and Dave's sister (Fred's mom) Stacy really flesh out the family despite their limited appearances.

The rest of extended cast is also fun, really fleshing out the world. Bailey is Gretel's best friend and a particularly important reoccurring character. She starts as Hamster and Gretel's (superhero) biggest fan. Often oblivious, she's confident, energetic, intelligent and a genuinely supportive friend. She's still a somewhat reckless and obnoxious little kid, not unlike Gretel, but her passion, and strong principles help highlight Gretel's strength's and weaknesses. She's definitely the kind of weird little girl whose always got some weird facts on hand about some niche topic, which sometimes comes in handy. Her and Gretel's relationship is also a highlight as they unconditionally care about each other, but still often experience conflict, usually do to external forces.

Hiromi is the girl Kevin has a crush on, but a fully fledged character in her own right. She's goofy, passionate, hardworking, works at a comic shop, is the editor for the school newspaper, and ends up forming a fun friendship with Fred.

"I must point out again that vikings did not have canons. Or singing."

"mmm. Wouldn't be much of a musical without the singing."

"A girl can dream."

The villains are mostly one offs, but their often quite unique in premise and their motivations are often quite hilariously petty. Though, there is a slight overarching plot as the mystery behind the aliens motivations, which involves certain members of Gretel's rogue gallery. The plots are moving slowly, but developing nevertheless. The reoccurring villains also play a part in emphasizing the themes of family. Even minor villains occasionally have motivations related to their families. Two of the most frequent reoccurring villains, are Fistpuncher and the Destructress. A twins with the same powers as Hamster and Gretel who were given their powers by the same aliens, except to use for evil. They act as foils to Kevin and Gretel. Fistpuncher and Gretel are both impulsive younger siblings. Destructress and Kevin are both responsible older siblings, who want acknowledgement. Both sets of siblings are competitive, but care deeply for each other and have had their lives changed by powers beyond their understanding. Professor Exclamation, from the first episode, is also a reoccurring villain whose relationship with his son is also a major subplot. Nordle is a fun character who highlights Gretel's character strengths, as he develops out of his father's shadow.

I think some of Hamster and Gretel's main themes are family, trust and community, as it is in Phineas and Ferb and Milo Murphy's Law. I'll probably got more into those eventually. But I think there is another theme here of not underestimating people or making assumptions about them. Without giving too much away, whether its people repeatedly underestimating Kevin's skills, Fred learning that cheerleaders are just people, Hamster having a rich life outside of the Grant-Gomez's, or even just a grumpy clown being nice, characters are constantly subverting expectations. It may not be anything particularly mindbreaking to the audience, but to the characters they are constantly having to break through others expectations, or adapt how they view others.

Music, as always is top tier. I don't have anything else to add except that they're funny. Admittedly the opening is pretty weak. But there are plenty of other fun songs. I particularly like Don't Steal From the Banks, My Best Friend Bailey's Birthday, Ropa Vieja, I Think We'll Break for Lunch and How You Feel About Me.

"I'm a lemur and I love it and I'm standing on my toes"

Overall, the writing is witty, and there is a sense of continuity, between episodes in a lot of subtle ways so even as the episodes are largely self-contained. Conflicts are largely comedic in nature, and often absurd, which leads to creativity in how they are resolved. While they often are pretty predictable, they aren't particularly repetitive. I'm not really one to comment on voice acting, but the delivery of many lines really elevates the writing. Hiromi, Fred, and Fistpuncher in particular have really had some solid deliveries in my opinion that make okay dialogue, hilarious. I wasn't sold on Meli Povenmire as Gretel at first, but as the show has gone on I think she's improved, and really brings Gretel to life.

Overall the show is just a good time, and a sweet show about family and superhero shenanigans. The show is just fun to watch, simple, but effective and its a shame to see it go not only overlooked by people but looked at with disdain. It is definitely in part the shows fault for its weak start, I can't defend that. It's also not a particularly dramatic or emotional show, so if your looking for something like The Owl House or The Ghost and Molly McGee, you're not going to get it here. Though that isn't to say it doesn't have it's heartwarming moments. And it's not exactly Phineas and Ferb or Milo Murphy's Law either. But it's not fair to punish the show for something its not. Hamster and Gretel is delightful. So watch it cowards.

[nerdie-faerie]

My hair hasn't seen a professional since pre-pandemic but who cares its cheaper than therapy to do it yourself

[starry-bi-sky]

MOVING THIS TO RBS bc i have my laptop and can actually give a longer response now. >:]. And man where do I start. Mmmmmm.

When Danny finds out he's a clone is v v important to me because in clone^2 he acquires Lil Damian after finding out he's Bruce Wayne's clone (rather than Batman's) and it offers a lot of weight and introspection to their relationship, but I also want to follow your post's canon. MMMM. I'm putting a pin in it for now bc im running circles around in my own head, and deciding for now that Danny knew he was a clone before he and Kon started dating, and waited to tell him because being a clone is very personal to him, and it's not something he tells just anyone. Only his close circle of friends and family know he's a clone, so him telling Kon was a huge show of trust and vulnerability.

Also, for no other reason than I think it's hysterical, but when Kon tells Tim about his boyfriend being Batman's clone, he has no idea about Damian. He knows Danny has a little brother he adores, but they've never met and Damian isn't really that rare of a name.

That's because Danny's pretty secure (most of the time) in the knowledge that nobody will piece together that he's a clone regardless of if he knows he's Bruce's/Batman's clone, since A (if he knows he's Bruce's clone): the current general public know Bruce Wayne as a he is currently; a well-dressed man in his late thirties-early forties with a Captain America build (among other things), and Danny is a 17-18-ish year old boy with a sleeper build and long hair and a preferred fashion of "baggy alternative that forces people of all kind to question their sexuality"

(Genderfluid danny for the WIN)

and B (if he knows he's Batman's clone): nobody knows what tf Batman looks like.

Baby Dames is a whole other story, since Damian Wayne is in the public eye quite often, Danny thinks Dames is at a bigger risk of getting recognized despite being significantly younger than his template. Which means he's a bit more protective/wary about introducing him to people, although they've been lucky so far.

Danny introduces Kon to Damian about a week or so after telling him about being a clone, Kon's positive reaction to the reveal gave Danny the confidence and security to introduce him to Damian. He doesn't outright state Damian is also a clone, but Kon connects the dots instantly upon meeting him, but is smart enough to keep mum about it.

ALSO, to switch gears again, I love the implication here (to me at least) that Tim knows about Danny, but hasn't quite met him yet. I think he'd clock Danny being a clone pretty quickly (not instantly, but quickly) due to the sheer amount of research/stalking he went into with Bruce. Iirc he even knew what kind of paintings he liked, so I think he'd definitely (even if its eventually) recognize a younger Bruce Wayne in Danny.

Like, oh, yeah, his best friend is dating some guy from the Midwest and Kon's probably told him everything under the sun about Danny -- like how he does this cute little grunt when you catch his attention, and that he has a habit of chewing on the end of his pen or thumb nail when he's lost in thought, and he scrunches up his brows sometimes when he's confused, and he has a smile that could light up a whole room, and eyes as bright as glaciers, and -- and it's to the point that Tim probably knows everything about the guy and they've never even met.

He doesn't even bother looking him up, because damn, he already knows what Danny looks like just from Kon's description alone. The one time he decides not to be an obsessive little freak and it comes around to bite him in the ass, because Danny is apparently a clone of Bruce. He finally goes and looks him up and goddamn, the similarities are right there. He even has Bruce's goofy-ass bat-wing shaped eyebrows.

How did this go under the radar for so long.

AND -- because the ADHD is hitting and i'm hopping topics like a mallet in whack-a-mole -- the meetcute. Obsessed with thinking about how Kon and Danny met, and imo the only appropriate (/j) way is that it was as mutually civilians. Except I wanna explore the concept, so instead of it being a coffeeshop meetcute, it's something else.

Danny is in Metropolis with his family for something and was exploring the city during the rare few moments he's alone, and it's very important to me and only me to mention that he's been having a rough go of it lately. Just the new-usual and monthly identity crisis, so he's gone and stuck more holes in his ears. With the added bonus of a brand spanking new eyebrow piercing and lip piercing. If he doesn't like it, he can just take them out and let them heal.

Anyways, he's standing at a stoplight and waiting for the crosswalk to go, Kon was standing next to him and they were relatively ignoring each other. They're standing at a corner with relatively low traffic, and the crosswalk lights up. What happens is that Kon is walking somewhat in front of Danny, when a car comes veering around the corner. It's going fast enough that it would've most certainly hit Kon, if he weren't half-kryptonian.

And also if it weren't for the fact that Danny is faster. Before Kon can dive out of the way of the oncoming speeder, an arm snakes around his waist and he's yanked back and onto the ground. Seconds later, the car whizzes past, a hairsbreadth away from Kon's feet.

"Shit." He says without thinking, slack-jawed and shocked for multiple reasons, and he continues to not think as he tacks on; "Good reflexes."

He turns to look at his supposed savior, and sees a boy with long, dark lashes and even longer hair, pretty blue eyes, and propping himself up on his elbow. The boy gives him a sarcastic smile, "Thanks," he says, "made them myself. You alright?"

"Just peachy." Kon manages to get out, and watches the boy unwrap his arm from around his waist and get up, and then thinks to get up himself.

"You'd think that guy was being chased by the Bat himself." The boy quips dryly, brushing himself off. "He's in the wrong city for that, Gotham is the next storm cloud over."

Kon snorts, and somehow manages to get the pretty boy's name and number, offering to show him the best places in Metropolis as repayment for "saving" him. The rest is history. They start out friends, and only start dating half a year later. Kon was visiting Metropolis to visit Clark and Lois, and heads back to Smallville after he's done -- which is fortunate. Because it's about five hours closer to Illinois than Metropolis, which makes popping by Amity Park to see Danny occasionally just a liitttle bit easier.

Over 900 prompt

Okay I love the Danny is a clone of Batman aus but I've never seen this done.

Danny and Kon dating and Then Danny learning his parents cloned Batman thinking he is a ghost only to find out he isn't and kept Danny as their kid.

Just think of the hilarious reactions

Caue this immediately popped into my head.

Kon: *muffled screaming into Tim's couch*

Tim: ....you good?

Kon: danny is the clone of Batman

Tim: ...

Kon: I'm the clone of Superman

Tim:...

Kon: AND WE ARE DATING!

[ruth-posts-pokemon]

Good news! That Fomantis is not sick, it’s just shiny. I diagnose you with protagonist coded

… Huh. That’s what I get for going based on what I remember them looking like normally instead of just looking up pictures of them and making direct comparisons. Glad to know the little creacher is healthy.

And what do you mean by protagonist coded. I do not control the Pokémon that show up in my vicinity

[cowgirlvi]

mdni. sub-bottom jinx. fem-top reader. strap-on usage. size kink. vaginal sex. squirting. rough sex.

jinx masterlist

word count: 1.9k

the first time jinx tries to ride your strap, she’s cocky—naively convinced that she’ll be a natural at it. but more than anything, she’s determined to put on a show for you, determined to turn you into a fucked-out mess for a change. she pictures herself bouncing in your lap, playing with her small tits as she grinds down against you, making your head spin with the pace she sets, riding your cock so hard that the friction against your clit would rival that of a vibrator.

despite only being in a relationship with jinx for a month now, she has taken your strap before—many, many times, actually—but always in the same way; laying there while you pleasured her, while you set the tempo, while you took care of her every need like a pampered princess.

and that’s the problem.

she began to feel useless—and, predictably, she got in her own head, wondered if you found her boring. how can it be fun for you to fuck her pussy every night and receive nothing in return?

so that’s when she decided, the next time the two of you had sex, she would get on top. she would take the initiative to make both of you feel good. she would be particularly skilled at riding cock.

now, in the present, she watches from the bed as you adjust the harness on your hips, teeth worrying her bottom lip. she’s already naked, already soaked, but suddenly, she’s unsure. should she sweetly ask to ride your cock? wait until round two? shove you down and take what she wants?

“you ready, baby?” you ask, crawling over her lithe body.

biting the bullet, jinx abruptly shoves your shoulders until you’re splayed on your back. she’s quick to throw one of her legs over your hips, her pussy sitting flush against your strap, soaking it with her juices already. you’ve only been together a month, but jinx has the wettest pussy you’ve ever seen.

“want to ride you,” she mumbles, her usual bravado cracking—shy in a way you’ve never seen from her before.

”are you sure that’s a good idea? you’ve never done that before.”

she stiffens, eyes narrowing, “i can take it.” 

sighing, you say, “just—maybe i should finger you some more? make sure you’re stretched enough?” 

“i said i’m ready,” and she’s already reaching for your strap, rubbing it against her soaked folds in long, deliberate strokes.

such an eager thing, the little minx. jinx is grinding against your cock with animalistic fervor, rolling her hips like a whore desperate to be fucked—which she is, you suppose. her slutty cunt is always in need of constant attention; always needing her hole to be stuffed full, her clit to be sucked on like a jolly rancher.

“aughh, unghh, fuck—“ she’s moaning noisily now, front teeth digging into her candy-red lips. but she’s determined, not going to let her own girlfriend dismiss her as some lazy, passive fucktoy.

so, jinx rises up on her knees and holds your strap beneath her, ready to impale herself on the length in its entirety. your cock looks monstrous in comparison to her tiny body.

”go slow,” you warn her and she scoffs.

the girthy shaft and bulbous head completely dwarf her small folds. she’s so wet that her pussy makes an obscene squelching noise when the head tries to pop inside her. however, the strap barely breaches her entrance before it falls against your stomach with a wet plap. her pussy is too small to fit your cock, and you’re wondering how you managed to stuff her full so many times before.

her brows are furrowed in concentration when she brings the head of your strap to her pussy again. she’s rocking and circling her hips, trying to coax her stubborn body into submission. again, your strap won’t go in. her pussy is fluttering and gripping at nothing, waiting to be filled. “shit, it’s too big,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “i can’t… it’s—fuck!”

one of your hands reaches up to palm jinx’s breast, the one with her blue, cloudy tattoos decorating the skin around her nipple. you rub her tit with your thumb in light strokes. “just relax, babe.” the hard peak of her nipple pebbles beneath your touch and jinx gasps. “let your body open up for me.”

she takes a shuddering breath, her owlish eyes squeezing shut as she focuses on the sensation of your thumb circling her nipple. slowly, she starts to relax, and at the same time she presses the head against her opening again. this time, the head slips inside her and she makes a noise of triumph.

from this angle—being impaled on your length all by herself—it feels impossibly bigger than it has in the past. despite this, jinx keeps rocking her hips gently, sucking more of your strap inside.

“hnng, fuck!” jinx pants. only half of your strap is inside her at this point and you wonder if that’s all she’ll be able to take.

her stomach and thighs clench with the exertion of holding herself up, so you move both your hands to her wide hips, stroking them soothingly where her hipbones protrude. 

she slides down further, only a quarter of your cock left. jinx whines whorishly while feeling herself stretch around your thick strap. her pink, gummy walls are clenching obscenely, her inner muscles fluttering around the stocky length. you wish you could actually feel her powerful contractions around you—her wetness, the warmth of her insides.

”oh fuck, oh shit—it’s so… so fucking big,” she whimpers. her lips are swollen and red from her biting them.

”can’t take it, baby?” you tease breathlessly, rubbing her hips. “your pussy looks fucking ruined.”

jinx shoots you a glare but it’s far from intimidating, not with her hazy, cockdrunk eyes.

stubbornly, she forces the rest of your strap inside her, her ass colliding against your thighs with a slap. and suddenly, jinx freezes in place. she’s trembling, that much is obvious, goosebump erupting all over her skin. she’s never felt so full before, so utterly stuffed and stretched and split open. the head of your strap is nestled deep inside her, kissing her cervix and making her toes curl against your bedsheets. jinx can feel every ridge and vein etched into the silicone; the texture feels deliciously abrasive against her sensitive walls.

jinx attempts to roll her hips once, before she freezes in place again. her nails are digging painfully into your breasts and you’ve never seen such a fucked-out look on her face before.

”mmffuck! aghh—holy shit, i—i can’t—it’s too much!”

what a sight she is, shaking and trembling and whining on your cock, so sensitive and stuffed full that she can’t even move. her brain is turning to mush, tongue sticking out dumbly while she pants. she’s gasping like a fish out of water, harsh and desperate.

“fuck, baby. you look fucked stupid and i haven’t even done anything yet,” you murmur, mesmerized.

”it’s so—so deep, aghh! so big, i feel so full,” jinx babbles mindlessly, her words tumbling out in a rush of pleasure and disbelief. you want to grip onto her small waist and piston your cock inside her, make her more dumb than she already is.

