#I love learning about you and sharing stories

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Epilogue

AN: You can blame Mexico and Onyx Storm for my delay on this one. But for those who are curious, here is our sweet little epilogue for Joel and Freckles. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, shared, and encouraged me while writing this story. I love you, and so does Joel and Freckles. XO

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Five Years Later

“You wanna come,” he practically taunts, “Don’t you, sweet girl?” 

Every muscle in your body is weak, causing the leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross to rub at your wrists and ankles. He’s been teasing you for hours, stopping every time you’re about to shatter. 

This night has been a long while in the making. After five years with your firm you were finally given the lead on a big case; a case that your boss handed to you and said this was your chance to earn your partnership. You spent upwards of eighty to ninety hours a week preparing and Joel could not have been more perfect during that time. He’d often show up with food or coffee for you and your team of junior lawyers, interns, and paralegals. He never complained when you’d bring work home; however, every time you said something negative about yourself, Joel would mark it on the fridge. Over the three and a half weeks of prep work thirty ticks ended up on the small piece of paper that was hung with a Berkeley magnet. You didn’t have time to ask Joel what they meant, and truthfully, you didn’t really care; you trusted that whatever he planned to do with those ticks was for your own good. 

During the trial, another twelve ticks were added. When the verdict was announced and you had won your case, Joel was there in the courtroom, smiling warmly at you when you glanced back at him. When you got home that evening, after a celebratory round or two of cocktails, Joel made you kneel in front of him as he explained that each tick, all forty two of them, symbolized a denied orgasm, a punishment meant to remind you not to talk bad about things that Joel owns. Especially brilliant lawyers who win their first big case and secure themselves as partner.  

As he strapped you to the padded X shaped piece of furniture tonight, he said, ‘if you’re the sweet girl I know you to be, then you won’t whine when I stop. Instead, you’ll say “Thank you, Mister Miller” and I’ll count that as two. Forty two orgasms being denied is not going to be easy, so do yourself a favour and don’t whine; you don’t want to know what happens if you do.’

The only response to his teasing that you can muster now is a whimper and a nod. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Use your words, honey.”

Your voice is almost silent. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He walks behind you, trailing the small vibrator along your skin. “Such a good girl for me tonight. Saying yes to everything. Remind me, how many orgasms have I denied you so far?”

Your pussy throbs with the deep timber of his voice, this is truly torture and your safeword is on the tip of your tongue. “Twenty one,” you mumble.

“Poor, sweet girl,” He says from behind you, leaning in closely to whisper in your ear. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat.

“Should I let you pick how you want to come?”

He completes his circle around you and the crossing, stepping in close to you. He uses the little vibrator to gently tease your nipples. You can barely form a thought and just let a small ‘yes’ mixed with moans leave your lips as your sweat covered back arches off the padded back of the cross. The heat of Joel’s body this close makes you feel like you’re on fire. 

“Want to come on my fingers?” He asks, then easily slips three of them inside of you. Your gaze shoots to his as a strangled cry fills the room. 

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, please.” You feel your pussy tightening around his digits.

“What about my cock? You love being stuffed full of my thick cock while I strum your clit. Don’t you? My perfect little slut.” He teases you further by pumping his fingers forward once, revelling in the feel of you clenching tighter around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues.

“No, I know,” his fingers slip out from your pussy and you gasp, unable to protest in your weakened state. Not that you would protest; you know better than to do that, and he told you not to whine tonight. You are a good girl, you know that what your dom says is best. Plus, you need to come so badly that you think you might actually die if you don’t, and Joel is just sadistic enough to keep you like this for days. 

He gets onto his knees, his warm breath hitting your cunt as he speaks. “What if I put my lips around this swollen little clit? Huh? Suck her into my mouth and drink up every ounce of your cum?”

He uses his thumbs to pull the lips of your pussy further apart. He’s so close that your breath catches in your throat at the promise of relief. He blows cool air along your soaked pussy; you clench your molars together and focus on your breathing. You don’t come until he tells you. 

“Would you like that, my sweet girl?”

The restraints cut at your wrists when you try to push your hips to his mouth. “Yes. Yes. Please, Mister Miller.”

He stands abruptly, hand wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck before he tugs to bring your gaze up to his. The pull of your hair relaxes the muscles of your neck and upper back and you melt into the padded cross.

His eyes darken as he asks, “You really would say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?” 

“Y-yes. I just need to come. Please.” He releases your hair, stepping back and crossing his arms. The veins on his forearms pop, the sleeves of his rolled black dress shirt tightening under his biceps. Since officially retiring, he’s had a strict exercise regime. He was sexy when you met him almost ten years ago, but like a fine wine, he gets better with each passing year.

The gravel in his voice returns, “But you’d say yes even if I told you we were done for the night and it was time to get dressed. Right?” 

Your eyes clench close, head falling back as the panic of not getting to come tonight races through your mind. You take a calming breath before whispering, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl.” You peel your eyes open and tilt your chin down to look at him. His hands are now buried in his pockets, and there’s a shift in how he’s looking at you, a slight softness to his dark eyes. 

“And what if I asked you to marry me?” His voice is shy and raspy.

He slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket and holds it up for you. A thin, gold band with a single, albeit very large, solitaire diamond on it sends sparkles all around the room. Tears line your lash line, mirroring his. He clears his throat softly.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweet girl. Listen carefully for me,” he pockets the ring and steps closely, wiping the happy tear that rolls down your cheek. The rough whorls on his thumb send goosebumps cascading down your body. “First, I’m going to make you come. Then, I’m going to untie you, get you all cleaned up, and get some sugar into you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch as cups your face. His eyes dart towards the bed as he says, “After that, we are getting to that bed so I can kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

“And then,” he smiles sweetly, a tear rolling from the corner of his deep brown and honey flecked eye to his greying beard. “And then I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

[fictionzet]

Ok there are quite a few but I promise they are worth reading:

🖤“Belief isn’t simply a thing for fair times and bright days, I think. What is belief—what is faith—if you don’t continue in it after failure?” (Sazed, The Final Empire)

💙I’d assumed an eventual rematch would be a way to take back my dignity. Turns out, nobody can take that from you. You’ve got to throw it away. (Frugal Wizard's Handbook)

💛Elantris:

💛“You talk about hunger and pain as if they are forces that can’t be resisted. Anything is acceptable, as long as the hunger made you do it—remove our comforts, and we become animals.” (Chapter 4)

💛Pain lost its power when other things became more important. Kahar didn’t need a potion or an Aon to save him—he just needed something to do. (Chapter 16)

💛The problem with being clever,  Sarene thought with a sigh,  is that everyone assumes you’re always planning something. (Chapter 32)

💚Some of my favorites ever, from Tress of the Emerald Sea:

💚There was somebody who cared. Naturally, it would be up to that person to do something. Tress couldn’t impose on anyone else. She was going to have to go rescue Charlie herself. (Chapter 5)

💚It might seem that the person who can feel for others is doomed in life. Isn’t one person’s pain enough? Why must a person like Tress feel for two, or more? Yet I’ve found that the people who are the happiest are the ones who learn best how to feel . It takes practice, you know. Effort. And those who (late in life) have been feeling for two, three, or a thousand different people…well, turns out they’ve had a leg up on everyone else all along. Empathy is an emotional loss leader. It pays for itself eventually. (Chapter 13)

💚Tress settled down, thinking about people and how the holes in them could be filled by such simple things, like time, or a few words at the right moment. Or, apparently, a cannonball. What, other than a person, could you build up merely by caring? (Chapter 39)

💚“Those stories always leave something out,” Tress said. “It’s really not a problem that someone needs to be saved. Everyone needs help. It’s hard to be the person who makes trouble, but the thing is, everyone makes trouble. How would we help anyone if nobody ever needed help?” (...) “The part the stories leave out,” Tress said as ... “is everything that comes before. You see, I’ve discovered that it’s all right to need help. So long as you’ve lived your life as the kind of person who deserves to be rescued.”

🩷Humans are incredibly malleable. Despite my breadth of experience, I’ve never stopped being surprised at how durable human beings can be. They can survive in almost any environment. They can recover from debilitating loss. They can be crushed physically, mentally, emotionally—and still ask you how your day is going. (Yumi and the Nightmare Painter)

I have quotes I love from The Stormlight Archive too, I can also share those if you'd like.

Folk, of the cosmere fandom, I have a question. Give me your favorite quotes that are NOT mainstream. I don't want to hear, "Honor is dead, but I will see what I can do", ideals, "the next step", "you will be warm again" etc. I need your niche lines from different books that stuck in your memory but don't get brought up enough in your opinion. Some of mine are:

You know, princess, the worst part about being a mercenary is living up to the stereotype (it's so good in context)

I was a demigod for millennia. Now … I stand in wet clothing, shivering. (Leshwi, WaT)

Never let something trivial like a sense of humor get in the way of a good joke (Yumi and the Nightmare Painter)

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer To Home IV

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.7k

Synopsis: The storm changed everything. A week spent trapped together, moving around each other like it was second nature. Mornings spent wrapped in his warmth, nights spent unraveling under his hands. And now, the words you’ve been swallowing for months are fighting to break free and you don’t know how much longer you can keep them in.

You love him. And he knows it. But love has never been easy for Bucky. And if you say it—if you let yourself finally speak the truth—will it pull him closer, or will it send him running?

Trigger Warnings: Emotional breakdowns; Angst, banter, and all the feels. Surprisingly no smut this time around... but their chance will come!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Author’s Note: The words are out... now we can focus on their other shenanigans. Loving to see your thoughts about this story and my ask box is always open if you wanna know more. P.S.: There'll probably be more updates this week, but I'm not setting it in stone. B xx

--

“Just kiss me. Keep my mouth shut, will you? Do it until I forget my name.”

The kissing had worked. The slow, lingering press of his lips, the desperate way his hands had explored your skin like he was learning you by touch alone—every moment had distracted you from the pressing truth of your feelings. And when he finally took you, when he split you open at your very core only to put you back together again with every roll of his hips, every whispered praise against your lips, it had done its job.

You hadn’t said it.

Those three little words that kept haunting you, lingering on the tip of your tongue every waking moment since Bucky Barnes had stepped into your life.

I love you.

They could cement everything you had built together or crumble it into dust. And yet, they pressed behind your teeth, growing heavier each day, aching to be voiced, desperate to reach his ears.

You loved him.

God knew when it had happened. Was it when you first read his files, when he was still just a name and a tragic history? Or when he first looked at you—really looked at you—after you were assigned to work alongside him and Sam? Maybe it was the day he effortlessly picked up the stack of reports you had been struggling to carry, flashing you that small hesitant smile he wouldn’t normally share with anyone.

Or was it that first night he offered to walk you home?

No. Who were you kidding? It had happened long before then.

It had crept in through stolen glances over mission briefings, through late-night talks over cups of coffee you always made for him without asking, in the hopes of stealing just a moment of his time. It had settled in the quiet, in the routine of his grumbled, "Morning, doll," when he found you in the communal kitchen, in the way his tired eyes softened when you gave him that worried look as he walked in, battered and bruised from a fight.

And now, it was torture.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The snowstorm had come and gone, the city slowly crawling back to life after nearly a week buried in ice. You and Bucky had spent those days together, and you had been blindsided by just how easy it had been—how natural it was to cohabitate. As if this was something you did all the time, as if domesticity had always been woven into the fabric of your relationship.

In the midst of unspoken feelings and a push and pull you actively ignored, you learned things. That he liked to watch you cook, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, incapable of hiding he was mesmerized. That he didn’t mind washing the dishes afterward, sleeves rolled up as he worked in comfortable silence, so long as you kept him company. That he’d rub your ankles while you lounged on the couch after hours spent bustling around the house, his strong hands kneading into your skin with practiced ease, relishing in the way your breath hitched when he squeezed just right.

He was the perfect boyfriend.

Except he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Because you couldn’t call him that. Could you?

You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, your head dropping onto your desk. Hours had passed, and you still couldn’t concentrate on anything. Your mind was consumed by the what-ifs, spiraling around the impossible tangle of your relationship with a 1940s super soldier who carried more trauma than you could count on both hands.

Fantastic. Just great.

The faint scuff of boots outside your door jolted you back to reality. You lifted your head just as Sam Wilson leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He held a file in one hand, but the amusement in his eyes told you he had other priorities.

"Well, did I just catch you napping on the job?"

You snorted, leaning back in your chair. "I wish. And good morning to you too, Sam. How can I help you?"

"Mission stuff," he said, tossing the file onto your desk. "Figured I’d go over it with you before Barnes shows up to derail our day with his useless questions. Also, wanted to check in—how was your week harboring a former assassin cyborg in your apartment?"

You pressed your lips together as memories of those days surged through your mind—his touch, his warmth, the way his eyes held you like you were something he never wanted to lose, the hunger in them when you straddled him. You hesitated, caught up in the memories, which was enough to set Sam off.

"Did you talk about it yet?" he pressed.

"About what, exactly?" you asked, feigning innocence.

"Oh, I don’t know—your big ol’ feelings? The fact that you two have been dancing around the subject for months? Did you ask him to be your boyfriend yet?"

With the playful lilt in his voice and the mischief dancing in his eyes, it was hard to believe this man was a war veteran—let alone Captain America.

You rolled your eyes, tapping your nails against the desk. "Don’t you have aliens to fight, Cap? Kittens to rescue? Children to kiss?"

"I’m Captain America, not a politician," Sam shot back, dragging out a chair and dropping into it with a pointed look. "So, that’s a no?"

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temples and urging the flush on your cheeks to go away. "We didn’t really… talk much. Not really."

Sam let out a long whistle, shaking his head. "Damn. Didn’t think Barnes had it in him."

"Sam—" you groaned.

"Oh, come on. You spent a whole week holed up with Terminator, what do you expect me to do? Just sit back and not pry?"

"You are way too invested in my love life for someone who has yet to offer a single useful piece of advice."

Sam grinned, leaning forward. "Alright, spill. What happened during the storm?"

You hesitated, glancing down the hallway to make sure Bucky was nowhere in sight. When the coast was clear, you exhaled, shoulders sagging. "We stayed at mine for most of it, but one night, we went to his place, and… I kind of lost it."

Sam’s smirk faded. "Lost it how?"

You swallowed hard, fingers twisting together. "I broke down, Sam. Full-on sobbing, ugly crying—everything. He wanted to know why, and I just—" Your voice caught, and you forced yourself to push through it. "I told him. That I know about Hydra. The torture. And... I saw the way he lives, like he’s punishing himself. Like he doesn’t think he deserves anything good. It wrecked me."

Sam’s expression tightened, but his voice stayed level. "And how did he handle it?"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "I didn’t give him the chance. I was about to say ‘I love you,’ and I panicked. So instead…" You sighed, dropping your gaze. "We slept together. More than once. And now everything’s a mess because I’m—" The words caught in your throat, heavy and terrifying. "Because I’m in love with him. And he knows. But I haven’t said it to him yet."

Sam blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Damn. Maybe I should start brooding—chicks love it."

You shot him a glare, but your heart wasn’t in it. He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. So you’re in love with him. What’s the problem?"

"Everything," you whispered, the weight of it pressing against your ribs. "I love him, Sam. And I haven’t told him because… I don’t even know if I should."

Sam’s teasing faded, his voice softer now. "Why not?"

You swallowed hard, staring out the window as if the answer was somewhere out there. "Because I don’t know if he’ll stay. He’s lost so much already. People, time, parts of himself. What if I tell him, and it’s too much? What if it pushes him away? Or worse—what if he doesn’t feel the same?"

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "You really are in your own head about this."

"That’s helpful," you shot back, voice thick with sarcasm.

He leaned forward, forearms braced against the desk, voice steady and certain, that way he usually got when he was about to drop some wisdom. "Look. This is Bucky we’re talking about. Yeah, he’s been through hell. More than anyone should have to survive. But you know what else? He’s still here. He’s choosing to be here, with you. And if you love him, and he already knows—because trust me, he knows—then saying the words isn’t going to send him running."

Your chest ached, emotions clawing their way up your throat. "How do you know that? Because this… this is eating me alive, Sam. I just want him to stay. I want to love him. And I’m terrified he won’t let me. There have been so many times I almost said it, but I had to choke it back because…" Your voice cracked, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. "Because I know this will either be everything or it’ll be the thing that breaks us. And I don’t know if I can face it if it’s the latter."

Sam’s expression shifted, his voice unwavering yet gentle. "Maybe you should let him decide that."

“And what if he decides it’s not worth it?” The words barely made it past the lump in your throat. You dropped your gaze, unwilling to let Sam see the way your lips trembled, the way your hands clenched into fists against your lap.

“He’s had enough people deciding everything for him to last a lifetime,” Sam said, his tone edged with something firm. “Don’t be another one on that list just because you think you know what he'll do. Maybe, if you actually ask him about his feelings, he’ll surprise you.”

“You sound awfully sure of something you know nothing about,” you muttered, but the usual fire in your retorts was absent. It was just exhaustion now, doubt curling into your bones.

“Who said I know nothing?”

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Sam... What do you know?”

“Nothing,” he replied too quickly, the picture of innocence as he shrugged, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Samuel, I will call your sister.”

Sam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, but you caught it. He clicked his tongue, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, about that—maybe don’t. You know Buck had a thing for her back when we were in Louisiana, right?”

Your jaw fell open. “He what?”

Before Sam could respond, heavy footfalls echoed down the hallway. You barely had a moment to process the revelation before Bucky strode into your office, his expression mildly suspicious, his vibranium arm clutching a pastel pink bag. The contrast of the bag’s soft color against his all-black ensemble was so stark it nearly gave you whiplash.

“There you are,” Sam boomed, standing with a grin as he clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “What’s in the bag, Barnes? Something sweet for your sweetheart?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look before his eyes landed on you, and his features softened instantly. “Breakfast. For her, not for you,” he clarified, lifting the bag slightly. Then his brows drew together, scanning your face with quiet concern. “Why are you crying? What did he do?”

“I’m not crying,” you rushed to say, though the evidence of your damp cheeks begged to differ. “It’s allergies,” You quickly wiped them with the back of your hands, forcing a smile. “What did you get?”

“I got you a bagel from that place you like,” Bucky said, stepping closer, his voice laced with something almost hesitant. "They didn’t have coffee, so I got you, uh… a strawberry matcha? The girl at the counter said you'd like it." He shifted slightly, as if bracing for your reaction.

You froze for a second, staring at him. The idea of Bucky—gruff, no-nonsense Bucky—standing at a café counter and listening to drink recommendations was almost too much. But then the weight of it settled in your chest: he’d gone out of his way. Remembered your favorite bagel. Chosen something new just because he wanted to bring you something—God, you were in too deep.

“That’s really sweet, Buck.” You pushed yourself up from your chair, unable to stop yourself from leaning in, rising on your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your lips, his stubble rough against your fingers. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“I wanted to,” he murmured, echoing something you had said to him so many times before it almost felt like second nature now. For a moment, Bucky just stared at you, his blue eyes tracing your face like he was trying to decide on something. Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he shifted slightly, tilting his head, and brushed a kiss against your lips.

It was soft—so soft it almost didn’t feel real. But it was enough to send your mind reeling, your breath hitching in your throat as a jolt of electricity raced through you. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable, and you were too stunned to speak. Your fingers gripped the paper bag, anchoring yourself to something, anything, to help you process what had just happened.

And then Sam’s voice shattered the moment.

“Ah, look at the two of you. My favorite couple,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

Your entire body stiffened. “Sam,” you hissed, heat flooding your cheeks.

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. Right, Buck?”

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, but his jaw tightened slightly, a tell tale sign of his annoyance that only you seemed to notice.

