#and then learning how emotional he really is

[loufr6]

pick a card – what your future boyfriend will be like

hey loves! so many of you have asked me for love readings, and the ones I’ve done so far have gotten such positive feedback, so I thought… why not try my very first Pick a Card for you all?

take a moment to relax, clear your mind, and simply choose one of several piles or images that resonate with you the most. Each pile is linked to a unique tarot spread, and the cards in that pile will give you insights into your situation trust your intuition, let’s see what the cards have to say about your future boyfriend!

scroll down for your reading��

pile 1 – the dreamy but insecure romantic

cards: the star (reversed), the empress, the high priestess, the world

your future boyfriend has so much potential, but he tends to doubt himself a lot. the star reversed shows that he might have gone through some tough times that have shaken his confidence in love, but don’t worry—he’s healing. with the empress and the high priestess, he is deep, sensitive, and very in touch with his emotions. he admires someone who is emotionally intelligent and knows how to connect on a deeper level. the world suggests that this relationship will be whole and fulfilling, possibly involving travel or being from different backgrounds. it will feel complete and full of potential, but it might take some time for him to fully open up to you.

♡ where you might meet: through travel, online, or a creative/spiritual setting.

pile 2 – the mysterious intellectual

cards: the hermit, the hierophant (reversed), strength, the magician

this man is not the type to rush into things. the hermit shows he is introspective, wise, and prefers to take his time. he might even seem a little distant or reserved at first. the hierophant reversed suggests he might not follow the traditional path in love, and he could have an unconventional view of relationships. but here’s the beauty—strength and the magician show that once he’s ready, he’s incredibly powerful and determined. he’s someone who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to make things happen. he’s likely to be successful in his career and creative pursuits, and his quiet confidence will draw you in.

♡ where you might meet: at a place of learning or intellectual discussion, work, or a deep event that sparks curiosity.

pile 3 – the reformed bad boy with a golden heart

cards: the devil (reversed), the sun, judgment (reversed), death

this guy has been through a lot and is really learning how to let go of his past. the devil reversed tells me he’s breaking free from toxic cycles or habits. he might have a wild side, but he’s working on finding balance. the sun shows that when he’s in a good place, he is radiating positivity and love—he’ll light up your world. but he’s still navigating a few things. judgment reversed suggests that he’s a little hesitant about embracing the full change he needs to grow. still, death is here, and that’s a card of transformation. he’s on the verge of letting go of what no longer serves him and stepping into a much better future.

♡ where you might meet: during a period of change or a big life transformation for both of you.

pile 4 – the passionate but mysterious lover

cards: the lovers, the wheel of fortune, the moon, the chariot

this man is a mix of deep passion and mystery. the lovers shows that he’s someone who is very romantic and could be torn between a few paths in life, especially when it comes to love. it’s possible he has a lot of options but is waiting for the right one to come along. the wheel of fortune suggests that your connection will feel fated—as if it was meant to be. things might fall into place at just the right time, but he does have a secretive side (thanks to the moon). he might not always show you all of himself at first, but the chariot tells me that when he commits, he does it with everything he has.

♡ where you might meet: an unexpected situation, or perhaps when things in your life are shifting or changing.

which pile did you pick? does it resonate with you? let me know in the comments!

[dreaminguponlilypads]

SILENCE BETWEEN US

first awareness?? fic/blurb, starting with selective mutism

John was a patient man. He had to be. His job demanded it—calculating risks, waiting for the right moment, never letting emotions cloud his judgment.

But patience wasn’t the same as understanding. And when it came to you, sometimes he struggled.

He tried. He really did. When you got quiet in social situations, he didn’t push. When a cashier asked you a question and you just stood there, looking helpless, he smoothly stepped in. When your voice faltered around new people or stress crept into your shoulders, he squeezed your hand, letting you know he had you.

But arguments were different.

Price wasn’t the type to shout. He wasn’t cruel, never reckless with his words. But when things got tense, he expected communication. A back-and-forth. A fight that could be resolved.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because you couldn’t always fight back.

And now, here you were—silent, eyes wide, lips slightly parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t.

And Price—despite everything he knew, despite how much he loved you—was losing his patience.

“Say something,” he snapped, pacing the living room. “Anything, for fuck’s sake!”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. Nothing.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Christ, you’re not even trying—”

The second the words left his mouth, regret hit him like a bullet to the chest.

Your face crumpled, eyes darting away, fingers twisting in your sleeves.

John felt the weight of his mistake settle in his gut.

He knew about your selective mutism. Knew stress locked your voice away, that it wasn’t something you could control. He knew—but in his frustration, he’d forgotten.

“Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean that.”

No response. Just your hands, trembling slightly, your breaths uneven.

He forced himself to sit, exhaling sharply. “I really didn’t.”

You nodded. Just a tiny movement, but it was enough to twist the knife in his chest.

He swallowed. “Come here.” He didn’t demand—just asked, quiet and steady.

You hesitated, but after a long moment, you sat beside him. You didn’t look at him, but your fingers brushed his. Testing.

He turned his hand over, letting you take it. Holding on without pushing.

“I need to be better about this,” he admitted, voice rough. “About… remembering. I don’t ever want to make you feel like that again. But I promise I’m trying, just be a little patient.”

A small squeeze of your hand. Warm. Forgiving.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

Another nod.

“Take your time, love. I’ll wait.”

And he would. Because loving you meant learning.

[juricel]

yandere shadow milk x reader who's associated with pure vanilla? like an assistant or something?

thank youuu :3

a/n: apologies for the late reply! i didn't know what to do with this request and also because im in the hospital rn and recovering ^^; i'm supposed to rest but i wanted to write...

— yandere! shadow milk cookie x assistant! reader

໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა ۪ ׂ CONTENT WARNING: surprisingly not much content warning, yanderes, heavy possessive and obssessive behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied forced established relationship, mentioned mindbreak, implied physical and emotional abuse, potential ooc.

𖦁 one of the knowledge that came greatly with being the assistant of pure vanilla cookie was one thing: the understanding of shadow milk cookie's wickedness. and with that knowledge came an inevitability—you would loathe him, despise him with every trembling fiber of your being. after all, how could you not, when he had inflicted upon your master a harm so insidious, so inhumane, that no visible wound could ever hope to rival it? his cruelty did not leave mere scars—it sculpted abysses in the soul, chasms of sorrow where light once dwelled.

𖦁 how faithful you were, a devoted shadow bound to your master’s light! for centuries, you trailed along pure vanilla cookie steps, as if orbiting him like a planet to its sun. and so, when he entered the spire, you followed after him—of course you did. shadow milk cookie was not surprised. no, he had long accounted for you, your loyalty, your inevitable arrival. you were as predictable as nightfall, as moths to flame, as a lamb led blindly to slaughter— just as he had planned. however, what gnawed at him, what curled like smoke in the marrow of his thoughts, was your devotion. what was so good about pure vanilla cookie? he didn't get you, nothing really was so brilliant about him. a brittle thing, so easy to prod and bend until he broke just right; that was one thing, yet, you—you—clung to him with such reverence, such maddening admiration for something else he could not see. for what? for who? what did he have that shadow milk did not? what pathetic, insipid warmth kept you so leashed to him? he could offer you so much more—more safety, more knowledge, more entertainment. he could carve out a space for you in his world, shield you from the soft, saccharine delusions you clung to so desperately. and yet, you still shied from him, still turned to that weak, flickering light. It almost made him laugh. almost. but laughter was for amusement, and he wasn't fond of this one.