“i’m gonna help you move, sweetheart. gonna make you feel good,” you promise. you feel pussydrunk—high off the view of jinx stretched so wide around your strap. it’s completely obscene and it might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

you grip onto the plush fat of her hips and slowly lift jinx off your strap. she moans and babbles the entire time, feeling the silicone drag against her walls, until you slam her back down on your cock. her mouth falls open in a silent scream, her eyes roll back in her head, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep them open. her tongue lolls out again stupidly, drool dripping down her chin as she pants and whines, completely out of her mind with pleasure. the sight of her, so fucked out and dazed, sends a dark thrill through you, a primal surge of lust that makes you want to ruin her completely.

you lift her off your strap once more and then allow gravity to pull her down—repeating this over and over again—and you grind up against her when she’s buried to the hilt each time, getting impossibly deeper.

”so sexy, baby—ah fuck, fuck, you hot little bitch.”

your strap is pressing just right against your clit, making you squirm and unintentionally thrusting your hips, forcing the strap further inside your girlfriend. you smack her ass hard, the sound echoing throughout your bedroom, and jinx sobs.

you start to thrust harder, faster, gripping jinx’s hips tightly as you piston up into her. the bed creaks and groans beneath the two of you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each brutal drive of your hips.

jinx face-plants into your chest. all she can do is lay against your pillowy breasts and take what you give her. the wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, punctuated by jinx’s high, breathy cries. your eyes burn with a feral intensity as you stare at her ass rippling over her shoulder.

”that’s it, princess. take it, take it.” and you rub jinx’s back lovingly and gently, despite the fact that you’re destroying her pussy right now.

you set a brutal, punishing pace, planting your feet against the bed so you can fuck up into her with abandon. the thick head of your strap slams against jinx’s cervix with each savage thrust and the wet, indecent sounds of jinx’s pussy being split open echos throughout the room.

“fuck me, ngh, fuck me, fuck me—ohhh!” the only thing jinx can focus on is the repetitive motion of your cock fucking deep inside her. she feels like a cocksleeve for you to use—she is a cocksleeve.

suddenly, her back arches like a cat, her chest pressed flush against your own as her body goes rigid, stiffening like a bowstring pulled taut before releasing. her pussy spasms and clenches around the thick length invading her body, along with a keening wail as her pussy squirts between your two bodies.

”mmmf—oh, shit—! please, aghhhff!” jinx squeals like a pig, her body shaking and convulsing through the force of her climax. she clings to you like a drowning woman, and her juices gush out around your strap with a powerful force, her body humping against yours while she rides out her orgasm—which applies immense pressure to your clit through your strap.

your own orgasm hits you like a freight train, the pleasure white-hot and all-consuming. there’s so much blood pumping in your ears that you can’t even hear the noises you’re making, but you assume they’re nothing short of animalistic. your throat is sore, you think you screamed but you’re not quite sure. the pleasure is so intense that it momentarily short-circuits all your senses. you’ve never come this hard before, never felt an orgasm this earth-shattering, and it makes you question the very fabrics of your reality. 

jinx’s pussy milks the toy for all it’s worth before she calms down and becomes boneless on top of you. all you can hear is static as your own orgasm subsides, your sweaty skin sticking to one another. you pepper kisses along jinx’s face, her neck, her collarbones, while your hearts are pounding in tandem. you murmur words of praise and adoration against her skin—despite your tongue feeling heavy and clumsy in your mouth—and jinx hums in response.

the thick, musky scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, a tangible reminder of the carnal act you’ve just engaged in.

(2/2/25)

[kyouka-supremacy]

I would have also liked to include the scenes where Atsushi hurt Naomi and Haruno and the one where he saw Sigma die, but I couldn't make them fit without disrupting the flow of the edit (╥﹏╥)

Sigma's scene in particular, since - if I remember correctly - Atsushi still doesn't know that Sigma is alive. So as far as Atsushi is concerned Sigma is just another person who died as consequence of being close to him (´;︵;)

— Their blood is on your hands.

[oaksgrove]

Fixer-Upper

pairing: John Price x Reader

synopsys: What starts as a simple date quickly becomes something else entirely—because apparently, Price can't flirt properly until he's made sure your place isn't a "death trap." But once the distractions are handled? Oh, he's got other things to fix. And you're at the top of that list.

warnings: Slow-burn to full ignition, Domestic flirting disguised as home improvement, Price being absurdly attractive while doing manual labor, Subtle dominance, Countertop moments, John being a man who takes care of things (and you).

word count: 1910

a/n: Oh god, I have never written anything like this, but it just flowed. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was thinking about Price fixing a door hinge, and the next, he was fixing something else entirely. Sorry or… you’re welcome?

thank you @leteddiebehappypls for the inspiration!

It started with a swipe.

A lazy Sunday afternoon, scrolling mindlessly through Hinge, when his profile stopped you in your tracks.

John, 38.

His pictures were simple—one of him in the soft golden light of a pub, a pint in hand, his beard neat but a little scruffy at the edges. Another of him in a heavy coat, standing near a lake, looking out at something unseen. His prompts were straightforward, no nonsense but with a dry wit that made you smile.

"You should not go out with me if…" "You prefer a man who can’t change a tire."

That made you laugh.

A quick glance at his profile details—he lived nearby, worked in the military (vague), liked dogs, smoked an occasional cigar, and enjoyed old films.

You sent the first message.

And from there, it was easy.

He was charming, but not in the way that felt rehearsed. He asked about your day and actually listened. His voice notes were warm, deep, laced with a quiet amusement whenever you teased him. You liked the way he flirted—subtle, gentlemanly, never pushing too far but always making sure you knew he was interested.

Three months later, after countless late-night talks and stolen kisses in the back of his car, you invited him over for an afternoon date at your place.

You expected a relaxed day—coffee, maybe a walk, maybe some kisses on the couch if things went well.

What you didn’t expect was John Price stepping into your home and immediately conducting a full inspection of the place.

—

"That door hinge is loose."

The first words out of his mouth after he kissed you hello.

You blinked at him. "What?"

He was already scanning the room like a man on a mission, his blue eyes sharp and assessing, he crouched down to inspect a loose cabinet hinge.

He was already moving, crouching to inspect a cabinet hinge, fingers running along the wood.

"You know this is about to come off, yeah?" he said, tapping the corner.

Your lips parted in disbelief. "Are you making a list?"

Price turned, arms crossed over his broad chest, giving you that slow, knowing grin that never failed to make your stomach flip. "’Course I am, love. Can’t have you livin’ in a death trap, can I?"

And the worst part? Every time he found something else, he’d glance at you—this warm, amused glint in his eyes like fixing things in your home was the only thing keeping him from dragging you against the nearest wall.

"John."  You exhaled, exasperated, leaning against the counter. "I invited you over for coffee, not a home renovation. You know you don’t have to do all that," you teased, leaning against the counter, watching him with an amused smile.

John tilted his head, stepping closer. Too close. His broad frame filled the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and suddenly your whole apartment felt smaller.

"I know," he murmured, voice dropping just slightly. "But I’m already here, aren’t I?"

And oh, there was something about the way he said it—like he meant something more.

Your heart skipped.

John had always been like this—quietly attentive, always looking after you in little ways. Making sure you ate, texting to see if you got home safe, standing between you and the street when you walked together.

It was dangerously easy to fall for him.

But you wouldn’t admit that. Not yet.

Instead, you rolled your eyes. "Do you even have tools?"

"We’ll get ‘em."

— 

It was supposed to be a quick trip.

But walking through the aisles of the local construction shop with John Price felt less like a casual errand and more like some kind of slow-burn seduction disguised by home repairs.

You watched from a few steps behind as he scanned the shelves, utterly focused—like a man on a mission. His sleeves were still rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with hair, and when he reached up to grab a toolbox from the top shelf? Yeah. You may or may not have gotten distracted.

He caught you staring. Of course he did.

And the bastard had the nerve to smirk.

"See something you like?" he asked, low and warm, that teasing rasp in his voice curling deep in your belly.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. "I’m just impressed you’re taking this so seriously."

He stepped closer—close enough for you to catch the faint scent of tobacco and cedarwood, something distinctly him. "I take a lot of things seriously," he murmured, his gaze lingering on your mouth for just a beat too long.

And oh, the way he was looking at you—like he was barely holding himself back—made your knees go weak.

—

Back at your place, John’s standing in your living room with a fresh-cut two-by-four rested on his shoulder like it weighed nothing, and he had a tool bag slung over one arm.

You were so fucked.

"Alright, love," he drawled, adjusting his grip on the lumber. "Where do we start?"

Your brain short-circuited for a full five seconds.

Because, fuck, did he have to look so good while doing this?

You cleared your throat. "I, uh—John, you really don’t have to—"

He cocked a brow, stepping in just close enough that you could smell sawdust and the faint hint of his cologne.

"I do, though." His voice was low, deliberate. Gravel wrapped in velvet. "Can’t focus on anything else knowing you’ve got loose hinges and a lock that’s barely holding up."

Oh, that was unfair.

The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to flirt so badly but couldn’t until he handled the absolute crime of a squeaky door hinge—it was absurdly attractive.

Like some kind of gentlemanly home improvement seduction.

You folded your arms, tilting your head at him. "So what you’re saying is, you’d be distracted trying to flirt with me knowing there’s a leaky pipe under my sink?"

His mouth curved into that infuriatingly smug little smirk. "Exactly."

—

Watching John work was almost too much.

The sight of him standing at your kitchen sink, carefully fixing the drip with his broad hands and furrowed brow, was almost too much. Especially when he paused—wiping his hands on a rag—to glance over his shoulder at you.

"You’re staring again, love."

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall. "Can you blame me? Not every girl gets a full home repair service on a date."

John chuckled, that deep, warm sound vibrating in your chest. "Lucky you, then."

And God, he made it impossible not to flirt back.

"Yeah? What’s next—building me a bookshelf?"

His expression shifted. Darkened.

Something in his posture changed, the heat between you suddenly heavier.

"If that’s what you want."

Your breath caught.

And then he stood up, slow and deliberate, dusting sawdust from his palms. He turned to you with that look—the look—like he was holding himself back. Like there was a war raging inside him, one side demanding he be the gentleman and the other telling him to pin you against the nearest surface.

You barely had time to react before he was in your space, moving in like gravity pulled him there.

His hands landed on either side of you, caging you against the counter.

Heat rolled off him, thick and dizzying. The scent of sawdust, cologne, and him filled your lungs.

His fingers skimmed your waist, slow, teasing."So, tell me," he drawled, voice casual, almost teasing, "what else is wrong with this place? Besides the obvious lack of a proper man around to fix it?"

Your mouth fell open.

Oh, he was so full of shit.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him just a little closer. "Oh, so now you’re flirting?"

"Told you, love." His lips were right there, hovering over your jaw, breath hot against your skin. "Had to fix the distractions first."

Christ.

His breath shuddered.

And then—his hands were on you.

Sliding up your sides, tracing your curves, claiming you without hesitation.

"You know," you mused, "you could’ve just said you wanted an excuse to spend more time here."

John chuckled, voice dipping low, warm. He reached for a rag, dusting his hands off with that infuriating, deliberate ease. Then he met your eyes, something wicked flashing behind those deep blues.

"Darlin’," he murmured, "if I wanted an excuse, I’d just ask to stay the night."

"That somethin’ you want?" His voice was pure, slow-burning sin, dragging along your spine like velvet and gravel.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you plan on fixing me, too."

His mouth brushed the shell of your ear. "Oh, sweetheart," he rasped, voice dripping with dark amusement, "you might be my favorite project yet."

Your head tipped back against the counter as his lips traced a slow, burning path down your neck, his beard scratching against your skin.

One of his hands slid lower, pressing against the small of your back, dragging you flush against him—against the unmistakable proof of just how badly he wanted you.

"John," His name slipped out between parted lips, a breathless whisper as your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging—not to pull him away, but to keep him right there.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your throat, and the sound alone sent another wave of heat curling through you.

His grip on your hips tightened—fingers pressing firm, possessive. A silent warning.

"Careful, love." His voice was low, thick, a heated drawl that wrapped around you like silk and smoke. "You start something, you better be ready to finish it."

Oh, fuck.

The weight of his words settled deep in your bones, in the press of his body against yours, in the way his mouth hovered just over your skin like he was barely holding himself back.

You exhaled a laugh, soft, teasing, tilting your chin up until your lips just brushed his.

"Guess we’ll be here all night, then."

His answering growl—low, dark, dangerous—sent a full-body shiver through you.

"Guess we will."

And then he was kissing you.

Hard.

Desperate.

The slow, teasing restraint snapped in an instant, replaced with something raw, something that burned hot between you. His hands roamed, strong and sure, mapping every curve like he was memorizing you by touch alone.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss, swallowing every sound you made. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you into him, fitting you perfectly against him, like he needed you closer.

You barely noticed when he lifted you onto the counter—barely registered anything beyond the feel of his hands, the press of his body between your thighs, the way his mouth devoured yours.

"Fuck," he murmured against your lips, his voice wrecked, his forehead pressing to yours as he tried to catch his breath. His hands didn’t stop moving, gripping your waist, trailing up your sides, claiming every inch of you.

"You okay?" he rasped, and fuck, the way he asked—like he was barely holding himself together, like he needed you but would stop the second you wanted him to—had your heart slamming against your ribs.

You smirked, breathless, brushing your lips over his once more, teasing.

"Oh, John," you murmured, dragging your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

"You better finish what you started."

His hands tightened.

His lips curled into a smirk against yours.

And then—he did.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash

[sttoru]

OKAY IK YOU JUST DID SATORU BUT BOOBOBSESSED!TOJI PLEASE !!

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. husband!toji fushiguro x wife!female reader. smut, pwp. mention of bôōb job, m. māsturbation. brēast play. reader gets called ‘doll, girl’ not proofread

“tojiiii, i just came home,” you whine as the black-haired man lifts you up and brings you over to the couch the second you step into your shared apartment.

it’s become a part of your daily routine at this point. every time you come home, you’re put on the couch or bed and your clothes come off. it doesn’t necessarily have to lead to sex—sometimes your husband does it to comfort you and relieve your stress (and his).

“yeah, i know, doll,” toji responds in a gruff voice. he lifts your shirt up over your head and leaves chaste kisses on your shoulders and collarbone, “jus’ let me take care of you, ‘kay?” you can feel his stubble, making you realise that he did not shave. not that you’re complaining.

in fact, you’re the one who told him that you prefer it when he has a little stubble. it’s so sexy on toji—especially during the early mornings, when you wake up next to him, his muscular body on full display with that lazy look in his eyes. it makes you drool every time.

you hum shortly in agreement. toji licks a strip over your collarbone before swiftly undoing your bra. he watches your tits bounce free from their confines and he groans, feeling his cock swell in his boxer shorts already.

“been needing to suck on those,” he sighs. he shamelessly attaches his lips to your nipple, tongue flicking out to taste your plump flesh. it’s an addiction at this point. not a day goes by where toji doesn’t leave your breasts alone.

he either has to knead them while he watches a show or lazily suck on them while you cuddle. he can’t help it—your tits are just a delicious treat he wishes to indulge in every second of the day. even when toji is out of the house, images of your perfectly round chest keep him from focusing on the road ahead.

hell; one time toji even had to pull his car to the side so he could quickly palm himself through his boxers, simply because of your tits. he had one of his hands under his pants and the other held his phone, scrolling through pictures that captured your bust well.

“fuck,” toji curses under his breath. he groans with nearly every suckle, his eyes closed like he’s experiencing euphoria. you run your fingers through his hair, your back arching off the couch a little. your husband massages your other breast, his tongue quickly circling your swollen nipple like a touch starved man, “mh, can’t stop. fuckin’ delicious. wanna keep on suckin’ em.”

toji pinches your other nipple which causes you to moan loudly. it’s like your stress is quite literally being sucked out of your body. every suckle motion makes you relax even more in his embrace.

“babe, i need t’ make dinner,” you mutter between soft whimpers. you know it’s futile saying that—toji is not going to let you go. once he’s got you, he’s keeping you for the rest of the day.

the black-haired man rolls his eyes at your words while he’s actively sucking on your tit. he looks up at you before detaching his lips from your hardened nipple. there’s a wet spot of his saliva left over your chest.

“no need,” toji rasps, kissing the valley of your breasts. his dick twitches at the thought of being sunk between your tits, his cum shooting from the tip and coating your breasts and face white. “got my dinner right here,” he sighs and wraps his lips around your other nipple.

you moan at the stimulation. you tug at toji’s hair from the pleasure, your hips bucking up to grind against that hard bulge that’s been pressed between your thighs since the beginning. your husband hisses at the contact and bites on the sensitive nub.

“easy, girl,” toji growls, his eyes darkening with lust, “just a little more, mhm? i’ll give it to ya real good after.” he’s nearly going insane from the sensations. his hips grind back slowly against your core while his face is buried against your tits. the pair is getting equal attention, either from his lips and tongue or skilled fingers.

the pleasure is unending. you want nothing more than to return the favor to your lover, but with how things are going, that’s going to take a while. you’re going to need to pry toji away from your tits; he won’t leave them on his own free will.

if it was up to him, he’d live there forever, right between your tits.