“Sam, we haven’t even—” You started, grasping at some semblance of control over the rapidly unraveling situation, but Sam cut you off with an exaggerated groan.

"For the love of God, Barnes, put her out of her misery already," Sam groaned, nudging him with an elbow. "Tell her she’s your girlfriend. Tell her she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Do us all a favor."

You wanted to die. Right there. Spontaneously combust and vanish from existence.

“Anyway, that’s my cue to leave,” Sam said, grabbing the file he’d initially dropped on your desk.

“But we haven’t even discussed—” You started, grasping at the one thing that could spare you from the awkwardness sinking into your chest.

“We can discuss it later. Right now, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone to talk.” Sam said with an infuriatingly knowing look before turning toward the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “Oh, and by the way… I told her about Sarah.”

Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaling in a long, put-upon sigh. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, annoyance now evident. “Sam…”

“Consider it payback for flirting with my sister. And what’s a little jealousy? It adds spice to the relationship,” Sam teased, stepping just out of Bucky’s immediate reach.

Bucky turned fully toward him, which only made Sam laugh, hands up in mock surrender. “She threatened to call her, man! I had no choice.”

Bucky turned back to you, groaning softly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear, he lives to torment me,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “So… Sarah?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

His head shot up, his blue eyes widening, genuine worry flickering across his face. “Nothing happened,” he said quickly. “With Sarah, I mean. There’s—there’s nothing to tell.”

You bit back a grin, warmth curling in your chest at his obvious distress. Reaching out, you took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Relax, Buck. I’m not upset. Honestly, I’m just shocked you had any interest in anyone besides that waitress before I threw myself on you.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as your words landed. “You didn’t force me into anything,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. His thumb brushed slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you in the moment.

“Good,” you teased, pulling the pink drink bag closer to you with a smirk. “Now let’s try this strawberry matcha you so lovingly procured for me.”

You did it. You got over the awkwardness by skillfully dodging the subject. You nearly sighed in relief—right up until Bucky let out a noise, half scoff, half laugh, before his amusement faded into something else as he stepped closer.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he mumbled, moving behind you with a calculated slowness, his presence looming but never overbearing. His arm slid around your middle, pulling you back against him, and your breath hitched as his chest pressed against your back. “And it won’t work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice unsteady .

Bucky held you in place, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Why were you crying?” he murmured, low and insistent, his lips trailing down to press the faintest kiss to the curve of your neck.

Your knees felt like they might give out, your eyes fluttering shut involuntarily. You sent a silent thank-you to the universe for the secluded corner your office was tucked into, sparing you the humiliation of anyone catching you like this—being thoroughly undone by your super soldier.

“Sam told me I suck at my job,” you lied, barely managing to string the words together.

Bucky chuckled, the vibration of it reverberating against your back. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, finally twisting you around to face him. His arms circled your waist, holding you securely, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to.

“And your interrogation tactics are crap,” you shot back, trying to mask your flustered state with sarcasm. Your hands instinctively slid up to rest on his shoulders, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“We’ll see about that,” he warned, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering as it flicked over your face.

You took a moment to really look at him, letting your eyes trace over every detail—the softness in his gaze, the faint smirk tugging at his lips, the roughness of his stubbled jaw that you knew would scrape deliciously against your skin. Your heart raced as you took him in, suddenly overwhelmed by how effortlessly gorgeous he was. “God, you’re handsome,” you blurted, your voice quiet but sure. “It’s unfair.”

His smirk deepened, though his expression remained serious. “Compliments will get you nowhere,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I will make you tell me.”

You considered his words, tilting your head as you let your nails trail lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe,” you said, your lips curving into a sly smile. “Maybe we can do it over dinner?”

Bucky’s brows raised slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face before he recovered, the smirk returning in full force. “Are you asking me out, or is this another attempt to dodge the question?”

“Maybe both,” you quipped, tugging him just a little closer, your noses nearly brushing.

His gaze softened, his arms tightening around you. “Dinner, huh?”

“Dinner,” you confirmed, your heart thundering as the word hung between you.

The look in his eyes told you he was already on board, but his voice stayed teasing as he finally replied. “Fine. Your place. I’ll bring the food. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against his, but your insides twisted with the promise of the conversation that awaited you. 

–

Instead of leaving work together, Bucky had, surprisingly, let you fend for yourself. You walked the few blocks back to your apartment with a jittery sensation that only grew more restless as you thought about how the night would unfold.

There was no avoiding it. Tonight, you'd have to talk about it, define your relationship once and for all, and you had no idea how it would play out. Or if you were prepared for it.

By the time you reached your door, you were wound so tight with nerves you were unable to sit still. You headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to lose yourself in the steady rhythm of baking. Soon, the rich scent of cinnamon and apples filled the small space, wrapping around you like a hug. The pie had barely cooled and you had just gotten finished spritzing your perfume when Bucky’s knock came at the door. You smoothed your hair one last time, and opened it with a breathless smile.

There he was. Casual, but devastating in his dark Henley and leather jacket, black jeans hugging his frame in all the right places. He had a bottle of whiskey tucked under one arm and a stack of takeout bags in the other—Thai food, from the place you’d offhandedly mentioned wanting to try. How did he remember it? You had no idea.

“You look nice,” he said, his voice soft, warm, and entirely too casual for the buzz of energy humming between you. His blue eyes swept over your frame, lingering just a second too long. You had thrown on a simple outfit after your shower—soft jeans and an oversized sweater that slid teasingly off one shoulder—but the way he looked at you made you feel like you were naked and exposed.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your cheeks heating as you lifted onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He tilted his head slightly, deepening it for just a moment, accepting the way your hands cupped his cheeks to keep him steady, before pulling back with a sigh.

He couldn’t resist giving you another once over, before he got distract. “What’s that smell?” Bucky asked as he stepped inside.

“Apple pie,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I figured I’d take care of dessert since you were handling dinner.”

His brows lifted. “Apple pie? That’s awfully domestic…”

You shrugged, feeling the blood heating up your cheeks. “Thought it might remind you of home—or, you know, simpler times.”

Bucky hummed, setting the food and whiskey down before reaching out and tugging on the hem of your sweater. “Looks good on you.”

“Domesticity or the sweater?” You joked, closing the door behind you and leaning on it as you watched him. It never failed to catch you off guard—how effortlessly he settled into your space. Dropping the bags on the counter, peeling off his gloves and jacket, rolling up his sleeves. He moved like a man who belonged, who knew he was home, as much as he refused to call it home. The sight of it stole your breath.

His lips quirked. “Both.”

Dinner was easy, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. He teased you about the mountain of spring rolls you’d pulled onto your plate (“Is that all for you, or am I allowed to have one?”), and you ribbed him right back for always stealing bites off your plate instead of sticking to his own. The laughter came easily, and for a while, the tension simmering under the surface felt like a distant echo.

That was, until Bucky leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from playful to intent.

“So,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Ready for the Spanish Inquisition?”

You groaned, your head dropping into your hands. “Oh, come on. Can’t you let me off the hook?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice laced with humor but his eyes sharp. “I already let you off. Twice.”

The covert mention of the night you broke down didn’t go unnoticed. Lifting your head, you rested your chin in your hand, meeting his steady blue gaze with a pout. The stare-off felt like a challenge—like you were daring him to back off while he silently willed you to break. The only question was who would give in first. And you had no doubt—it would be you.

You’d do anything Bucky Barnes asked you to. Sighing, you pushed back from the table and stood. “Fine. If you’re going to interrogate me, we’re at least going to make it fun.”

"Fun?" His tone was doubtful, but the slight twitch of his lips gave him away. "In my experience, interrogations usually involve dark rooms and torture."

"Not this one. As tempting as it’d be to watch you try all that Winter Soldier stuff on me—" You cut yourself off before saying too much. This was already giving away enough. "We’re playing Truth or Drink." You nodded toward the whiskey he’d brought. "Grab your liquor, Sergeant, and meet me in the living room."

You plopped down on the soft rug in front of your couch, crossing your legs, an arm leaning over the soft cushions as you settled in. The rug’s texture was a comfort beneath you, grounding you for what you suspected was about to be a very revealing game. Bucky followed, setting the whiskey and two glasses down on the coffee table before sitting across from you, all the way down the other side of the couch.

“You’re so far away,” you complained, leaning forward slightly.

“It’s on purpose,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t let you distract me. I’ve got a mission here.”

His teasing tone made your stomach flip, but you masked it with an exaggerated sigh, rolling your eyes as you reached for the whiskey bottle. “Fine, Barnes. Let’s get this over with.” You poured a generous amount into each glass and handed him one. “You wanna go first, or should I?”

“Ladies first,” he said smoothly.  Ever the gentleman—even when he was expertly deploying psychological and emotional blackmail.

Resigning yourself to your inevitable demise, you pretended to think, tapping a finger against your chin. “Alright. Tell me a story about you and Steve.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a question.”

“Fine. Would you please tell me a story about you and Steve?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a slow sip of whiskey. “What kind of story?”

“I don’t know... Something interesting. Something no one else knows. Something fun.”

For a moment, Bucky’s gaze drifted, lost somewhere in memories you’d never be able to touch. Then, a small, genuine smile pulled at his lips, and your chest ached at the sight of it. “Alright… Before the serum, before the whole ‘Star-Spangled Man with a Plan’ schtick, when he was just a scrawny kid, Steve used to put newspapers in his shoes to make himself look taller.”

You grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, well, not so adorable when it rained and he forgot to take them out.” Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “One time, we got caught in a downpour on the way to a dance. Steve walks in, shoes squelching, and suddenly the whole place smells like wet dog and cheap ink.” He chuckled, eyes shining. “God, the way people looked at him. I had to convince the bouncer we weren’t trying to stink up the joint on purpose.”

You laughed, watching the way his shoulders eased, the usual tension in his frame loosening as he let himself revel in a memory that didn’t hurt to hold onto.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Do you think Steve would’ve approved?”

Bucky blinked, confused. “Approved of what?”

“Us,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Me. Being with you.” You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the couch cushion. “I mean, we only met a few times before… y’know. And from everything I’ve heard, he was pretty protective of you.”

For a second, you thought he might deflect, but instead, Bucky’s answer was firm. Certain. “Yeah. Steve would’ve approved.”

Your heart did a little flip.

“He would’ve liked that you take care of me,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now, the burn of his unvoiced gratitude not going unnoticed.

Something inside you melted. “See, this is why you need to sit closer.” You scooted forward, shifting toward him. “I need to kiss you and I can’t.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, doll, but you’re not getting out of your turn that easily.”

You groaned. “Fine. What’s your question?”

“When was the last time you dated someone?” His eyes glinted with something unreadable, but his tone was casual. “Before... this.” He gestured again, this time between the two of you.

You scoffed. “That’s what you wanna know? Out of all the things?”

“Just answer the question, sweetheart.”

You groaned, pulling at the fluffy rug beneath you. “I don’t know, four, five years ago? I lost count. Last real relationship I had was before I got into this whole ‘girl in the chair’ thing. And it didn’t go well.”

Bucky frowned. “Why?”

“Communication issues,” you said vaguely, then sighed. “And the fact that he had a habit of sleeping with anything that breathed within a three-mile radius—except me. Which included both his best friends. And my roommate at the time.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up before he could school his expression back into something more neutral. “What do you mean ‘except you’?”

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “Exactly what it sounds like. He thought I wasn’t... good enough. Or at least not good enough for him.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, something dangerous flashing in his eyes, but before he could open his mouth, you cut in, “You’re overextending your turn, Sergeant. I’m the one asking questions now.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, visibly annoyed that he couldn’t dig deeper into that revelation, but he nodded. “Fine. Go ahead.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, eyeing him. “Did you really have a thing with Sarah?”

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back against the couch, exhaling like a man who’d just been handed a life sentence. “I knew you wouldn’t just let this go. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Sam.”

You grinned, biting back a laugh. “That’s not a no.”

Bucky rolled his head to the side to glare at you, but there was no real heat behind it. It made you want to kiss him. But then again, everything made you want to kiss him. “There was no thing,” he huffed, shifting so he was facing you more fully. “We flirted. That’s it. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, though the way you hugged your knees closer and half-smothered your smile into your arm made him smirk.

“Sure. You’re jealous, though.”

You wrinkled your nose. “So what if I was?”

Bucky hummed, his smirk widening as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something infuriatingly smooth. “It’s cute.”

“Ugh. Shut up.” You stretched your leg out, nudging his thigh with your foot to change the subject. “Your turn.”

Before you could pull away, Bucky’s hand wrapped around your ankle, firm but warm. In one effortless motion, he pulled your leg over his lap, drawing you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed absently against your shin as he settled back, casual as ever. But the way his fingers found the muscle of your calf—slow, deliberate, kneading just right—was anything but casual. A shiver ran up your spine. If he noticed, he didn’t say a word.

He stayed quiet long enough for your nerves to start creeping in. Then his grip tightened, just slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate. “Did you ever think we’d be a one-time thing?”

Your breath hitched. “Us?”

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your calf—deceptively nonchalant. But the way his touch set every nerve in your body on fire? Not even close.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “This… thing we’re doing. Did you think it’d last? Or did you go in thinking it was just for one night?”

You hesitated. Out of all the things he could’ve asked, this hadn’t even been on your radar.

“I…” You exhaled, shifting slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. How warm his hands were against your skin. “I never thought of it as a one-time thing.”

His gaze flickered—sharp, assessing, unreadable. “Why?”

You huffed, trying for annoyed, but it came out breathier than you wanted. “Why what?”

His smile was slow, knowing. “Why’d you think it’d be more?”

Your throat tightened. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading me.”

“Why?”

“Because some things need to stay a secret.” You swallowed. “Some things… you don’t need to know. It’s too much.”

His grin widened, dark amusement curling at the edges. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You curled your fingers into the rug beneath you. “Fine.” The word felt heavier than it should. “Just don’t be mad if you don’t like it.” You pressed on before he could interrupt. “This, you… it was never something I could walk away from.”

His fingers stilled—just for a second—before resuming those slow, maddening circles. “And that’s a bad thing?”

You scoffed, mostly to deflect. “For me? Yeah.”

His thumb pressed deeper into your skin. “Why?”

You sighed, dropping your head back against the couch before meeting his gaze again. "Because I got attached. One kiss, and I was already in too deep. And now? Now, I don’t know how to want you halfway. If you had only ever wanted me for a night, I would’ve taken it. Even if it broke me.” Your voice quieted. “And now we’re here, and it’s been months, and if this goes wrong—” You swallowed hard. “If you suddenly realize you don’t want this, or me, or that it's all too much— I don’t think I’d come out the other side in one piece.”

Bucky didn’t speak right away. Just watched you, unreadable as ever. Then, his thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of your knee, sending another shiver down your spine. “I know”, he said after a moment. Then, softer—raw, stripped of bravado:

“That’s what scares me.”

His words burned, low and true, cutting deeper than you expected. It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t doubt. It was something else entirely.

It was honesty.

And in that moment, you felt it—the shift. He was cracking open, piece by piece, letting you see the soft, bleeding parts of him that no one else had ever touched.

He let you see him. All of him. Let you peer in for as long as you wanted, as if he had made peace with it. That there was no wall you couldn’t bring down, so he just accepted it.

And maybe that was the real weight of it. Not the sex, not his past, not your willingness, but this—this terrifying, aching certainty that he could ruin you. That you’d let him. That if he asked, you would lay yourself bare at his feet and never ask for anything in return. He knew that if he asked, you would give him everything. Every last piece of yourself, until he was whole and you were the one bleeding.

Silence stretched between you, thick and humming. His eyes stayed locked onto yours, searching, waiting. And you realized—this was the test. Not the chase, not the tension, not even the words you hadn’t yet spoken. The test was whether you could hold his gaze, whether you could sit in the weight of this moment and not look away.

Your breath came shallow, chest tight, but you didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

Not when his fingers curled just a little tighter on your thigh, like he was feeling the way you trembled. Not when his gaze flickered down, tracing the shape of your lips, the quickening pulse at your throat, the way your body betrayed you in ways your words refused to.

His voice was softer this time, but no less intense. “You know… I don’t do halfway either.”

Damn him.

The air between you turned electric. Your pulse hammered against your ribs, a warning and an invitation all at once.

“Bucky…” Your voice barely cleared a whisper, but he heard it. His fingers slid a little higher, grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh.

“What?” His tone was laced with challenge, teasing, but his eyes—his eyes were dark. Intent.

You let out a shaky breath. “Don’t… don’t play with me, okay?”

His smirk faltered, something shifting in his expression. “Is that what you think? That I don’t feel the same way? That this is some kind of game?”

“I don’t know.” You swallowed. “You’re hard to read.”

“I’m easier than you think.”

You shook your head. “I can’t read you right now.”

Bucky hummed, tilting his head slightly as you shifted, letting your arm rest against the couch behind him, seeking another point of contact. Your fingers slipped into the soft strands at the nape of his neck—an experiment, really. His lashes fluttered shut, just for a second, and your stomach flipped. Gravity, that’s what he was. A force pulling you in, impossible to resist. God, you wanted to climb into his lap and devour him whole.

“You can read me,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re just scared you’ll see something you can’t ignore.”

Your heart pounded. “You always say that… Like you’re so sure I’ll wake up one day and decide you're a monster.” Your voice was quieter now. “That I'll finally see you the way you see yourself. It's not going to happen, Bucky.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He finally looked at you, his voice quieter now, but no less sure. “I mean… you’ll finally let yourself believe I feel the same way about you as you do about me.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe right. His words settled deep, threading into places you weren’t ready to touch—places that made you want too much, feel too much. It was too honest, too real, and if you let yourself linger there, you might drown in it.

So, you did the only thing you could. You swerved.

You sucked in a breath, forcing a smirk. “You really gotta stop saying things like that.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Like what?”

“Like… things that make my heart feel like it’s about to explode.” You made a vague, fluttery motion near your chest. “It’s very inconsiderate. You should warn a girl before you go throwing around words like that.”

Bucky huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh, but he didn’t take the bait. His gaze stayed steady, unyielding, like he was waiting for you to actually sit with what he’d just said.

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, you let a wicked grin curled at your lips, a lifeline in dangerous waters. “Okay, I have a good one.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, wary but intrigued. “Go on.”

You bit your lip, leaning in like you had a secret too tempting to resist. “That first night we had sex… was that your first time since the ’40s?”

For half a second, he just blinked at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually left your mouth. Then, with a groan, he tipped his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ.”

He laughed, but you caught the way the tops of his ears tinged red, his cheeks following suit. “That bad, huh?”

You gasped, swatting at his chest. “I never said that.”

He smirked, reaching for his drink. “Can you get me another one? I might not recover from this.”

You laughed, fingers curling tighter in his hair before dragging down the back of his neck, feeling the way he shivered under your touch. “If I tell you the truth about it, your ego will get so big we’ll both suffocate in this room.” You tilted his chin up with a knuckle, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. “Come on, tell me.”

He took a slow sip of his drink, but you saw through him. He was stalling, rolling the words around in his head, figuring out how much to give away. Your heart picked up pace, watching the way his jaw worked, the way his fingers flexed.

Finally, he exhaled. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter. “It was.”

You swallowed, lips parting, but before you could respond, he continued.

“I didn’t even remember how good it felt. Not until—” Bucky sighed, leaning back into your touch as if it steadied him.

“Until?” You urged him on, your nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

“Until I had you naked under me, wrapped around my fingers.” His eyes darkened, and his voice dipped lower, sending a shiver down your spine. “You were so wet and so… warm. When I—”

“I remember,” you cut him off, voice barely above a whisper, pressing your mouth to his shoulder to ground yourself.