𖦁 you should be /his/ instead. his dear, devoted follower, his ever-adoring shadow. why waste yourself on him—that brittle, trembling thing—when shadow milk could offer you so much more? oh, he would give you wonders, spectacles of illusion spun just for you, laughter so sweet it would rot you from the inside out. entertainment, delight, deceit. and surely, in time, you would learn. learn to savor the moment a mind snaps, to take fulfillment in the fragile shattering of conviction, in the exquisite collapse of sanity. it would be beautiful. it would be yours. you only had to let go of that fragile, flickering light, that feeble thing who could never keep you safe, him, who never understand you the way he could. pure vanilla cookie, with his trembling kindness and hollow reassurances, would never give you what you needed. not like shadow milk. no, never like shadow milk. he could strip away the illusions you clung to, peel back the layers of your mind until you saw the world for what it truly was—raw, malleable, his. he would guide you, shape you, cradle your thoughts in his hands until they became something beautiful. and oh, how beautiful you would be. how exquisite, how perfect once you learned to listen, to see, to believe. to hear the delicate, symphonic crack of another’s breaking mind and finally, finally understand the pleasure in it. he would teach you. he would love you. and one day, you would look at him not with fear, not with resistance, but with devotion.

𖦁 it’ll be fun, he promises, and you will see, oh, you’ll see, you’ll understand. the thrill, the ecstasy of unraveling a mind thread by thread, the art of peeling away resistance until nothing remains but pliant, trembling devotion. he will show you, guide you, remake you into something worthy. yet, when he asked—when he offered after graciously severing you away from those imbeciles—you declined. declined. his smile didn’t falter, no, but something inside him cracked. declined? declined? after everything he had done, after he had so graciously peeled back the veil, unraveled the world for you, made it so easy for you to step into the path made for you? and yet you still clung to that pathetic, fragile little light, that miserable excuse for safety, that wretched, wretched delusion? his fingers twitched. something inside him writhed. the shadows around you trembled, warped, twisted at the edges as if reflecting something he refused to put into words. you were testing him. pushing him. rejecting him. insulting him. but that was fine. oh, that was fine. he could be patient. he could wait. he could break you as slowly as he pleased. but make no mistake—he will break you.

𖦁 and the first step to that? through your master, pure vanilla cookie. he had always been the target, the delicate little thread shadow milk longed to snap, but now—now, there was more to it, more weight, more purpose. it was no longer just about breaking him, no longer just about watching that soft, trembling kindness crumble into despair. no, now it was about you. about making you watch, making you feel every fracture, every moment of his collapse, until the last of your useless devotion burned to ash. he would make you understand. he would make you beg. yes, yes, you will understand, you will see, you will learn the cost of your defiance, the price of your pathetic, meaningless loyalty. you think you can reject him, turn away from what he so graciously offered? no, no, no, it doesn’t work that way, not with him. you will pay for declining him, you will suffer for it. surely, you didn't think you could simply enjoy life as you go on after declining him, don't you?

𖦁 piece by piece, he peeled pure vanilla cookie apart. not carefully, not gently, but with a slow, creeping malice, like hands pressing too tightly around a fragile thing just to feel it strain before it snaps. he could have played his games longer, toyed with the unraveling of a mind with the same amusement as one might pluck the legs off an insect, but you had declined him. and for that, he would make you suffer. he dug into your master’s mind, not just to break him, but to strip him bare, to leave behind something unrecognizable, something that would make you wince just to look at. he did not speak softly, did not coax him into doubt—he let it crawl, let it sink, let it fester until every thought became a sickness. shadow milk made sure he saw, made sure he felt the weight of it, made sure he could not look away. he watched the light drain from his eyes, the tremor settle in his hands, the last of his certainty rot away into something limp, something pitiful. and you—you were forced to watch. to stand there, silent, frozen, as your master, your beloved light, withered into something small, something helpless, something that would never be able to save you. you could scream, you could cry, you could beg for it to stop, but the moment you declined him, you had sealed your fate. this was not a lesson, not a punishment—this was personal. he would take everything, carve out every illusion, pull apart every piece of you until you were empty, hollow, weightless in his hands, until there was nothing left but him. and then—then you would finally be his.

𖦁 yes, yes— yes! you were his, his, his, his, not by chance, not by fate, but because it could be no other way. the key was in his fist, his fist was in his pocket, pressed so tightly against his palm that the metal left little crescents in his skin, a secret little brand of devotion, of longing, of possession. you were his, weren’t you? not yet, not fully, but oh, you would be, you had to be. how could you not see it? how could you not feel it, the way your very existence was carved to fit into his hands? every breath you took without him was a mistake, a terrible, agonizing mistake that he would fix, because he loved you, because he needed you, because the world was wrong—wrong—when you were not his. you could fight, you could sob, you could spit those little refusals like a wounded thing too foolish to realize it had already been caught, but what did it matter? there was no world beyond him anymore, no future that did not end with you folded into him, safe, perfect, ruined beyond recognition. oh, he would break you so gently, so sweetly, so thoroughly that when you finally crumbled, you would do so with his name on your tongue and relief in your heart. because you were his, you had always been his, and soon—soon—you would understand that too.

𖦁 an odious cookie, a caricature of unrelenting cruelty, turpid in spirit, despicable in deed. he was cruel, yes—mean beyond measure, despicable in every conceivable way—but it was all for you. for the twisted devotion he felt for you, a love so suffocating, so sickly sweet, it made the very air around him thick with poison. he already had his devoted followers—his poor, mindless slaves who fawned and worshipped at his feet, their hearts hollow and weak. but none of them, none of them, were enough. not until you were beside him. you, with your innocence, with your indifference. you, the one thing that both tore him apart and made him feel whole. did you not feel it? the pull? the way his gaze devoured you, consumed you, as though you were the last breath of air he would ever taste? oh, sweet darling, how he longed for you. how he burned for you. had you not turned away, had you not rejected him, you would have been his, completely. and he would have been yours, bound in chains of obsession so tight that neither of you could breathe, and only pure vanilla cookie would've heen hurt. and yet... cradling your face in his trembling hands, he let his breath linger on yours, lips brushing against the fading warmth of your skin. your eyes—hollow and lifeless—held no spark, but he didn’t pull away. you were his now, no longer the person you once were, but a broken version of what he had longed for. still, he loved you more for it, for you were his creation, shaped by his devotion. his kiss was not of tenderness, but of possession, absorbing the last traces of your humanity with every stolen breath. no longer yourself, but still his. you were not the person he once desired, but you were his, twisted and remade, and forever—forever—his love would suffocate you, even as you faded into nothingness. your emptiness, the final proof of his devotion, was his greatest prize.

a/n: i got both pv and smc's costumes!! i'm so happy... i only spent 32k for them surprisingly,, they're both so adorbs!!

[aceyanaheim]

Things that totally happened while Kakashi was in single digits ( which is his entire genin AND chunin exam Kishi wtf ) a non extensive list. With the help of the lovely @tora-the-cat

Most D-Rank missions are doing chores around the village. Do you understand how little muscle five year olds have? I dont care that they're a superhero ninja village five is five. Kakashi totally went too hard on some of the manual labor and just..couldnt keep going. Minato had to cover for him. ( Minato also had to convince him that no this didn't make him a bad shinobi because Kakashi tired and grumpy and five was totally trying not to cry when he woke up and the mission was done)

Kakashi lived alone for what the fuck reason kishi wh- after his dad died this tells me he basically learned climbing things like cupboards to get what he wanted and no he doesn't need help thank you.

After a while Minato got good at just extending his arms and catching Kakashi randomly because Kakashi's "if i cant reach climb it" attitude went with him on missions.

Minato fully expecting a genin age ten at the youngest finding someone Half that age and just getting every book on What Five Years Olds Are Like bc...he's never had to train one? He's never seen one on the field? Now he's on a team with one??? Hiruzen?? He's Five???

Kakashi at least once took out someone at the ankles just because thats the nearest thing he could reach.

He needed special weapons because he's tiny but Minato took to carrying then around because at least once Kakashi ran out of his took one of Minatos ( excuse him for being solution orientes) and Damm near sliced his hand open.

@tora-the-cat came up with this one but Kakashi took too many missions back to back without nap time and had a meltdown on a mission. At least the mission was successful.