[boowritess]

very mild 18+ simon riley x reader

lmaoo i can't breathe Simon Riley is just a man.

atleast to you.

when he's home, all he is to you is dry humor, a couple beers every night, sat in front of the tv on his spot on the couch, the game is playing - some soccor or rugby match. he doesn't wear his mask, his clothes are a simple t-shirt and some pair of shorts he just threw on.

he uses your shampoo and conditioner, as much as it pisses you off because it's expensive and for some reason he uses half the fucking bottle everytime he's home, but when he does the groceries he still comes home with '2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner' he would’ve got the '3 in 1' but the last time he did that he got no head for 3 weeks.

he'll go to the pub, take you out, pushes the trolley, holds your bag, let's you dress how you want it, belly gets a little soft because he eats food like he's never ate before, buy you anything you want even after the 'do you really need it though?' talk.

he's bit lazy on workouts only goes on the occasional run, but will fuck you whenever you want; always vanilla and only gets rough when you ask.

he will say he'll fix whatever appliance needs tending too but won't do it right away, starts the occasional handyman job at odd times.

it's just - he's so mundane and normal that you'd never know just how dangerous he is ???? like he so carefully hides that side from you. seriously. when he's home, he throws his gear in the bottom of his closet in a box, locking Ghost away and just existing as Simon.

even when the rest of the task force come around on the occasion. they're so normal and are just... men. yelling at the tv during a sport match. teasing each other. stealing snacks and helping with cleaning. they never speak about work and when you ask them, it's always a smile and shrug, "just another day really." "little boring and slow." "oh not too bad." their answers are so half-assed, that you don't even ask anymore; which is what they want.

but you really aren't missing anything. not when you don't even know what you're missing out on.

it's crazy, because he even keeps Ghost hidden when you're being harassed by men. whether that be when you're shopping or just going for a walk.

he'll loop an arm around your waist or over your shoulder, look at the guy with a grin - that's more of a sneer, "can i help you, mate?" he'll drawl. his stature and stare is enough to make the man who had been harassing you back off.

"what a freak..." you mutter with a roll of your eyes, letting Simon guide you away as he presses a kiss to your temple, a deep chuckle leaving him.

around midnight you wake up to Simon in the laundry room washing his hands. he doesn't blink or hesitate when you wonder in and wrap your arms around his waist. "what're you doing?" you mumble, sleepy eyss dropping to the sink.

Simon's hands are red, and you would be alarmed, should be alarmed. but how could you when Simon hums softly, a sound that rumbles deep from his throat, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. he's so warm and casual that you don't even do a touble take seeing the blood.

"caught a rat. right pest they are. the trap i set snapped it clean in half." Simon's mutters, he raises a bloodied hand to you, sniggering when you crinkle your nose up in disgust and step away from him.

"ew, i'm going back to bed." you huff, yawning and leaving him to what he was doing.

Simon laughs softly as you head off. "just be a sec, love." he says as you go. all he receives is a yawn and a tired 'mhm'.

he cleans his hands and then his phone chimes. he pulls it out and it's a private message.

'getting rid of your pest now, LT.'

image attached

Simon opens the picture and sure enough there's the man from earlier in the boot of a car. all bloodied like Ghost left him.

Simon heads back upstairs to your shared room, you quietly snoozing away. you don't steer or wake as the closet door opens and Simon's putting his mask back in with his gear. No. Ghost is too quiet to let you wake from such a warm and sweet sleep.

he turns from the closet after putting everything away and changing clothes. he crawls into his side of the bed and wraps his arms around you. letting your body nestle back into his side. limbs tangling together.

just you and your simon.

a/n: inspired by a tik tok video on how he is just a man lmaooo

[victorluvsalice]

-->And then -- time for a snowball fight! Because, well, it was cold, there was snow on the ground, so why not? XD They all ran around throwing snowballs at each other and having a lovely time for a few rounds (Smiler even getting a happy sentiment with both Victor and Alice about how much fun they were having) – but, unfortunately, Alice’s werewolf instincts interrupted and made her very testy and in need of a nap. *sigh* Darn finicky temperaments... So I ended the fight and let her get in a snooze in the snow by the bar while Victor headed over to the observatory to observe the sky (no new print, unfortunately) and Smiler went looking for frogs in all the frog logs (getting a Striped Leaf, Striped Eggplant, and Striped Dirt -- none of which they actually needed, but at least they can be used for breeding?). Alice woke up once her energy was better and her instincts quieted, then grabbed another plate of meat and cheese before running over to meet Victor and Smiler by the observatory, where they were making more snow angels. Everyone happily came together to spin some noisemakers and throw/blast confetti in honor of the holiday –

Just in time for the date to end on gold level! :D You love to see it. (Though I think all they got out of it was another VIP bucket – I wish that the date rewards were a little more varied!)

-->However, before they went home, I REALLY wanted them to get a cute trio shot together somewhere in the park. You know me and my love of taking in-game pictures of them, after all. :p After looking around (and unsuccessfully trying to direct them all to the same spot in front of one of the fish fountains just off-lot), I decided one of the corner fountains would do and had them head over there via their various teleports. I had Alice get out her tripod, then tried positioning it right outside the gap in the hedges leading to the fountain, hoping that would lead to a good shot. There was the usual trouble in trying to set UP the group shot – a bit of lag, Smiler insisting on presenting some flowers to Victor just before they were to wait for the photographer – but, having learned my lesson from previous attempts, I just shut off autonomy for a while before giving it another go –

Aaaand discovered that the camera was facing at the most awkward angle to the group EVER. XD Now, fortunately, when your camera is on a tripod, you can actually spin it around 360 degrees to get a better angle. UNFORTUNATELY, when I did that, Victor and Smiler were half-behind the hedges, meaning there really was no better angle. *facepalm* I took a few snaps just because I wanted SOMETHING from the date, but I don’t know if any of these will be going up on the wall! At least, not where visitors can see. :p

[brunchable]

The Marriage Bet

Pairings: Best Friend Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Themes: A bet. A bit of comedy but mostly fluff and Bucky treating his woman right ;)

Summary: If in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet.

A/N: For those of you who voted for 'Calm Down, Dad Mode' I've added it to this story. This has got to be my favorite fluff FML. Also let me TELL YOU, the cravings in pregnancy and the emotions are real because I lived it lmao. PART 2

Three Years Ago

"You know what we should do?” Bucky said out of the blue, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. The two of you had been lounging on his couch for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a lazy night filled with laughter, shared memories, and the kind of comfortable silence only you and Bucky knew how to savour.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“If we’re still single in three years… let’s get married,” he announced, as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. His tone was light, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. “Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, his lips twitching up into that familiar smirk that made your heart skip. “But think about it. No more crappy dates, no more getting your heart broken by idiots who don’t deserve you. Just us. You and me. We already know each other’s worst habits, and we get along. It’d be a good marriage.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You make it sound like we’re signing up for a business merger.”

He laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine. “Maybe. But at least you’d know you’re stuck with someone who’s never going to walk out on you. Someone who’d fight for you.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten, and for a second, you allowed yourself to picture it. A life with Bucky, the two of you navigating the ups and downs together. No more failed relationships, no more loneliness. Just the comfort and security of someone who knew you better than anyone else.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you murmured, still stunned by the idea.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for just a beat, then broke into a grin. “Deal, Barnes. If we’re still single in three years, I’ll marry your crazy ass.”

He grinned back, his hand shooting out to seal the promise with a firm handshake. But as your fingers clasped around his, the energy between you shifted — playful and yet, inexplicably serious.

“Deal,” he echoed softly, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

× × × × 

Present

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes skimming over the city lights below as the faint notes of Taylor Swift’s break-up songs filled the air. You and Bucky had been up here for hours, talking and drinking, the night air crisp against your skin.

It had been a rough few months for you — the breakup still felt fresh, the sting of rejection and disappointment lingering. But being here with Bucky made it easier. He had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it didn’t seem that way.

“Y’know, you’re the best,” you murmured, your words slurred slightly from the champagne. “I mean it, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm as he watched you. “Good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you turned back to the view. “Still, I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m destined to be alone or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. “And you know it.”

You shrugged, glancing over at him. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like it. Everyone I’ve ever dated just—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Bucky suddenly shifted, reaching into his pocket. Your eyes widened as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and, without hesitation, flipped it open. The soft light of the rooftop glinted off the 1.5-carat diamond ring nestled inside — simple, elegant, and undeniably breathtaking. 

“What’s that?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

Bucky arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look. “An engagement ring, Y/N. What else?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a ring!” you sputtered, your mind reeling. “But why—how—what are you doing with it?”

Bucky sighed, muttering under his breath, “For someone so smart, she really can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

You barely had time to process the words before he got up from his sitting position and slowly knelt down on one knee. The movement made your heart jump into your throat, your breath hitching as he looked up at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I want to marry you, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm and sure. “Not because of some bet or joke we made all those years ago, but because… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to. The one who makes you laugh when you’re sad. The one who fights for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as the weight of his words sank in, the sincerity in his voice making it almost impossible to breathe. “Bucky… this is—”

“I know this is crazy,” he continued, cutting you off gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “But when have we ever been normal, huh? I’m not asking you to feel something you don’t or to change anything between us. But I am a man of my word, and I’m keeping the promise we made.”

Your mind raced, memories of that night flashing through your mind — the promise, the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you back then as if you were the only thing that mattered. And now, here he was, years later, kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring, ready to turn that promise into something real.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he held out the ring, his expression almost pleading. “So… will you marry me? Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to?”

You stared down at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing anchoring you being his blue eyes, filled with nothing but hope and determination.

“Well? Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now. “Because I’m dying here.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over as you shook your head in disbelief. 

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you teased, “Getting down on one knee and everything… how could I say no to a man with such dedication?”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh of his own. “Is that a yes, or are you just stalling to make me sweat more?”

You glanced at the ring, then back at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I guess… if I have to be stuck with someone for the rest of my life… it might as well be you.”

“Yes,” you added quickly, your smile widening as you looked at him with all the warmth and affection you felt. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

Relief washed over his face, his grin so wide it could’ve lit up the entire rooftop. “You really know how to keep a guy on edge, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” you replied with a laugh, reaching out to brush your fingers against his cheek. “I can’t make it too easy for you.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can be so mean you know that?”

“Mean?” you scoffed, giving him a playful look of disbelief. “You’re proposing to me, remember? I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I know. And I’m still all in, even if you make me work for it.”

You grinned, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky didn’t hesitate, his arms coming up to hold you close, his chin resting gently on top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest as your eyes locked with his. The sound of the music drifted softly through the air, wrapping around you both like an embrace.

You could see the tenderness in his gaze, the way his eyes softened as he looked down at you. There was something indescribable in the way he held you, his hands warm and secure against your back, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You know,” you murmured softly, a small smile playing on your lips, “I completely forgot about that bet.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up at the corners as he started to sway gently, rocking you both back and forth in time with the music. 

“Yeah? Good thing I haven’t.” he agreed quietly, his voice low and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you swayed together under the soft glow of the rooftop lights, the melody of the song weaving its way into your soul. There was a peace, a sense of rightness in the way his hands rested on your waist, the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

Opening your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “I’m really going to make you regret this, you know.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your side as he gazed down at you. “Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try, sweetheart—I mean what else could I possibly not know about you?”

Your smile widened as you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Oh, you’ll find out. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m not full of surprises.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Just remember you asked for it,” you teased, your voice soft as your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “You’re the one who’s committing to a lifetime of never quite knowing what I’ll do next.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again, a smile playing on his own. “I guess I like keeping things interesting, too.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you felt the tension melt away as you both swayed gently to the music. It felt like a new beginning — a promise that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

× × × ×

A few months later.

The garden was alive with soft laughter and murmurs as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and jasmine, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided the perfect backdrop for the small, intimate gathering of friends.

Bucky stood under the floral archway, his suit somehow both perfectly fitted and slightly askew in that way only Bucky could pull off. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. When you turned the corner, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exaggerated sigh of relief he let out.

“Thank God you showed up,” he teased, his voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Thought I’d have to marry Sam instead.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you made your way down the short aisle, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, Barnes. He’d leave you at the altar, you know.”

Bucky grinned, his shoulders relaxing as you stepped up to him. “True. He couldn’t handle my morning breath.”

The officiant cleared his throat gently, drawing soft chuckles from your friends. Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on yours, a playful twinkle in his eyes as if you were sharing a private joke no one else could understand.

“You ready for this?” he murmured softly, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, giving him a small nod.

The ceremony was simple and sweet, with your closest friends standing in a loose circle around you, their smiles reflecting the joy and camaraderie that had always defined your relationship with Bucky. 

When it came time for the vows, Bucky cleared his throat dramatically, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he began, waving the paper around, “so I wrote it down. Just so I don’t forget the important parts. Like promising I won’t eat your fries without asking.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? For my fries?”

“Partly,” Bucky said with a wink, earning a few laughs from your friends. “But seriously… I promise to always be your partner in crime. To watch bad movies with you, to be your go-to plus-one for all those events you hate, and to be the one you can call at 3 a.m. when the world feels like too much.”

His voice softened slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I promise to be your best friend, to listen, and to support you. And yeah, to not eat your fries — unless you’re not looking.”

You chuckled, blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears. “Damn, Barnes. Setting the bar high for husband material, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied with a smirk.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath, glancing down at your own slightly crumpled paper. “Bucky, I promise to keep being your reality check, to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. I promise to help you with your crazy woodworking projects, even when you refuse to read the instructions. And I promise to be your partner in all things — the weird, the good, and the unpredictable.”

Bucky’s grin softened into a small, genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think we’re gonna be pretty good at this whole marriage thing.”

“I think so too,” you murmured back.

The officiant’s voice broke through the quiet moment, his smile warm. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bucky, you may now—”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, holding up a hand as he turned to you, his expression half-serious, half-teasing. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is technically our first kiss. I want to get it right. So… how do you like it?”

A burst of laughter escaped you, the tension in your shoulders melting away as the sheer Bucky-ness of the question made you grin. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Come on, humor me,” he pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Slow? Gentle? Or should I just go for it?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “Just… kiss me, you goof.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly, leaning in. “I’ll make it good.”

His grin widened and shifts a little closer to you, Bucky dipped his head and you felt your noses brush. His breath is on your lips, and you quiver a bit at the odd sensation. Without another moment to spare you realise that he's pressing his lips to yours—it was nothing like you’d expected. His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer, his eyes fully closed. Bucky was concentrating on the kiss, and you realised that your eyes were wide open. Slowly you close them, hiding away your brilliant orbs. 

Bucky’s lips are oddly doft in this kiss and it stays slow and sweet. He wrapped his arm around you more, lifting you slightly off your feet. The veil fluttered around you like a soft cocoon, and then everything disappeared as his mouth moved insync with you, his kiss remained slowly, his mouth molding against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

His fingers gently tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing softly along your cheekbone as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

But then he shifted, tilting your head just slightly as he deepened the kiss, his hold around you tightening. It was then that you felt him let go completely — every barrier, every wall he’d kept up around himself crumbling as he poured everything into that kiss. 

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint cheers and whistles of your friends—Sam being the most obnoxious—but it all felt like background noise. It was just you and Bucky, wrapped up in this kiss that felt like it had been building up for years. His lips slid over yours with a kind of sweet intensity, a silent confession of everything he hadn’t said — of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you were breathless, hearts pounding in unison. He didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

A soft cheer went up from your friends—Sam being the most obvious— and Bucky’s grin turned almost smug. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah, Buck. I think you got it just right.”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a long, lingering moment before his smile widened into something boyish and relieved. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”

Bucky’s laugh was soft, his nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should keep practicing, huh?”

You nodded, your grin matching his. “Yeah. Keep practicing, Barnes.”

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, slower and just as sweet as the first, you knew that this — all of this — was exactly how it was meant to be.

× × × ×

1.5 years later

You were pacing back and forth in the bathroom, your heart hammering in your chest. Every few seconds, your eyes would dart to the three little sticks sitting ominously on the edge of the sink — three white, plastic harbingers of potential chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whispered frantically to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if willing the tests to disappear — or at least show some clarity.

How did it come to this? You were supposed to be life partners — partners in crime, best friends — no strings attached, no expectations. Just two people who promised to be there for each other. Sure, you got married, but it was all because of the bet. A way to keep each other from loneliness, you both said. Nothing more, right?

Except somewhere along the line, late-night talks had turned into stolen kisses. Comforting hugs had turned into tangled limbs. And now… this.

“Oh my god, he’s going to flip,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the still-blank screens on the tests. “This isn’t how we were supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?”

You jumped about a foot in the air, letting out a small squeak of surprise as Bucky’s voice filled the bathroom. You whipped around, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Bucky! Don’t—don’t just sneak up on people like that!” you stammered, instinctively shuffling over to the sink to block his view.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t sneak. You’re just too distracted, sweetheart.” He pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just hanging out in the bathroom, talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” you answered quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yep, just a totally normal conversation with… myself. Very productive.”

He eyed you, suspicion etched all over his face. “Uh-huh. And why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I don’t!” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.

Bucky took another step closer, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. “Then why are you standing like that?”