And you did. You remembered the way he had frozen, realization crashing over him like a wave, the way his breath had hitched when he finally understood what it would feel like to be inside you. The memory sent a delicious shudder through you, and when you glanced down, you found his hand still on your leg, fingers tracing absentminded circles over your skin.

“So do I,” he admitted, his laugh coming out breathy, almost disbelieving. “Thought about it more times than I’d like to admit.”

You bit your lip, sliding your palm over his stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “You don’t have to just think. You can do it again,” you murmured. “Anytime. Anything you want, you can do it to me. You know that, right?”

His breath hitched, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, holding you captive. In that moment, you understood—he wasn’t letting you slip away. Every dodge, every joke, every attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere, he unraveled it effortlessly, guiding you right back to where he wanted you. "Why do you offer me so much?" His voice was low, edged with something unsteady. "Your body. Your trust. Why do you give yourself to me so freely?" The illusion of a lighthearted game shattered, the bourbon forgotten on the table, its amber warmth abandoned in favor of something far stronger—the charged air between you. It pulsed with the weight of everything you refused to admit, with the inevitability of what came next.

It felt like being caught in a storm’s eye, a vacuum where time stretched and condensed, where the world outside ceased to exist. There was only this moment, this man, and the unrelenting gravity of his presence. You could either surrender and give him the truth he was so keen to obtain, or wait for him to relent, to spare you, to step back and let you escape once more.

But you knew—God, you knew—he wouldn’t. His gaze was unwavering, his body coiled with the kind of patience that promised he could outlast you. He would outlast you. He had outlasted every single person in his life, why would you be any different? He wasn’t just waiting; he was chasing, methodical and unshakable.

And you? You were already lost. Because deep down, past all the resistance, you knew there was only one ending to this. You would give in. You would tell him what he wanted to hear.

Because how could you not?

Your chest tightened under the weight of his stare, each word peeling you open. "I want you to take it. To have me." The confession felt too vast, too exposed, but you forced yourself to continue. "You always hold back. Always deny yourself of everything good. I don’t want that for us. If you—if you don’t want this, it won’t be because I never gave you the choice."

His expression didn’t waver. “Is that the only reason?”

“I—” Your inhale was shaky, your eyes searching his.

“Do you only want this because you think I need something to hold on to?”

“No.” The word ripped from your throat, immediate, your head shaking, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “No, Bucky. That’s not… I don’t want to be some rehabilitation for you. I want to be with you. All of you.” 

Your fingers twisted into his shirt, clinging to the fabric like a lifeline, like letting go would unravel you completely. “You don’t understand… I chose you, even when you never asked to be chosen.” A breathless, humorless laugh escaped you, sharp and fragile all at once. “But I couldn’t help it. With you, it’s like I finally—” You exhaled shakily, searching for the words, for air, for him. “Like it’s finally right. It fits. We fit. It’s like I was always meant for this. Meant for you.”

The confession scraped against your ribs, raw and aching, and you blinked hard, forcing back the sting behind your eyes. “I’ve never felt like this. For anyone. Never trusted anyone enough to—to let myself be claimed, to be theirs” Your voice barely held, a whisper on the edge of breaking. “But with you, it just… happened. You looked at me and it was over. I want you to be the one I belong to.”

Bucky’s lips parted, his breath shallow, but his voice was firm. Certain. “Because you love me.”

The moment he said it, you felt it—the trap snapping shut around you with perfect precision. You had to hand it to him; he was a damn good interrogator. You hadn’t even suspected that this was where he was leading you. Your breath hitched, emotions rising too fast to control, clawing at your throat like something primal, something desperate. His hand was still on your ankle, grounding, waiting. But he let you move, sensing the shift, the way your body coiled like a spring, the way your lips trembled as you fought against the inevitable.

“You’re not being fair,” you choked out, voice cracking as you turned your face away from his unwavering gaze.

“I just want to hear it, doll.”

Your chest ached. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers curling into the fabric of your own sweater like you could hold yourself together if you just squeezed hard enough. “You know why I can’t.”

“I actually don’t.”

“You’ll leave. It’ll be too much…” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “You’ll run. And I don’t want to lose you because of my stupid feelings.”

Silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating. The air felt electric, charged with everything you weren’t saying. When you finally dared to look at him, his expression was unreadable, something soft, something searching. And then, just the slightest tilt of his lips—sad, knowing.

“Doll…” His fingers trailed slowly up your calf, not teasing this time, but tethering. A lifeline. “I’m here.”

“Until when?” The question was a wound, raw and bleeding. The first tear slipped free before you could stop it. The second followed before you even realized it was there. Bucky’s grip faltered, his fingers tightening—then loosening—like the words had landed somewhere deep, somewhere fragile.

Then, he let out a rough, breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Until you’re done with me.” His voice was quiet, resigned. Like he already knew the ending to this story before it ever happened. “Until you don’t love me anymore. Until you realize what a mess I am and find someone better.”

Your breath stuttered, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt. “There’s no one better. No one else.”

You didn’t push him away when he reached for you, cradling the back of your neck with steady, careful hands. His touch was warm, unshakable. The kiss that followed was a collision—of fear, of longing, of too many unspoken things. It was salty with tears, but it tasted sweeter than anything you’d ever known. Bucky cupped your face, thumbs chasing away the stubborn wetness on your cheeks, lips moving slow, deliberate, like he had something to prove to you. And you let him. You let him tilt your head back, let him drag a hand down the length of your throat, let yourself drown in the sensation of him.

He tasted like bourbon and longing and home, and you drank him in like he was the only thing keeping you alive. 

You couldn’t get enough.

Not when he pulled you onto his lap, not when he tangled a hand in your hair and tipped his head back against the couch, letting you take what you wanted—what you both wanted. Not when your kisses turned frantic, desperate, until your lips were bruised and swollen from the way you couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop.

“You ready to tell me now?” His voice was a rasp against your lips, breathless, hungry. His fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck, his free hand dragging under your sweater, fingers mapping the heat of your skin. “I wanna hear it, sweetheart. Do you know how badly—” he pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, “—how badly I’ve wanted to hear it? Since that night at my apartment? You were crying for me, and I—”

He was unraveling. And so were you.

You barely had time to react before he moved, pressing you down against the rug, his hands burning paths down your thighs as he spread them open, pressing himself against you, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he hovered above you.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded. “You want me to take what I want, don’t you? You want me to claim you? This is it, sweetheart. This is what I want.”

Your breath caught. This version of him—raw, unfiltered, pleading—it stunned you into silence. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his name barely more than a whimper on your lips as his mouth found your skin again, leaving bruises, leaving proof.

Your hands were trembling, your pulse a thunderous rhythm beneath your skin. Fear curled in your belly, a living thing, coiling tight around your ribs, squeezing your lungs. You had never been so afraid of words before, of the weight they carried, of the way they could change everything in an instant.

“C’mon, sweetheart, say it,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper against your lips. His hands gripped your waist, grounding himself in the reality of you, as if touch alone wasn’t enough. “I already know, doll. I just—I need to hear it.”

His voice was softer this time, but no less commanding, no less desperate. His eyes searched yours, stormy and endless, as if he were trying to commit you—this moment—to memory, afraid you might slip through his fingers like sand.

His breath hitched, fingers tightening ever so slightly, his forehead pressing against yours. “Give me something real,” he rasped, his voice thick, aching. “Let me hold onto it.”

“James—”

“Say it.” His voice cracked, a raw, broken thing, like he was shattering before your eyes. “Please, doll. I’m begging you.”

Your lungs burned, your heart a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, an erratic melody of terror and longing. Your throat closed around the words, refusing to let them go, but you knew—God, you knew—you couldn’t hold them in any longer. Not when he was looking at you like that. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“I love you,” you finally breathed, the confession slipping from your lips like an exhale, fragile and trembling. 

The effect on him was instant, visceral, breathtaking.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of disbelief, of something breaking and rebuilding all at once in his expression. His hand tightened at the nape of your neck, his forehead falling to rest against yours as if the weight of your words had stolen his balance. His breath was uneven, shuddering against your lips, and for a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held you there in the space between heartbeats.

His lips parted, but no words came out—not at first. His breath hitched, his fingers curling slightly against your skin like he was afraid to let go. Then, finally, in a voice so raw it nearly shattered you, he whispered, "Say it again."

“I love you.”

[onceinablueberrymoon]

I don’t know if you’re doing smut, but if you do, how about the reader is a recruiter like the salesman and there together and how would he be with you in the Bed! (He’s a total psycho for me hehe)

salesman x recruiter!reader headcanons (sfw + nsfw)

sorry for the super long wait! i did headcanons for this one since i’m not the most comfortable w hardcore smut. if you’ve read my stories, you probably already know i’m a sucker for soft and domestic salesman lmao

notes: gender-neutral!reader; the recruiter is called salesman here since reader is also a recruiter here

warnings, just in case: mentions of whips, guns, slight exhibitionism

minors dni! there’s smut in this one, folks

(also pls send me requests! i’m working on the ones i’ve already received, but more are always welcome♡ not just for the salesman either, i am begging anything sangwoo too) 

sfw

if the reader is also a recruiter, you’d have probably met the salesman just after becoming a recruiter yourself. 

while the salesman’s game of choice was ddakji, yours was tic-tac-toe. 

similar to the salesman who carried ddakji tiles and various bills of won, your briefcase contained a simple wooden frame and wooden ‘x’ and ‘o’ pieces. 

when you first met, he was polite and courteous towards you.

as time went on though, you felt as if you were being followed after work hours. one morning however, you’d caught him following you and confronted him, saying that his assigned location wasn’t anywhere near yours.

stunned that you had discovered him, he offered to have lunch together, which you accepted. the two of you started to grow closer, with both of you checking in on each other via text throughout the day. 

even though you and the salesman would rarely cross paths during work, you always made time for each other after work. 

this man can be soft when he wants to be. from cutely pouting when he loses at board games to snuggling in bed after a long day of slapping people, he’s capable of being a loving partner when he feels like it. he just didn’t have someone to share that side of him until you came along.

that’s not to say he doesn’t have a dark side. of course he does! that’s what we’re all here for, right?

nsfw

you always knew the salesman had interesting… tendencies. 

although you also played games while seeking out prospective players, you didn’t bring that part of your life home. that is, until you met the salesman.

you quickly learned that he loved games. so much so that he’d incorporated them into your sex life.

what game haven’t you played by this point? 

tag, where he chased you around his apartment until he eventually pinned you down and had his way with you.

marco polo, where he shouted “marco!”, to which you replied “polo!” from your hiding spot. he’d then crack his whip in the direction in which you called.

tug of war, where you’d both tug on a special rope he’d bought just for the occasion. he’d usually win, unless he took it easy on you. the winner would use the rope to tie the loser’s hands to the bedpost.

and of course, when he was feeling spicy, his favourite: russian roulette. while he rarely loaded the gun with a live bullet, he thrived on the fear in your eyes when he pressed the gun against your chin and clicked the trigger. 

of course, he’d do it to himself too, even going so far as to deepthroat the gun. even though you were scared out of your mind, you had to admit it was a huge turn-on.

contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t always the one in charge.

you also had your fun, like when you would play with one of those paper fortune-tellers you made when you were a kid.

depending on what “fortune” he had chosen, you’d do different things to him.

for example, if he chose “slow”, “teasing”, and “cockwarming,” you’d do exactly that. you’d tie him to the bedpost, then teasingly grind down on him for as long as you wanted. no amount of frustrated groans or the rare whine would get you to stop your actions. of course, you’d capture his lips to muffle his moans. while he loved making sure that your neighbours could hear you through the walls, you preferred not to have an audience.

finally, he’d take the utmost care in helping you clean up afterwards. as much as he would love to show your ruined state off to the world, you had to be presentable for your job.

you’d try your best to care for him as well, buying expensive lotions for his calloused hands. 

all in all, you made a great team, both in the streets and in the sheets.

i am very proud of that last line ngl

[azrielbrainrot]

Moonlit Shadows - Act II

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old forgotten ruins, if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever.

Tropes/Tags: Star Crossed Lovers (in a way), Forbidden Romance, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, some Angst with a Happy Ending

Warnings: hints of angst, tiny bit suggestive, making out?

Word Count: 8,7k

Rating: 18+

Notes: This part was running even longer than the first one so I split it into two parts and my plans for this story to only have 3 parts have changed into 4. I can't help myself in adding little details to this story, I love these two so much. Also just realized how long it has been since the first part, I'm so sorry for how long it took. Hope you enjoy!

Act I

It's almost unbelievable how much life can change within two weeks, to the point Azriel can hardly remember what it was like to live without a mate, without you. This is only the third time he has come to the temple after you agreed to give the bond a try, and he's already eternally glad you did. Sitting on the steps to the temple, watching the sun set over the mountain while his mate told him about her life was now a normal occurrence. He truly couldn't believe his luck.

Not even a month ago, Azriel would have spent the time he had between missions either training himself to exhaustion or simply doing some more spy work behind his High Lord's back. Every family dinner or outing was plagued by his cruel thoughts, always murmuring about his unworthiness while he watched his friends happy and in love, never allowing him a moment of reprieve. But now he got to meet his mate, talk to her for hours and learn her innermost thoughts. By the Mother, he was even contemplating asking Rhys for some time off for the first time in his life so he could see you more often.

“It's impossible to get tired of this view,” you murmur, taking in the barely visible sun rays as the sky turns different shades of pink and orange. As cliché as it sounds, Azriel thought the same thing as he watched you.

He manages to drag his eyes away from your beautiful, peaceful face, studying the view you'd shared with him. You were right, this view could easily rival Velaris at night. Since the temple sat at the top of the mountain, you could see the entire forest from here, and, as beautiful as the sunset had been, he knows the moonlight brings out the true beauty of this place, and yours as well. It's almost unbelievable how you could become even more captivating than you already were, he could hardly take his eyes off you when the moon rays were shining down on you, reflecting on your white hair and adding an even more intense twinkle to your white, silvery eyes.

“How long have you been living here?”

“Almost four hundred years,” you say, nibbling on the biscuits the temple provided at the wave of your hand. He had learned the temple shared a similar spell to the House of Wind and Rhys' cabin. “I was almost thirty when I came.”

The thought of you locked in this temple for that long brings up memories of the dark cell his father kept him in when he was a child, but he tries to shake them away quickly. You were here of your own free will, and as far as he could tell you rather enjoyed living in the temple. This place couldn't be compared to the cell he'd been in any way.

He hopes you didn't catch where his thoughts went, this bond is hard to control most of the time and feelings often filter through unattended. It's because of the feelings the bond brings up that he often finds himself thinking of those moments he has been trying to forget for centuries as well. It almost feels like the bond is prying open everything he has kept locked away, wanting to lay him bare before his mate.

Still, it was hard to believe that you would be completely satisfied living hidden away, no matter how shiny your cage or how fulfilling your role in the temple was. He enjoys his quiet time a lot more than the average person, something even his family doesn't understand at times, but he can't imagine what it's like to live alone for centuries, with no one's company but your own. Azriel couldn't have survived with only his thoughts as company, not when his mind is such an ugly place, even his duty wouldn't keep him alive then.

You smile up at him before he has the chance to put his worries into the right words. “I know what you're thinking. It gets lonely up here, I can't deny that, and I know I've missed a lot of experiences over the course of my life, some that I might never get the chance to relive, but I've always been happy up here.”

“Do you have any family left? Friends?”

“No. Any friends I had before coming here have probably long forgotten about me, some might not even be alive anymore,” you look at him then, hesitation making itself known in your tone and mannerisms. He might have overstepped without meaning to.

“My parents passed away a few decades ago. They came to visit me as much as they could, and we'd send each other letters every few weeks. They came by to spend every Solstice and birthday with me.” You let out a small laugh, “Once they had a little fight and my mom just showed up here with a bag full of clothes and a couple boxes of cupcakes.” You look down at your hands, a lump forming in your throat, “They're the ones I miss the most.”

“I'm sorry.”

There was a tight feeling coiling around his chest, but he can't quite pinpoint if it was his own response to you being sad or if your feelings were bleeding into his own. All he knew is that he wanted to put a smile back on your face.

“It's okay. They were both close to a millennia old and lived their life to the fullest. I would have liked to be with them in their final moments, but it wouldn't have changed anything.”

“Is it really impossible for you to leave? Even at times like those?”

You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the emotion talking about your parents' deaths evoked. “Yes, being bound to the temple is part of the oath I made. I'm not entirely sure what would happen if I actually managed to break the wards, but I would lose my powers and wouldn't be able to come back at the very least.”

The emphasis you put into the final words told him you thought more would happen. Breaking an oath with a God could very well be fatal, since even a regular bargain made between fae can take someone's life if not fulfilled. He feels a string tightening around his heart as it usually does when he's reminded of your predicament. You will never leave this temple, and, as much as he wants to respect your wishes, he can't help but mourn what your life could have been, what the two of you could have been. There's so much he wishes he could show you, beautiful places he wants to take you to, and people he wishes you could meet.

“There were times when it was hard to be stuck here.” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts, finding you've turned around, sitting cross-legged as you face him. “Obviously it was hard when my parents died, though the Goddess allowed their ashes to be brought to me so I could scatter them on this mountain,” your eyes travel to his wings, lingering on a few scars that will never leave the leathery skin, “I think it was even harder to bear when Amarantha came into Prythian and imprisoned the High Lords, and then when the war with Hybern broke out.”

You let silence fall between you for a few moments, eyes falling down onto your hands, kneading your left palm with your thumb as the first rays of moonlight made the aura around you more noticeable, a faint white light glowing around your entire body. He hopes it's not sacrilegious to think so, but you truly looked like a Goddess in this moment. His eyes fall onto your hands as well, debating on reaching to hold them in his warm ones when you resume your explanation.

“This power the Goddess shared with me has made me very strong, enough so that She leaves the protection of the temple entirely to me, but the biggest downside is that I can't help outside these wards,” you look up into his eyes then, regret lacing into your words, “I could have helped you. If the oath that gave me these powers didn't include staying in this temple, I could have tried to placate Amarantha before she could take everyone Under the Mountain, or at the very least fight alongside you during the war. A lot of people wouldn't have lost their lives if I could have helped.”

He understands what you mean, he has fought even while injured multiple times, during this war even, not willing to stop when he knows he can help even if it cost him his life, so he knows that watching from afar knowing you could have made a difference had to have been extremely frustrating, but he also can't help but feel selfishly glad you weren't there. The war had been bloody and cruel, if he could he would shield you from that sight if it was the last thing he did.

“You said it was Fate that decided you were supposed to live in this temple and protect it, right?” You nod, confusion written on your face. “Then it wasn't your place to be in the war. The temple was written into your life, and the war was written into ours. There's nothing we can do to change our fate.”

He seems to have said the right thing as you watch his face, the pained expression you previously wore slowly being replaced with a happier one, a smile even making its way into your lips, not quite as bright as before but a good start nonetheless.

“I still wish I could have gone,” you say, a twinkle in your eye, “maybe then you would have been written into my life sooner.”

Azriel had never found himself blushing as often as he does when he's around you in the five hundred years he's been alive. The worst part is it seems like you're not doing it on purpose. You keep complimenting him, showing him how much you enjoy having him in your life effortlessly, as if it's simply in your nature. Still, he can clearly see how much you enjoy the fact that you can bring him to this state so easily, a proud expression obvious on your face as you watch color take over the tips of his ears. Luckily for him, it's extremely easy to turn you into a bashful mess as well.

He shifts his weight onto his palm, leaning closer to you, a swift and fast movement, that of a trained soldier. Your sweet, intoxicating scent assaults him instantly, images of how he would let it intertwine with his own invading his mind for a treacherous moment - the mating bond seldom lets him have a moment of peace. Your breath hitches under his attention, wide eyes locked onto his.