Also that a jounin almost made Kakashi cry for getting hangry on a mission and Minato almost ate him. ( This was also @tora-the-cat )

Kakashi adamant that he needs to summon His Favorite niken for a mission and totally didnt pout when he couldnt ( he's Five)

Please imagine youre on a B Rank Mission. Please imagine youre fellow Chunnin is Six. Please imagine he kills with effiiciency and then pouts because he can't keep His dog as summoned on the way back and he hates the vegetables Sensei theyre gross.

Minatos a good soldier a good Shinobi he understands this is for the good of the village and anything for the good of the village is justified but he's still not ready for the emotions that slam into him the first time he has to carry this literal toddler after a mission ( maybe he got hurt maybe he fell asleep idk could be both)

Minato carrying special rations because like there are foods?? A Five year Olds body needs??? You can't just give him rations and pills

Minato had to trick Kakashi tho because He's A Shinobi He doesnt need vitamins ( yes. Yes he does)

Please imagine the surround sound HD "what the fuck" when this tiny ass six year old shows up for his Chunnin exam ( Minato Teaches him a bunch of jutsus every one chalks it up to Minato having a passing aquantance with limits. It is that but also he really needs the reasurance Kakashi won't die fighting a bunch of ninja who are twice His age at the youngest)

At least once Kakashi gets sick and actually acts his age. I need that

Listen I've said before but there should have been more focus on Kakashi being Five when his ninja career started like do You know how tiny Five is. He's Little. Picture it Minato goes to meet him and expects a ten year old only to feel a tug on his pants and there's this barely not a toddler standing at attention perfectly. He maybe reaches Minatos knees. Kakashi garrots someone and then asks Minato if he can please lift him up to wash his hands bc he can't reach the sink. Minato has to carry extra special Made weapons because should Kakashi find himself without his Minatos weapons would not in fact fit in his hands. He has to stand on tiptoes to give ninja reports. He's Five thats Tiny. Someone offered him the kids menu at Shinobi Food Place and Minato barely curved the killer intent by promising extra training. Kishimoto pick up the phone this could have been so much funnier and no less tragic.

[elara-in-the-sky]

I've been seeing a lot about how people wanna see jean and jere fuck nasty and like kinky and stuff and it's like ... at least in the beginning I really don't. like after was faser did to Jeremy and everything jean went through with the biting and stuff, I think their first time(s) should be slow and intimate. the type that is so emotional one or both cries afterwards. I want it to be tender and loving. it should be INTIMATE. because learning intimacy is a huge thing for both of them. it should make us want to cry because of the emotions it makes them feel. yea eventually they can fuck nasty sure, but they're not there yet. they deserve to "make love" for the first time, because neither has really ever had that. sure jere has had a lot of sex, but it's all been quick nasty fucks. he shouldn't have that with jean too.

[accioprocrastination]

The Deployment

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

A/n: This is sort of a continuation to His Girls but can be read alone

Summary: girl dad Jake gets deployed - the family drop him off at the airport

You wake the kids up at the crack of dawn to take Jake to the airport.

Ivy is happily singing along to the god-awful kids radio playing throughout the car and Abbie looks crestfallen - silently staring out of the car window.

It's hard to feel the full weight of Jake's deployment with the current musical soundtrack. You smirk as baby shark comes on and sing along with Ivy at the top of your lungs; hoping that it'll irritate Abbie and Jake enough to snap them out of their respective silences.

Abs is old enough now to realise that her dad's job is dangerous. She won't tell either of you but she hasn't relaxed since the day she learned that. Every time she says goodbye to him she's internally worrying that's the last time they'll ever speak.

Jake watches your eldest nervously fidget from the reflection in the side mirror. He feels sick at the thought of having to go today. He took the instructor post so he wouldn't have to be away from you guys again, but he didn't think about leaving for special assignments. This is a painful reminder of the lack of control he has in his job.

When you're out of the car you all stick together for as long as physically possible before you have to separate.

Jake bends down and hugs Ivy first. He whispers something in her ear that makes her burst into a fit of giggles.

He turns his attention to Abbie next who looks cool as a cucumber. The only thing giving away the fact that she's not okay with this is the fact that she's still twitching her foot.

You watch as they hug each other tightly and Jake kisses her head as a goodbye.

"Please don't go." Abbie whispers loud enough for you both to hear. You watch as tears fill her eyes wishing you could make everything go back to normal for her.

Jake gives you a pained look, eyes glassy with emotion as he's stopped speechless for the first time in a long time.

"Abs he has to go baby." You say to her wiping her face to stop the tears that have started falling.

"He'll be back before you even know he's really gone." you promise her - it's a lie considering neither of you know how long this deployment will be.

Jake hugs you last. "I can't go if Abs keeps crying like that." He whispers shakily - not wanting to leave you guys.

"She loves you. I'll calm her down in the car." you assure him rubbing his cheek with the pad of your thumb .

He squeezes you tightly and you suck in a breath knowing this is the last time you'll see him indefinitely.

"I love you." he says before giving you a barely there small peck on the lips. God forbid Abbie screams 'no PDA' through an airport if he was to do anything more than that.

"I love you too." You say into his shoulder as he pulls you into another quick hug.

"Call me the second you can." you instruct him, not letting go of his hand before he agrees.

He nods then squeezes your hand as a silent goodbye before giving the family another once over and stepping backwards.

"Take care of each other while I'm gone." He says voice cracking as he looks at Abbie - silently telling her to quit with the teenage angst.

[asterafroditis]

Hey there !

Hope you have a great day/afternoon/night.

I was wondering if you could write how floyd, rook and jamil would react to a reader that is caring and playful but can be stubborn and impulsive when frustrated or angry, acting on her strong will without always thinking ahead.

You can add things if you feel like it too.

Thanks ❤️

𐔌 . ⋮ reckless resolve .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Floyd, Rook, & Jamil x gn! reader (separate)

𓏵 823 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff

hope this exactly caters to your request! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Floyd would find your stubbornness hilarious—at least, at first. He’s the type to get a kick out of watching you dig your heels in, especially when you’re arguing with someone. If it’s a harmless situation, he’ll egg you on, adding fuel to the fire just to see how far you’ll go. He might even purposefully annoy you, pushing your buttons until you snap just because he enjoys seeing that spark of determination in your eyes.

But the second your impulsiveness leads to actual trouble? That’s when his amusement shifts to irritation. If you try to pick a fight, rush headfirst into danger, or ignore warnings, Floyd won’t hesitate to physically stop you. He’s freakishly strong, so all it takes is one arm slung around your shoulders—or throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes—to completely ruin whatever reckless plan you had.

Still, Floyd isn’t the type to sit you down for a serious talk. If you’re getting too worked up, he’s more likely to distract you than lecture you, using teasing, nicknames, or even just dragging you away for a "fun detour." But if things get really bad? If you actually get hurt because you weren’t thinking ahead? His usual playful demeanor disappears, replaced by something more dangerous—something angry.

“Ehehe, Shrimpy, you’re real funny when you get all mad like that~ But if you go bitin’ off more than you can chew, I will have to step in, ‘kay?”

"Hah? You’re not listenin’ to me? Fine then~ But don’t start cryin’ when I gotta carry ya outta trouble."

─────────────────────────

Rook adores your fiery spirit. He finds beauty in the way you stand your ground, in the passion that fuels your playful and caring nature. Even when your stubbornness makes you act without thinking, he doesn’t get frustrated—rather, he sees it as another fascinating layer of your character. You remind him of a wild creature, untamed and free, and he takes great delight in observing how you handle challenges.

That being said, Rook is not blind to the dangers of impulsiveness. He knows there are times when acting on raw emotion can backfire, and when that happens, he’s always nearby—watching, waiting. He doesn’t interfere immediately. Instead, he lets you handle things on your own, stepping in only at the last possible moment to prevent catastrophe. And when he does step in, it’s always with an air of effortless grace, as if he had predicted the outcome all along.