You moved subtly, trying to casually scoot to the left, but your back hit the edge of the sink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, leaning down slightly to look your directly in the eyes. “What’s behind you, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” you insisted, but your hand twitched involuntarily, knocking into one of the sticks. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing once before rolling to a stop right at Bucky’s feet.

You froze.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the test, and his entire expression shifted — from curiosity to confusion to wide-eyed realization.

“Wait… is that a—?”

“No!” you yelped, diving forward to snatch up the stick and hide it behind your back. You stood there, breathing heavily, your face flushed with a mix of panic and embarrassment.

Bucky’s gaze slid back to you, his lips quirking into an incredulous smile. “Y/N, are those… pregnancy tests?”

You glanced around desperately, as if you could conjure up some kind of diversion to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Uh… no? Maybe?”

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stepped around your easily, and in one quick motion, he plucked the other two tests off the sink. He held them up, his eyes wide and eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “There are three.”

“Yeah, well… you know, the first one could be a fluke, and the second one too, and…” you trailed off, wincing at how ridiculous you sounded.

Bucky blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Three tests, huh? You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“Bucky!” you hissed, mortification washing over you. “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, though his lips were still twitching with amusement. “But you’re freaking out over here, hiding them like I wasn’t gonna notice.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!” you lied, folding your arms across your chest again. “I was just… assessing the situation.”

He raised an eyebrow, waving one of the tests in front of your face. “Assessing, huh? And what’s the situation, then?”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t looked at them yet!”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Wait, you haven’t looked?” Bucky’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief. “You’ve been pacing around in here, stressing yourself out, and you haven’t even checked?”

“I’m not ready!” you snapped defensively. “I mean… what if they’re positive?”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek. “Then they’re positive.”

Your eyes met his, the sincerity and calmness in his gaze making some of your panic ebb away. “But we’re not even— I mean, this was supposed to be—”

“A bet?” he finished softly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. I remember. But bets don’t always go the way you plan.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still hammering wildly. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. “Why the hell would I be mad? I mean, sure, this is unexpected. But mad?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “C’mon, Y/N. You really think I’d be mad about having a family with you?”

The words made your heart stutter, and you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky…”

“Let’s just see what they say, alright?” he murmured gently, stepping back and nodding toward the tests. “No more freaking out until we know.”

With trembling hands, you turned each test over, your breath hitching as you looked at the results.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Bucky’s grin had barely faded before the reality of the situation seemed to really hit him this time. His gaze drifted back to the three tests lined up on the sink, and you watched as his face slowly drained of colour.

“Bucky?” you asked cautiously, noticing the way his grip on your arm loosened slightly.

He blinked, his eyes darting between you and the tests like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. “So, uh… positive. All three?”

You nodded slowly, worry beginning to creep back in. “Yeah, Buck. All three.”

“Oh… Oh, wow,” he muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s… that’s a lot of positive.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean, I knew one was a lot, but three—positives?” he rambled, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s… that’s a whole lot of… baby.”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you asked, reaching out to steady him as his face turned even paler.

“I’m—yeah, I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back slightly as his knees buckled.

“Bucky!” you shouted, grabbing for him as he crumpled to the floor in a faint.

You managed to catch his weight just enough to keep him from completely knocking his head on the tiles, though it took every ounce of strength you had to keep him semi-upright.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you huffed, looking down at his unconscious form with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re the one who said you’d be fine with this!”

He let out a soft, incoherent groan, his head lolling to the side as you carefully lowered him all the way to the ground and raised his legs above his head for bloodflow.

“Of course you’d faint, you big drama queen,” you muttered, crouching down beside him and lightly patting his cheeks. “Come on, Buck. Wake up. I’m not doing this alone, you hear me?”

After a few more pats and murmured reassurances, his eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked up at you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “What… what happened?”

“You fainted, you big idiot,” you said, the frustration in your tone softened by the overwhelming relief that he was okay. “Over three little tests.”

Bucky stared at you blankly, then his gaze drifted back to the sink where the tests still sat in a neat row, mocking him with their tiny positive signs.

“Oh… right,” he murmured, his face scrunching up as he tried to process it all again. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, giving him a half-smile. “Definitely not a dream.”

“Damn,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I really fainted, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let you hit your head.”

He chuckled weakly, his gaze still lingering on the tests. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I love you, Y/N, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little slurred as he still looked dazed. “Not like a friend, but y’know… like, love love.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting you all over again. “Bucky, you’re still out of it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he murmured, blinking up at you with a lopsided grin. “But doesn’t make it any less true.”

Shaking your head, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, your smile softening. “I know, Buck. We’ll talk about that later when you’re not busy fainting over pregnancy tests, okay?”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping slightly. “But just… so you know.”

“I know,” you repeated gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Just rest for a second, and then we’ll figure this all out together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he opened them again, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “We’re really gonna be parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. “We really are.”

“Cool,” he murmured, his head lolling back against the bathroom tiles. “Love you, Y/N… love love.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you sat beside him, holding his hand. “Love you too, Bucky. Now, no more fainting, okay?”

“No promises,” he mumbled, but his grip tightened around your hand, as if even in his half-conscious state, he didn’t want to let go.

And as you sat there on the bathroom floor, Bucky still looking a little woozy but smiling up at you with that goofy, endearing grin, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be just fine.

× × × ×

First Trimester.

The clock on the kitchen wall glowed a soft, accusatory 2:37 a.m. as Bucky shuffled groggily into the dimly lit space, scratching at his head. He was half-asleep, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days, and still trying to figure out why he’d been dragged from his warm bed.

He paused mid-step when he spotted you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders hunched, face buried in your hands. He blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation. “Uh, sweetheart… what’s going on?”

Your only response was a pitiful sniffle, followed by another one. Bucky’s brows shot up in alarm, and he quickly moved to your side, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, peering up at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, letting out a small, hiccuping sob. “I… I really wanted… chocolate chip pancakes… with whipped cream and strawberries…”

Bucky blinked again, glancing around the empty kitchen as if he expected a stack of pancakes to magically appear on the counter. “Okay… uh… we don’t have any of that stuff right now, but I can go to the store—”

“Everything’s closed!” you wailed, cutting him off with a fresh wave of tears. “And I really wanted it now!”

The sheer devastation in your voice made Bucky’s heart clench in sympathy — but a very tiny, very unhelpful part of him also found it hilariously absurd. He had fought aliens, Hydra agents, and all manner of nightmares… but he’d never faced down a pregnant wife in the throes of a pancake craving at nearly 3 a.m.

“Oh,” he said lamely, scratching his head again as he tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve breaking into the nearest IHOP. “Okay, um… we can make pancakes without chocolate chips, right?”

“But I don’t want plain pancakes!” you cried, your voice wobbling dangerously. “I want chocolate chip pancakes! And… and I want whipped cream on top, but we don’t have any!”

Bucky swallowed, his panic rising as you continued to cry. He was the Winter Soldier, damn it. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of this. “Okay, alright. Just breathe, okay? How about… uh… what if I make you some toast? I’ll put some Nutella on it? It’s kind of like chocolate.”

“It’s not the same!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands again. “I want… pancakes…”

Bucky let out a helpless laugh, running a hand down his face as he glanced at the empty fridge like it was somehow betraying him. “Baby, you’re killing me here.”

You sniffled, peeking out from between your fingers with watery eyes. “You don’t understand, Buck. I can taste the pancakes. I can taste the strawberries… I can feel the whipped cream…”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, uh, I can’t pull that out of thin air. But…” He glanced around, his gaze falling on a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. “What if I make you a sundae? It’s kinda like a pancake… just cold.”

“No…” You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s not pancakes…”

Bucky let out a long, dramatic sigh, his hands resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna wake up, and I’m going to go get you all the chocolate chips and whipped cream and strawberries you want, alright? I’ll make a pancake buffet.”

“But I want it now,” you murmured miserably, rubbing at your eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cooed gently, reaching out to pat your head awkwardly. “But unless you want me to bust into some diner and get myself arrested, I’m gonna need you to hang in there for a few more hours.”

Your lips trembled, and you nodded reluctantly, sniffling again. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled softly, his heart melting a little. “Nah. You’re growing a tiny human.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Although, I gotta say, if I can handle your craving meltdowns, I think I deserve some kind of medal. Or at least, like… superhero husband status.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Bucky’s smile widened triumphantly.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your temple. “Look, we can’t have pancakes right now, but how about we get creative? Maybe I can whip something up with what we do have? I’m talking PB&J sandwich sculptures. Or,” he gasped dramatically, “a waffle made out of popcorn!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Popcorn waffles?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “This could be a revolutionary invention, Y/N. We could change the breakfast game forever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping at your tears as Bucky’s ridiculousness slowly chased away the lingering sadness. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you married me,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “So who’s the real weirdo?”

“Still you,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

Bucky let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow, so rude. No respect for the man who’s about to go MacGyver your snack cravings at 3 a.m.”

You smiled despite yourself, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Now, what do you say we get a little creative in this kitchen and see if we can’t make something that’ll make these pancake cravings shut up for a bit?”

“Okay,” you agreed, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. “But I’m holding you to that pancake buffet tomorrow morning.”

“Pancake buffet with extra chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries,” he promised with a mock salute. “You’ve got my word.”

And as Bucky scoured the pantry for the weirdest possible combinations — “How do you feel about a peanut butter, banana, and potato chip sandwich?” — you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of your cravings lightening in the face of his relentless optimism and willingness to do whatever it took to make you smile.

“World’s best husband,” you murmured fondly as he started arranging sandwich slices into a goofy face.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, holding up the plate proudly. “And this? This is my masterpiece.”

You took one look at the ridiculous sandwich sculpture — a lopsided smile made from pickle slices and a beard of crumbled crackers — and the tears came flooding back, but this time they were unstoppable.

“Bucky… you’re… you’re the best husband… in the world!” you sobbed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—hold on!” Bucky stammered, his eyes widening in alarm as he quickly set the plate down and moved back to your side. “What… why are you crying? Sweetheart, it’s just a sandwich! A really ugly sandwich, but—”

You let out another wail, shaking your head as more tears spilled over. “No, it’s not that! It’s you! You’re just so—so good, and sweet, and—and I don’t deserve you!”

Bucky froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

“Wait, what? Where did that come from?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out with a manual for how to handle this. “Hey, you deserve everything, okay? Even pancakes at 3 a.m. if I could make it happen.”

“I just… you’re always trying so hard, and you’re just… you’re amazing,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand like it was a lifeline. “And I’m crying because I can’t have pancakes, and I’m a mess, and you’re making me a weird pickle-beard sandwich…”

Bucky stared at you, completely lost, before he finally let out a helpless, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out of my depth here,” he muttered, gently pulling you into his arms and patting your back awkwardly. “But hey, let’s save the compliments for when I’m not half-asleep, yeah?”

You nodded miserably against his chest, your sobs starting to subside as his steady heartbeat grounded you.

“Good, because you’re gonna make me cry if you keep this up,” he joked softly, running a soothing hand through your hair. “And no one wants to see the Winter Soldier ugly-cry over a pancake buffet.”

You let out a watery giggle at that, sniffling as you pulled back to look up at him. “You’re really gonna get me all the pancakes tomorrow?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his smile gentle and reassuring. “Now come on, let’s see if we can make this popcorn waffle thing work. You’ll need to tell our kid one day that their mom ate the weirdest thing ever while pregnant,” Bucky finished with a grin, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears with his thumb. “That way, when they give us a hard time as teenagers, I can say, ‘Hey, kid, I made your mom a popcorn waffle at 3 a.m. She bettered have loved me.’”

You laughed again, hiccupping through the tears as you tried to calm yourself. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching up into a lopsided smile. “Maybe. But you married me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment,” you teased softly, feeling some of the tension start to ease as his thumb continued its gentle, comforting strokes on your cheek.

“Or just smart enough to know when you’ve got a good thing,” he murmured back, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “And I’m gonna keep being that good thing — even when it means making bizarre snacks and wrangling your tears at stupid o’clock in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, smiling up at him as you looped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes softened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. And we’re gonna figure out this whole craving thing. Even if it means starting a midnight pancake truck or something.”

The image of Bucky in an apron, serving pancakes from a food truck, was so ridiculous that you let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “A pancake truck?”

“Why not?” He smirked, his fingers playing with a lock of your hair. “I’d be the hottest pancake chef around. We’d have a line out the door.”

“Because everyone’s desperate for pancakes at three in the morning?” you asked, still smiling.

“Exactly,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “They’d be calling me the Pancake Soldier instead of the Winter Soldier.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter again, your earlier tears completely forgotten. “I swear, you’re impossible, Bucky Barnes.”

“Impossible and all yours,” he said with a wink, then glanced at the kitchen. “Now, how about we whip up some sort of Frankenstein snack to tide you over until the morning, huh?”

With another sniffle and a smile, you nodded. “Alright. But I’m still holding you to that pancake buffet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of backing out,” he promised, kissing your forehead again before guiding you to a chair. “You sit right here, and let Chef Barnes work his magic.”

You watched as Bucky moved around the kitchen, his clumsy efforts at ‘creative’ snack-making bringing a smile to your face despite the ridiculousness of it all. He muttered under his breath, concocting weird combinations — “What if we crush some pretzels on top?” — and talking to the food like it would reveal some hidden trick.

Eventually, he managed to cobble together another makeshift treat: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich with a few random M&Ms sprinkled on top for good measure. It looked as chaotic as you felt, but the effort and love behind it made your heart swell.

You stared at the messy sandwich, your lips trembling again — but this time with a whole different set of emotions.

“Hey, no more tears,” Bucky said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m running out of ideas here, babe.”

“I’m not crying,” you sniffed, reaching out to take a bite. “It’s just… you’re really, really sweet, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to give your knee a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart feeling lighter than it had all night.

“Good.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched you take another bite. “Now eat up, because come morning, I’m getting up at dawn to get everything we need for that pancake buffet. You’re gonna be the happiest pancake-eating pregnant lady in the world.”

“And you’re gonna be the best pancake-making husband in the world,” you replied with a soft smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right,” Bucky murmured, his voice filled with so much affection it made your heart skip a beat.

As you finished the bizarre snack and Bucky continued to ramble on about potential pancake flavors and topping combinations, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.

Because, bizarre cravings and all, there was no one else you’d rather navigate the chaos with than him — your best friend, your partner, your ridiculous, wonderful Bucky Barnes.

× × × ×

Third Trimester

Bucky’s overprotectiveness had started out in small, endearing ways—like lingering in doorways or making sure you had an extra pillow at night. But as your pregnancy progressed, so did his paranoia, turning him into an almost comical shadow of your once-confident, battle-hardened husband.

It began with the shoelaces.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He practically skidded across the living room to kneel at your feet just as you were about to bend down to tie your sneakers. You straightened up, raising a brow, watching him fumble with the laces like it was a complex puzzle rather than a simple bow.

“Bucky, it’s just tying my shoes. I can do that,” you pointed out gently, but he shook his head fervently.

“Not risking it. What if you lose your balance?” His words were muffled as he double-knotted the laces, his shoulders hunched like he was shielding you from some invisible force.

“I’m not gonna lose my balance,” you murmured, amused. “I’ve been tying my own shoes for decades.”

“There’s a first for everything.” He tightened the bow a little too firmly, making you flinch. He winced in apology and adjusted it again, softer this time, before peering up at you with those intense blue eyes, a mix of worry and resolve. “Humor me, okay?”

You sighed, relenting with a small nod. “Okay. But just so you know, you’re not going to be doing this every single time.”

He grinned—victorious, as if you hadn’t noticed how he conveniently “lost” all your slip-ons just last week.

Then there was the laundry basket incident.

It happened when you were carrying a half-full basket of towels from the dryer. You’d barely made it halfway down the hall when Bucky materialized out of nowhere, intercepting you like you were carrying live explosives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all mock-seriousness, but there was genuine concern underlining it as he gently pried the basket from your hands.

“Laundry?” you deadpanned, trying to tug it back, but he held firm.

“Not anymore, you’re not.” He shot you a look that dared you to argue as he held the basket up high, well out of your reach. “You don’t need to be lugging this around.”

“It’s not even heavy!” you protested, exasperation seeping into your tone.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. Just point me to where you want it.”

Grumbling, you pointed down the hallway. “Our bedroom.”

“See?” he said with a self-satisfied smile, striding down the hall like he was conquering new territory. “No big deal.”

You had to fight back an eye roll. “You’re gonna be like this until the baby is born, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he called over his shoulder, unashamed.

It didn’t stop there, of course. In the kitchen, he’d barely let you near the sink.

One morning, you’d decided to tackle the breakfast dishes—something you could usually manage without too much hassle. But as soon as you set the first dish into the soapy water, Bucky’s hand appeared out of nowhere, lightly shoving you to the side.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Your belly’s gonna bump into the counter. Let me do it.”

“Bucky—”

“Let. Me. Do it,” he insisted, holding a soapy plate hostage as he gazed at you, lips set in a stubborn line.