“We've been written into each other's lives from the moment we were born, before our world was created even.” Your eyes travel down to his lips for a beat, the movement was quick enough that he might have mistaken it if it weren't for your proximity. It brings a satisfied smile to his lips as he adds, “whether at the temple or on that battlefield I would have found my way to you. That I can promise you.”

The reaction you give him is nothing short of delicious. Mouth slightly agape as you struggle to maintain eye contact at his confession, the wild rhythm of your heartbeat ringing in his ears and down the bond. He decides to push his luck a bit and test the waters, leaning even closer, enough so that your warm breath meets his skin, eyes dropping to your lips before stealing a cookie from the plate that sat beside you, straightening up as he brings it to his mouth, giving you space once more. He can't help the smile from growing when he hears your intake of breath, eyes dropping to your lap and hands smoothing down your skirt as you try to regain composure.

On one hand, he almost feels bad for teasing you like this, knowing there's a big difference in how you have both led your lives up to this point, even if you're relatively close in age. He would also hate to make you feel actually uncomfortable in any way. But, on the other hand, he wants nothing more than to whisper the most depraved things he wants to do to you so he can watch desire take over your face, so he can erase any semblance of innocence away. Although knowing exactly how experienced or not you are will end up being pertinent information if you both choose to keep chasing this bond, Azriel decides to take mercy on you tonight and change the subject.

“What was your life like before coming here?”

Looking up at him with tinted cheeks and wide eyes, you blink a few times, taking you a moment to answer, probably not expecting him to ask you a question so soon or too lost in your thoughts - he briefly wonders if they're any similar to his. Azriel can almost feel the bond purring, that ancient, inexplicable tether delighted at both your reaction and his playfulness, at your closeness.

“I'd say I used to live a pretty normal life,” you start, focusing on his shadows as they played over the steps, still too embarrassed to keep his gaze, “I used to live in a fairly small town, one of those where everyone knows each other and nothing too exciting ever happens,” a nostalgic smile takes over your lips, remembering your childhood. Azriel wishes he could take you back there, have you show him around the place where you grew up.

“My parents owned a small bakery so I helped them around before coming here. I liked baking with them, I wasn't too bad at it either, though the early schedule wasn't my favorite, I always liked sleeping in.” You seem lost in thought for a moment before shrugging and continuing, “Outside of that I had a few friends and a couple of lovers… nothing special.”

Azriel tries to ignore the sick twist of jealousy he feels at the mention of past lovers, knowing it's completely unfair to you, and irrelevant to your relationship now, but that damned bond doesn't know the first thing about rationality. Rhysand wasn't kidding when he said the mating bond grates, at times it was almost suffocating.

“One of the things I miss the most from those times are my parents' pastries,” you pout slightly, a playful glint in your eyes, “I may be biased but they were delicious.”

“It might not be the same, but I can bring you some from Velaris,” he offers. “The bakeries in town are always putting out new delicious things. I'm sure you would love them.”

“I'd like that very much, Azriel,” you say, that blinding smile he loves so much returning to your lips, a smile of his own mirroring yours. His name sounds like heaven, hell, and everything in between falling from your lips.

“Next time I'll bring you some of my favorites,” he pauses, a thought occurring to him as he tilts his head, “Actually, I don't have too much of a sweet tooth so I'll bring you Cassian's favorites instead. I think you would much prefer the chocolate covered cakes he likes to eat than my lemon tarts.”

“It's a deal then,” you nod at him, extending your hand for him to take, Azriel doesn't resist even for a second, letting you shake his hand as if you were in fact making a business transaction. “And if you come empty-handed I might put in a word with the Goddess and not let you in.” He lets out a chuckle, squeezing your hand before reluctantly letting go, missing the warmth of your palm against his immediately. To think there would come a day where he would actually want someone to keep holding his hand.

“You can bring some of your lemon tarts too, I want to try what you like first,” you tilt your head, “but you're right, my favorite is always chocolate.”

Azriel chuckles, “Both it is.”

The rest of your time together is spent much like this, talking for hours about any and everything. By the time he forces himself to tell you he needs to go back to Velaris, the moon was already ready to make its way for the sun once more, and your eyelids were significantly heavier, trying your hardest to ignore your fatigue in favor of staying with him for as long as possible.

He never knows what to do or say when it's time to say goodbye to you. It's abundantly clear that neither of you want him to leave. There's also always a part of him that fears he won't be able to come back, that for whatever reason the Goddess decides he's not in need of the temple anymore and the wards keep him out of your reach.

Aside from that, your relationship has been walking the line between platonic and romantic from the first day. You wanted to keep your heart and his as safe as possible given the entire situation. He couldn't fault you for that, but that meant you were stuck acting like friends, as if a mating bond wasn't connecting your bodies and souls, and because of it Azriel couldn't grab your cheeks and kiss you like he's been desperately dreaming of, even though your eyes find themselves entranced by his lips as often as the other way around.

As he gets lost in thought, wondering how your lips would taste, your eyes drop to his shadows, unaware of it all. Dark wisps moving from his own natural shadow cast by the moonlight to yours, some of the bravest, more disobedient ones even swirling up to your ankles tentatively. At least they were still being respectful.

“They like me,” you smile brightly down at them.

Like is not a strong enough word to describe his shadows' feelings when it comes to you. At times it's even hard to make them focus on their job as they sit and wonder what you're up to in the temple. Part of this might be his fault since he has always used them to spy on anyone he needed to, and now he's finding it hard to explain to these beings, who struggle with social cues as it is, that spying is a breach of privacy, something he only does because it's his job, and the last thing he would ever do to you, so they can't go and check on you simply because he misses you every second of the day.

Apart from that they've also taken to giving him romantic advice - which has been disturbing to say the least, - whispering words into his ear that they think you would like to hear, trying to guide him to the flowers or pastries they somehow know you prefer as he passes by the market street, even pushing him to sing to you. They go as far as trying to convey their own feelings to you through him, whispering praises in his ear, and in turn making the bond inside him wish he could send his own shadows on a trip to the bottom of the ocean never to return.

“Yes, I think they do,” he says defeatedly as he watches one of his impertinent shadows travel up to your hand, swirling around it as you bring it up closer to your face for inspection. He can't wait to hear how delighted it is of gaining your attention.

“Shouldn't they hide from the light?”

Azriel takes a step closer, holding your hand and ordering the shadows to cross over to his body so he can have this moment with you. Raising his hand up to your cheek, scarred thumb caressing your soft skin as he murmurs, “Not from yours.”

The irony of his mate being someone who quite literally glowed in the dark wasn't lost on him. For some reason, the fact only further proved you were made for each other in his mind. It's almost like the Mother was telling him that no matter how dark his soul was, it would never diminish your light as it glowed ever eternal alongside your Goddess.

“I really have to go now.”

It pains him to say it, but he's already going to be late and that'll raise questions he's been trying very hard to avoid. It was enough of a miracle that Rhys hadn't told anyone - outside of Feyre of course - that Azriel had found his mate, and he would like to keep it that way for as long as possible. They would ask him too many questions he wouldn't know how to answer, and, admittedly, he also wants to avoid the teasing comments while the bond is so fresh - nothing good can come out of giving Cassian and Nesta a way to make him blush with only a couple of words.

“Alright,” you smile up at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. Every time he has to leave you behind, he considers giving up everything and moving to this temple with you.

You raise on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek, his eyes closing as a shudder runs through him, wings coiling tighter into his back. His other hand comes up to the other side of your face, his lips falling upon your forehead as a wave of satisfaction rushes his side of the bond. Both of your hearts beating wildly as he steps away slowly and starts walking closer to the edge of the stairs.

“I'll come back as soon as possible,” he promises one more time before taking flight.

“I know, Azriel. I'll be waiting.”

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The unmistakable feeling of someone passing through the barrier rushes over you, sending your heart racing immediately. For a moment you think it's Azriel coming by unannounced, a smile breaking out on your lips as you get up to your feet, but a quick look into the bond that lays dormant inside you is enough to tell you he's still in Velaris, far away from the temple.

Your smile drops and a wave of sadness washes over you, freezing you in place, heart dropping at the reminder of the distance that lays between you and your mate, of the days you'll still have to endure alone before his next visit.

You feel movement again, now closer to the top steps, and shake yourself out of unwanted thoughts, pushing them all to the back of your mind as you shake any stray cookie crumbs from your trousers. If it isn't Azriel coming to see you then it's definitely someone coming to visit the temple, and you have a duty to fulfill.

It's only been a few weeks since Azriel first came looking for the temple, you've never had visitors showing up so close together. They're usually few and far in between, leaving you on your own atop the mountain for years at a time as the rumors about the temple die off among most of the population. The prospect of seeing someone again so soon has excitement rushing through your veins, completely overshadowing the solemn feelings from before.

You walk to the mirror, quickly checking your appearance before winnowing straight to the top of the stairs, catching your new visitor by surprise as she walks towards the temple slowly. The gasp she lets out when she spots you waiting for her brings a bigger smile to your lips, making you almost giddy as you cross your hands behind your back.

“Welcome to the Temple of the Moon. I'm the keeper and sole habitant of this temple and I've been tasked to keep it safe from any possible threats as well as helping anyone the Goddess deems worthy of being shown the way, just like you have.”

The well rehearsed speech comes to you naturally, the words flowing effortlessly from your mouth as you take in your visitor's wonder, curious eyes taking in the beautiful place. Of course she didn't have any speech rehearsed but it might as well have been since her next words mirror everyone else's when they arrive.

“I never knew there was a temple here,” the awe in her face brings you the usual sense of pride.

“It's a bit of a secret,” you wink at her, walking closer to the temple, motioning with your hand for her to follow you.

“My grandmother used to say these mountains were the most beautiful place in Prythian so I wanted to spread her ashes here, but I always thought she meant the actual mountains,” she muses. “This place is breathtaking.”

“The temple is hidden behind a powerful spell. I'm afraid when talking about this day your memories will be somewhat limited,” you explain softly as you lead her to the gardens in the back, the perfect view for her grandmother's final resting place.

As you go through the usual explanation, you realize you truly skipped most of it when it came to Azriel's first visit, though you still think you did better than expected given the circumstances. It's easy to forget your own name or any rehearsed speeches when you find yourself face to face with your mate.

The rest of the visit goes by fairly quickly. You lead her to the gardens and let her choose the perfect place among the flowers and trees, helping her spread the ashes as instructed, saying a quick prayer and then allowing her a moment to grieve, standing off to the side while still keeping a watchful eye over everything.

You can't help but let your eyes wander to the spot where you had spread your parents' ashes, the tears lining the young fae's eyes reminding you of the countless ones you had spilled as you went through the same. Over the years you've grown somewhat accustomed to their absence, - never fully, you've long since accepted that would be impossible, - but recent events have made you bitterly aware of it.

You wished you could tell your parents you had found your mate, would give anything to feel the anxiety of introducing them to Azriel. Now you can only imagine nervously writing them a letter, telling them all about the charming fae the Mother had chosen for you. They would show up at the temple the next day, not even the Goddess would be able to keep your mother from meeting her daughter's fated mate. Gods, they would have loved him.

A weak sigh escapes you. Nothing could take away the pain of losing a loved one, but you hope that the thought that her grandmother now lies within the temple's walls will lessen her grief even if just for a moment.

It's time to accompany her back to the stairs in no time, her tearful thanks and goodbyes echoing over the entrance hall. Watching the young fae descend the steps brings you a sense of accomplishment as usual, but this time there's an annoyingly acute emptiness growing inside you, tainting it.

Most visitors don't linger in the temple, only getting what they came for before going on their way, before going back to their busy lives, but as you watch her disappear between the trees, you're left wishing she would have stayed longer, sat with you and talked for a moment.

It wouldn't be fair not to acknowledge that this feeling had always manifested inside you after every visit you've received over the centuries, especially back when your parents were the ones stopping by and leaving you with hesitant glances over their shoulders, but you know that it had only grown more noticeable after Azriel first arrived.

Becoming familiar with someone's presence once again had made you more aware of your situation, more aware of just how many words and thoughts you had been keeping to yourself in your years of seclusion. It reminded you of how alone you truly were up in this temple. Before, the silence had been part of your routine, something you had no problem falling back onto after the rare visitor came and disturbed it. Now it felt like a consistently harder task, the silence ringing too loud in your ears, making you too aware of the echo that followed your footsteps.

Sitting down on the first step, you let out a sigh from deep in your chest, stretching your legs out, only noticing then that you had not changed out of your slippers in your rush earlier. It's a shame, you only really wear your nicer shoes when you have guests, which even with Azriel's more regular visits doesn't happen nearly often enough.

You feel yet another stab through your heart when you realize your first instinct is wanting to share the news with your mate, tell him about your visitor and your silly mistake, tell him how it reminded you of your parents and maybe even confide in him how lonely it all had made you feel.

You've been alone for so long that you had forgotten what wanting to share every exciting thing that happens with someone felt like. What is quickly becoming a familiar ache settles over you at the cold reminder that Azriel isn't within your reach. You'll have to wait until he visits again to share these news with him and see the smile on his face.

It's been over a week since he last came by, which wouldn't be much time at all if he weren't your mate and you couldn't feel him through the bond, so close but so far away. He warned you he would be busy with an assignment, even promised he would make it up to you when he was finished with it, but you can't rationalize how much you miss him or how much you wish he was by your side, and so you keep sitting on those steps well into the night, waiting for someone who isn't coming.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

With delectable excitement running through his veins, the kind that only you could bring out of him, Azriel takes one last look in the mirror, fixing his shirt and running his fingers through his hair, making sure everything looks perfect and in place before entrusting yet another box of pastries to his shadows. He has been on the hunt for the best chocolate cookies in Velaris ever since you told him they were your favorite, but he also can't stop himself from trying to spoil you in any way he can.

It's been over a week since he last saw you, and Azriel has been counting down the days for your next meeting ever since he left your side. He couldn't help but feel uncharacteristically annoyed whenever he remembered the mission that ended up keeping him away from home, and in turn from you, for several days. Deep down he knew Rhys had actually been giving him more free time to go visit you than he usually would have in other circumstances, even covering for him when he disappeared for hours on end so the others didn't find it too suspicious. Unfortunately, the bond often spoke louder, and with it came a moodiness that Azriel only felt lifting up earlier today, when he started getting ready to see you.

He makes his way downstairs, already worrying about how the flight will mess up the hair he had just been combing through so carefully. If it weren't for the wards surrounding the House of Wind, he would have winnowed straight to the temple.

“You took a bath.”

A voice coming from the sitting room calls after him, effectively stopping him in his tracks, shadows crawling up his tense body. He curses himself, some spymaster he was, so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice he had company nor the forethought to avoid it. It seems he won't be able to leave without anyone noticing after all.

Azriel hesitates for a moment, unwilling to linger and lose even a second of precious time with his mate. Leaving would only make him appear more suspicious though, so he takes a couple steps into the room instead, finding the oldest and the youngest Archeron sisters looking back at him with amusement written in their eyes.

“I bathe.”

“You don't usually use any of the smelling washes.” Nesta's tone sounds nothing short of accusatory, glancing at Feyre while she talks as if trying to prove a point. “Not since recently at least.”

Azriel was never one to overthink about his appearance, perfectly content with keeping things simple, so it really doesn't come as a surprise that his best friend would notice his newly found appreciation for it. He had also not only accepted a few of Mor's invites to go shopping but also started using the clothes, fragrances and even accessories her and Rhys had gifted him over the years - something that unfortunately the High Lord had picked up on too and teased him relentlessly for whenever they were alone.

And, even in his recent distracted state, he would have to be a fool not to notice Nesta's curiosity towards his whereabouts and sudden mood changes. She has even been asking him about his missions, feigning interest in his spymaster duties just so she can catch him in a lie, knowing he would never dress like this to go spy on their enemies.

“Are you suggesting I smell, Nesta?”

“No, you smell amazing,” she clarifies quickly, sounding so sincere that he feels the corner of his mouth twitch up. Now he almost wishes Cassian was here.

“Then what's the problem?”

Knowing Feyre as well he does, it's extremely commendable that she's managing to keep quiet through this whole conversation, even more so that she hasn't said anything when Nesta surely came asking her what she knew. It also sends a certain warmth through him that she's going against her instincts to keep his secret - even though she and Rhysand have probably been gossiping about him every chance they get.

“There's no problem. I'm simply curious,” she says, clearing her throat before adding with a wicked glint in her eye, “you can't tell me you used your best smelling cologne to go on a mission.”

“I didn't say I was going on a mission,” he says, humoring her for a bit.

As amusing as this unexpected back and forth was turning out to be, it was, at the same time, stealing some of the precious time he had with you. He should have already made it out of Velaris, over the mountains where he would winnow straight to you.

“Then where are you going, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I'm going to have dinner with my mother,” Azriel offers, tone not wavering around the lie even for a moment.

“Oh.”

He feels a little bad for lying, especially since he's using his mother of all people as an excuse, but he knows that if he explained the situation to her she wouldn't mind at all. In fact, this reminded him to make some time to visit his mom, not only had it been quite a while since he last went, but he also wanted to tell her all about you.

Hiding the truth from Nesta and the rest of his family wasn't something he was content with either. Azriel knows they would all be overjoyed with the fact that he had found his Mother blessed mate, but he wanted to make sense of the situation before telling them. As things stand you're simply his friend, even with the shimmering bond between you, and you're still up in your temple, far away from everyone. He wouldn't even be able to properly explain the situation or his feelings on it, Gods know he tries whenever Rhys asks. He probably wouldn't even be able to take them to meet you.

Talking to his mother was always easier though. She never expected answers or explanations, she truly only wanted him to be happy. He can imagine the load off her shoulders it would be to find out her son had found a mate. Yes, he needs to make time to tell her, if no one else.

“I hope you have a lovely dinner, Az,” Feyre says, hiding a knowing smile behind her teacup, apparently not helping herself in at least getting a word in.

“Yes, I hope it all goes well,” Nesta adds, recovering rather quickly, the glint returning to her eyes as she likely reminds herself that one dinner with his mother doesn't explain all his strange recent behavior. Maybe he could still make a spy out of her, she's definitely determined.

Azriel simply nods and bids them a quick goodbye, doing his best to walk at a normal place to the front door, a relieved sigh escaping him when he shoots up into the air, passing the wards keeping the House of Wind safe, feeling himself get engulfed by his shadows as they take him closer to you.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

“When you first showed up I thought you weren't a good flier,” you reminisce, leaning back further into the cushions propped at your back, a smile playing at your lips. “Or that maybe you were still young.”

Azriel's gaze darts around the library at your words, a breath escaping him before his beautiful hazel eyes meet yours once again. Biting your lip, you try to stop your smile from growing as you watch a flush traveling across his skin, crawling up his delectable neck until his rounded ears become tinted with a pinkish color.

“My wings froze in place,” he admits with a soft smile of his own. “It's a miracle I landed on my feet at all.”

A giggle escapes you then, followed by a breathy chuckle from him, remembering the way his knees had buckled under his weight, how your own felt equally as weak in the face of the all-consuming mating bond. The sound echoes around the library for a moment, carrying around the bookshelves and artifacts laying about, a delighted sound that these walls have not been privy to too often, so used to the silence as they were, as you were.

This was the first time you've brought him into the library since his first visit and the initial tour of the temple you had given him. You usually stay outside whenever Azriel comes to visit, either sitting by the steps watching the moon and the stars, or in the garden, on a bench by the flowers; under a tree, taking advantage of the soft grass that grows here with the Goddess' blessing. But as time passes and his visits become more frequent, you suddenly felt the urge to show him different parts of the temple, to have these little dates - if you could even call them that - in different places to make up for the fact that you couldn't leave the temple's grounds. The light rain that fell today, signaling the end of summer, had been the perfect opportunity.