Rather than scolding you, Rook prefers to guide you with poetic wisdom and strategic redirection. He won’t tell you outright to stop being reckless, but he will make you think about your choices, presenting them in a way that turns your own stubbornness into a strength rather than a flaw. He enjoys challenging you, pushing you to grow—not by force, but by intrigue.

“Ah, ma chérie/mon chéri, such fire! Such spirit! But do not let your passion burn so brightly that it blinds you to the dangers ahead, non?”

"Do you know what makes a true hunter? Not just passion, but patience. Strategy. Foresight. And you, my dear, have all the makings of a formidable one—if only you learn when to pause and take aim."

─────────────────────────

Jamil finds your impulsiveness exhausting. He’s spent his entire life carefully planning, always thinking two steps ahead, ensuring everything runs smoothly without drawing too much attention. So when he sees you completely disregarding consequences and diving headfirst into trouble? It stresses him out.

At first, he tries to handle it logically. He warns you, explains the risks, tries to reason with you. But the more you brush off his concerns, the more irritated he becomes. Jamil doesn’t like dealing with unnecessary problems, and your recklessness is a perfect recipe for disaster. If you insist on charging forward without thinking, he’ll force you to stop—either by physically restraining you or by outsmarting you so that you have no choice but to listen.

However, deep down, Jamil understands you more than he lets on. There’s a part of him that respects your determination, your strong will—after all, he knows what it’s like to want to break free, to refuse to be controlled. He just wishes you’d be more careful about it. He hates seeing you get hurt, even if he’d never admit how much it bothers him.

"Honestly, do you ever stop to think before jumping into things? …Tch. Fine. If you’re going to be reckless, at least let me make sure you don’t get yourself killed."

“You’re stubborn. I get that. But if you must act on impulse, at least have the sense to cover your own weaknesses. No one’s going to save you if you don’t think ahead.”

[ficsinhistory]

Yes, I saw that scene! I don't blame Maddie, it's a very sweet gesture, I would fall for it. Not only that, judging by the way Tom reacted, he has his share of times he did this to calm Maddie down. Not many, but hey, like father like son. I really want to see more of these two and Maddie in particular.

And yes, Amy would definitely be delighted with grand romantic gestures, she's a hopeless romantic lol

And your thoughts on Amy? Immaculate op. Your mind is incredible!

I also believe Amy's history with the Metal Army is probably old and very personal. I theorize that Ivo stole one of her quills too in an invasion of her home - Little Planet - which would lead her to always approach problems thinking of the worst-case scenario. What would explain why the energy of the metal blow would be both blue and pink.

And yes, I see Amy even with all her empathy, altruism and kindness...being terrible at working in a team. Although I ser her not knowing how to work in a group is more like Amy being incredibly controlling and restrictive, a symptom of her desperately trying to keep the circumstances under control and not getting worse. Something that someone as chaotic and freedom-loving as Sonic wouldn't like.

And I begging this will be the situation.

Amy and Sonic have disagreed several times, from the oldest games to Frontiers. Amy is temperamental and has a strong personality and Sonic hates being ordered around. There will be a lot of friction and both jeopardizing each other's plans before a balance is established.

Perfect opportunity for Sonic to finally feel first-hand what it's like when a loved one throws themselves into danger without thinking twice. And on the other hand, Amy would learn that she hurts the one she wants to protect by being so reckless and daredevil.

Now, about coming from the future is an interesting theory and top tier angst. It's still too early to say anything, so every shot is valid.

My personal opinion is that Amy is actually from the present. The explosion took Ivo to the past, where he made his Metal Army, dominated Litlle Planet, and Amy was sent to live on Earth, a little after Sonic - of course, both would have no idea about each other because I love dramatic irony. She would fight with the metals from then on to prevent further interference.

And what would make her attachment issues come would be - and hear me out now - Amy knowing she won't get out of the mission alive.

My theory is that her chaos powers manifest as visions of possible futures, like a computer that calculates probabilities. However, the trauma messed up this ability of hers, always showing worst-case scenarios and basically what happens when someone functions solely on anxiety. Amy would take it at face value because of trauma and belief in fate (possibly coming from her upbringing on Little Planet).

After all, Chaos energy comes from emotions and hers would be in tatters.

This would culminate in her seeing a possible future where everything is saved but she would die. And Amy... accept it. She would live her life to the fullest based on her belief in unconditional love for all living creatures without ever forming attachments because she doesn't want the future to be harder for her or the people she would get close to.

That's where Sonic and the Wachowskis would come in. They would be a family to her and now she's devastated because she doesn't know how to tell them that there won't be a happy ending for her. That she hasn't had one for a long time. Because, as you mentioned, saving thousands of lives is more important than her and any desires she might have.

But it would be too hard to deny her own feelings. The fact that she doesn't want to die because she finally has love and family and has managed for the first time in years to not think about the imminent death that looms over her.

Tldr -> Amy's conflict is basically this part of Andor.

With Amy coming along, I can't stop thinking about the Amy-Sonic/Tom-Maddie parallels.

You know, the pink and blue scheme, Tom having a similar personality to Sonic and Amy possibly having some similarities to Maddie, Amy and Maddie possibly being two big city girls with Amy being from New York and Maddie from San Francisco while Tom and Sonic are both from Green Hills, the setup of Amy plus 3 Wachowski siblings as well as Maddie and Tom, who canonically have siblings too.

They've been foreshadowing this couple since the second movie, fight me!!

(and Tom x Maddie are the parents and couple ever, I love them!)

(Also, please give Maddie more prominence. She's awesome!)

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer To Home VI

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 10.8k

Last night was a turning point—love laid bare, no more running, no more doubt. In the golden light of morning, wrapped in Bucky Barnes’ arms, there’s nothing left to question. He loves you. He’s yours. And for the first time, he’s not afraid to show it.

What started as teasing and lazy touches turns into something deeper—an unspoken promise of everything you’ve built together. A chance encounter at breakfast forces Bucky to confront his past, to see himself not as the weapon he once was, but as a man worth remembering. Worth loving.

He’s still learning, still finding his way, but one thing is certain—he isn’t hiding anymore. Not from himself. And never from you.

Trigger Warnings: mentions of emotional distress, angst, and relationship struggles, a hint of jealousy and abandonment issues, emotional withdrawal, implied PTSD and survivor’s guilt, explicit sexual content (light dominance, possessiveness, overstimulation, and loss of control), moments of mental and emotional turmoil, slightly rough sex with lingering soreness and bruising, public teasing with suggestive dialogue, discussions of war and past violence, themes of self-worth and struggling with identity.

Closer To Home Masterlist

Author’s Note: Surprise, surprise: I couldn't resist it. I wrote the morning after. This one is lighter, more fun, they're just basking in the glow of their 'i love you's' and being menaces to each other. Bucky has a little moment later on and I thought it was something nice for him to have. Give me your thoughts! Love, B xx

--

The first thing you register is the light. Too much light.

It pries its way through the towering hotel windows, an unrelenting golden-white glow bouncing off the surrounding buildings and flooding the room with an almost holy brightness. It’s intrusive, obnoxious—offensive, really. It cuts through the haze of deep sleep, before warmth, before soreness, before the lazy, satisfied hum curling through your limbs, steeped in the lingering echoes of the night before.

A groggy, disgruntled noise escapes you as you burrow deeper into the warmth beside you, determined to outlast the sun’s persistence.

"Shut the blinds," you mumble, voice thick and heavy with sleep, pressing your face into the solid wall of heat next to you.

Bucky barely stirs, barely even acknowledges the request beyond a vague grunt. "You do it."

You groan, shifting just enough to crawl over him before immediately abandoning the effort, nuzzling into the crook of his neck instead. "You’re bigger."