With a sigh, you threw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not a porcelain doll, okay? I can do dishes just fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, but he was already washing the dishes with focused precision, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t slipped or stumbled in the two feet he’d moved you back.

It was both infuriating and endearing, and it made you love him even more—though you’d never admit it when he was acting like a hovering mother hen.

The grocery trips were almost unbearable. He’d insisted on coming along, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of picking up a few items.

“We need milk,” you pointed out, motioning toward the far end of the aisle.

“Got it,” he said immediately, guiding the cart forward with one hand and slipping his other arm around your waist as if to support your entire body weight.

You shot him a look. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Of course you can,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m just… helping you waddle.”

“Waddle?” You narrowed your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just call me a waddler?”

“Um…” He glanced at you sheepishly, realizing his mistake a second too late. “No?”

“Yeah, nice try.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright, bad choice of words. I’m just keeping pace with you,” he corrected, slowing his stride even more so that the two of you were practically moving in slow motion down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “If we go any slower, we’ll start moving backwards.”

Bucky just chuckled, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take my chances.”

By the time you reached the milk, you were almost tempted to ask him to sprint the rest of the way just to get it over with. But the truth was, there was something undeniably sweet about having Bucky hover around like this.

“Let me guess,” you teased as you plucked a carton of milk off the shelf. “You want to carry this too?”

“Of course,” he said, already reaching for it, his expression deadly serious.

You held on to the carton just long enough to make him sweat before handing it over. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he replied easily, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Smooth,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

With Bucky being his overprotective self, you had no doubt that he’d be like this for the next few months—and likely long after the baby was born. But as much as you complained, deep down, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

× × × ×

“Bucky, for the last time, it’s just a shoe box,” you emphasise, glancing at your husband as he carefully hoists the empty box off the couch like it’s made of glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, eyes darting suspiciously to the plain cardboard. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

“Condition? Bucky, I’m pregnant, not broken.” You cross your arms, watching as he tucks the box under his arm like it’s a rare artefact. The man is a walking, talking fortress of muscle, but right now, his overprotectiveness is reaching absurd levels.

“And nearly at your due date,” he points out, placing the box on the counter with a sigh of relief as if he’s saved you from imminent danger. “I’ve read all the books. I know how this goes.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the worst that could happen if I pick up a shoe box?”

Bucky turns to you with a dead-serious expression. 

“It’s not about the weight. It’s about…” he falters, eyes scanning your swollen belly, “…stability. Your centre of gravity is off right now. A box could trip you.”

“A box could trip me?” You arch a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes!” His tone is insistent, and you have to bite back a laugh. This is the same man who once told a pack of HYDRA agents they were outnumbered—just because it was him and Steve versus a dozen of them. But now, he’s reduced to eyeing an empty cardboard box like it’s a mortal enemy.

Sighing, you sit back on the couch, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Besides, there’s a certain charm in seeing the Winter Soldier so worked up over an inanimate object. You lean back, letting out a small groan as you shift your weight.

Bucky’s been hovering around you all day like a lost puppy, eyes following your every move. The moment you make the slightest sound, his head whips around, concern flickering in his eyes. So when you groan, immediately, he’s by your side, eyes wide, hands hovering over your belly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it time? Should I get the bag?”

“Calm down, Dad-mode. I’m just stretching.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve gotta stop panicking every time I make a sound.”

“Every time you make a sound, it could be something serious!” Bucky exclaims, sounding almost affronted. “Do you know what it’s like hearing you groan and not knowing if it’s ‘I want ice cream’ or ‘I’m about to go into labor’?”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you tease.

He huffs, muttering something about ‘pregnancy hormones,’ and kneels down in front of you. Strong hands lift your foot gently, and he starts massaging your arch. You sigh, instantly melting under his touch.

“Better?” His voice is softer now, concern etched in every syllable.

“Much better,” you mumble, letting out a little moan as he presses down on a particularly tight knot.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bucky freezes, eyes wide again. “What’s that? Pain?”

“Relax,” you say, though your voice is slightly breathless. “It’s the good kind of pain. Keep going.”

You lean your head back, closing your eyes as Bucky continues the foot massage. The man has hands that could crush stone, but right now, he’s so gentle you almost feel like you’re floating. It’s hard not to feel a little spoiled under his doting care.

But just when you’re getting lost in the bliss of his hands working away the tension, you catch his face out of the corner of your eye. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, and his expression is one of fierce concentration, like he’s facing down a particularly difficult opponent. You stifle a giggle—only Bucky could make a foot massage seem like a high-stakes mission.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” you say, reaching down to tug on his hand. “If you keep looking at my foot like that, you might set it on fire.”

Bucky blinks up at you, clearly having forgotten where he was. He chuckles, the sound low and almost shy. “Can’t help it. I just… I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Bucky, it’s a foot massage, not defusing a bomb.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart swells at his concern. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he lets out a small huff, pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then, without warning, he shifts beside you on the couch, a determined look settling on his face. “Now, hold still.”

Before you can ask what he’s up to, Bucky leans down, pressing his ear gently against your belly. You’re about to ask him if he’s comfortable, but the sheer look of wonder on his face stops you short. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, as if trying to capture every little movement your baby girl makes.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs softly, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. His fingers splay across your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. “It’s your dad. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re being good for your mama.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight. The fierce Winter Soldier, the man with a list of enemies longer than most people’s grocery lists, reduced to talking softly to your baby girl like she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“She’s probably plotting her escape already,” you joke quietly, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Nah,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s too busy practicing her karate kicks. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Right on cue, a small flutter against your belly answers him, and Bucky’s eyes light up like fireworks. He leans down again, pressing his lips gently against the spot where your baby kicked.

“Whoa, easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Save the punches for when you’re out here. We’ve got plenty of training sessions ahead of us.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words. “Bucky, she’s not even born yet, and you’re already planning training sessions?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” he says seriously, but the way he softens his voice when he turns back to your belly is anything but tough. “But don’t worry, we’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure you get to be a kid and have fun first. No one’s gonna mess with you. Not when I’m around.”

He pauses, his eyes misting over for a brief moment, and you know he’s thinking about everything he’s been through—everything he wants to shield your daughter from. Slowly, he rubs his thumb along your belly again, his touch featherlight.

“And you’re gonna love your mama,” Bucky continues softly. “She’s strong, and she’s funny, and—” He glances up at you, his smile turning mischievous. “She’s a little bit stubborn sometimes. But you’re gonna be just like her, I bet.”

“Great,” you mutter, faking a groan. “Two of you plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky promises, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already imagining all the ways he’ll spoil his little girl.

He shifts again, his head still resting on your belly, and you have to stifle another laugh as he starts a running commentary, complete with exaggerated gestures.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” he whispers conspiratorially to your baby. “When you get here, you’re gonna kick a lot. Cry a lot. But not too much. Your mama needs her sleep. Then, we’ll team up to get you extra dessert when she’s not looking.”

“Bucky!” You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You can’t be plotting behind my back already!”

He grins, looking up at you with mock innocence. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she wants ice cream. Right, sweetheart?”

A few more soft kicks seem to echo his words, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m doomed,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softening again. He presses one more kiss against your belly before shifting to sit up beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you gently against his side. “You’re gonna be the best mom. And I’m gonna be right here, making sure you both have everything you need.”

You lean into his warmth, smiling as his hand drifts back to your belly, tracing idle patterns.

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And I love you,” he replies, voice deep and steady. He leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Both of you.”

With Bucky holding you close and whispering to your daughter, you feel your heart swell with a contentment so strong it almost aches. It’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are to have this overprotective, sweet man by your side.

Even if he does go overboard sometimes.

[rafescvntyclubgf]

"𝐘𝐨𝐮" - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐩 | 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 | 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 | 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬

*Rafe is in his 40s

𝖈𝖔-𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍: @nadvs

𝓇𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓎𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒷𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 - 𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓉𝓌𝑜

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙/𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖊

⚠️warnings contain spoilers ⚠️

Stalker!Rafe, Perv!Rafe, reader is Rafe’s friend’s sister, swearing, Rafe is a perv, age gap, public masterbation, fantasies about the reader, blood, mentions of murder, mentions of gun violence, mentions of general violence, suicide attempt, Rafe goes through her phone, peeping Tom, steals nude pictures, watches the reader masterbate, praise, Rafe’s POV

📖 College Professor Rafe Cameron has been dating you for months. You just don’t know it yet.💋

🔪 I smile when you look over your shoulder, the light pouring in from outside the lecture shining on you like a beacon. A fuckin’ angel on earth. My girl. 🔪

🔪Hello, You.🔪

6.8 K

Rafe’s POV:

“Oh, shit.” I look out on the lecture hall, crammed wall to wall—mostly old birds and a few young professors sprinkled amongst the AARP members. Jesus Christ. I match the eyes of one of my old lecturers from my time here. She gives me a little smile, and I nod, making a blush creep across her wrinkled cheeks before the lights fall low.

Do I deserve my name on a plaque on an office door at this fine university? Absolutely fucking not. But I paid for the building after all… American History; all first-years. You can’t mess that shit up.

I relax into the wall a bit, accepting my fate, lifting my coffee to my lips, taking a sip. “R.” I hear a familiar voice. A couple of heads turn toward me, leading me to a familiar face. I smile and chuckle as I shuffle toward the aisle, scooching through the crowd.

“Hey, man,” I greet him, shaking his hand before slipping my leather bag off my shoulders, taking a seat.

“R.C.,” he breathes, surprised to see me here, happy nonetheless.

“Zachary.”

“Guess they're hiring anyone these days,” he taunts, jabbing me in the side playfully, making me snort out a lazy laugh. I can’t lie; I’m happy to see him here. One friend is plenty. The guy is a fuckin’ nerd, but he’s a good person. “Pretty sure we both had class in this lecture hall,” he sighs blissfully, recalling a simpler time.

“Yeah, man. I think we did… How long have you been workin’ here for?” I ask between sips of coffee.

“Ten years.”

“Jesus, man,” I huff. We've been outta school for that long, huh?

“Nah, buddy,” he groans. “Longer. Started working here right after graduation. Been workin’ my way up the ladder ever since.”

“That’s great,” I nod, watching our Dean of Students strut across the hall's main floor. “You like it here?”

“Love it,” he smiles. “Why are you here?” Zach furrows his brows, asking the question he wanted to ask from the beginning. It’s no secret I got money to spare. There’s gotta be some reason I’m here. I’m sure he’s curious.

“I got bored. Thought I’d go back to school; just did it casually. N’here I am.”

“Here you are,” he echos through a weak laugh. “I mean, you own the place at this point. Huh?” Zach wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.

“Almost,” I chuckle, fully aware that the Cameron Library and The Cameron School of Business makes this current faculty position a little absurd.

“Glad to have you here. Truly,” he adds earnestly.

“Good to be here, man,” I smile as I relax into my seat a little more, getting ready for a day of gettin’ talked at, I’m sure. Zach adjusts in his seat, pulling his phone out of his slacks, thumbing over his messages.

Sis: Did you want anything to eat?

Zach: Nah. I’m fine.

Sis: Sounds good. Black coffee, two creams, two sugars?

Zach: Please and thank you.

“So…” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “Do you have any family here? You married or what-” I question, trying to be as calm as possible.

“Nah… Not really the marriage type. Family, yeah, my sister goes here now.”

”No shit?” I ask, trying not to be too interested, but I can’t help but catch his lock screen. Him and an absolutely stunning woman posed next to each other in front of the Golden Pavilion in Kyoto. They weren’t cuddled up with each other, just smiling… That smile. I run my hands down my shirt, smoothing out any wrinkles, raking my fingers through my hair, pushing it back slightly. Please be her.

“She’s a Kappa Girl.”

“Not a Kappa Girl,” I taunt through an exaggerated groan. He scoffs and rolls his eyes away. If it was anything like it was back in the day that house in nothin’ short of a brothel.

“She isn’t like that, Cameron,” he drones. “She doesn’t even live at the house. She’s got good grades. Like good good. Fuckin’ great actually—above a 4.0. They recruited her. The Kappas took some heat after gettin’ in trouble a few too many times. They were gonna lose their charter, so they switched from a social sorority to one based in education. Fuckin’ nerds,” he adds, making me chuckle, dissing her just like I had dissed him just a few short minutes before.

“Runs in the family. Huh?”

“Fuck off,” he snickers. Zach hangs his head low, pitching the bridge of his nose as he lets out an exhausted sigh.

“You good?”

He nods and yawns, eyes set on the speaker up front. “These old bitches can go fuckin’ hard. We went to Lord Fletcher’s last night. Janice over there can drink you under the table… Six advils today already. Y/n is comin’ over with a coffee for me. Thank god. I’m hurtin’ over here,” he groans, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Zach’s eyes brighten as he looks toward the lecture steps. I feel my heart racing in my chest, my palms sweating, almost too nervous to look. I mean, that could have been his ex-girlfriend. But what if it’s the best-case scenario? What if it’s her? What if she’s you, princess? I turn my attention to the end of the aisle, watching that same girl shuffle along the line of people, clutching coffees, doing her best not to spill.

Fuck me.

My eyes travel up your body, your bare legs on full display, making my stomach fill with butterflies. You lean in, your sweet perfume amplified by the warmth of your flawless body from the late August heat. The second the coffee leaves your hand, I’m trying to get your attention on me. “I’m Rafe,” I smile, extending my hand toward you.

You juggle your books and your own coffee in your hands clumsily, extending a hand as well, making me instantly feel bad for putting you through the hassle, but the contact is worth it— soft and smooth, a firm grip on mine. You bat your long lashes at me. I can’t tell if you’re just trying to get a better look in the dim light or if you like what you see, but my heart is racing regardless.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rafe,” you reply, talking directly to me… “See you at home,” you whisper to Zach, who gives you a little wave as he swipes through his phone again. I smile when you look over your shoulder, the light pouring in from outside the lecture shining on you like a beacon. A fuckin’ angel on earth. My girl.

Hello, you.

It’s been sixty-seven days since we met—sixty-seven beautiful days of studying my favorite subject. You’re lovely, princess. Everything about you is. Even the little things you do out of habit. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re stressed, lips pursed, eyes wide. I know every look, every smile, taking each beautiful change of your face into memory. I can read you like a book.

I wanted it to be natural. How blatantly obvious would it be if I rushed into rekindling a friendship with your brother just to rush into a relationship with you? I had to ease in. Infiltrate the family; make myself a staple in your home so I could learn more about you.

There’s no one else better suited for you than me, baby. There is no one that will anticipate your needs like I can. Take care of you like I will. I’m going to make my move… I just need a little more time. I don’t want to lose the part of you that I get to see when you don’t know I’m watching.

I tilt back, relaxing into the doorframe of Zach’s office as I wait for you to stop by with his lunch. You’re so sweet. I know you’re cuttin’ it close with you’re next class. Fuck, my girl’s thoughtful. I smile to myself, lowering my head to not bring too much attention to myself.

“Who’s got you smilin’ like that, buddy?”

Shit. I look down at the phone, thumbing out of your Instagram, moving to Tinder. “Uh, I just matched with that bartender at Lord Fletchers. I think,” I mumble, giving him a slight smile.

“Juliette?” He asks surprisedly. “Isn’t she datin’ the head football coach?”

My stomach sinks, caught in a simple, stupid lie. “Nah, not her. A different one. I don’t know,” I brush him off, furthering my disinterest by pretending to swipe through some more.

Oh, shit. Here you come. I lift my eyes, matching yours. Your smile doubles as I catch your attention. “Hi, Rafe,” you sing. My name rolling off your lips so sweetly. Oh my god.

“Hi, y/n,” I respond warmly. Your hand snakes around my waist, squeezing me. “You ready for that test tomorrow?”

You sucks your teeth and shake your head. “Not ready enough to go on a date tonight, I don’t think. But I haven’t gone out in so long… I think it would be good for me to give my brain a rest the night before, don’t you?” You ask as your stunning eyes soften on mine, looking up at me for approval as I try my best not to fall apart in front of you or, at the very least, lose my shit. How did I miss this?

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I press the words past my lips. You smile and nod before setting the food down on the desk. “Well, I gotta run-”

”See you tonight?” I add hastily, trying to get more info about your plans just in case.

“We got that intramural basketball game tonight,” Zach reminds me, making my palms sweat just knowing that if the date is early enough, I won’t be able to tag along or intervene.

“Chett said 9 PM at Little Angie’s.”

“Chett? As in Chett Ryan?” I ask in disbelief as you mention the star quarterback. A good-looking dude, but he’s a fucking idiot and a Grade-A asshole. You’re way too good for him. He doesn’t deserve you. Doesn’t even deserve to breathe your air-

“Yeah,” you answer through a smile, yanking me out of my thoughts.

“Well, I’m goin’ to Lexi’s house, so you and Chett will have the place to yourselves if you wanna come back after the bar,” Zach chimes in. My body trembles with rage, holding back every urge to crawl over the top of his desk and choke him out for even suggesting it.