What you didn't expect was for it to feel so much more intimate. It shouldn't have come as a surprise honestly, this is your house after all and even if he had been here multiple times he had never really lingered inside so now bringing him to the room you spend most of your days in feels different, it made your heart beat faster as soon as he walked in, the bond screaming in elation when he sat in the sofa you're curled in almost every day, taking his place by your side. You don't think you'll ever be able to sit here without this image popping up into your mind.

“I think you did good under the circumstances,” you offer, hand twitching at your side, wanting to reach out and touch the flush covering his cheek, reaching for another cookie instead to keep your treacherous fingers occupied.

Azriel had made good on his promise to bring you every pastry and sweet from Velaris, never arriving at the temple without carrying something delicious within his shadows. Today he brought you various cookies of different shapes, sizes and flavors. They were all delicious, their rich taste blooming in your mouth when you bit into them, but it seems he overestimates just how much you can eat, especially since he barely helps you at all - you swear you've only seen him eat one singular cookie since you opened this box.

“It sounds like you're just saying that to make me feel better.” You shake your head in denial, you really weren't, but he continues before you can say anything else. “Us Illyrians take a lot of pride in our flying abilities, you know? I'm not sure I can let this go so easily.” The teasing smile that blooms on his face is completely mesmerizing, it almost makes you forget yourself. “You'll have to let me show you.”

It takes you a moment too long to process his words, your silver eyes too caught up on his inviting lips to pay any attention to what he said. You'd like to blame these moments where your thoughts stray when you look at Azriel on the bond, but you're not so sure it was all its doing. If he notices he doesn't let it show, allowing you to meet his eyes again like nothing had happened.

“You want to take me flying?”

“If you let me,” he murmurs softly. The excitement written in his eyes was contagious, and if you didn't know any better you'd say he had been waiting on a chance to ask you.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of the possibility ever since you first laid eyes on Azriel. You had never seen a winged fae before so flying always seemed like a childish dream, but now you couldn't help feeling a hint of wistfulness every time you saw him land swiftly on top of the steps. Who wouldn't want to fly? The thought of the wind caressing your skin as you cut through the clouds sounded heavenly, not to mention Azriel's arms wrapped around you as he held you against him. The thought summons warmth to your chest, and lower.

“I'd like that,” you say, “but I'm not sure if it will work because of my oath. We would not be able to go far.”

“Around the temple should be fine, right?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“It's a promise then,” he smiles brightly down at you. “Next time I'll take you flying. I would take you right now but it's still raining.”

“Do you know when the next time will be?”

The words escape you before your brain catches up to them. The way his smile falters, and some of his shadows rush to him from where they had been lazily swirling around the library makes you want to take them back immediately. You know they do that when he's upset or sad, something you rarely see when he comes to the temple. The thought that you were the one to make him so makes you want to rip out your heart and beg for his forgiveness.

“I'm only curious. I didn't mean anything by it,” you rush to explain, the last thing you wanted was for him to think you blamed him, or expected more of him. Azriel had been nothing short of perfect and understanding given your limitations.

“I would come every day if I could.”

“I know, Azriel.” You can hear the longing in his voice, filtering in through the bond as well, even if he tries to hide it. “I would go to you if I could too.”

Thankfully this brings the smile back to his lips, even if still somewhat overshadowed by the reality of your relationship. You've noticed Azriel has a hard time believing he's wanted, and you probably only make it worse since you have not accepted the bond.

“I'm not sure when the next time will be. I should be free in a couple of days, but if Rhys and Feyre need me in the meantime it might be longer, and I don't want to keep your hopes up if I might not be able to show up after all,” he explains as he reaches out for your hand tentatively, holding it delicately in his as his thumb starts drawing circles over your open palm, sending a tingling feeling shooting up your arm and straight to your chest. Shouldn't you be the one comforting him?

“I'll be here waiting either way, Azriel. I don't want you to neglect your work because of me,” you say, squeezing his hand, holding it tighter in yours.

“I'm not. There's no immediate threats on the court so things have been relatively calm, and I think I've earned some time off for all the years I worked without it.” The two of you were similar in a lot of ways, how focused you could be on your work and loyal to your duty was one of them. “Rhys has been easier on me too,” he adds.

“Does he know?”

“Since the first night,” Azriel nods, “I tried to hide it but he saw right through me. I haven't told anyone else though.”

You frown softly as his words settle between you, biting your lip softly and hopefully hiding it before he notices. You didn't know how to feel about Azriel having to hide you from his family, having to sneak around whenever he visits you. The way your chest constricted as soon as the words left his mouth told you what the bond felt immediately though. Your eyes drop to your still intertwined hands, the sight making your heart flutter despite your inner turmoil.

A mating bond was an extremely rare and beautiful thing, something you would be proud to tell your friends and family all about, the whole world even, but you can't blame him for not telling them anything when there's no guarantee this will work, when you made it clear from the first day that you didn't think it would work. All he had to do was explain the situation for the expected congratulations and joyous smiles to turn into pity and sympathetic words instead.

“I'm sorry.”

Now it was Azriel's turn to frown, leaning closer to you and squeezing your hand, trying to meet your eyes as you focused on his hand, on the shimmering silver string that kept you eternally bound to each other.

“What are you sorry for?”

“It's my fault you have to hide it.”

“Of course not-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, tugging on his hand. You were tired of him making excuses for you, of acting like nothing was wrong. If his mate were anyone else, he would have probably at least started dating them regularly by now, might have even already accepted the bond.

“I need you to know,” you look up at him, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with every word even when it becomes too much to bear, “if it weren't for the oath I made and if I could leave the temple, if we could live a normal life, I would accept the bond in a heartbeat.”

You can't quite read the expression that falls over his face, and your nerves are making it impossible to keep a cool head. As the silence stretches on, his hand frozen in yours and his hazel eyes staring right into your soul with unwavering intensity, your heart starts beating extremely loud, pouding at your eardrums as the thought that you said the wrong thing invades your mind.

“Azriel-”

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Please,” he breathes out, a desperately needy sound coming from deep in his chest. Scarred hands come up to hold your cheeks as he leans down, touching his forehead to yours, hazel eyes closing. “I really want to kiss you.”

You're unsure why he thought you could ever deny him such a request. Leaning in the rest of the way, your lips find his in a soft kiss before you lose your courage. It had been entirely too long since you've felt someone's lips on yours and the fact that it was Azriel, your mate, only made the fire starting inside you burn brighter.

A moan crawls up your throat before you even have a chance to think to keep it down. Azriel swallows it gladly, offering you a deep, satisfied groan of his own as the kiss turns more desperate. All the want you've both tried to keep locked away rising up uninterrupted as teeth and tongues clash, your hands tugging at his soft hair while his fall to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

You have no idea how long you're tangled up in each other, the world falling silent while his hands roam your body, but by the time your mind finally clears and you manage to get a grasp on your instincts and on the bond, you find yourself straddling his lap, your dress pushed up to your hips and his shirt half unbuttoned.

Your entire body was glued to him. You could feel every breath he took, the low purring in his chest rumbling against yours, and the evidence of just how much he wanted you pressing against your core. It's as if you had been trying to crawl under his skin, maybe you were, it's not like that would be enough.

Even as you pull apart, chests rising and falling together as you catch your breaths, you don't move away from him, your eyes still closed as you keep your foreheads pressed together. You think it might be impossible to, just the thought makes you want to chain yourself to him, the bond making it difficult to even think at how adamant it is on you keeping your mate as close as possible.

Azriel seems to be of the same mind as he lets out a soft groan, strong arms tightening around you, the sweet pressure pushing an embarrassingly needy and breathy moan past your lips. He leans into your neck, a shiver running through his body as he takes in your scent, the way it deepened with arousal and mixes in with his sending his mind into a frenzy the same way it does yours. If anyone were to walk into this room, they wouldn't be able to tell them apart at all, there wouldn't be any doubts that you were his.

You feel him drop an otherwise chaste kiss to the overheated and sensitive skin of your neck, the way his body tenses at the harsh breath you take in telling you he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into it instead. With how out of practice and needy you are at this moment, you think you'd come undone on his lap if he did, the thought sobering you somewhat.

Calling his name softly, surprised by how breathy and undeniably affected your own voice is, you wait for him to gather his own thoughts, abandoning your neck reluctantly, his half-lidded and blown out hazel eyes meeting yours. You know mating bonds are a lot harder to manage for the males so you can't even imagine what is going through his mind, how hard he has to hold himself back from claiming you as his own when you're soaked and pliable on top of him.

Even though you were the one who called his name, you find yourself at a loss for words in the face of his desire. You don't want to tell him to stop and you don't want to move away from him, but you have to, you both know that. And so you kiss him again instead, softly, apologetically.

[arcadia-smith]

He doesn't remember you.

But.

You stay.

Of course, you stay.

Because Bucky is still here, alive in the flesh, and somewhere—deep inside him, hidden beneath the layers of fractured memories—he must know you. He must remember.

It’s just a matter of time.

That’s what Sam says. What the doctors say.

Give it time.

So you do.

Days bleed into weeks, weeks into months.

And still, you stay.

You tell him stories—soft and steady, like a balm for the ache between you. You show him pictures, snapshots of the life you once shared, the love that stitched you two together.

You speak of your first date—how his nerves made him fidget like a storm on the horizon, pacing outside your apartment for what felt like an eternity before he finally knocked, all shaky hands and warm, unsure eyes.

You tell him about that rainy night, when he kissed you under the storm, his laughter a low hum against your lips as he whispered, “This only happens in the movies.”

You tell him about you—the version of yourself that once fit perfectly against his side.

And you wait.

You wait for the spark—the brief, flickering recognition that he once knew the rhythm of your heartbeat, the warmth of your touch.

You wait for those blue eyes to soften again, to look at you the way they used to—tender, loving, yours.

But they never do.

And then, one day, after all the days, weeks, and months spent watching and hoping—

You find him in the common room, grinning at something on his phone.

Someone.

A woman.

She’s bright, beautiful—her laughter a melody you don’t recognize.

And before you even open your mouth, you know.

But still, you ask.

“Who’s that?” Your voice is light, fragile, like a leaf trembling in the wind.

He looks up, then back at the screen, that faint, soft smile still lingering.

“Her name’s Kate.”

It’s a gut-punch. The kind that steals the air from your lungs and leaves you gasping.

“Oh,” you whisper, trying to swallow the burning sorrow that claws its way up your throat. “She’s... she’s pretty.”

He grins—wide, unbothered, as though this is just another casual conversation, nothing more.

“Yeah. I think I might ask her out.”

And in that moment, everything inside you fractures.

Not just the silence between the two of you, but the world itself.

Because Bucky doesn’t remember you.

No. Worse.

He’s moving on.

Without you.

And you can’t stop it.

You can’t tear through his shattered mind and fix what they took from him.

You can’t scream, You love me. You chose me. We were supposed to have forever.

You can’t do a single thing.

So you smile.

You nod.

You pretend that you’re not being swallowed whole by the hollow ache inside you.

And that night, when the house falls silent and empty, you don’t leave the porch light on.

Because Bucky isn’t coming back.

He already has.

And he’s not yours anymore.

You leave.

You have to.

Because staying, watching him laugh with someone else—someone new, someone with a love untouched by the scars of time—it would be like breathing in glass shards. It would tear through you, piece by piece, until nothing remained. You would cease to exist.

So you gather your things in silence, each item a memory you can’t afford to carry anymore.

You say goodbye to Sam, but there is no promise in your words. No hope. Just the hollow echo of a love you can’t save. You don’t tell Bucky. What would be the point? He’s already gone. The man you once knew is somewhere behind the locked door of his memories, and there is no key.

You leave.

And time doesn’t care.

It moves on, cruel and indifferent. Days stretch into weeks, weeks bleed into months, and the seasons change in ways that mean nothing. You rebuild, slowly. The edges of your broken heart are sealed with the soft, fragile thread of survival. You learn to exist without him. You learn to wake up without him beside you, without his breath against your neck, without the weight of his love settling around you like a warm blanket. You learn to live with the dull ache, the phantom throb in the places where he used to be.

But there are moments.

There are mornings when your fingers twitch toward the space where he should be, when your heart stutters, trapped in a fleeting memory, a touch, a whisper. And you wonder, just for a second, if he’s still there—if you’re still there. But then, the thought fades. Because he’s not yours. Not anymore.

And then—

Then you get the call.

Sam's voice is a tightrope, fraying at the edges.

"I need you to come back."

You hesitate, your breath a jagged thing. You don’t want to. You can’t go back to that place, to those ghosts. The last time you left, you left your soul in the hollow of his chest, and it never returned.

But Sam's voice cracks in a way that makes your insides twist. And you can’t ignore it. Not this time.

So you go.

And when you step into the room, you’re not ready for it. You’re never ready.

Sam stands in the doorway, his face pale and drawn, like he hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten. His hands tremble at his sides, and there’s something in his eyes that says everything you don’t want to hear.

"It’s happening again."

At first, the words make no sense.

And then, they do.

Because Bucky is in the med bay, his body tethered to the bed, his arms thrashing against the restraints. His breath comes in ragged gasps, the panic clear in every movement. His eyes are wide, full of something deep—something more terrible than fear.

You run to him, despite everything, despite the emptiness he left behind. You run because he is still your Bucky, the man you loved with everything you had. You run because that’s all you’ve ever known how to do.

“Bucky,” you whisper, your voice a breathless plea. Your hand reaches for his, but he pulls away like your touch is a thing that burns.

And then—

He says your name.

And the world stops.

The earth cracks beneath you, and you feel yourself falling into a place where nothing makes sense. The thing you wanted most, the thing you prayed for, is here. He remembers. He remembers you.

But when you look into his eyes, it’s not relief that fills them. It’s horror.

“No,” he gasps, shaking his head violently, as if to shake you away, to shake this away. His words tear from him in broken sobs. “No, no, no—please—”

“Bucky, it’s okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you thought you could carry. But it’s not okay. It will never be okay.

His chest heaves. His body jerks, as though the memories are too much to hold, too much to be.

“What did I do?” he chokes.

And that is when you understand.

He remembers you. Yes, he does. He remembers everything.

But he also remembers her.

The woman he found after you, the woman he learned to love after he’d forgotten the taste of you. The woman who is out there, somewhere, still holding his heart, still waiting for him with arms wide open.

And he loves her. He loves her the way he loved you. But in a different way. In a way that isn’t stained with time and loss and the weight of your name.

And now—

Now he has both.

Now he has the knowledge of what he lost. Now he knows exactly what he did.

And in his eyes, you see the depth of his grief. The depth of his guilt. Because he remembers her. And he remembers choosing her.

And then—then he remembers forgetting you.

And that—

That is the part that will ruin you. Because it’s not just your heart breaking anymore.

It’s his, too.

And there is nothing either of you can do. No mending, no fixing, no magic words to erase the damage.

So you press your trembling hand to his cheek. You kiss his forehead, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it’s like you’re right back there—like nothing changed. Like the world hasn’t fallen apart in slow motion.

And you whisper to him, to the man you thought you could save:

“It’s okay. I’ll go.”

And you do.

You leave.

For the last time.

Because this time, he remembers you. But it doesn’t matter.

Because he’s not yours.

And he never will be again.

And that—that—is the worst part.

Because you lost him once, but now, you’ve lost him twice.

And the pain? The pain is deeper than anything you’ve ever felt.

It’s not just a heart breaking.

It’s a soul shattering.

[earthchica]

Sweetest Devotion

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

summary: Your and Terry's son started preschool, and you and Terry continued discussing having another baby with you.

warnings: explicit smut 18+, oral (m & f ), unprotected sex, dirty talking, dilf! terry, daddy kink, breeding kink, baby fever, ovulating, fluff, five-year-old son, domestic life, angst, fainting, use of y/n, nicknames [ baby, sweetheart, baby girl & more ] words: 7k

note: I really love writing for this story, it has to be my fav. Please enjoy, but there may be some errors.

sequel to { funny how time flies } mini-series masterlist one { everything I ever wanted } two { make it right } three { you are my joy }

The preschool orientation came around, and you still danced around this baby topic. Elijah happily chatted about his new friends and couldn’t wait to learn with them.

It was Elijah’s first day, and you and Terry took off work to share in the excitement. You took many pictures before heading out, once at the preschool.

You watched as Elijah walked confidently into his new class, waving goodbye and not even glancing back. You turned to Terry, chuckling nervously.

“Well, that was…weird,” you pouted. “Thought he’d at least cry a little or something.”

Terry smirked, wrapping his arm around your waist. “He’s got your confidence. Eli is a natural.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him. “Yeah, yeah. Still, I thought I’d at least get a dramatic goodbye. Maybe a tear or two. Guess I’m not as essential as I thought.”

“Oh, you’re essential, alright,” Terry said, squeezing your shoulder.

“But he’s just ready to take on the world. He’s a big boy.”

You lingered there momentarily, watching the classroom door as if expecting Elijah to burst out, realizing he’d forgotten something—or someone.

But the door remained closed, the faint sound of children laughing and teachers guiding them filtering through. You sighed, a mix of pride and wistfulness swirling in your chest.

Terry nudged you gently, his smirk softening into a smile. “Come on,” he said, tugging you down the hallway, but you heard a familiar voice calling out behind you.

“Daddy! Mama!”

You spun around to see Elijah running toward you, his little legs pumping furiously, his face full of excitement, his hazel eyes shining like twin suns.

You dropped to one knee instinctively, arms open wide, and he barreled into you with all the force of a tiny hurricane.

“Elijah!” you exclaimed, wrapping him in a tight hug, your heart swelling with relief and joy.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? Did you forget something?” you asked changing to curious and worried.

Elijah shook his head, “No!” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you with a serious expression.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ll miss you! And… and I’ll be brave!”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you cupped his face. “Oh, Elijah,” you said, your voice trembling.

“You’re already so brave. We’re so proud of you.”

Terry knelt down beside you, caressing Elijah's head. “Yeah, little man,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re going to do great. And we’ll be here waiting for you when school ends.”

Elijah nodded solemnly, then leaned in to hug Terry quickly before returning to you.

“I Love you, Mama,” he said, kissing your cheek sloppy.

“I Love you too, my sweet baby,” you replied, giving him one last squeeze before standing up.

With a final wave, Elijah turned and ran back toward his classroom, where the teacher was waiting for him, his small frame disappearing through the door once more.

You stood there momentarily, watching the space where he had been, feeling the weight of his absence settle in your chest. Terry’s arm found its way around your shoulders again, pulling you close.

“He’s going to be fine,” Terry said softly, his voice reassuring. “And so are we.”

You nodded, leaning into him. “I know. It’s just… it’s a big step, you know? Our little boy is growing up.”

Terry chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, he is. But he’s still our little boy. Always will be.”

You sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I guess we’ve got some time to ourselves now,” you said, glancing up at him.

“What should we do?”

Terry’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, we could go get some coffee. Or… we could finally have that conversation about whether or not we’re ready for another little one.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the familiar mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling up inside you.

“You really want to talk about it now?” you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Terry shrugged, his expression softening. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready,” he said, his tone gentle.

You hesitated, the weight of his words pressing against your chest like a stone.

The thought of another child—another tiny heartbeat to care for, another soul to mold and guide—felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

You glanced at Terry, his eyes warm and patient, waiting for your response. His hand still rested on your shoulder, steadying you.

“I… I don’t know,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Elijah’s still so little, and there’s so much to consider. Can we enjoy this?”