He exhales a breath that might be a laugh, a slow, lazy sound still drowned in exhaustion, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push you away. Instead, the arm draped over your waist tightens just slightly, fingers ghosting up the bare expanse of your spine in slow, absentminded strokes. The sensation sends a pleasant shiver rippling down your body, soothing and grounding, the contrast between his warm skin and the cold bite of vibranium a familiar comfort.

"Mm, sweetheart," his voice is a low rumble against your hair, thick and rough with sleep. "You tryna merge with me or somethin’?"

"Yes," you grumble against his throat, tucking a leg over his hip in silent declaration.

You're both still bare from the night before, neither of you ever quite bothering to reclaim your clothes. Your body—drifting in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness—has yet to register the full extent of your so-called reunion. Not just the dull ache in your limbs, the heaviness in your muscles, but the deeper, lingering soreness between your thighs—a telling reminder of just how thoroughly he’d taken you apart.

Bucky shifts under the covers, adjusting to accommodate your relentless burrowing without complaint. And for a little while, sleep drags you both back under, a quiet, contented peace settling between you, until the light finds you again.

No matter how much you twist and turn, how much you try to sink deeper into the safe haven of Bucky’s body, the glare sneaks through the gaps, prying you from the depths of sleep. A frustrated groan pushes past your lips, muffled against the firm plane of his chest. Bucky, to his credit, doesn’t complain when you press yourself impossibly closer, seeking shelter in the broad expanse of him. Instead, he shifts, muscles flexing beneath your touch as he pulls you closer, his breath fanning warmly across your temple.

"You’re real fussy for someone who should still be asleep," he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

"Light’s in my eyes," you grumble, tightening your arms around him. "You’re supposed to be my fortress."

"And you’re supposed to be my peace and quiet," he counters, voice still hoarse with sleep. "Guess we both lost."

Your heart stutters at the admission, warmth blooming in your chest, but you ignore it—ignore the way it makes something deep inside you melt and ache in the sweetest way. Instead, you huff dramatically, fisting your hands against his side as you try to roll both of you over. "Shield me."

A lazy chuckle rumbles through him, vibrating against your skin. "What?"

"The sun is attacking me. Be useful. Please."

Bucky exhales a slow breath but doesn’t resist. Instead, with a tired grunt, he rolls onto his side, tugging you with him. The shift in position grants you the reprieve you seek, the imposing strength of his body blocking out the unwelcome morning glare. You hum in approval, pressing yourself flush against him, sighing contentedly as his arms tighten around you.

"Better?" he rasps, his lips grazing the top of your head.

"Mmm." You shift, pressing a sleepy kiss against his collarbone. "You make a good blackout curtain."

Bucky hums, the sound already half-lost to the pull of sleep. "Glad I could be of service."

For a while, it works. The warmth of him, the solid weight of his presence, the quiet rhythm of his breathing—all of it lulls you closer to the edge of slumber once more. But the longer you lay there, the more aware you become.

Of the dull ache lingering in your muscles. The faint bruises imprinted against your hips, still ghosting with the memory of his grip. The soreness between your thighs, the undeniable evidence of the night before.

And then, the memory crashes into you.

A quiet, breathless whisper escapes before you can stop it. "…You said you love me."

Bucky’s breathing stutters, just for a fraction of a second. Then, a low, sleepy hum, his grip around you tightening. "Mmhmm."

His lips press lazily against your forehead, like he can shush the thought away. "I do," he murmurs, the words warm, half-drowned in sleep, but no less true.

A slow, unstoppable smile spreads across your face. Your heart stumbles over itself, a pleasant, grounding weight settling in your chest. You are his. Claimed. Wanted.

But then, other memories filter in, fragments of the night resurfacing in sharp detail—the fight, though resolved, is not forgotten. The way he had lost himself inside you, scared to lose you. And because you don’t know what else to do with the overwhelming weight of it, you deflect.

"Can’t believe you folded mid-stroke," you tease, breaking the silence. "Didn’t realize my pussy was a safe space for emotional and psychological breakthroughs."

Bucky snorts sharply, his chest shaking with laughter, but his grip on you tightens in retaliation. His vibranium fingers dig into the curve of your bare ass in a firm, vindictive squeeze.

“O-ow!”

"What’s wrong with you?" he accuses, voice thick with amusement, his teeth grazing your shoulder in a playful nip.

"I don’t know, you tell me," you shrug, smug. "You were deep enough in me to find out."

Bucky guffaws, in disbelief. Then, a slow and satisfied smirk spreads over his lips. "So if we’re calling each other out—" He trails his nose along your jaw, his stubble a delicious scratch against your skin. "You said you wanted to marry me."

Your breath hitches. Heat blooms over your cheeks.

"Marriage and babies, if I remember correctly," he adds, his tone dripping with triumph.

Your face burns. "Oh, shut up."

"Nope." His lips graze the sensitive skin beneath your ear, smug and lazy. "You said it."

"I was delirious. You were inside me."

"You sounded pretty serious, sweetheart."

You exhale sharply, feeling his grin against your skin as he presses slow, lazy kisses along your shoulder. It’s not fair how effortlessly he can turn the teasing into something tender. How he can have you giggling one second and breathless the next.

You shift against him, sighing as your fingertips trace slow, lazy patterns over the scars on his shoulder. The ridges are familiar beneath your touch, a testament to everything he's survived, to the strength beneath the softness he reserves only for you. His skin is warm, solid, grounding. Your body aches in a way that makes you want to stretch and wince all at once—every muscle tender, every inch of you still thrumming from the way he’d taken you the night before. And when his thigh shifts slightly, pressing just enough to remind you of exactly where he had been, exactly how thoroughly he had ruined you, a small sound catches in your throat. A tiny, involuntary “ouch”.

Bucky notices immediately.

His movements are unhurried, fluid, but in a blink, you’re on your back, his body hovering over yours, the weight of him pressed into his forearm as his sharp blue eyes roam your face. Concern flickers in them, furrowing his brows, lips pressing into a firm line. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch achingly gentle in contrast to the roughness of his grip from hours before.

"You okay?" His voice is still rough with sleep, but there’s a new sharpness to it now, an edge of worry threading through the drowsiness. "Did I hurt you last night?"

You blink up at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor—how easily he can go from teasing and smug to careful and serious, how deeply attuned he is to you. A slow smile tugs at your lips as you reach up, brushing your fingers through his hair, sweeping it back from his face. His concern is sweet, but unnecessary.

"No," you murmur, smoothing your palm down the side of his face. "I mean—" You stretch slightly beneath him, only to feel another pang of soreness settle deep in your bones. You shift, letting out a small, amused huff. "I am kinda sore. Like, all over. You weren’t exactly gentle."

Bucky’s smirk is immediate, smug and devastatingly cocky, his gaze dipping down, dragging slowly over your body, drinking in the marks he left behind—his marks, his evidence of last night. He lets out a low, satisfied hum, thumb brushing idly over your hip, tracing the faint outline of his own fingertips pressed into your skin.

"Didn’t hear any complaints at the time," he says, voice dipping, rough with amusement.

"That’s because I was too busy getting railed into the mattress," you deadpan, watching as his smirk grows into a full-fledged grin.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, dipping his head slightly, his nose brushing along your jaw, voice teasing. "You sound like you wanna complain now."

"Nope. Definitely not a complaint," you clarify, shaking your head. You weren’t about to have him backtrack on you. "Just an observation." You pause, letting your fingers trace slow, absent circles over his shoulder before adding, "I’ve always wanted you a little rough."

Something shifts in his expression at that—subtle, but unmistakable. Amusement gives way to something darker, something deeper. His fingers drag over your stomach, slow and teasing, his touch lighter than before, more deliberate. His gaze follows the movement of his own hand, eyes darkening as he takes in the faint bruises along your ribs, the places where his grip had been firm, possessive, the crescent moons of his nails etched into your skin.