“It’s our first date, so I don’t know if that’ll happen but thank you,” you smiles giddily, making me physically ill. ”Shit,” you hiss, your attention pulled to your watch, clocking the time. “I’m gonna be late. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rafe, for the test,” you add breathlessly as you race away, fleeing for class.

“You proctoring tests now?” Zach laughs lightly, furrowing his brows.

“Ah, yeah,” I whirr, scratching at my 5 o’clock shadow, trying to find an excuse while also trying to gather my emotions as my whole world crumbles around me. “I-I owed Steve a favor for covering my class last week,” I stutter, confessing half the truth. Sure, Steve subbed for me, but only so I could follow y/n on her trip to Georgia Tech for the football game to ensure she was safe… Zach should be thanking me, honestly. Fuck off. The football game… I bite at the skin on my lip, putting together the pieces of why you had even gone in the first place. For him. For Chett… No, baby. Why?

“Cameron?” Zach chimes in. “You’re a little more dazed than usual, friend. You good?” He asks through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah, man. I’m good,” I nod. “It’s only a few hours.”

“What?” Zach asks confusedly.

“Proctoring…”

”Yeah…” He nods, his face laced with concern for me; I don’t even know how long I was drowning in my thoughts of her. I’m sure he’s wondering what’s going through my mind— why I’m acting weird. “You sure you're good? You seem upset.”

”Nah, man. I’m good. Just have some shit goin’ on I need to take care of,” I smile softly. “See you tonight?”

“Yeah… See you tonight, brother.”

“These are nice,” I breathe as I run my fingers along the pink petals with a smile, the spray of roses sitting pretty amongst the rest. “These, thanks.” I pull them out, handing them to the attendant, finishing into my back pocket for my wallet.

I head out the door, walking out onto the street; the busy college town teaming with students, pouring in and out of the bars. Cigarette smoke wafts all around, competing with the aroma of the late-night food trucks. I look ahead, catching the Little Angie’s neon boot sign kicking ahead. My excitement builds as I get closer and closer. You’re here. I look down at my phone, catching your location in the heart of the bar—my girl.

Shit. I look down at my other hand, tossing the wildflowers Chett had gotten you. He doesn’t know you at all… He doesn't know what you like. He doesn't deserve you. No one does. No one but me.

I push through the front door, heading back toward the bar as I match your pin to my surroundings. My eyes pull taunt as I try to spot you through the thick crowd. I take a seat, ordering a beer before turning my attention back to the search. My eyes work across the low-lit room, scouring for you. I can’t believe you’re still here after he stood you up. It’s almost like you knew I’d come and save you, princess.

There you are. Fuck, are you even real?

When I’m around you I swear I forget how to breathe. I find myself having to tear myself away—telling myself that staring too hard will do nothing but bring attention to the obvious, but I am so in love. How do I even look away? You’re perfect.

You looks sad. I know that’s my fault, pretty girl, but I promise I’ll make it all better. You rest your cheek in your hand, slumped over in your seat, swirling your vodka cranberry defeatedly. Your beautiful eyes glisten. I can’t tell if it’s just sheer beauty or if they might be glossed with tears. Your eyes shut heavily, shoulders relaxing a little more as you submit to your drunken state.

Oh, sweetheart. You need me.

“Can I close out my tab?” I ask the bartender, who gives me a little nod and a smile. I turn my attention back to you, watching as you sway ever so slightly with the music pouring from the speakers.

“Here you are, sir,” the bartender calls. I turn fast, scribbling a tip and a total. My stomach falls as I pull my hand away, leaving behind a red thumbprint, remnants of my run-in with Chett lingering. Fuck. I grab the slip of paper off the bar top, brushing my hand along my dark-wash jeans, thumbing through my wallet to grab some cash instead, tossing a tip on the counter in exchange. I push off the bar, walking toward my girl, checking myself as best as I can in the darkness to make sure that I don’t miss anything else, catching a few specks of blood on my white shirt. Shit. I grab the zipper of my quilted jacket, hiding the mess.

What was I thinking? I was so excited about gettin’ to you that I didn’t even think about cleanin’ up. I look down at my right hand: split knuckles, bloodied and bruised. I tug down my sleeve, just praying there isn’t any more I can’t see. “Y/n?”

Your eyes lift to mine, softening and welling with tears. “Rafey,” you slur out a whimper, eyes pinching shut. Your tears tumble down your cheeks as you try to get out your next few words to no avail.

”What’s goin’ on, princess?” I ask gently as I sit beside you, rubbing soft circles on your back.

“Ugh…” You humpfs. “I got stood up.” You hiccup before rolling your eyes in annoyance with Chett and your own emotions. “I can’t believe I’m even cryin’ over him, Rafey. I know he’s an asshole.” You cry, making my heart melt as you use that little nickname not once but twice.

“He is,” I laugh lightly, making you nod and sigh.

“Are you… M’shit. I’m sorry,” you mumble. “M’kinda drunk.”

“Hey. Hey. It’s alright,” I coo.

“Are you meeting a date?” You ask, and I swear I can see a new sort of sadness in your eyes at the idea of it. I follow your gaze, eyeing the arrangement of roses in my hand.

“Oh, me?” I stall. “Uh… No. I-uh… I came in here after our game. I saw you hangin’ out here for a while. Kinda put two-and-two together. N’when I went outside to have a cig, I bought them off some guy on the street.” I look back to you, my whole story all for not as you practically fall asleep at the table, your beautiful face propped up and smushed in your hand. “Bought them for you, honey,” I sigh blissfully as I use a pet name I've always wanted to use knowing tomorrow it wouldn't matter.

“Thank you, Rafey,” you whisper. Three times… “So - So… So good to me.”

“Let’s get you outta here. Huh?” I ask as I reach into my wallet, pulling out a hundred, tossing it on the table. You close your eyes and nod your heavy head.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” I breathe as I scoop my hand around your waist, lifting you to your feet. You melt into me, resting your head on my chest, snuggling in. I can’t help but lean down, pressing a kiss on your hair. I breathe you in, relishing this simple moment with you. “I love you, princess…” You look up at me, smiling sweetly. I hold my breath, even if you heard me say that there’s no way you’ll remember tomorrow. But still…

“Can we get pizza?” You ask, making me laugh.

“Anything you want you get, sweetheart.”

I know there’s nothing more to worry about, but I can’t help but get a little jealous knowing you dressed this way for Chett. You sway to the music on your record player, drunkenly singing along to the track between bites of pizza. You’re happier than when you were at the bar; your sadness before I came is long gone. You flash me a smile, setting my heart ablaze, pointing at me playfully as you circle your hips to the beat, dropping it to the floor, showing me the perfect glimpse of your plump ass. Fuck me. I bare with the pain, not wanting to make it blatantly obvious that my cock is strained in my pants.

“Help me?” You pout as you walk to me, lifting your hands in the air.

”With what…” My voice trails away as you step even closer. Your tits line up with my eyes from my seated position on the foot of your bed. My hands instinctively reach up, resting on your hips, testing the waters.

“Pajamas.”

“Oh - Oh. Of course,” I stammer as I lift your shift dress over your head. I hold back a moan, my head and mind racing out of control as I stand this close to you, the girl of my dreams in nothing but your bra and panties. And not just any panties, the panties I had taken from you last week. The panties I had wrapped around my cock that I had cum all over more times than I could count. Of course, I washed them and put them back, but what luck. It’s fate. Just stay calm.

You lets out a sleepy little yawn, stretching slightly, your back arching. Your cleavage pops a little more against the dainty lace; my eyes strain as I refuse to blink. I run my hand down your side, watching as goosebumps spread across your bare skin at my touch. Your nipples peak, teasing me under the barely-there fabric.

Help her, Rafe. I swallow hard, focusing on the task at hand, fighting back everything that I want to do. You move a little closer, slotting yourself between my thighs. I know it will be over if I look up and match your eyes. You’ll be too embarrassed in the morning if I do anything more—if I do what I need. I can feel your eyes on me. Your hand moves higher and higher, your soft touch cupping my chin, guiding my eyes to yours.

Holy shit. You smile down at me, your eyes hazed with lust and liquor. You run your thumb along my bottom lip, biting your own. I’m dreaming. I have to be. “Thank you,” you smile, your voice coming out so crisp and clear. This is no dream… This is just heaven on earth. Deep breath. Help her get into her pajamas and let her sleep it off. Tomorrow. If she genuinely wants me now, she’ll want me tomorrow. She needs me. Her trust is in me. I can’t mess this up. I need her too badly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” I whisper, allowing myself to drink you in a little more. I mean, I don’t want you to think I am not thoroughly enjoying this… This is the best moment of my life. Of course, after meeting her, that is.

I reach over on the bed, grabbing your satin pajama top. You take a little breath, going to say something, holding back, settling on a smile instead. I bet you were gonna ask for something from me. Probably wanting me to take off that pretty little bra of yours instead of giving her clothes to put on. I want to be your knight in shining armor tonight. I want to protect you; I want to keep you safe.

Tomorrow night, princess. I promise.

I’m addicted. I’m down bad. I’m in way, way too deep, but I can’t stop. I’ll never stop. You have no clue what you do to me. You have no idea how much time I have invested in you— in us. I have never been more fulfilled, princess. This is my destiny. You are mine; you just don’t know it yet…

You smile at me sheepishly, tucking some hair behind your ear before putting pen to paper and checking in for your test. You're hungover. I can tell—dark circles painted under your beautiful eyes, and the usual soft glow of your skin dimmed. You’re smart… You’ll have no problem taking this test, and if you do, it’s nothing I can’t fix for you.

You walk over to a locker, stripping off your purse and jacket, checking your phone before stuffing it inside as well. Holy shit… You shut the door, forgoing the lock altogether. Fuck, you’re too good to me, sweetheart. I’m sure you want me to take a peek. Don’t you? A smirk tugs on my lips, arms crossing over my chest as I stare you down.

You stride toward me, shoulders slumped. I’m sure you’re gonna apologize. I smile at you, wordlessly telling you I know what you’ll will say. You laugh weakly, letting out a deep, self-deprecating sigh. “Sorry about last night, Rafe. Thank you,” you smile sweetly, your voice just above a hush, not wanting anyone else to hear.

“You’re alright, Y/n. Glad I could get you home. Are you feelin’ alright?” I ask as I step a little closer.

“M’a little hungover,” you sigh. “I—I never get like that, I swear-”

“I know you don’t,” I stop you. Your brows rumple, my tone a little more knowing than you expected. ”Your brother mentioned you don’t really drink like that,” I correct myself, and you smile.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Rafe. Thank you.” You reach out, giving my bicep a squeeze that has my eyes darting to your hand on me. Oh fuck. You're walking toward the testing room before I can look up at you again. The door fans shut behind you, leaving me alone with the equivalent of your fuckin’ teenage diary. Everything I could want to know about you that I don’t know yet is on here. Please be unlocked.

“Shit,” I hiss, slamming my fist against the locker, eyes darting around fast as the sharp sting of regret pierces through me at my outburst. Pull it together, Cameron. I close my eyes, doing my best to compose myself as I tuck your phone at my side, walking back toward the desk. I look at you through the privacy glass. My girl is none the wiser—I smile as you answer the next question. Her birthday. Keep it simple. That's gotta be it. It’s not like she's got shit to hide.

I type in the six-digit code, my tension melting away; shoulders relaxing as I crack the code without any effort at all. Gotta hit the big four: messages, search history, pictures, Instagram. Don't get too greedy. I feel my cock twitch at the thought of this being in your hand. My mind instantly sails away to the shit you looks at that you’d probably delete your search history for. Hopefully, I caught you on an off day. Focus. Focus. Focus. I look over my shoulder as you breeze past the next question.

Messages, first.

Nothing crazy. A few to her friends, her brother, and a lab partner. My blood turns cold as I see Chett’s name. I click into your messages, teeth grinding, fist clenching as I read through the exchange.

Chett: you free tonight?

Y/n: I have a huge test tomorrow I'm sorry! Friday?

Chett: yeah we can do something on Friday too

Chett: cmon pretty. I owe you a beer

Y/n: just a beer? 😉

Chett: fuck… that's a yes?? Lets go to dinner then I owe you so so much

Y/n: I can't be out late tho

Chett: I know. I got you. I'm lucky ok. I know how you are.

Y/n: what does that mean?? 😂

Chett: your a good girl

Chett: i’ll meet you a little angies at 8. I've got workouts late ok??

Y/n: okay 💕

Chett: you better not stand me up

Y/n: never ☺️

Chett: on my way

Y/n: I'm at the bar

Y/n: found a table. We still on for 8?

Y/n: ???

Y/n: are you okay?

Y/n: just ran into your buddies. They said you ran into Kenzie on the street. Just fuck off alright? Why would you ask me out if you two were still a thing?

Y/n: I knew you were an asshole

Okay. Okay. Shit. My hands tremble as I read and reread your words. Just a clusterfuck of feelings seeing you this excited, this angry; this upset over that asshole. He ran into Kenzie? I'm sure they caught up. I'm sure he had second thoughts about your date. About you? How could someone have second thoughts about you? I knew I did you a favor.

I click into the search history. Cleared. God damnit. That leaves two more pieces to the puzzle. Instagram and pictures. I pull up your socials, thumbing to the shit only I get to see. The DMs are the same as your texts; it's nothing crazy. Search bar… I click into it, seeing your recent searches. Chett… You motherfucker. Haunting me, you goddamn dick- Oh…

Rafe Cameron

I blink a few times, pinching my eyes closed before fluttering them open as I see MY name on YOUR screen. “No fucking way,” my voice comes out needy and hoarse, cracking with all the want I feel for you. I gasp for a breath, filling my lungs with needed air. How is this happening? I rub my hand across my mouth, snuffing out my smile. Jesus Christ. Best day of my fuckin’ life.

I look over my shoulder, praying I have enough time to browse your hidden folder in your camera roll. Five questions left. I open the folder, my hand instantly reaching for the edge of the desk, my rock-hard cock finally giving way as I cum in my slacks at the sight of you in lingerie. My heart pounds in my ears and chest as I thumb through the rest, watching in horror as a wet, warm spot forms on my khakis. Fuck. There’s five more pictures… My goddess. My fuckin’ princess… Look at you, baby. Two more questions left. Put the fuckin’ phone back, Rafe. The phone trembles as I unhide all five, moving quickly to your messages before typing in my number, sending them to myself, deleting everything fast. I swear I could’ve cum again just feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, knowing what I have saved for myself.

I swipe everything closed as I walk back to the locker bay, stuffing the phone inside your purse, slamming the door shut before the testing door swings open. I turn my body away, walking toward the exit, checking on a knock that never happened; turning my body in the opposite direction before matching your eyes. “So, how did it go?” I smile, positioning myself so you can’t see the absolute mess you caused.

“Good, actually,” you sighs, relief laced in your tone and demeanor as you pop open your locker. I step behind the desk, leaning into the counter just enough to ensure that my little secret is safe.

Good girl.

I swear I can’t go to bed without my nightly ritual; I stand outside your window, hidden just out of view, cloaked in the darkness of the hedges gathered around the perimeter of your apartment. Some nights I have the pleasure of being in your space; other nights, I settle for the next best thing, but honestly, even here is paradise.

Some nights, you stay up late, the apples of your cheeks glowing in the dim of your room as you browse your phone; other nights, you moves through your apartment chatting on the phone with your friends, smiling and laughing, every fiber of my being just wishing it was me on the other line. But on special nights, nights like this, your hand slips into your night stand pulling out your favorite vibrator, playing with your pussy like I could only dream of doing.

I never get to see what goes on underneath the covers or hear the sweet noises you make, but I get to see the pleasure painted all over your face. I can’t help but pull my cock out of my pants, stroke my dick while you work on yourself. Are you thinking about me? I always dreamed you were, but after seeing your search history, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. What if you're saying my name? My beautiful girl.

“Fuck, baby,” I pant as you grab the covers, throwing them off your body, my precum mixing with my sweaty palm as I take in the sight before me. I watch as the silicon cock glistens with your slick, making me spit on my dick to mirror the sight. My fist works over my dick, whimpering and moaning your name as I keep your pace. My thigh muscles tremble as I fixate on your every movement.

I know I should walk away, but there’s no force on this earth strong enough to pull me away from this. I bite my lip as you throw your head back into your pillow, back arching off the mattress.

And just like that, I fall deeper and deeper into my mind. “Where are we fuckin’ tonight, princess?” I mumble, envisioning us in the same room. “My office? Fuck, you’re bad, sweetheart? You sure? Sure you can’t wait until we get home? God damn, angel. You need it that bad? Need daddy’s dick right here, right now?” I moan as my muscles clench tight.

I swear I draw blood, pinching my bottom lip between my teeth as you drag your hand up, pulling your shirt with it, exposing your perfect breasts. You squeeze and twist your nipple, circling softly just like I would. “My lips will be on you, I swear to Christ,” I moan, picturing my parted lips sucking down on your tits; catching your breasts in my mouth as they bounce.