Terry nodded, his thumb brushing against your arm in a soothing rhythm.

“I get it,” he said softly. “It’s a big decision. And you’re right—Elijah’s still our whole world. We don’t have to rush anything.”

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“I just want to make sure we’re doing it for the right reasons,” you admitted, looking up at him. "It has to feel… right.”

“Sure,” Terry said firmly, his gaze unwavering.

“And when it does feel right—whenever that is—we’ll know. ” He gave your shoulder a final squeeze before letting his hand drop.

“For now, let’s just enjoy this day. Coffee, maybe a walk, and then we’ll pick up our little man later. Sound good?” Terry added.

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the uncertainty. “Sounds perfect.”

-

As the weeks pass, you and Terry settle into a new routine. The days were filled with Elijah's laughter and stories about his friends at preschool, and the nights were spent in silent companionship.

You noticed the tiny distance between you and Terry - he was still the fantastic dad and husband he was, but there was a distance between you regarding intimacy.

The two of you haven't had sex in two weeks only because you haven't been in the mood, but a few days have gonna by. You were practically throwing yourself at Terry.

One evening, as you sat on the couch scrolling through your phone, Elijah was at preschool, and Terry was off work.

Instead of spending time with you. “Hey, baby! Heading into the garage for a bit,” Terry said casually.

“Gotta keep up with this routine.”

You paused, your heart skipping a beat.

Something about how he said it—so nonchalant, so routine—made you wonder if there was more to it.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “Can I join you this time?”

Terry’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he nodded after a moment.

“Sure. If you want.”

You hurried upstairs to change, your mind racing.

You slipped into a form-fitting workout outfit, a tight sports bra that gave a good view of your breasts, and leggings that hugged your thick curves just enough to remind him of what he’d been missing.

The fabric clung to you in all the right places, and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You bit your lip with a spark of determination in your eyes.

When you descended the stairs, Terry was waiting by the door, looking sexy. His eyes flickered over you, and briefly, you saw something flicker in his gaze—something warm, familiar.

But just as quickly, it was replaced by his usual demeanor. “Ready?” he asked, holding the door open for you. You nodded, following him out into the cool evening air.

The walk to the garage was short but filled with tension. You could feel the space between you, charged with heat and desire. Once inside.

Terry started setting up his weights while you lingered near the thick yoga mat, stretching casually but deliberately. As you bent forward, your box braids falling over your shoulders, you caught Terry glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

You held the pose a little longer than necessary, feeling a thrill when he quickly looked away. You moved through a series of stretches, each designed to highlight your figure more.

You could feel his gaze flickering back to you occasionally, sending you a little satisfaction. You decided to take it further, letting your movements flow with a fluid grace that you knew would be hard for him to ignore.

You sank into a deep lunge, arching your back slightly so the curve of your ass became more pronounced.

"Terry," you called out softly, your voice carrying a teasing lilt. "Can you give me a hand with this pose? I think my form might be off."

He hesitated momentarily, clearly trying to stay focused on his routine, but eventually, he set down the dumbbell he was holding and walked over.

"Sure," he said, his tone neutral but his eyes lingering just a beat too long on your body. "What do you need?"

"Just guide my hips a little," you said innocently, looking up at him through your lashes. "I want to make sure I’m aligned properly."

Terry’s hands hovered uncertainly for a moment before settling on your hips.

His touch was tentative at first, but his grip tightened ever so slightly as he adjusted your stance. You could feel the warmth of his palms through the thin fabric of your leggings, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Like this?" Terry asked, his voice low and a little strained.

"Almost," you murmured, shifting your weight subtly so your ass brushed against his crotch. You felt him stiffen, but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, his hands lingered, fingers pressing into your hips with a barely restrained intensity. You arched your back just a little more, letting the curve of your spine draw his gaze downward.

“There,” you said softly, your voice like honey. “That feels perfect.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with tension, electric, and undeniable. You could hear the faintest hitch in his breath, the way it caught in his throat as his eyes traced the line of your body.

Then, slowly, you rose from the lunge, turning to face him. Your breasts pressed against his chest, and you tilted your head up ever so slightly, your lips parted just enough to be inviting.

“Thanks, baby, you’re the best,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but heavy with meaning. You stepped back, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“I think I’ve got it now.”

Terry’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as they met yours. He didn’t say anything, but how he looked at you—like he was teetering on the edge of something—was enough to make your heart race.

You knew you had him right where you wanted him, and the power of that knowledge sent a thrill coursing through your veins. You turned away from him with a sly smile, swaying your hips just enough to keep him hooked.

"Alright then," you said, your tone light but laced with intention. "Guess I’ll get back to it."

You moved away from him, putting just enough distance between you two to make him ache. Then, without warning, you dropped into a quick set of jumping jacks.

Your arms swung wide, and your breasts bounced rhythmically with each motion, drawing his gaze like a magnet. You could feel his eyes on you, hot and heavy, but you didn’t look back. Instead, you kept going, letting the rhythm of your movement amplify the tension in the room.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, low enough that he probably thought you couldn’t hear it. But you did, and it only fueled your fire.

"Somethin’ wrong, Terry?" you called out between breaths, your voice dripping with feigned innocence as you continued your exercise.

"You lookin’ a little… distracted over there."

He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

"Nah," he said gruffly, his voice rough like gravel.

"Just makin’ sure you keeping that form tight. Can’t have you slacking now.” But the way his eyes stayed glued to your body betrayed him—his words were weak, and you both knew it.

You slowed, letting your arms fall to your sides as you turned to face him again. Sweat glistened on your skin, and you licked your lips slowly, deliberately, watching his gaze follow the movement.

“Oh, I ain’t slacking, baby,” you purred, stepping closer to him with a sway in your hips that made his breath hitch. “You the one lookin’ all kinds of tense over there. Maybe you need some… loosening up.”

His jaw clenched, and you could see the muscle ticking in his cheek as he fought to keep control. But you weren’t about to let him off that easy.

You closed the distance between you, standing so close that your breasts brushed against his chest again with every breath. Your hand reached up, fingers trailing lightly along the curve of his jaw before sliding down to rest on his chest.

You could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm, and it only made you smirk.

“You like what you see?” you whispered. Your voice was low and sultry, dripping with confidence, making Terry’s breath catch in his throat. "Do you want me right now?

His chest rose and fell faster now, his eyes locked on yours like he was trying to figure out if you were playing or serious. But you weren’t playing.

Not this time.

“You know I do,” he finally replied, his voice deep and low. His hand grabbed your wrist lightly but didn’t pull it away. Instead, he pressed your palm firmer against his chest, letting you feel the heat of him, the way his heart was pounding like a drumbeat just for you.

“You know I always want you.”

You tilted your head, your lips curling into a sly smile as you leaned in closer, your breath brushing against his ear.

“Then why you have been actin’ like you don’t?” you murmured, your voice honey-sweet but cutting straight to the point.

“Why have you been keeping your distance, Terry? You ain’t been touching me like you used to. Ain’t been lookin’ at me like you need me.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on your wrist tightening just a fraction. His tone steady but laced with something raw, something unspoken.

“I have been respecting your wishes, baby. You said you haven't been in the mood, so I wasn't gonna push.” His voice dropped lower, a growl that sent shivers down your spine.

“But don’t for a second think I don’t want you every damn day.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your fingers trailing down his chest, over the hard planes of his abs, until they rested just above the waistband of his shorts.

“Respecting my wishes, huh?” you teased, your voice dripping with a playful challenge.

“That’s cute, Terry. That's really sweet of you. I'm sorry…that's on me, but I am in the mood now, fuck me, please, I need you, Daddy” Your fingers dipped lower, brushing against the bulge in his shorts, and you felt him twitch beneath your touch.

“You have been holding back on me, and it’s been driving’ me crazy. I like it when you’re all over me, even if I say I’m not in the mood.”

Terry’s breath hitched, his hands moving to your hips, gripping you with a possessiveness that made your knees weak.

“Fuck” he growled, his voice low, and his eyes were dark, intense, and filled with a hunger that made your heart race.

“Let’s fix it,” he said, his voice firm. “Right now.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, claiming you with a desperation that took your breath away. It wasn’t soft or gentle; it was raw and consuming like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d been distant.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

“I miss your touch, Daddy,” You moaned, taking his tank off, went to caress his erection through his shorts, and got on your knees while looking up at him.

Terry’s breath hitched as your fingers traced his outline through the fabric, his hands instinctively finding their way to your shoulders.

“Baby…” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His fingers tightened slightly, grounding himself as you looked up at him with those big doe eyes that always seemed to see straight through him.

You didn’t waste any time, tugging at the waistband of his shorts until they slid down his hips, freeing him. The sight of him—hard and ready for you—sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before letting your tongue trace a slow, deliberate path along his length. His hips jerked involuntarily, and you could feel the tension in his body as he fought to keep himself still.

“Damn, girl,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained. His hands moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your braids as you took him deeper into your mouth.

Your rhythm was slow and deliberate, each movement designed to drive him wild. He let out a low growl, his grip tightening just enough to let you know he was barely holding it together.

But you weren’t done yet.

You pulled back slightly, teasing him with the tip of your tongue before taking him in again, this time deeper, your lips wrapping around him with practiced ease.

Terry’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to maintain control. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he muttered, his voice shaking with need.

Your hands moved to his hips, anchoring him as you continued to work him with your mouth, each stroke drawing out more of those delicious sounds from him.

You could feel the tension coiling in his body, the way his muscles tightened beneath your touch. Knowing you had this kind of power over him was intoxicating, knowing you could bring him to the edge so effortlessly.

But you wanted more than just his pleasure. You wanted to see him unravel completely, to hear every filthy word spill from those lips as he lost himself in you.

Pulling back with a slow, deliberate drag of your tongue, you looked up at him, your lips glistening, your eyes heavy with desire. “You wanna feel how much I’ve been missing you, Daddy?” you purred, your voice dripping with honeyed temptation.

Your hands slid up his thighs, nails digging lightly into his skin as you teased him with your words. “You wanna know how much I’ve been dreaming about this? ‘Bout you?”

Terry’s jaw clenched, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his eyes burning with a fire that made your entire body ache. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“You been dreaming ‘bout me, baby? ‘Bout what I’d do to you?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Dreaming ‘bout how you’d stretch me out, fill me up, make me scream your name ‘til the neighbors call the cops.”

You licked your lips, your eyes locking with his, unflinching. “Dreaming’ ‘bout how you’d hold me down, make me take every inch of you ‘til I’m begging for mercy. Dreaming ‘bout how you’d make me yours—all over again.”

Terry let out a guttural groan, his free hand gripping your hair tighter as he pulled you closer to him. “Mmm...let me make that dream come true, would you like that?” he growled, his voice dark and dangerous.

“Yes, let me finish,” you said, your voice sultry and defiant. You leaned in again, taking him into your mouth once more, this time with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

Your tongue swirled around him, your lips working him with a rhythm that had his legs trembling beneath him. You could feel the way his body tensed, the way he fought to keep himself from thrusting too hard.

“Shit,” he hissed, his head falling back as he let out a string of curses that only spurred you on. “You gon’ make me lose it, girl. Fuck, you got me ready to bust, and you ain’t even let me touch you yet.”

His voice was raw and ragged like it was being ripped from his chest. “You think you can handle all this pent-up tension? You think you can take what I got for you?”

You pulled back just enough to let him see the wicked grin on your lips, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Daddy, yes, give me all that you got,” you purred, your voice smoky and full of promise.

“I have been waiting for this, waiting for you.”

Terry’s laugh was low and throaty, but it didn’t mask the hunger in his eyes. He reached down, gripped your braids, and guided you back to him.

“You talkin’ like that you didn't have me waiting for it first,” he murmured, his voice dripping with menace. “But Imma give you exactly what you've been asking’ for.”

His grip tightened as he pressed himself more profoundly into your mouth, a groan rumbling in his chest.

“Shit, baby! You're so good at this—like you were born just to suck me off,” Terry growled, his voice thick with lust. He pulled you up suddenly, his hands rough and possessive as they roamed your body.

“But I’mma need more than that pretty pussy right now. I miss it.” Terry said, dragging you across the room, his movements urgent and commanding.

Your heart raced as he tossed you onto a thick, plush mat on the floor, the friction of the fabric against your skin sending shivers down your spine.

Terry loomed over you, his eyes blazing with hunger, and you knew there was no escaping what was coming next. “On all fours,” he ordered, his voice low and gravelly, leaving no room for argument.

You obeyed instantly, your body trembling with anticipation as you positioned yourself on your hands and knees. Terry knelt behind you, his hands gripping your hips with a dominance that made your breath hitch.

Terry ripped a hole in your leggings, the sound of fabric tearing echoing through the room. "Oh baby," he muttered, his voice dripping with approval as he exposed your ass.

He smacked it hard, the sharp sting making you gasp and arch your back. "You been walking’ around like this, all this ass out here tempting me? You knew what you were doing!"

Terry growled, his voice thick with desire. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, sending shivers through your body as he leaned down, his breath hot against your skin.

“You have done it now. You got me all worked up, and I ain’t letting you off easy.”

His tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive skin at the small of your back before trailing lower, leaving a wet, hot path that made you shudder.

“Fuck, Terry,” you moaned, your voice trembling as his hands spread you open wider. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin as his tongue dipped lower, brushing against the folds of your pussy with a teasing flick.

“Damn, baby,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he pressed his face deeper between your ass cheeks.

“You taste so fuckin’ good. Like sweet candy—I could eat this pussy all day.” His tongue swirled around your clit, slow and deliberate, drawing a whimper from your lips.

“You like that? You like how Daddy’s taking care of you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your hands clawing at the mat beneath you as his tongue worked you like a damn masterpiece. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered, your voice shaking with need.

“Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He growled against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. “You beggin’ already?” he teased, pulling back just enough to make you ache.

“Nah, baby.....” His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he leaned back, his dick hard and heavy against your ass.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he traced a finger down the curve of your spine. “All this ass up in the air, just begging for me to ruin you.”

He smacked your ass again, harder this time, the sting making you cry out and push back against him instinctively. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said, his voice dripping with approval.

“Show me how bad you want it.”

“Please, Terry,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation as you rocked back against him. “I need it—I need you inside me. Fuck me, please, big daddy.”

Terry chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his dick teasing your slick folds.

"You sure, baby?" Terry murmured his voice a low growl that made your stomach tighten.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you pushed back against him, trying to take him in. "Please, Daddy—I need it. I need you so bad."

"Alright," Terry said, his voice thick with approval as he gripped your hips and slammed into you in one smooth, brutal stroke. The air left your lungs in a rush, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as he filled you, stretching you most deliciously.

"Fuck," Terry groaned, his voice strained as he paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the feel of him. "Pussy always gotta gripping’ me like it ain’t never letting go."

"Don’t stop," you begged, your voice shaking as you clenched around him, your body already craving more. "Please—fuck me."

"Shit," Terry muttered, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled out almost entirely before slamming back in, the force of it making your breath hitch.

"You feel that, baby? That’s all me, stretching’ you out, makin’ this pussy mine." His thrusts were relentless, each one deeper and harder than the last, and you could feel the heat building in your core with every movement.

"Damn, you take it so well," Terry growled, his voice rough and raw with need. "This pussy was made for me and only me—you hear me? Made. For. Me."

"Y-yes, Terry," you stammered, your voice breaking as he hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

"All yours—only yours." Your hands clawed at the mat beneath you, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucked you senseless, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

"That’s right," Terry said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he leaned over you, one hand sliding up to grip your throat just enough to make your pulse race.

"You’re the best wife, Y/N the best thing that's ever happened to me. I’m so grateful to call you mine,” he added.

“Oh, Terry, yes,” you moaned, feeling grabbed your breasts through your sports bra.

“Fuck…always takin’ this dick like a champ—like you were born for it. Turn around for me, and let me see your face and those tits."

You whimpered at his command, your body trembling as you turned to lay on your back as he slides his dick deep inside you. The movement made you gasp, the fullness of him sending a jolt of pleasure through your core.

Terry’s dark eyes locked onto yours, his gaze hungry and predatory as he hovered over you, his hands moving to tear off your sports bra swiftly.

Your breasts spilled free, and he groaned low in his throat, his eyes taking over your exposed skin like he was devouring you whole. Terry growled, his voice thick with lust as he palmed your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples.

“Look at you—fuckin’ perfect. These tits? Mine. This pussy? Mine. All of you—mine.” Terry leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he rolled the other between his fingers.

The dual sensation made you arch into him, a desperate moan escaping your lips as he teased and tormented you.

“Terry, please,” you begged, your hands tangling in his hair as he continued to feast on you. “I need you to keep going…fuck me more, please.”

Terry pulled back with a wet pop, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he looked down at you. "No need to beg, baby," he said, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine.

"You already know I’m gon’ give you what you need." His hands slid down your body, rough and wild, gripping your hips as he pulled out slowly, teasing you with the drag of his dick before slamming back in with a force that made you cry out.

"Fuck, Terry!" you screamed, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set a brutal pace, each thrust driving more profound, more challenging, until you felt like he was everywhere—filling you, owning you, consuming you.

"Y-you feel so good—so damn good!" you moaned. "Yes, do you feel that? Feel how deep I’m in you? Huh?" Terry asked.

"Yes, I feel it!" you cried out, your back arching off the mat as he pounded into you with a ferocity that left you breathless.

"You’re so deep—oh, you’re everywhere! Terry, please—I need more! Fuck another baby in me, please!"

"Are you sure?" Terry growled, his eyes dark with hunger as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same intensity as his dick was ravaging your core.

"Because I’ll give you what you want. You want me to put another baby in you? Huh? Are you ready for that?"

"Yes, please, yes!" you moaned into his mouth, your hands moving to grip his ass, pulling him deeper still.

"Fuck, you beg so pretty," Terry snarled, his voice dripping with raw desire as he slammed into you again, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room.

"You hear that? That sound your pussy makin’ when I hit it? That’s what I wanna hear every damn night. You gon’ give me that, huh? Gon’ let me wreck this pussy whenever I want?"

"Yes, Terry—oh fuck, yes!" you cried out, your body trembling as he drove into you with relentless force. His words were filthy, dripping with a hunger that matched his movements, and they only made you want him more.

"Wreck me—fuck me however you want! I’m yours—all yours, fuck another baby into me please!"

Terry’s hands tightened around your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he leaned back slightly, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You want another baby? Huh? You want me to fill you up, plant my seed deep in you, and watch you grow with another child inside you?”

“Yes!” you screamed, your voice hoarse from the relentless pleasure as you clawed at his chest, your nails raking down his skin. “I want it—I want you to fill me! I need it, Terry—please!”

Terry growled low, the sound primal, as he thrust into you harder, faster, each stroke more punishing than the last.

The garage was filled with the raw, wet sounds of your bodies colliding, the slapping of skin against skin, and the desperate, breathless moans spilling from your lips.

“Say it again,” Terry demanded, his voice rough and guttural, his grip on your hips bordering on painful as he pulled you into him with every brutal stroke.

“Say you want me to come inside you, to make another baby. Say it.”

“I want it! I want you to come inside me—oh, Terry, please! I need it—I need you to fill me up!”

“Fuck,” Terry cursed, his face twisted in a mixture of pleasure and raw, animalistic need. “You’re such a good girl, takin’ this dick like you were made for it. My girl, my wife, my everything.”

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you slightly as he pounded into you, each thrust lifting you off the mat.

The world around you blurred, the only focus the relentless drive of his hips, the heat building in your core, and the raw, unfiltered pleasure coursing through every nerve in your body.

“Come on, baby,” Terry growled, his voice strained as he leaned over you again, his mouth brushing against your ear.