"You look good like this," he murmurs, voice dipping lower, rougher.

Your breath catches in your throat.

"Like what?" you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

Bucky shifts, his lips barely grazing over your jaw, his hand sliding lower, his thumb pressing slow, deliberate circles into your hip bone. The touch is featherlight, teasing, the contrast against the soreness making your stomach tighten, heat curling low in your belly.

"Marked," he says simply, voice thick with satisfaction.

Your stomach flips.

For a moment, you don’t say anything—can’t say anything. Your heart beats a little faster, your breath a little shallower. You can feel the warmth of him everywhere, the solid weight of his body, the press of his hand.

“I like it too,” you confess, feeling your body heating up from the inside out.

His nose brushes yours, the heat of his breath mingling with your own. "Think I wanna finish what we started last night."

Your lips part slightly, your breath coming just a little quicker.

"Yeah?" you whisper, tilting your chin up, inviting.

"Yeah," he breathes, his lips grazing over yours, barely there, teasing, tempting. "If you’re up for it."

You hum softly, letting your hands slide up his back, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. "You really never got to cum…" you murmur, your voice laced with playful sympathy, your nails dragging gently down his back.

Bucky exhales through his nose, nuzzling against your lips, his smirk pressed to your skin. "I didn’t," he confirms, his tone heavy with exaggerated pain.

A grin tugs at your lips. "Poor you, huh? Must be hard."

"Very," he nods solemnly, though the corner of his mouth betrays him. You can feel his smirk against your cheek, the amusement threaded through his voice. “I’m in deep suffering.”

You let out a quiet giggle, biting your lip as you shift slightly beneath him. "Oh, are you?" You arch a teasing brow. "Do I not satisfy you every other time?"

Bucky’s lips quirk, amusement flickering behind his eyes as he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw. "You do, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice dropping into something lower, something that makes your stomach tighten. His fingers drag lazily over your skin, tracing the path of last night’s indulgences. "But you were the one who said your pussy had healing properties."

Your breath catches. A laugh slips out, unbidden.

“Bucky Barnes–” you shake your head. “So you did have a revelation," you tease, grinning against his skin.

"Well, if your pussy's got that kind of power..." His hand slides lower, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before dipping between your legs. He tilts his head, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, letting his teeth scrape just slightly. "Think I might need another hit. For, y’know... therapeutic reasons."

You pretend to consider it, tipping your head back slightly, giving him more room to roam. His mouth is warm against your skin, his tongue darting out to taste, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver and his fingers tease your slit, light and gentle.

"Well," you murmur, voice light, playful, but already breathless, "I wouldn't want to deprive you of something so… essential to your well-being."

Bucky hums, low and pleased, his lips still moving lazily against your throat, like he’s savoring you. "Sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice rich with amusement, "you're a goddamn saint."

His fingers part your slit, teasing, barely there as he dips into your entrance—just enough to make heat coil low in your belly, tight and simmering. It’s a whisper of a touch, more suggestion than satisfaction, and it leaves you aching, desperate. You arch slightly into him, hips tilting instinctively, trying to chase more, but his touch remains infuriatingly light. Barely a ghost of pressure, just the tease of his fingertips skating over your slickness. He’s playing with you. Taking his time. Drawing it out just to watch you squirm.

Your breath hitches, frustration curling alongside arousal. You can feel him watching you, feel the weight of his stare as he drinks in every little movement, every twitch, every shaky breath. You look down between you, your gaze roaming the broad expanse of his chest, over the ridges of muscle shifting as he moves. The way his arm flexes between your spread thighs, corded with strength, veins prominent and beautiful. And lower—

Your breath catches.

His cock, thick and flushed, stands hard between you, the sight of it making your stomach flip, making the need pulse hotter in your core. It’s beautiful—he’s beautiful. Every inch of him, from the strong slope of his shoulders to the delicious cut of his abs, the sheer strength in his arms, to the way his lips quirk ever so slightly as he watches your reaction. Like he knows. Like he’s savoring every second of it.

And God, you love him. You love him so much it hurts. Sometimes, the sheer weight of it presses down on you like an unstoppable force, consuming and unshakable, taking up so much space inside you that you don’t know how to contain it. He was warmth, he was kindness, he was something thoughtful and rare, something that made you feel safe even in your most vulnerable moments.

But the desire—the desire was something else entirely.

It was its own beast, wild and insatiable, growing every time he touched you, every time you looked at him and saw something new. A different angle of him bathed in low, golden light. The way his muscles flexed beneath your fingers. The sound of his voice when it dropped lower, when it got rough with want. He was a work of art, sculpted and breathtaking, but unlike the admirers who could only appreciate from afar, you got to touch. You got to experience every part of him—the heat of his skin, the way he tasted, the shiver in his breath when you kissed the right spot, the sounds he made when he lost himself in you. Sometimes, it was too much for your body to comprehend. The pleasure, the need, the sheer overwhelming reality of him.

“Oh God, okay,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling too fast, the air catching in your throat. “Shit, this is—”

Bucky’s fingers pause, just barely, the tips of them still pressed against the slick heat of you. His gaze flicks up to yours, sharp and curious, assessing. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head quickly, trying to gather yourself, but it’s useless when your whole body is buzzing—pulse pounding in your ears, breath hitching. “I might be the one having a meltdown,” you admit, voice unsteady.

His smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, playful, but there’s something softer behind it, something knowing. The cool weight of his vibranium hand slides up, smoothing over your thigh, grounding you. “Yeah?” His voice dips lower, warm and teasing, but there’s an edge of concern, too. “Why’s that, sweetheart?”

A breathless laugh escapes you as you shift slightly beneath him, parting your legs further, like instinct. Like an invitation. Your hand moves without thought, reaching down to wrap around his wrist, fingers curling over the strong tendons, needing something solid to hold onto. “You,” you murmur, squeezing his wrist lightly, looking up at him with something raw in your eyes, something vulnerable. “You’re—unreal. You don’t even know…”

Something flickers in his expression. His pupils blow wide, not with lust but something deeper, something unreadable yet unmistakable. And then—

“I love you,” he murmurs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like the words belong to him the same way you do.

Your heart stutters, chest squeezing tight at the newness of it, the weight of it still fresh enough to send a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “I love you.”

Your lips part, an overwhelmed, breathless sound escaping before you can help it. “Do you?” you mumble, swallowing against the emotion building fast in your throat. “’Cause truly, I just want you for that insane body.”

Bucky lets out a laugh, low and warm, shaking his head as he steals a smacking kiss from your lips. “You’re gonna cry, aren’t you?” he teases, voice laced with something affectionate, something utterly wrecked with fondness. “Is that why you’re trying to joke?”

“Maybe,” you pout, reaching up to hook your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. This one lingers, your lips parting against his, a gasp slipping out when his index finger glides up—circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes before dragging back down to your entrance and dipping inside. Your eyes flutter shut, body going tight around his digits, the noise alone - wet, filthy, loud - making goosebumps rise on your skin.

Bucky watches you, taking in every reaction, every little shiver. “You gonna tell me you love me?”

“I love you,” you give in immediately, the words leaving you on instinct, overwhelmed, helpless to anything but this. “I love you. God, I really do.”

His lips brush against your cheek, and when he speaks, his voice is lower, deeper—commanding. “Look me in the eyes, sweetheart.”

You whimper, your body trembling, pleasure pressing in from all sides. “Gimme—” you gasp, barely able to get the words out. “Gimme a second.”

“Nuh uh,” Bucky nuzzles into your neck then, his nose brushing against your skin, his lips pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses over your pulse before his teeth nip, dragging a groan from deep in your throat. “I wanna see you.”

“Damn it, Buck—fuck, wait!”

Your whole body jolts when he presses two fingers inside, stretching you open, filling you with the same slow, thorough care that’s unraveling you inch by inch. Your back arches off the bed, an arm wrapping tight around his neck, clinging to him as pleasure surges up your spine, hot and dizzying.