“Stop hidin’, honey,” I grunt as your legs draw closer, and I swear you heard me because your thighs widen on the mattress, splaying out for me and only me. What I wouldn't pay to bury myself in your cunt, princess. I’ve sucked on your panties more times than I can count; memorized your taste. I need the real thing. I wanna feel the warmth of your body against me, tongue pumping in and out of that tight little hole of yours.

Your mouth falls open, chest heaving, muffled cries heard through the glass. Just a whisper, but my ears have never been more blessed. I look down at my cock for a split second, just enough time to run some spit down on my throbbing head, making me hiss out a breath. I make a tight fist, imagining myself sinking into your slick pussy as you lay on a pile of my class papers, a little pleated skirt riding up around your waist, your wet cunt just begging for me to fill it, sucking me in.

“Such a sloppy cunt. Fuck… Perfect for me,” I mutter, returning my eyes to you, watching as your arousal leaks out of your pussy as you continue to stroke, dirtying the sheets below. I run my hand across my sweaty forehead, slicking back my bangs in the process, switching my hold to my balls to play with them, trying desperately to cum with you for your second time. “Slow down, Y/n… Shittt. Pussy’s too good. You wanna come with daddy. Don't you? Yeah you do. Atta baby.”

Another muffled moan bleeds through the glass. I need to hear you. Fuck, I need to know what you sound like. I release my cock with a panting gasp, fumbling for the glass, resting my clammy palms against it as I hold my breath, cracking it ever so slightly. There we go. I move even closer, resting a hand on the brick wall, eyes rolling back in my skull as I wrap my fingers around my girthy dick again.

“Rafe…” She pants, and my eyes double, stomach falling, breath fleeing my chest, drowning in my own pleasure as my name leaves your lips. Say it again. Fucking say it, baby. Tears of joy fill my eyes as warmth spreads from my head to my toes.

I listen closely, catching the sounds of your sopping core squelching through your room, cries and sighs of pleasure coming back to back as I bite my shirt, holding back my own. “Just like that, Rafey. Fuckkk, daddy. I’m cumming,” you cry in a throaty, fucked-out voice that has me cumming harder than I ever have in my life, ropes, and ropes of cum painting the brick wall of your apartment building as I watch your finish.

I look down in exhaustion as my cum rolls down the wall, before closing my eyes in utter bliss, just imagining it leaking out of your cunt. My goddamn pussy. “Tomorrow-” I pant as I lift my trembling hand, pointing my cum-coated finger against the glass with a smug smile that I wish you could see. “M’taking you out and then we’re comin’ back here and I’m going to make every one of your fantasies come true, honey. M’gonna be all you need. I swear,” I coo.

I watch you as you lay there, hands trailing your beautiful body, calming yourself down with touch. You're lonely, baby. You don't need to be… Let me take care of you. You let out a sleepy yawn, stretching out on the mattress.

“Fuck,” I grumble, post-nut clarity setting in as I realize what the fuck I just did, regretting none of it, just hoping that someone didn’t see me. The street is empty. Just perfect. I grab my boxers, pulling them up as you tuck your toy into your nightstand, fastening my pants as you snuggle into your sheets.

No.

Your eyes lock with mine, and with that, time stands still. My heart hammers in my chest as your expression changes from confusion to terror. You let out a blood-curdling scream as I try to pull myself away, but I’m frozen with fear. Run. Fuck! You fumble for your phone as I walk away from the window, my eyes never leaving you until I’m falling back on the curb, struggling to my feet, sprinting as fast as my feet will take me.

“I’ve ruined everything. What the hell have I done?” My heart shatters into a million pieces as I run down the block, charging toward my car as I fight my keys out of my pocket. Tears and snot wet my face, my whole body sheened with sweat, shivering with adrenaline. ”Not only am I going to lose her, but I’m gonna lose everything else. My job. My reputation. Everything. Fucking everything.” I slam my finger against the keyless start; engine roaring as I peel out onto the street, trying to put distance between me and you.

What the hell can I say to make this better? No one will understand. I can’t fucking help it. I can’t help who I am. I can’t help that I love you. That I want to keep you safe. Is that a crime? I’m obsessed with you. It’s like— I think about you all the time. Every second of my fucking life. But isn’t that what love should be like?

I let out a shaky breath, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror, my cheeks soaked with tears, eyes glassy with emotion. If I can’t have you, I don’t want to live. I don’t… I-I can’t. My foot slams on the gas, barreling down the freeway toward the bridge, watching as the needle on the speedometer climbs higher and higher as cars swerve and dart out of my path.

What is the point if I can’t have you?

I’m nothing without you.

My knuckles ghost white, as I blink the tears out of my eyes, sobbing like a child as the speedometer blasts past 100. I feel the dismare in my heaving chest plaguing me like a virus, the only warmth in my heart gone now that I’ve lost you. Just fucking empty—goddamn hollow. The only thing I’ve ever truly wanted is gone. You were the best thing that has ever been mine and I didn’t even get to tell you… I lift my hand to wipe away the tears as the road blurs before me.

Days of watching you, not one moment forgotten. I was almost a part of your world. Why did I wait so long? Why did I wait until it was too late? You were saying my name? You wanted me just as bad as I wanted you…

The world around me gets a little brighter as I pull onto the bridge, illuminated with streetlamps, before the world dives off into the dark waters below.

What if she feels guilt? What if she blames herself? What if this ruins hers too?

I thread through the gap of cars, vehicles slamming on their breaks around me, unable to swerve on the bridge like they were on the road before making every move sharper; more erratic—the line thinning, between life and death.

Maybe she’ll forgive me after I’m dead…

RING. RING. RING.

I look down at my phone, seeing your brother's name light up the screen. “Hello?” I choke the word out, biting my lips to hold back my sniffles and sobs as I speed closer and closer to the edge, waiting for him to blow out my speakers. ‘ASSHOLE. PERV. STALKER. PSYCHOPATH-’

“Hey, Rafe. You good, man?” He asks worriedly, his gentle voice pulling me out of the pit. My foot pulls off the glass as I’m hit with a sliver of hope, before slamming on the breaks. My tires screech as my car skids across the bridge, stomach falling as I get so close to the edge that the grille of my Cadillac kisses the guardrail, nothing but blackness and open water before me.

“M’Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.”

You dive into my arms, hands wrapped tightly around my waist as you bury your head in my chest. Your warm, wet tears soak through my shirt, blessing my skin as I hold you close. “Thank you so much for coming, Rafe,” you sniffle.

“Of course, Y/n,” I whisper as you tremble in my arms like a leaf. “Did you get a good look at him?”

You shake your head, letting out a frail little sigh. “No…”

“Go inside. Aight? You’ve been through enough. Let me check it out. I’ll be in in a second. Okay?” You nod, looking up at me with doe-eyes and a trembling lip. I cup your tear stained cheek in my hand, brushing your skin nice and soft. You tilt into me, needing me closer. “I’m sorry you went through this… But, it’s just some creep. I’m not gonna leave you tonight. I swear.”

“Thank you,” you whimper.

“‘Course, sweetheart.”

“Now, you, get inside and try to relax. Huh? It’ll only take me a second.” You nod and step inside, holding my hand until the last moment.

I walk down the stairs, strolling through the landscaping to your window. I suck my teeth, looking down at the stained brick before lifting my hand, running my thumb along my tongue, scrubbing the little cum mark I left with my finger. “All clear,” I whisper, smiling to myself as my night takes a turn for the better.

I walk up your steps, stepping into the apartment as you pour a glass of wine for you and I. “Thank you, Rafe. I’m so glad you’re here,” you smile, your voice weak as you walk toward me in your satin pajamas, passing me a glass.

“Call me anytime you need me. Okay?” I smile as I reach my hand out for you. You tangle your fingers in mine, moving a little closer, rising on your tippy toes, pressing a soft kiss on my cheek.

The two of us walk over to the couch, taking a seat. You snuggle into my chest just like you did at the bar. Your body relaxes in mine. The adrenaline and excitement of the night wears off fast, and it’s not long before your eyes start to beat closed. I don’t think I can sleep. I don’t want to. Truthfully, I could stay this way forever with you. Your soft sounds fill my ears as I focus on your breathing and the shape of your body in mine. I couldn’t dream of a more perfect moment with you, sweetheart. My girl. Mine. A satisfied smile plays on my lips as I reach over, flicking on the evening news.

“Hello, my name is Belle Lee, reporting live from the downtown district. An investigation is underway after a University student was found dead with multiple gunshot wounds. College officials have identified the victim as 22-year-old Chett Lee from Tampa Bay, Florida. This is an active investigation. Any tips or other information can be directed to the local authorities. Currently, there are no known suspects in this gruesome murder.”

A smirk pulls on my lips as I flick off the TV, darkness falling all around us. I lift you into my arms, holding you close, walking you to your room before setting you down on the mattress. I rub my thumb across you pillowy lips, not wanting to push it too far by kissing you goodnight. My belly stirs as I think about the cum I had just cleaned off the glass, any reminents now hanging on your perfect lips.

I’ll just have to settle for that tonight.

I stroke your hair gently, brushing it off your beautiful face. Just leave, Rafe… Just—I succumb to my urges, kissing your forehead instead, lingering as long as I possibly can before pulling away. Your eyes match mine, staring up at me.

“Stay.”

@nadvs it was so amazing brainstorming with you. I am such a fan of your work and you are such an amazing person 💕 thank you babe 😭.

[totallynotashieldagent]

Kinktober 2024 - Thigh Riding

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Jason wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen you look at him whenever he came home and changed into his normal clothes. He saw the way you looked at him, biting your lip, eyeing him up and down when he was in his fitted gear– 

Today, however, you were just sitting on his lap- well, on his thigh. Leaning back, as the movie played. A dumb action movie, all special effects, and barely any plot. Perfect for a lazy night. Him in his sweatpants and a vest. You in your oversized, got at a thrift-store nightshirt and cotton panties- And it was, honest to god it was a lazy night until he shifted a little and leaned over to grab a beer and you moved ever to slightly and your brain short-circuited perfectly. 

It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought about it. Of course, you had. There was a whole subreddit dedicated to Jason’s fucking thighs as the Hood. You hated how everyone salivated at your boyfriend but god how you loved all the pictures people posted on there. 

Would be a lie if you said you didn’t get yourself off to it. There was one where he-

“Baby, what are you doing?” His voice was hot against your neck.

“Nothing-” You said, pretending you were watching the movie, as if you hadn't completely tuned out everything apart from just the feeling of him. As if you weren’t slowly grinding down on his thigh. As if there wasn’t going to be a wet patch on his sweatpants soon enough.

“Don’t feel like nothing, sweetheart.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, his hands squeezing at your hips ever so gently. You didn’t answer, simply leaning forward to have more control on your movements, bracing your hands on his knee as you continued to grind again. But this time you weren’t hiding it anymore. 

“Sweetheart-” Jason exhaled a soft laugh that twisted into a groan, his hands clenching and unclenching at your hips, starting to guide you better. “You wanna-”

“Yes.” You swallowed before he could even ask properly. “ Yes- ” You whimpered again, “Please-” You bit your lip, eyes so focused on the screen that everything was turning into a blur. 

His thigh was so solid and muscular and felt so good but-

“Baby-” He rasped, his voice clearly showing that this was affecting him too. “Let me-” He mumbled against your neck between wet kisses. Lifting you up and pushing his sweat pants down just enough so now your clothed cunt was rubbing against his skin. 

“Jay-” You mewled and your eyes finally screwed shut.

“ Shhh- Let it feel good, sweetheart.” Jason hand was wrapped around his own aching cock as his other hand guided you move better against him. “You wanna make a mess of my thigh, don’t you?” You mumbled a yes, please- need- “A little louder, honey.” He bit your shoulder gently. Not enough to cause any pain or leave marks, just enough to get your attention. 

“Mh- Yes!” You whined, grinding yourself harder against his muscle. 

“ Good girl- Such a pretty thing-” He whispered, pumping himself, his hand under your nigthshirt, squeezing the flesh, kneading his just enough to be bruising but not painful as he moved you. 

“I- Jay- I need-” Words were slowly losing meaning. 

“What?” He licked the side of your neck, making you tilt your neck to the side with soft whimpering moans of more, please, keep going- “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle that anyone would miss the command in it. 

“Move- Move me- I can’t-” It was getting harder to keep the momentum. The friction was starting to get just perfect and your body would twitch away when it got too much. You wanted to concentrate more. 

Jason didn’t need to be told more. His hands moved skillfully, moving the cotton of the underwear to the side, holding it taut as he held you down, grinding you harder and slowly against his thigh. You moaned and nodded, eyes closed, breath broken and nails digging into his knee because it suddenly felt that good . 

He whispered praises, the wetness on his thigh growing as he moved you. That’s my good girl. So close, aren’t you? Are you going to make a mess? Yes- So close, my good girl-  

The filthy praise always got you good. You shuddered broken gasps of breath. You were pretty sure your nails were digging hard enough to draw blood but at this point, you really didn’t care. You were just so, so , close and-

“Baby, won’t you cum for me?” He whispered against your neck, leaving wet open-mouth kisses and that finally- finally did you in. 

Jason kept grinding you down on his thigh, his movements hard and deliberate as you whined and moaned his name like a desperate prayer. Your back arched as you came, your thighs clenching to ride it out and he kept moving you until you fell back against his chest. 

“There you go, sweetheart.” He mused, his palms rubbing softly at your thighs. 

“‘S’good-” You exhaled a laugh, your eyes glassy as you looked over at him. 

Wide smirk on his face, his cock still aching next to you, precum dripping just from seeing you come undone and his thigh soaked from your cum. 

“How about round two?” He turned your face to kiss you properly. 

Kinktober 2024.

[lolitalovess]

rockstar vi touching herself to playboy model reader ♡

warnings: this is kind of part 2 to my first one, masturbation, fingering, brief mention of alcohol, vi is a loser, rec from anon, this is absolute ass and very short i'm sorry, i wrote this while sitting in the waiting room at the eye doctor, that's it i think.

｡･ﾟ･♡･ﾟ･｡ vi can't stop thinking about when she had the fortune association of meeting you. you're burned into her head like a branding, the image of how you looked that night, how you talked and carried yourself- she misses the taste of you when you were in that bathroom stall with her and holyfuckyou'renotreturninghercalls.

a brand new playboy magazine with you plasterered on the front cover had just come out and of course she bought it like a horny teenage boy as soon as she heard about it after playing a show. the famous rockstar herself wasn't even amusing the thought of what it'd look like if her fanbase saw her buying a porn magazine the same hour it came out. she just needed you.

she layed on her old leather couch the moment she got back to her apartment, limbs sprawled over it with empty bottles of alcohol on the coffee table in front of it. she was mindlessly flipping through the thin pages of the magazine, eyes boring into each image and deciding if it was worthy or not with the only true thought running through her head was seeing you.

her moans are mixed with the sound of nightime in la when she sees you after another flip of a page- the distant sounds of police sirens and cars honking and people walking on the cold streets the moment she flips a page and brings her free hand to quickly unzip her jeans and rub lazy circles on her clit.

you're on your knees, your bare ass in the air with your elbows propping you up, your only prop is your hair and the cherry red telephone you're holding to your ear.

she sees your familiar eyes on paper looking into hers like they did when the gleam of the blue lighting radiated down on the two of you when she met you in the same club she's been going back to every night ever since you haven't been returning her calls.

it's like you're taunting her, like you asked to hold a telephone and to look into the camera lense because you just knew that she'd see this, like you knew that she'd be touching herself to you.

she threw her head back on the armrest of the old leather while her eyes focused on your tits that were barely visible, instinctively spreading her legs apart almost as if you were there between them. she moans and her hole clenches around nothing at the thought, and all she can do is slip her fingers inside her and pump them as quick as possible.

the familiar sound of her pussy squelching and her moans filled her ears with her eyes focused on you, and they never had any plans of leaving whatsoever. she wants you to fuck her backstage before and after every show, to watch your tits bounce and hands grip at her biceps to stabilise yourself.

her back arched off her couch and her eyes roll to the back of her head at the thought, her heart shaped lips open in a moan when she pumps her fingers faster and her cum stains the inside of her jeans. she fucks herself through it, pretending it's you who's doing so. she's had sex with you before, right? she's not creepy for pretending you're fucking her when she looks at naked pictures of you.

later, she's walking through her apartment to reticently reach for the phone to call you for what felt like the most repeated thing she's done this week.

she hears the phone beep before it stops, her heart skipping like a loser at the realisation that you've answered.

"hi." she says over the phone, her voice sounding more sad than she'd ever like. "you haven't been answering my calls."

"i know, i'm sorry i ditched you. going to cancun for work." you explained.

"without me?"

"you can't come. it's for my work."

"i'll see you there. my and my buddies will find you." she spoke, and she knows you know who she is now. she knows you know that you're stuck with her.

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake Makes Horrible Life Decisions, and Gotham Suffers for It

So, picture this: you’re Damian Wayne. You’re in Gotham. You’re minding your own business, probably threatening someone, when suddenly—

Tim. Drake. Walks. Through. The. Door.