“I feel you squeezing me, but don’t you dare come yet. You hear me? You wait for me. We come together.”

“T-Terry, please—I—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, your breath catching as he hit that perfect spot again, your body trembling on the edge of release.

“Not yet,” Terry snapped, his thrusts becoming erratic, wild, as he chased his own climax. “Hold on, baby—hold on for me!”

Your hands clawed at his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him deeper, your body desperate for more. The heat inside you was building, coiling tighter and tighter until it became almost unbearable.

“Let me see your face,” Terry growled, lifting his head to lock his eyes with yours. “I want to see you when you cum. I want to see my baby full of my dick, takin’ every inch like the good girl you are.”

The words sent a shiver through you, and you could feel the dam breaking. “Terry—I can’t—oh fuck—”

“Now,” he barked, his voice harsh as he slammed into you one final, brutal time. “Cum now, sweetheart”

Your body obeyed, the release tearing through you like a freight train as you screamed, the sound raw and guttural. Terry wasn’t far behind, his growl deep and primal as he buried himself inside you, his hips jerking as he emptied himself into you, hot and thick.

For a moment, time stood still as the two of you rode the wave of your climaxes; the only sound was your ragged breathing and the pounding of your heart.

Then, slowly, Terry collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mat as he buried his face in your neck, his chest heaving with exertion.

Terry flips off of you and lies there; his breath slowly steadies, and he turns his head to gaze into your eyes, the intensity still burning within them.

Terry brushed a braid from your face, his touch tender yet charged with the remnants of their passion. "Fuck...I love you," he whispered, his voice still husky.

"I love you too, Terry." You smiled weakly, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of their climax. Terry shifted slightly, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you like a shield.

The garage was quiet now, the only sound the soft hum of the world outside, a stark contrast to the raw energy that had filled the space just moments before.

As you lay there, the weight of Terry's words settled over you. The want for another child, for the expansion of your family, lingered in the air.

You thought about the future, about the possibilities, and how this moment might be the beginning of something new. Terry's hand drifted to your belly, his fingers tracing gentle circles as if envisioning the life that might soon grow there.

"We'll see," he murmured, a soft smile on his lips. "We'll see."

-

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks slipped into a month, then more. Life fell into its familiar rhythm, but something felt different.

At first, it was just a faint morning nausea, a queasiness that lingered long after breakfast. You brushed it off as a stomach bug, something that would pass.

But as the days went on, the sickness persisted, and with it came a weariness that clung to you like a second skin. You were always tired, no matter how much you slept, and the smell of the simplest meals could send you running for the bathroom.

Terry noticed first, of course. He always did. He’d watch you with that sharp, observant gaze, his brow furrowing when you pushed food around your plate or excused yourself again to be sick.

“You should go to the doctor,” Terry said one morning as you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.

“You’ve been feeling like shit for weeks. It’s probably just a bug, but you must ensure it’s not something more serious. You might be pregnant; we've been trying.”

But you were stubborn, not thinking you were pregnant just yet, even if you two were trying. You shook your head, insisting you were okay, that it was just stress or something you’d eaten.

Terry sighed and dropped it, but he wasn’t convinced. Then came the day at the zoo. Elijah was bouncing with excitement, his tiny hands clutching the map as he dragged Terry toward the lion enclosure.

You trailed behind, the sun beating down on you, making your head swim. The air was thick with the smells of popcorn and sweat, and your stomach churned in protest.

You paused and took a breath while leaning against a railing as the world spun around you. “Mama! Mama, look! The lions are eating!” Elijah’s voice carried back to you, distant but clear.

You tried to smile, to wave, but your vision blurred at the edges. Terry turned, his expression shifting from amusement to concern in an instant.

“Hey,” Terry said, stepping closer. “You good you look-.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, but your voice wavered.

"Sweetheart, you know it's me you're talking...I know when something is wrong," Terry said, but the ground tipped beneath your feet, and everything went black before you could stop it.

-

"Daddy, I think she's waking up," you heard a familiar voice as you opened your eyes and lay in a clinic bed.

Terry’s face was etched with worry, and Elijah sat in a chair beside him, his small face drawn.

“Thank God,” Terry whispered, his voice cracking as he took your hand.

"What happened?" You whispered.

“You fainted, scared the hell out of us, baby.”

You tried to speak again, but your throat was dry. A nurse bustled in, smiling warmly, and handed you a cup of water.

“Take small sips,” she said. “You’ve been out for 20 mintues.”

As you drank, the doctor came in, clipboard in hand. “Good to see you’re awake, Mrs. Richmond,” he said.

“You fainted at the zoo; your husband brought you in. We ran some tests." The doctor’s voice was calm and reassuring, but you could sense a hint of excitement beneath his professional demeanor.

“You fainted due to a combination of dehydration and low blood sugar, but…” The doctor paused, glancing at Terry and Elijah before returning to you.

“We also found something else during the tests.”

Terry’s hand tightened around yours, his eyes narrowing slightly as if bracing for news. Elijah, oblivious to the tension, leaned forward, his curiosity piqued.

“What is it?” Elijah asked, his tiny voice breaking the silence. The doctor smiled a small smile that put you at ease. “It seems you’re going to be a family of four soon. You’re pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like a whispered secret, their weight settling over you like a soft blanket. You blinked, your mind racing. Pregnant?

Terry gave you a *I told ya so* look and you should've known, and the nausea, the fatigue, it all made sense. A small, incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat, but it caught there, leaving you breathless.

Terry’s face transformed in an instant. His initial shock melted into a vast, radiant smile, and he squeezed your hand so hard it almost hurt.

“Really?” Terry asked, his voice trembling with hope. “Are you sure?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, very sure. She's about eight weeks along. Everything looks healthy. You just need to stay hydrated, Mrs. Richmond, take it easy for a while, and come in for regular check-ups.”

Elijah, who had been quietly processing this information, suddenly jumped.

“We’re gonna have a baby!” Elijah exclaimed, his voice ringing. He jumped on the bed and threw his arms around your neck, almost knocking over the water cup on the bedside table.

“I’m gonna be a big brother! I’m gonna teach them everything!”

You laughed then, the sound breaking free from your chest. It was a shaky, half-tearful laugh, but it felt good. Terry leaned over, kissing your forehead, his eyes shining with unspoken promises.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Terry whispered. “We’re gonna be great.”

The doctor smiled again, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” he said, stepping out of the room.

“We’ll set you up with an appointment with your preferred OBGYN for a follow-up, and I’ll send in a nurse with more information.”

As the door closed behind him, you looked at Terry and Elijah, your heart swelling with love and gratitude.

“I’m gonna be a big brother,” Elijah repeated with a giggle. He pressed a small, earnest kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll take care of the baby, Mama. I promise.”

Terry chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “I think we’re all going to take care of the baby,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“Together.”

You leaned into him, feeling his warmth, his strength, and let the happiness wash over you.

TAGS

@saturnville @kisssssssssssss @grlsbstshot @nayaesworld @onherereading @blyffe @duhitzkay380

@milktert @sefiya0x @urgirlygoddess @honeytoffee @cocooned-butterfly

@vivaalenaa @m1sk1n3 @blackpinup22 @writingsbytee

@peachbuttetfly @ayeeeitsmiracle @fakxmbj @ariiaellbtheedonn

[aventurineswife]

so i know you don't want to write for sahsr right now so may i request a sagau where creator (also artist reader if you are ok with that) reader basically just adoring all the kid playable characters cause they think their just the cutest like the reader cheering on kachina as she makes her way through the night warden wars or the reader could name ingredients that diona could use for her drinks

Welp... 🧍‍♀️

I love that idea so much! It's really cute to think about the creator being absolutely enchanted by the kid characters in Genshin Impact, especially since a lot of them are so precious and funny.

As the creator, you are a being of incredible power and influence—yet at times, you can’t help but be utterly charmed by the smallest things. And nothing melts your heart more than the precious little ones of Teyvat, who always seem to be ready for an adventure (and often, mischief).

Klee

It all starts when you watch Klee during one of her explosive missions. She’s running around, her small feet taking her across the battlefield, her cheerful giggles trailing behind her as she launches bombs in every direction. And as much as the others cringe, you can’t help but adore her.

You find yourself cheering her on from your place above, your voice soft yet full of encouragement:

"Go, Klee! You’re doing great! You’ve got this, just a few more bombs and you'll show them who's boss!"

You can practically see her face light up, as though she’s hearing your words, her giggles growing even more infectious.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!" she cheers, as the explosions continue, and you think, maybe I’ll draw her with all those sparkles around her next time—oh, how fun it would be to make her look like a literal firecracker in my painting!

Diona

Then there’s Diona, your favorite little bartender, who may look small but holds her ground with her ferocious attitude toward anyone who dares to doubt her drink-making skills. You’ve seen her concoct all sorts of strange but (somehow) delicious potions, and you're there, in the background, naming all the ingredients she might use for her drinks.

"Hmm, Diona," you muse from your corner, a grin spreading across your face, "How about you add some mint leaves for a refreshing taste and a splash of lavender for a calming effect. A little honey wouldn’t hurt either!"

She pauses, glaring at the air for a moment, as if pondering the suggestion. After a moment, she huffs, shaking her head. “Hmph. You think you know better than me? Fine, I’ll give it a shot. But it’s still gonna be better than anything that idiot swillmaster makes.”

You laugh, quietly, adoring her tenacity. You can’t wait to paint her, maybe with some of the fresh ingredients floating around her, her tiny arms crossed in that cute, pouty manner.

Kazuha and Sayu

Kazuha and Sayu often wander the lands of Inazuma together, sharing stories of the world. But you can’t help but notice how small and innocent they both look, especially when they get caught up in their small adventures.

Kazuha, while wise and calm, becomes this beautiful and somewhat soothing sight as he plays his flute while Sayu, despite being a ninja, tries to keep up but always ends up sleepy or distracted by the clouds.

“Hey, Kazuha, you should totally give Sayu a ride on your back,�� you suggest with a soft chuckle, watching as Sayu tries to climb up Kazuha’s back and ultimately just ends up lying down instead.

You adore their dynamic. Kazuha always smiles when you’re cheering them on, and Sayu often gives you a tiny wink as if saying, “I know, I know. I’m cute.”

Nahida

Nahida, the archon of wisdom, might be incredibly powerful, but she has a youthful curiosity that’s completely contagious. You find yourself constantly beaming as she gets excited over learning new things, always running around with a little notebook, jotting down facts about the world, or chasing after butterflies in the fields.

"Look at her go," you muse as you watch her from afar, your heart swelling with pride. "She’s so curious, so full of life. You can do it, Nahida! Keep chasing that butterfly! It's yours!"

She looks up from her butterfly chase, beams with her bright, warm smile, as if hearing your praise. There’s a part of you that can’t wait to draw her—capturing her joyful energy, her hair fluttering in the wind, and her little hands reaching out for the world.

Meanwhile, the characters who watch you interact with these little ones are torn between being endearingly amused and very confused.

Albedo, who sees you painting these adorable scenes of the children, may quietly ask, “Are you sure you want to paint them this way? They’re… quite a handful, aren’t they?”

Zhongli, ever the calming presence, merely chuckles, his hands clasped. “Let them be, my friend. You’ve captured their true nature in your artwork, as always.”

Diluc, on the other hand, simply raises an eyebrow when he overhears you cheering for the kids. He can’t quite decide if it's adorable or baffling, but he keeps his opinions to himself, lest you get any more ideas to paint him in some weirdly soft light.

Before long, you find yourself starting an entire gallery dedicated to your love for the younger characters. Klee’s explosive adventures, Diona’s sassy bartending, and Nahida’s innocent curiosity are now immortalized in stunning, vibrant colors. Every character is fascinated by your works—some even request copies.

And you know what? It doesn’t matter that you’re the creator, or that your abilities stretch beyond the limits of mere mortals. For these small, lovable, and endlessly adorable children of Teyvat? They will always have your heart.

[onlyjjong]

hello everyone, lili here ! ^^ i would appreciate it if you took the time to read this properly and spread it!

after reading thoroughly through several posts and hearing stories of several people, I want to take a moment to share my thoughts on the ongoing situation. I understand that this is a sensitive topic, and I want to make it clear that I am speaking purely from my own perspective, and I am making this post, not influenced by any parties. My intention is not to provoke or mock anyone, and I acknowledge that both sides have their own rights and wrongs.

Because of this, I do not want to take sides, and I am NOT picking any sides, but I will stand by what I truly believe is right. One of those beliefs is that hiding behind the image of religion does not justify or excuse wrongdoings. I also recognize that I am still learning, and there are many people far more educated on this matter (this whole situation circulating right now & the palestine situation + their history) than I am. However, from what I do know, religion should never be used as a defense for harmful actions.

Additionally, I feel that the concept of “supporting the art but not the artist” does not entirely fit this situation. When an artist actively supports zionism and genocide (or similar actions), engaging with their art—especially through streaming their songs and content or purchasing their work—directly benefits them. While creating content inspired by a song may not be entirely wrong, actively promoting and financially supporting such an artist is wrong. I want to be very clear about this: this applies not just to this particular case but to any artist or brand with harmful affiliations.

For one side of this discussion, I understand that being called a Zionist is deeply upsetting, and no one should be labeled as such unless they openly identify as one. as my friend soph (mwah ! love u babes) put it well, this [zionism] is a very strong term, and I believe this situation could have been handled in a much calmer, less aggressive way—on both sides. I also acknowledge that it is hurtful when others assume things about you based on a single action or post, especially online. no one on tumblr truly knows you, and they do not have the right to judge you so harshly.

At the same time, I do believe that if you choose to boycott something, you need to do it properly—otherwise, it loses its impact. In my personal life, I have been actively trying to implement this by reminding myself and those around me about the brands and artists we should avoid, especially those that have publicly taken a harmful stance regarding palestine. However, I admit that when it comes to neutral or uncertain cases (such as artists like enhypen or other hybe/sm artists [take note that jake has apologised for using starbucks!] or other artists that are under companies that require them by contract to stay silent; or brands that have not publicly stated that they are pro or anti palestine 𑁋 and i believe that @boyfhee worded this better here), I sometimes struggle and make mistakes too. The lines can be blurry, and if anyone is more knowledgeable about this, I genuinely welcome corrections and guidance.

I also want to take this opportunity to sincerely apologize if I have ever hurt anyone—whether knowingly or unknowingly, intentionally or unintentionally—throughout my time on tumblr. I have never and will never accuse someone of being a Zionist without concrete evidence, and I deeply regret if I have ever made anyone feel that I have. If you feel I have wronged you, please feel free to reach out to me. I truly believe that misunderstandings can be resolved through civil and open conversations.

some of you may feel that I am being nosy or speaking on something that does not directly involve me. However, I believe that global issues—especially those involving human rights—are not just the responsibility of those directly affected. Staying informed, speaking up, and holding ourselves accountable for the impact of our choices are important, regardless of where we come from. Silence in the face of injustice only enables suffering of many innocent lives to continue. That said, I am not claiming to be an expert or forcing my views on anyone. I am simply sharing my thoughts based on what I have learned so far, and I remain open to corrections and new perspectives.

At the end of the day, I believe people make mistakes, and every party involved in a conflict should reflect and apologize when necessary. I am committed to learning and growing, and I encourage open discussions with kindness and respect. If I have made any mistakes in my understanding or statements, please do not hesitate to reach out—I am always open to learning and correcting myself.

thank you for reading, and have a great day/night!

tagging to boost ! (sorry for any unwanted tags + i’m posting on this blog because i have more followers here) @miumura , @coqhee , @orimuraa , @legomaster333 , @weoris , @amouriu , @antoncyng , @geutori , @juyeoz , @macapunoz , @mujeans

[sideblogdotjpeg]

Extremely small spoilers for the c3 ending warning

But I think a really fun bit of Sol's character that I kinda didn't notice until the final episode is that ever since Irondeep (or maybe even before?), Sol has just been learning how to sew and crochet. And I have extreme respect for Murph letting Sol use that knowledge in the final episode to redistribute the magic of his displacement cloak amongst the party. I just really love those kinds of small character details in fantasy - the hobby they pick up randomly that slowly becomes more and more of a skill as the story progresses.

YES ! sols background knitting/crochet hobby (theyre used kind of interchangeably) is one of my favourite little quirks of his to think about... and if you keep track of its offhanded mentions, it actually weaves (hehe) a really sweet mini-story about sols character !

(teeny tiny mini essay under the cut, because i. have. thoughts)

so! a minor um actually is that sols knitwork is actually brought up pretty much at the VERY start of his character intro;

"...I'm wearing a homemade sweater that is in the same pattern as the standard issue synth knight sweater, but that one didn't fit me, so ive crafted my own as a replica - the sleeves are a little long, i'm still working on it, i like to knit in my spare time to quell my thoughts a bit..." (ep 1)

so we establish 1) he likes to knit, 2) knitting is an almost meditative practice, a very physical-based method of dealing with his thoughts, 3) he wants to fit in with his cohort of synth knights, even though their 'standard' has excluded and rejected him 4) he takes on this rejection without any bitterness, and instead with an optimism that his own personal inadequacies can be overcome by trying his darn best, 5) he's a cute frog in an oversized sweater

it's a pretty small & overall NOT important line that doesn't mean anything, but you COULD interpret it as the introductory, basic threads of meditative practice, community, belonging and identity that return as pretty major elements in sol as a character!

other, pretty major encounters with the knitting/sewing motif:

ep 7: Callie "we're sort of entwined now, right? i mean, our fates are somewhat braided at this point" + sol "if you're saying that we're friends then yes!" (this isn't a sol knitting moment, but good GOD 'our fates are braided' + them later discovering they're peregrine + sol sewing peregrine patches - we LOVE unintentional foreshadowing)

ep 27: Before the king durretar fight, sol gives everyone a peice of black yarn to wrap around their arms, a symbol of the living will they made to each other. Later in the ep, he holds up the band just before he goes down

ep 39: Right before he leaves to return to irondeep, sol gives swag "a little bracelet of yarn, just so we can feel connected" (literally FUCKING RUINOUS when you think about this being THE LAST TIME THEY SEE EACH OTHER FACE TO FACE and all the other moments sol gives his loved ones threads/bracelets. god. actually ruinous)

ep 53 (short rest!): This requires maybe a bit of context... but essentially, its caldwell describing sol's conflict of wanting to save the people he loves VS the growing reality of his inability to do so as, "no matter how big and thick and fluffy a sweater he knits, it always unravels itself"

ep 57: sol plants a piece of thread on the two ice swags (red and purple) as a way to tell them apart

ep 61: sol takes the black band from the king durretar fight and weaves it into a design that he made of the peregrine symbol/callie's sigil so that they can all wear it as a team (and one for a squire too, of course!)

ep 72: sol shreds his displacer scarf & patches up everyone's track jackets with it, to share the protection magic (this does end up saving calder's life i think.... THAT'S THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP BABY.)

finally, also in ep 72: galactic swag returns the night sky to the faewild, and sol comments "now that's knitting..."

I think. All in all. It's like. sol is this guy who, perhaps more than anything else, longs for family, home & community. He found this in launchpad and mothership, and their promise that if he could just work hard enough to prove that he meets their standards, then he CAN fit in and be worthy, and belong, and be part of something big. And over the course of campaign 3, he finds this with duck team.