His other hand strokes over your thigh, soothing, a steady contrast to the relentless way he works you open. “Baby,” you pant, voice a little shaky, pleading. “I’m still sore.”

Bucky stills, just for a second, a flicker of hesitation passing over his features. And then he softens, his lips pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, his nose brushing against yours. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice all honey and gravel. “I got you, sweetheart. You just tell me what you need.”

God, you love him.

“Just… be gentle?”

His lips twitch, something fond and teasing playing at the edges of his mouth, but his eyes—God, his eyes—are dark and warm, deep pools of blue that hold you still. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice softer now, roughened at the edges. “I’ll be gentle.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, because it’s not just words—it’s a promise, one that settles into your bones, warm and unshakable.

His fingers move again, slow and deliberate this time, easing deeper, stretching you open with aching patience. He watches every flicker of expression on your face, every shift in your breathing, his vibranium hand smoothing over your thigh, keeping you grounded. “This okay?” he asks, voice low, reverent.

You nod, exhaling a shaky breath. “Yeah,” you whisper, your fingers tightening around his wrist. “Yeah, it’s—”

Your words cut off in a breathy moan when he curls his fingers just right, pressing into that spot that sends heat coiling low in your belly. Your hips twitch, moving instinctively, chasing the feeling, noises pouring out of you, and Bucky makes a low, approving sound, something rough and pleased rumbling from his chest.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your cheek, then your jaw, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your skin. “That’s my girl.”

Your breath catches. His girl. The words send a dizzy rush through you, lighting up something tender and desperate in your chest and you feel yourself getting even wetter, easing up the glide of his fingers against your walls.

“You like that?” he teases, dragging his lips lower, down the curve of your throat, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts. His tongue darts out, teasing, and glides over your nipple, making your breath stutter. His fingers keep working you open, slow and steady, pushing in and out, spreading warmth through every inch of you. “Like bein’ mine?”

“Fuck,” you breathe, your head falling back against the pillows, your body trembling as your fingers curl into the back of his neck, your free hand gripping the chains of his dog tags. “Bucky—”

His name spills from your lips like a whispered prayer, and the sound of it sends a shiver of satisfaction through him. He groans low, the sound vibrating through his chest as he shifts closer, his bare skin scorching against yours, his cock heavy and hot against your thigh, leaking against your skin. You can feel the weight of him, the need rolling off of him, pressing into you and your walls pulse, desperate to take him.

“Wanna rub your clit for me?” he murmurs against your skin, voice thick and low with the heat of the moment. “It’ll help, sweetheart. Get you ready faster.”

You shake your head, a desperate sound escaping your throat as you grip the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer. “N-no, no, please,” you manage, breathless. “You do it.”

His smirk is audible, a teasing lilt to his voice, but there’s something more underneath it—something darker, more possessive. “Kinda busy,” he says, his fingers inside you moving at a maddeningly slow pace, teasing the edges of your control, making every nerve in your body stand on end.

Your hips roll, instinctively chasing the rhythm of his fingers, but it’s not enough. You want more. You need more.

“Use the other hand,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the desperation coating every syllable. You tilt your head up, pulling him down by the chains, seeking his mouth for a kiss, but you don’t quite meet it, your lips brushing the side of his jaw instead. You can feel the heat of him radiating through his skin, all hard angles and smooth muscle, and you can’t get enough.

Bucky makes a sound deep in his chest, something rough and low that sends a bolt of heat straight through you. His forehead presses to yours for a moment, his breath warm, ragged, as if he’s barely holding himself together.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his flesh fingers still working inside you, slow and deep, stretching you open with aching patience. His metal hand, the one you just begged for, twitches where it rests on your thigh.

Your grip tightens in his hair, your lips brushing against his in a breathless, pleading kiss. “Please,” you whisper, eyes hazy with need. “I need it, Buck. Wanna cum for you. Just you, baby.”

Something dark flickers through his gaze, something possessive and molten, and then you feel it—the cool, smooth brush of vibranium tracing over your stomach, deliberate and unhurried, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, teasing, his lips brushing yours but never quite kissing. “That what my girl wants?”

A desperate little sound escapes you, your hips rolling instinctively toward his touch. “Yours,” you breathe, voice barely there. “You know I am.”

Bucky groans, and then, finally, finally, the cool pads of his thumb presses against your clit, the rest of his hand putting pressure low on your belly. He starts slow, circling with feather-light strokes that have you gasping, twitching beneath him.

“Fuck me,” he hisses, watching you unravel beneath him. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you let your words tumble out. “Oh my god–” Your pulse jumps. Your hips roll up, fingers pulling at his hair. “Fuck me, fuck me, f-fuck–”

“Look at you,” he hisses, watching you unravel beneath him. His voice is rough, strained. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.” 

Your thighs threaten to clamp shut around his wrist, but he tsks, spreading them wider, keeping you open for him. “Nah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips brushing along your jaw. “Let me see you.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, heat coiling tight in your belly as he works you over with devastating precision. He’s everywhere, flesh fingers curling inside you, metal fingers slick against your clit, mouth on your breasts and it’s too much.

“Bucky,” you gasp, arching into him, your whole body taut, trembling. “I—I’m gonna—”

He lifts his head then, his gaze locking onto yours, burning and unyielding. “Look at me,” he orders, his voice pure sin, low and commanding.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his just as he presses a little harder, a little faster.You’re slick now, no resistance at all for his fingers, and he’s in to the knuckle, teasing sensations out of you that your own fingers hadn’t managed to. It’s too much, too good, your body shattering beneath his touch. Your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and consuming, your breath hitching as you cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, his hair.

Bucky groans at the sight, vibranium thumb still rolling your clit, working you through it, drawing out every last pulse, every last tremor, until you’re gasping, crying out so loud you’re sure the room next door knows his name, overstimulated and shaking.

His lips find yours then, kissing you slow, deep, like he wants to pull every last whimper straight from your lungs. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice filled with something tender, reverent. “Always so good for me.”

You shudder, boneless beneath him, your body still humming, your mind floating in the aftermath of the intense release. Every inch of your skin seems to still vibrate with it. His touch lingers, almost too much, too soon, but you don’t want him to stop. You need him to stay close, to remind you of the fire he just ignited in you.

Your fingers trace the ridges of his neck, the taut muscles there, then slowly, lazily, drift down his back, ghosting over the sweat-dampened skin of his broad shoulders. Your other hand curves along his waist, the heat of his body still radiating off him, every inch of him solid and real beneath your touch. Finally, you let your palm rest against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart echoing your own.

“Holy shit,” you finally manage, breathless, dazed, your voice still a little ragged. The words feel foreign on your tongue, yet somehow fitting, because you have nothing else to say—nothing that could adequately describe how his touch has shattered you.

Bucky chuckles, a deep, low sound that hums in his chest, full of satisfaction. His lips brush against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Yeah?” he drawls, his voice thick, slow, and heavy with the weight of his own pleasure. “You still with me?”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head against the pillow, eyes fluttering as you try to keep yourself grounded. “Yeah,” you breathe out, every nerve still buzzing, still tingling. The aftershocks of your release still pulse through your veins, but the hunger in you only grows.

His smirk returns, slow and lazy, and you can see the way it stretches across his face—there’s something possessive about it, but it’s soft too, something warm and tender beneath the surface. He nudges your nose with his, and you feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His lips brush over yours, soft at first, a gentle reminder that this—this between you—is more than just physical. You lean into it, your lips parting slightly as you deepen the kiss, your heart catching in your throat. It’s unbearably sweet, making your chest ache as both of you whisper soft, barely audible ‘I love you’s’ onto each other’s lips before he breaks away.

“Think you got another one in you, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his hand already trailing down between your thighs. His fingers are still wet when he finds your sensitive clit again, teasing with a touch.