Which is crazy, because no one has seen him in almost a year. This man disappeared off the face of the earth after claiming their father was still alive (which, now they know he was right, but that doesn't mean he didn't sound insane at the time), and now, out of absolutely nowhere, he waltzes back in like nothing happened.

Which, okay, yay! They got the coordinates and were able to bring Bruce back! That's great! But instead of calling or even warning anyone that he was, in fact, still alive and making very questionable life choices, Tim just shows up at the Manor’s front door looking incredibly smug, dressed in some League-adjacent gear, and—oh yeah—carrying a mostly-conscious, Lazarus-green-glowing, very familiar-looking boy over his shoulder.

Cue everyone just staring.

And then:

"Hey guys," Tim says, completely casual. "This is Danyal. Damian’s clone. Also, my boyfriend. Try to be nice."

And that’s when Damian seriously considers violence.

Because, of course, the League of Assassins—those bastards—decided that when he was no longer fit to be the next Demon’s Head, they’d just cook up a clone. Enter Danyal, who apparently didn't last as long as they had hoped.

But the thing about throwing a perfectly good clone into the Lazarus Pit is that sometimes, instead of reviving someone the normal way, you accidentally create a half-ghost with existential issues and a penchant for property destruction.

Now, there’s a lot more to unpack here. But let’s break it down:

Tim is alive. No one even gets the chance to yell at him for ghosting (ha) them for nearly a year before—

He apparently blew up the league of assassins??? Which is the only acceptable reaction to discovering your feral ex-grandfather made a spare Damian, but still, a little warning would’ve been nice.

Tim kidnapped him. And then—because Tim is Tim—

Proceeded to date him.

Absolutely no one knows how to respond to this.

Jason is laughing his ass off. He thinks this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened. (He also immediately gives Danyal a noogie, because apparently all versions of Damian need to be bullied at least a little.)

Dick is concerned but also so relieved Tim is alive that he doesn’t know whether to hug him or strangle him.

Stephanie, Duke and Cass are just watching this play out like it's the best drama they've ever seen.

Alfred is probably the only one handling this with dignity. (Barely.)

Bruce looks at his returned son, then at the glowing clone, then back at Tim, and just sighs, because, honestly? He’s too tired for this.

Meanwhile, Damian—who has officially hit his limit and is barely recovering from his urge of violence—is just staring. Trying to process the fact that:

He has a clone.

That clone is now his older brother’s boyfriend.

Tim—who he hasn’t seen in a year—showed up out of nowhere, without warning, to drop this information on him like it’s normal.

"You kidnapped my clone." "Rescued," Tim corrects. "You kidnapped him, blew up the League, and then proceeded to date him." "What can I say? I’m efficient."

"I WAS GONE FOR A YEAR." Bruce finally explodes. "A YEAR. I COME BACK, AND NOW TIM HAS A CLONE OF DAMIAN AS HIS—HIS BOYFRIEND?!*"

"We prefer ‘genetic anomaly turned incredibly attractive disaster. Plus, a lot can happen in a year," Tim says, like that helps.

Danyal, barely recovering from the loopiness of the Lazarus Pit and sudden existential crisis, gives a lazy little wave. "Hi."

Now Gotham has two Damians (one ghostly and feral, the other just regular feral), Ra’s al Ghul has no viable heirs, and Bruce? Bruce wishes he were still dead.

Tim, meanwhile, is just happy his boyfriend’s getting some quality bonding time with his genetic source material.

The family cannot handle this.

[jaggedamethyst]

not in that way (part two)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: as both of your best friends, steve tries to get you and bucky to bond

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut in an elevator, fingering (r!receiving), discreet, mutual pining, angst, not proofread I'm lazy and tired

notes: thank you guys for the response to the first part...what the fuck?? everything i write for bucky goes insane and i didn't think people wanted more but i got too many messages not to keep writing for him.

ps: wanted to post this tonight… so it may not be seamless, but i will edit when im fully awake bc im half asleep dn

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The next time you saw Bucky was the following day. He was seated next to Steve as the pair of them lounged in the grass at a park near your house. Steve and you came here a lot—him making a reason to escape Avengers duty and you simply being within walking distance. 

“Hi.” You offered an awkward wave to the men, sitting down on the throw blanket they’d laid in the grass. 

While Steve greeted you Bucky hardly acknowledged your presence, averting his eyes to watch his friend next to him. Steve dug into a bag beside him and pulled out a few small notebooks. One of them was noticeably more worn; you recognized it as his own sketchbook. 

In his free time since being off ice, Steve found solace in drawing the world around him. Between each image would linger small lists of to-dos, figures of speech he had to know, and bucket list items he hoped to complete one day. He was almost finished with this one, keeping it on him to use at his leisure. He wanted to offer the experience to you both as well, his best friends. 

“I got you these,” Steve passed you and Bucky each a book. “I also have some of my favorite pencils here.” He grabbed a handful and let them fall in front of you. “Whenever I’m feeling...overwhelmed or anxious I just,” he exhaled a deep breath, “I just put something in here. It helps.” 

You and Bucky watched him intently, nodding at his explanation. 

He continued, “We don’t have to talk—you guys don’t have to…but maybe we could just do this together?” 

“I’d like that.” You spoke first, grabbing a few of the pencils and an eraser. 

“Me too.” 

Bucky spoke. It was low and filled with apprehension, like he was testing the waters of what it was like to use his own voice. You whipped your head to him at the sound, arching your brow as his covered hands reached for a book and pencil. He sat for a while, though, just looking between you and Steve without putting anything down. 

As time passed you chuckled at your paper a bit, drawing a rough picture of Steve’s concentrated face. He was quite fond of birds, you realized, and he would often draw them. Their presence was fleeting and he loved that challenge, the idea that one moment they could be here and the next gone. It was similar to life in that way, how the people he loved most would be with him and then not. 

The greatest joys of his life were when a bird would return, perched on the ground in front of him. He found that his life in particular was like that. Just when he thought Bucky was gone, he came back. He was able to finish his drawing now, and you were an amazing addition to the artwork. 

“So,” Steve clasped his hands together, “Who wants to show theirs off?” 

You perked up and excitedly flipped your with a laugh, pointing to Steve’s upturned face in the sketch. 

He immediately laughed and snatched your book, eyeing the scratch before looking up at you. “No way we sat here for an hour and you drew me in your book.” 

“Believe it,” you shrugged, “I’m an artist.” 

Steve scoffed playfully before tossing the book back to you with a light underhand throw. “What about you, Buck?” 

He’d been into it by then. You weren’t sure when he started to actually draw but he wouldn’t look away. His brows were pinched and he pulled at the inner skin of his cheek in concentration. You and Steve exchanged a look when he didn’t reply. 

Steve outstretched a hand toward the book, “Bucky-“ The harsh movement of Bucky pulling his work back toward his chest cut Steve off—he held his hands up in a surrender. “Sorry, buddy. You okay?” 

“I’m good just…got kind of invested.” 

You nodded, observing the way Bucky still clutched the book. “It’s really relaxing Steve. This was a great idea. Right, Bucky?” 

“Right.” He looked between you and Steve before closing the small book and tucking it into his jacket’s inner pocket. He moved to stand suddenly backing toward the road, “I’ll be in the car when you guys are done.” 

He was always like this, pushed people away.

Steve looked to you when Bucky was out of earshot. “Did I say something?” The look on his face was one of pure confusion and concern. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t push it. At least he actually put pencil to paper, you know?”

“You’re right—this is sort of a milestone if you think about it.” 

“I agree, big step for him.” 

On the way back to the tower you let your mind be on Bucky again—the way he so quickly let the good moments be pushed away by whatever small thing bothered him. 

There wasn’t much talking as the group of you got into the elevator, save for Steve making a last-ditch effort to get you and Bucky to talk again. 

“I have a few things to do, but feel free to wait around and we can hang out again later.” He stood facing the elevators closed doors with a stoicism he always had. 

Neither you or Bucky spoke as Steve stepped out of the elevator—his words seeming like an order rather than a random comment. He had that authoritative way about him.

A few seconds after, the doors shut and allowed the cart to spring into action. It made you wobble a bit, the startling movement making you both off balance briefly. 

When he regained his composure Bucky finally spoke, glancing over at you. “Today was a good day.” His voice was filled with unease, not having a moment alone with you since the day prior. 

You nodded, “It was. I had fun.” It was fine, entertaining the small talk. “You have fun?” 

He looked over to you as the tension he’d been holding slowly dissipated—you had that affect on him. Bucky was instead filled with nerves as your eyes rested on him. His lips parted to speak in response but he couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him so fondly, actually interested in whether or not he enjoyed himself. 

All he could muster was a tight nod, assuring you that he had enjoyed himself, before looking ahead to the elevator doors. Then they jolted again, this time stopping abruptly at the pull of the emergency stop button. 

He looked over at you again but this time in confusion, concern even. “What are you doing?” 

“Why are you being weird?” You tucked yourself into the corner, covering the button so he couldn’t try to leave. You knew, of course, that had he tried he'd be out of here faster than you could even process. But the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch said enough to you. 

“I’m not. I’m being my normal self-“ 

“Normal for you isn’t…whatever this is.” You looked him up and down, “You’re more—more reserved, methodical. You’re not a jittery person, Bucky.” 

He let out an amused scoff, “I’m only jittery because we’re stuck in an elevator.” 

“You could get out and you know that.” You crossed your arms, “You just don’t want to.” 

“That’s not it-“ 

“Bucky?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Move me.” You stepped off the wall and inched closer to him. “Move me out the way and press the button.” 

He swallowed but didn’t move—like you expected. Suddenly, you broke the eye contact. He watched you turn and push the red knob back into place. 

As the metal box started to move again you scoffed at him, purposely avoiding eye contact. His breathing sped up, suddenly enticed to prove you so extremely right. 

“Fuck it,” he grabbed your hip with a single had a let his lips fall onto yours. He’d simultaneously pulled the button with a free hand, distracting you by how eagerly he’d started kissing you. 

The startling jolt of the elevator and Bucky combined sent you back into the side wall, colliding with the long bar with a hiss. Bucky didn’t stop, swallowing the sound with his own mouth on yours. He was needy, pressing his tongue into and through your lips. He’d waited so long for this, and it was absolutely worth it. 

You were completely insatiable. You let Bucky use you, a fondness for the feeling now. The both of you moaned into each other, carelessly wrapping yourselves in one another. You snaked your hands up to his face, pulling him in impossibly closer. You could feel his stubble on your face, suddenly smiling at the burn you’d have between your thighs with him settled there. He felt your smirk and pulled away to look at you. 

Buck smirked, too. You were in a daze, swaying on your feet as your eyes pulled back into focus. 

He watched you leaned into the wall, lowering his head. The layered top of his hair fell over, covering your view of his beautiful face. He stayed looking down but spoke in a low tone, “Take off your pants.” 

“Make. Me.” You smiled, repeating yourself slowly. 

He made a show of lifting his head and letting his hair settle back into place. He was in that damn jacket again, always was. You stayed watching him, tilting your head in amusement as he shrugged off his jacket and let I fall to the floor. Even slower, he took off his gloves. You’d never even actually seen both his hands, only hearing of the metal arm that rested beneath his clothing. 

He let his hand flex in front of you, gulping at how quickly he’d decided to show you this part of himself. Bucky didn’t think twice, actually, completely motivated by the opportunity to be close to you. He kept eye contact, hands on his hips and moving forward until your chests met. 

“I have no problem taking matters into my own hands.” With that he simply moved a hand to your pants button. You could tell he was proud, bobbing his head lightly at the way he could so easily strip you without even looking away from your face. You cracked a smile at the way he slid your clothes off, leaving you bare on the bottom. He let you slip your shoes off too, still chest to chest. 

He kept looking at you, spreading your legs with his thigh. He ignored the way you were dripping, sliding one of your legs up onto his waist. He kept his grip there, firmly holding you. 

“Don’t move, I got you.” 

He slipped two fingers into you slowly, pumping in and out at a torturous pace that immediately had your jaw dropping. The sight of you unraveling was amazing and he kept his eyes locked with yours until they fluttered shut. 

You felt helpless, completely entranced by his fingers rubbing your walls. Your breaths came out ragged, “We just—we don’t tell him okay?” You shook your head, eyes opening slightly at Bucky. 

“Mhm, yeah…no Steve.” Bucky looked at you, eyebrows pinched and whimpering. “It’s nothing-“

“Right.” You moaned between each word now, bouncing with his harsh movement. “Nothing.” 

He kept going, speeding up at the squelching sounds that was now like music to his ears. He could tell you were struggling, teetering on the edge every few seconds but not quite exploding. The continuous heat made it feel like you could pop at any moment. It was too good. He was too good. It felt cliche to let this overtake what was blossom for you both—the transition from acquaintance to friend. 

But you couldn’t help it. 

You’d been holding onto the bar on the wall, but the position was a lot. As he pressed into you over and over you started to lose balance, hardly standing on the toes of one foot. He kept going even as you shook. He felt your body sliding, hardly keeping yourself up anymore. Your hand fell to the side and accidentally highlighted over a cluster of the floor buttons, illuminating them in an irregular pattern. 

Bucky chuckled but quickly readjusting without missing a beat. He nudged your body into his arm more, completely holding you up with ease now. You felt like a ragdoll and it reminded you so quickly of the sheer strength of the man that was in you now. You could tell with his hand jacking into you regardless, the flesh of him flexing into you so tastefully. 

He suddenly stopped, slipping out of you as you gripped his next for more leverage. He again moved you with ease, putting you into his right arm now. His head tilted, ready to see your reaction to his metal hand filling you. 

You gasped at the cooled tips of his fingers teasing your hole, just barely entering before he pulled back out. He could tell you were sensitive now and savored it, only letting you feel him when you calmed down from his slow pumps before. 

He let you whine like this for a bit longer for adding a finger, surprising you with three fingers ramming into you. He was completely soulless about it now, mouth agape at the way your body reacted. He knew you were close and urged you on. 

“Doing so good.” He nodded, “You gonna come soon?” His tone was almost mocking, your condition evident. Suddenly you snapped, head falling into his neck. 

“Yes, yes, yes…” You couldn’t help but repeat to yourself, whispering through the writhes into his palm. 

Your hips rolled and he met you with a soft kiss into your temple. You slowed, then, coming down from the intensity of the ordeal.

You breathed into him without a word, smirking at the man in from of you. Bucky let you down, grabbing your pants for you and sliding them onto your now wobbling legs. He nudged your shoes with his feet before kneeling down and sliding them on, patting your leg when he was done. You were in another world, only slipping back to him at the sound of the elevator returning to motion.

You let out a laugh at the elevator slowly stopping on a random assortment of floors. At a higher one Bucky finally stepped off, turning back to look at you for a second. You hadn’t expected anything more; he was often wordless and he proved you right the night before…when he left so carelessly. 

“You coming?” 

With a ding the elevator doors slowly moved to close. Through them you watched Bucky, standing and looking at you expectedly. “Just did, actually.” 

He choked at that but jerked forward, putting a hand between to doors to stop them. “So is that a yes?” He tilted his head back, “Maybe watch a movie or something?” 

You intended to head home at first, not expecting him to extend this hand. This wasn’t like him—his usual closed off self. Admittedly you enjoyed this better. He now had a willingness that never was there before. It was jarring—the way he seemed to do a 180 from last night. 

You reasoned that maybe you could enjoy yourself and finally be the friend Steve needed you to be—to love his friend the way he did so many years ago. For Bucky it was grasping at straws; he wanted to keep you around in any way he could. He would never be Steve—could never be the image of a perfect man that you deserved. 

We’re better as friends. 

He repeated the mantra in his mind, affirming himself despite part of him saying otherwise. He could stand be this with you, friends with something more every once in a while. Hell, every day if you let him. He settled so you wouldn’t have to. You didn’t deserve someone like him, an undeniable shroud of darkness that clouded over your blinding light. 

“You know what, why the hell not?” You stepped off the elevator cart and brushed by the man. “I get to pick the movie though.” 

“‘Course, doll.” 

tag list (click to request to be tagged, please read tag list rules)

@crookedtimetravelheart @wintercrows @rimunagenius @gorgeouslylethal @taylormobley @fan4astic @chimchoom @lilulo-12 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @hrlzy @foxinthestreet98 @lostinspace33 @royallykt @sleepysongbirdsings @pickuptruck01 @unclearblur @mrsalexstan @akiyhara @spaceconveyor @winchestert101 @chinggay85-blog @misschicl3 @bbyboyycal @aurafite @scott-loki-barnes @the-sylver-dragon @bxtchboy69 @mrsnikstan @lilbloggs @ana-cxst @regics @oceanaroma @milaer @lexavalon052 @anonymously-buckys @maryevm @blazeflays @p1nkgirly333 @antiartemis @abitofblues @a-century-of-sass @mindsofjade @jumpingjackalope @smalland-angry @slasherbuck @nicolebarnes @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @bonnyclydecat @coutureisart

(for some of you it may not let me tag, check ur settings or if anyone has advice on how to fix it lmk!!)