All these desires for connection are expressed through the small things he knits for the people he loves. It keeps coming up over and over again, sol trying to stitch pieces of himself into his friends. Have this yarn, and this thread, and this bracelet, so you can remember you have someone to fight for and someone fighting for you (i have THOUGHT about this being kind of like a Lady's favor to a knight.... i've THOUGHT about this...) In ep 39, he gives swag a mushroom with the stated purpose that it might let sol know if swag dies. In ep 41, he tells hardwon that "there haven't been many people that I've met that have stuck around and meant something to me". I think you could interpret.... sol's habit of giving little knit gifts to his friends as maybe kind of a manifestation of that worry. that people are going to leave him, and he's going to end up alone again. so the thread of the living will comes back over and over again... no matter where you are, dead or alive, we'll be connected somehow.

You can also interpret all of this in the context of his childhood! in the waterpark ! A place where he was cold, and in danger all the time, and alone, and nobody made any 'big and thick and fluffy' sweaters for him. That the way he responds to this is... by making sure the people that he loves never ever have to feel like that. Here's something to keep you warm, and to remind you that i Know you, I Think of you, and i Love you. Sol just wants to protect all his friends by knitting them up in a big comfy sweater (and by the finale, in a way, he does!)

anyway ! those are my um. my. very minor thoughts about sol & knitting. i think about it a normal amount i promise. it is really REALLY a very fun bit about his character and it is. wonderful to see it evolve over the campaign.

Also since I accidentally went whole hog and wrote a full essay. Um. more sol knitting mentions that I personally find very delightful, although less relevant to this specific analysis:

Ezry arc: "i haven't had a chance to knit in a while, that really mellows me out" < sol's explanation for nearly punching a salamander to death because he kind of reminded him of a completely different salamander guy who had the audacity to go to the movies with albin, once. Really cute because awww he knits to mellow out. and also. god sol is fucking Insane. frog who is for sure possessive a normal and healthy amount

Living Woods arc: the living woods arc has sooo many cute lil sol knitgifts. sol gives calder a reversible beanie that has the initials CK (for calder kilde) and KC (for kalder cilde)... he says he was making it for calders birthday! (i didn't check this particular moment for accuracy, but i DO rmb calder saying smthn to the effect of "this is the nicest thing anyone's ever got for me") ..... this also has the famous callie crochet bra + i THINK sol's knit boots for calder

Irondeep arc: sol makes the infamous knit hammer cover with pompoms for kenna. (he later also makes i think.. a cloth for kenna to clean her hammer? he's trying guys....)

Tsunare arc: callie asks sol to make a gunk bindle

Ice knife arc: EVERYBODY IS REALLY MEAN TO SOLS KNITTING. SOMEBODY DEFEND HIM HE DOESNT DESERVE THIS....

Faewild arc: after calder gives himself a crop top , "i will Happily be your tailor"

Conclusion? this frog loves his friends!!!!!

[whoretongue]

Time for Inkarmat meta.

Inkarmat's cunning and manipulative nature is a product of the oppression she faced both as a woman and an ethnic minority. She developed these skills as a coping mechanism precisely because of her status in society.

Noda went to great lengths not to fall into the "noble savage" trope & made the Ainu characters in GK just as interesting as the Japanese ones. Also, given that Ainu independence is a big theme in GK, it makes sense that these concept would influence Inkarmat's development.

Inkarmat was a female orphan, traveling by herself since a young age, getting into dangerous situations and needing to learn fast alternative means to defend herself.

As an adult Inkarmat is depicted as sexy, flirtatious, and manipulative but as a child she has an innocence that is comparable to Asipra. This is an explicit parallel as we see Asirpa is reminded of her relationship with Sugimoto, when Inkarmat recalls her love for Wilk.

Also Yes, Asirpa's canon crush on Sugimoto is paralleled by Inkarmat's crush on Wilk when she was a child. Inkarmat's sadness that Wilk may have forgotten her represents an insecurity Asirpa carries with her for most of the plot.

Asirpa is afraid one day Sugimoto will leave her behind for another woman -the woman he loves as he said himself. Just as Wilk did to Inkarmat when he fell in love with Asirpa's mother, not even sharing stories of Inkarmat to his child whom he told so many other important things.

Carrying on. Noda empowers adult Inkarmat by having her taking advantage of Japanese people, the oppressors of the Ainu, and on that it is largely men she is taking advantage of. Yes, Inkarmat uses her wiles to manipulate men, and take advantage of them to secure her own safety.

But she is still very much vulnerable to the majority power. The narrative emphasizes this in the subtext. She is working under Tsurumi, the primary representative of imperialism by the plot, a man who does not rely on the subordination of the Ainu to accomplish his goals

And she is later imprisoned by him proving that Tsurumi had always been the one in power all along, she is sexualized and victimized by other random Japanese men, and she relies on Tanigaki (a Japanese man) for safety.

Need to add you can compare the way other female characters are depicted sexually based on their societal status. O-gin is very empowered and free even during sex. And Sofia has personal agency and is regarded as a leader of men so when her tits are out it's just for a good time.

Also kind of on a similar note. Inkarmat and Ienaga end up sharing a positive relationship which I find kind of cute but also when you think about it. Ienaga is also a suppressed minority as a transwoman, and similarly being held prisoner by Lt Tsurumi.

Anyway, Inkarmat operates with a certain inevitability in her mindset. She has accepted the state of things as an Ainu woman, and that is why she does not care about the gold, or her own fate as dictated by her divinations.

However much like the rest of the cast, she is influenced to have more hope by Asipra who by her very name represents a "new kind of Ainu woman".

And she learns to love and feel the security of family by the influence of Tanigaki and Cikapasi. Likely this is what encourages her to leave clues for Tanigaki so that he can find her after she is taken hostage by Tsurumi.

Inkarmat and Tanigaki get a happy end and I think it represents something very important and also compliments the theme of Ainu liberation pretty nicely imo She was always independent but now she also has security. Anyway, we stan Inkarmat, she is an amazing character...

[buckysouvenir]

call it what you want

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day tree!

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

The world was quiet for once, but Bucky’s mind was anything but. 

The Winter Soldier. Hydra’s weapon. A killer. They had a picture of him so dark, even he had a hard time believing there was anything else left.

So, he disappeared. For months, nobody heard from him. Not Steve. Not Sam. He needed the silence more than he needed air. He needed to figure out who he was without the ghosts of the past clawing at him, dragging him back into the dark.

But then, there was her.

Y/N walked into my life when I wasn’t even looking. She wasn’t afraid of me like so many others were. She didn’t flinch at the sight of my metal arm, didn’t hesitate to stand by me when I thought I didn’t deserve anyone’s kindness.

She saw me. The real me.

I don’t know how she does it, but when Y/N looks at me, it’s like the weight of the world lifts off my shoulders. She makes me forget the noise—the whispers of those who doubt me, the accusations, the labels. All the liars fade into nothing when I look at her.

And she’s beautiful. God, she’s beautiful. She’s got this way about her, like she doesn’t even realize how much light she brings into a room. She’s fit like a daydream, moving through life with a kind of quiet strength that leaves me breathless.

Sometimes, I catch myself staring. It’s not just her smile or the way her eyes light up when she’s excited. It’s the little things—how her lips twitch when she’s trying not to laugh, or how she tilts her head when she’s listening to someone talk.

And she loves me. Not in the way people love an idea of someone, but the real me. She loves me like I’m someone brand new.

I don’t deserve her. I know that. I’ve made the same mistakes over and over, burned bridges I didn’t even try to fix. And maybe I’ll never learn, but at least I did one thing right: her.

One night, we were sitting by the fire. The compound was quiet for once, the kind of peaceful stillness I rarely experienced. She was leaning against my side, her hand brushing mine, and the words just slipped out before I could stop them.

“Would you run away with me?”

I wasn’t sure why I said it. Maybe it was because, for the first time in forever, I felt like I could breathe around her. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to share her with the rest of the world.

She turned to look at me, her eyes wide, searching my face for something. And then she smiled, this soft, radiant smile that made my chest ache.

“Wherever you go,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll follow.”

When you first met Bucky Barnes, you didn’t know what to expect. He was quiet, his head always down, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. He moved like he didn’t want anyone to notice him, but you did.

You saw him.

He had this way of making himself small, like he thought he didn’t deserve to take up space. But when he looked up, when those stormy blue eyes met mine, something shifted.

He’s the kind of person who hides his heart, but when he trusts you, it’s like being let into a secret. And somehow, you became the person he walked to.

Bucky isn’t what the world thinks he is. He’s kind, in ways people don’t notice. Like the way he remembers the little things—how you take my coffee, which books you like to read, even the songs you hum under my breath.

One night, when the compound’s heating system failed during a snowstorm, he built a fire just to keep you warm. He sat there for hours, feeding the flames, making sure you wouldn’t shiver.

It wasn’t just the fire, though. It was him. Always showing up, always caring in ways he didn’t think anyone noticed.

You started wearing his initial around your neck not long after that. A small silver chain with a simple charm. It wasn’t because he owned you or anything like that—it was because he knew you. Really knew you.

Bucky saw through all the walls you’d built around yourself. He saw the parts of you kept hidden, the pieces you thought no one would ever want. And he stayed.

One night, you sat by the fire again, the same warmth wrapping around you. He looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“Would you run away with me?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his words. He didn’t ask because he thought you needed saving or because he wanted to escape. He asked because, for the first time, he felt like we could have something that was just yours.

“Wherever you go,” you whispered, “I’ll follow.”

#taglist: @cjand10

[thelemoncoffee]

i know this fanbase don't give a flying fuck about my DICE ocs but i do, and i have a think thonk about one such oc and his possible dynamic with Shuichi

so for those who don't know i have a DICE main trio or sorts who founded the gang, this trio is comprised of Kokichi, Kaji, and Micky. the idea behind it is Kaji (afro guy) and Micky (really long hair girl) are the two closest and longest friendships Kokichi has, and the three of them decided to make their own "organization" back in elementary school to help protect kids like the three of them who were kinda the resident losers and misfits and really needed support (this ofc evolved into the petty crime local hooligan gang that is the DICE we know and love today)

Kaji is really funky because he's actually known Kokichi quite literally his whole life- he and Kokichi's families are really good friends and their moms had become pregnant with them only a couple months apart, then when they were born the two families took turns babysitting for one another. thanks to all this Kokichi and Kaji see one another as honorary brothers and are practically inseperable

what does all this have to do with Shuichi? weeeellll you see- Kaji is a very shy person. growing up he was a messy ball of anxiety and timidness that coward behind Kokichi every chance he got, his shyness practically controlled him and it got him bullied alot for it (he also got the childhood nickname Courage as a jab from the older kids). Kokichi didn't particularly like seeing his best friend struggle like this, so he did eveything in his power- albeit in his own strange Kokichi way- to help him take control of his nerves and learn to defend himself. in present day he's still very shy and reserved but it's in a much more controlled and subdued way, allowing for him to come off as more zen than anxiety riddled- tho he does prefer taking a backseat in convorsations still. his growth has also helped him alot with his current day job working as a barista for his family's cafe

now Shuichi also struggles with anxiety and timidness- just in a different way to Kaji- and i honestly love the idea that Kaji could be the perfect kind of person to act as a guide for Shuichi as he learns to navigate the weird private world of Kokichi Ouma. Kaji's been around the clown block more than a few times, and has dealt with Kokichi working with him through similar issues before, not to mention he's also seen Kokichi go through all sorts of failed romantic relationships. if there's anyone who could relate to Shuichi and give him solid advice for the relationship he's founded with Kokichi- it'd be Kaji

......also i really just wanna sit here and imagine them hanging out over coffee on Kaji's break, sharing social blunder stories and anxiety coping tactics while trying to decypher all the weird shit Kokichi's said to Shuichi recently

[hazymoonlinh]

Hellooo :3

Could I request Aventurine with a reader who is a runaway royalty (a princess) who fled from a tyrant father? He only finds out later because reader didn't want to tell him to start anew

(Him and reader are in an established relationship)

Aventurine x Runaway Princess!Reader

(Established Relationship | Hurt/Comfort | Angst with Fluff)

A Hand Full of Secrets

The soft hum of neon lights reflected in Aventurine’s rose-tinted glasses as he lazily spun a poker chip between his fingers. The familiar weight of it felt grounding, much like the presence of you beside him—an anchor he never thought he needed until now. Life with you had been… uncomplicated, despite the chaos that seemed to follow him like a shadow. You were a mystery, sure, but he liked that about you. It made the game more interesting.

But tonight was different.

The tension was palpable, heavier than the usual playful banter. You sat across from him in the dimly lit room of your shared hideout, fingers trembling slightly as you tried to fold them into stillness. Your eyes, usually so vibrant and full of warmth, held something else—fear. Regret.

Aventurine noticed. Of course, he did. He always noticed.

“Alright, darling,” he drawled, setting the poker chip down with a soft clink, leaning back in his chair with an easy, disarming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve been twitchier than a rookie at their first high-stakes table. Care to spill?”

You hesitated, the words tangled in your throat. You’d run from a life of gilded cages and oppressive crowns, from the suffocating grip of a tyrant father whose love felt more like chains. Aventurine had been your freedom—a wild card you’d drawn when you decided to rewrite your story. You never meant to drag your past into his world.

But secrets don’t stay buried forever.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you hated how fragile it sounded. “They’ve found me.”

The air shifted. Aventurine’s smile faded, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “They?” His tone was softer now, but edged with something dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding like a war drum. “My father’s men. They’re here. In the city.” You met his gaze, the weight of your truth pressing down on you. “I’m… not who you think I am, Aventurine. I was a princess. I am—technically. But I ran away. I didn’t want to be… that anymore. I didn’t want to be her when I met you.”

Silence.

It stretched between you, taut and fragile. Aventurine’s expression was unreadable, a mask he wore better than anyone. But beneath it, his mind raced. Not because you’d lied—but because you’d been carrying this burden alone.

Finally, he stood, crossing the room with a casual grace that belied the storm brewing behind his eyes. He stopped in front of you, tilting your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Darling,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek with surprising tenderness, “you think I give a damn about some dusty old title?” His lips quirked into a softer smile, the kind he reserved just for you. “I fell for you, not your crown.”

Your breath hitched, tears welling despite yourself.

“But you deserve someone who—”

“Shh.” He silenced you with a gentle press of his thumb against your lips. “Don’t insult me by thinking I’d walk away because you’re more complicated than I thought.” He leaned in, forehead resting against yours. “Besides, I’ve always had a thing for royalty. Makes me feel like I won the ultimate jackpot.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, the tension cracking just enough for you to breathe again.

“But,” he added, pulling back slightly, his grin turning sharp, predatory, “if your father’s men are here, they’ll learn real fast that no one touches what’s mine.”

There it was—that dangerous edge, the gambler who played for keeps. And in that moment, you knew you were safe. Not because you were royalty. Not because of your past. But because Aventurine had chosen you.

And he never lost a game.

(Maybe this is just part 1)

[hiskillingjar]

Since you were asking for questions to distract you:

What is one thing you have been DYING to share about Echo, Lawrence, Ren and/or Strade? Literally just use this ask to go on a rant about whatever/whoever you want 💛

*fiona apple voice* what the hell, sure.

long post so under the cut. general headcanon dump for ren/fox, law and strade be upon ye. echo is included.

ren + fox 🦊

can't speak japanese (think this is canon) and feels weird and traumatised about it. makes an effort to learn after strade's death, and by fox age, he's fluent.

(also) after strade's death, he attends community college (by fudging a high school degree and upping the sob story of an abusive boyfriend) and gets a degree in coding :)

really struggles to eat vegetables and dairy. would only eat meat and carbs if he was left to his own devices

both of these make his not entirely subtle ED habits flare up, though, so he's kind of a bad eater. don't take him out for dinner, he'll overthink it for days

has a pintrest where he collects outfit inspiration ^_^

sort of self-conscious about his height but knows it's an asset in his younger years. starts wearing heeled boots as he gets older.

lawrence 🥀

can't watch movies or tv shows without disassociating. it makes existing as a human being sort of exhausting

had a crush on their guidance counsellor at school and fantasised about her raping them. felt immediately bad about it and had an OCD doom spiral that made them stop going to see her

generally sex and romance repulsed, to the degree that they questioned if they even had the capacity to feel those emotions at all

turns out, just super depressed

when they do feel romantic or sexual, it can be very overwhelming and intense. which is why they prefer to just. not feel it lol

struggles gaining weight but develops a bit of a gut as they get older. they're a little self-conscious about it.

has a few hang-ups about masculinity, queerness, gender nonconformity. their dad put some fucked up ideas into their head as a kid (which also explains their OCD)

has two broken molars and crooked teeth from not looking after them when they were younger

strade 🔨

coffee drinker. likes it strong but with two sugars. won't drink tea, thinks it's a bad use of caffeine

not a picky eater but won't eat vegetarian "fake" meat. he has like a visceral reaction to it. real dad core energy in that respect.

on the subject of dad core, totally does that thing where he'll walk into a room and just stand there watching tv for twenty minutes. has done that when ren watches anime. no sitting, just...standing.

yellow teeth <3 from smoking when he was younger (with the occasional cigar in his older age) and coffee drinking.

never broken a bone, but has a fuck ton of scars and scrapes. his back especially (from fucking ren <3)

has a few masochistic inclinations. likes a punch to the face, likes to get scratched up and beat up. it gets his blood pumping

very comfortable being a verse, but wouldn't sub for love nor money. ultimate power bottom when he's doing it

acab. really doesn't like police. like he knows how to chat to them and put on the charm and all that, but he doesn't trust them. acab.

echo 🪒 (that's her emoji) (also just facts I feel like sharing)

echo was named and based after echo and query, the riddler's lesbian sidekicks in the batman comics. i developed the two of them into a genderfluid domsub lesbian couple for a batman 2022 fanfic, and got so attached to echo that she became her own character <3

echo's design was partially inspired by trianon serious weakness, but more so that I miss having black and green hair lol. she also has all of my piercings :)

characters who also inspired echo are vikki from what happens next and beth from manhunt by gretchen felker-martin

echo works at fictional cafe that's a stand-in for st*rbucks because of their gender affirming care benefits.

when she and law first met at therapy, she thought they were a clocky trans girl. had absolutely no idea they were basically cis until they told her

her favourite video games are metal gear solid (of course), silent hill and yume nikki

she'd never ever tell anyone she likes anime (because it's cringe apparently), but her favourites are neon genesis evangelion and berserk. has a secret fondness for madoka magica too

echo has one (1) other friend who's a detransitioned butch nb called matt (they/she). echo bullied matt in high school, and they eventually dated but broke it off amicably. they play call of duty together on thursdays.

echo has fucked every woman in law and her's group therapy, and she hates it.

[galedekarios]

I'm not very active in the fandom, so I don't really see any of the criticisms except through your posts about them. It's disheartening sorcerer players are like this about Gale. My first character and the one I always go back to was a storm sorcerer. I love romancing Gale on her. Gale so often uses words with storm imagery; it was a cherry on top to their talks about magic and their differences. Gale's deep knowledge and passion for magic shouldn't threaten a sorcerer's own understanding of magic. If anything, it should inspire a desire to learn more and a greater love for magic and its complexity. Meeting Gale is a winning lottery ticket for a sorcerer in my mind. What an incredible opportunity to better understand something innate with you. I love your blog so much! Thank you for giving us incredible Gale content always. <3

thank you v much for your message!

i also think that's such a beautiful way to look at the relationship - whether it's platonic or romantic - between a sorcerer and gale. thank you for sharing! 🖤

i don't have a sorcerer oc, but i'm also v fond of the dynamic between a wild sorcerer and gale.

i think it's a very sweet dynamic built on learning from each other while also being comfortable in sharing stories and their personal adventures with magic, from a wild magic sorcerer confessing various magical childhood mishaps or to bonding over magical explosions:

i think it also fits in nicely with the idea that gale was born a sorcerer himself and had to learn to control his innate magic and, later when he was older, chose to study it.