You whimper, body jerking instinctively at the contact. “Bucky—” You can barely form words, your voice tight and ragged with desire. The air around you feels thick with tension, with the need for him that you can't deny. Your hands move to him, finding his hips, gliding behind until your hands can drag over the curve of his ass. It’s ridiculous, really, how much you love his body.

His grin widens, and there’s that dark, knowing glint in his eyes—the one that makes everything inside you tighten with anticipation. “That a yes?” His words drip with teasing, but underneath is something else—as if he’s already planning how he’s going to take you apart all over again.

You bite your lip, your hand moving down and around to wrap around his cock, gingerly at first, but it doesn’t take long for you to find a rhythm, your fingers curling around him, drawing him closer. You pull him, softly, and the sound he makes—a low, guttural moan—sends a shiver racing down your spine. It makes every nerve in your body stand at attention.

“You still haven’t cum…” You tsked in disapproval. 

“I will,” he nods, his voice rasping with need. “Just checking if you’re ready for my cock.” His words are thick with lust, and even though it makes you clench, there’s a rawness to it that makes you crave it even more.

“My cock,” you correct him, the words tasting different when you say them like this—laying claim. The thought makes your pulse race, your mouth water. Your eyes lock on his, a challenge in your gaze, and without hesitation, you drag him down towards you by the neck, pulling him in.

He’s stronger, bigger, taller than you—everything about him demands attention—but when he falls into you, surrendering, it’s almost as if the roles have reversed. He lets you guide him, lets you welcome him in between your spread thighs, the weight of his body settling against you. His breath hitches as he shifts, and you feel every inch of him, pressing against you, urging you to take the next step.

“Cause you’re mine, right?” you whisper, the words thick with desire, a challenge laced with vulnerability, as you stare up at him. Your breath comes out uneven, the ache between your legs undeniable, a desperate plea for him. 

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his gaze intense, searching. The tension between you thickens, and you can almost taste the shift in the air. He smiles then, a slow smile that ignites something deep inside you. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, “I’m all yours, sweetheart.”

“Then come on,” you urge him, voice sultry, your hand lining his cock to your entrance, gliding up and down, teasing both you and him with the promise of your heat, your wetness. Your free hand finds his ass again, your nails into the supple skin. “Fill up your pussy, James. Wanna see you cum.”

“Shit.”

–

“Buck… You got your wallet?”

“Yes.” His voice was flat, but the subtle twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Jacket?”

“Yes, doll.”

“Phone?”

“On my pocket.”

“Sunglasses?”

“Your purse.”

“Gloves?”

“On my hands.”

“You know you don’t have to wear those, right?” You glanced up at him as you adjusted your purse strap over your shoulder.

He flexed his fingers, glancing down at the black leather that hugged his hands snugly. “People are weird about it.”

“Well, fuck people,” you huffed, annoyed on his behalf, rising up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

A faint chuckle rumbles in his chest, but he doesn’t argue. Getting him out of the hotel had already been an ordeal, requiring the kind of patience you weren’t exactly known for. He had been content to keep you locked away in bed, tangled up in his limbs, his hands exploring, grounding, claiming. Both of you had a new found love for how much you seemed to unravel around his fingers, an addiction he seemed eager to explore. But after hours of indulgence, your stomach had started growling loud enough to rival an engine, and the dull throb behind your eyes had made it clear that skipping meals wasn’t an option.

In the end, it was that—not your pleading, not your half-hearted threats, not even your puppy-dog eyes—that had finally made him relent.

So here you were, strolling down the sidewalk in the crisp morning air, Bucky keeping you anchored to his side with an unwavering grip on your hand. Never much for PDA, he seemed to make an exception today. His fingers curled securely around yours, his thumb occasionally sweeping over your knuckles like he was reassuring himself you were still there. You stole a glance up at him—his expression was relaxed, content even, though the sharp-eyed vigilance never quite left him.

You’d picked out a cute little restaurant—Martin’s Tavern. It had that old-school charm that you figured would appeal to him, the kind of place that smelled like fresh coffee, warm maple syrup, and nostalgia. When you stepped inside, the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware against plates filled the space. A waitress led you to a corner booth, and as soon as you slid in, Bucky followed, pressing against your side as if you might disappear if he let even an inch of space form between you.

His palm found its way between your crossed legs, dipping between your thighs, a firm, possessive hold that had been a constant since the moment you stepped out of bed. His thumb traces slow circles against your tights covered skin, and you feel it through the thin fabric.

You exhaled a soft, amused sigh, letting the moment settle between you before shifting slightly in your seat—just a test, just to prove a theory. And as expected, his grip tightened, a subtle yet unmistakable response.

You swallowed down the flicker of emotion that stirred in your chest, resting your cheek against his shoulder as you wrapped both hands around his bicep, feeling the solid muscle beneath his jacket. “I’m not gonna disappear, you know.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched against your thigh. His grip wasn’t painful, wasn’t desperate, but it was firm. Resolute. Like he needed to feel you there, needed the confirmation that you were real, that this wasn’t just some dream that would dissolve into nothing the moment he let go.

His voice was quiet when he finally answered, his words laced with the heaviness of someone who had spent a lifetime losing himself and the people he loved. “You could.”

It wasn’t a dramatic declaration, but rather a simple, painful truth. 

Your heart clenched, and you pulled back just enough to look at him. His expression was calm—carefully so—but his eyes betrayed him.

“I’m right here, Buck,” you murmured, your fingers squeezing his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you felt it—the way the night before had cracked him wide open. Stripped him down to something raw, something unguarded. He wasn’t hiding it from you anymore. The love. The need. The desire. The fear. It was all there, simmering just beneath the surface, clear as day.

But that didn’t mean he was different with the rest of the world.

Outside of this little bubble the two of you existed in, he was still Bucky Barnes. Still the man who scanned every room like a soldier walking into enemy territory, still the man who tensed at loud noises, still the man who carried a century’s worth of ghosts on his shoulders.

You saw it now—his jaw tightening, his gaze flickering toward the window, his instincts kicking in even in a quiet, cozy little restaurant where the biggest threat was a waiter with a tray of mimosas.

You knew better than to push. Instead, you reached for his gloved hand with slow, deliberate care, bringing it to your lips and pressing a soft kiss against the worn leather stretched taut across his knuckles.

It worked. You felt it—the way his fingers flexed slightly beneath the material, the way his grip on you tightened, grounding himself in your presence.

“You know…” you began, voice light with gentle mischief, “this place has been here since the thirties. It’s a hundred years old.” You let the words hang for a moment, feigning innocence as you watched his brow twitch ever so slightly. Then, just as his attention finally shifted fully back to you, you smirked. “Like you.”

His reaction was immediate. He turned from the menu he had just picked up, slow and deliberate, blue eyes narrowing as he gave you a long, assessing look. The kind of look that said he was both entirely unimpressed and, at the same time, completely taken with you.

You bit your lip, failing spectacularly to smother the grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. But there was no hiding the sparkle in your eyes, the amusement dancing just beneath the surface.

Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I can’t decide if that was thoughtful or just plain rude,” he mused, his voice edged with faux-offense. But you caught it—the way his lips twitched, fighting against a smile.

You hummed, tilting your head in mock consideration. “How about both?”

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, and you caught the way his gaze dipped to your mouth before he sighed, long and suffering. “You’re impossible.”

Leaning in, you closed the space between you, brushing your nose against his in a fleeting, playful nuzzle. He seemed to be letting you get away with so much more than he usually would. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your lips, and for a moment, everything stilled. His fingers flexed against your thigh, his hold on you tightening just slightly, and you knew—knew that if you weren’t in a public place, he wouldn’t be hesitating right now.

“I contain multitudes, you know,” you teased, letting your voice dip into a lilting whisper.

He groaned, low and deep, shaking his head. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go. If anything, he only held onto you tighter, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of your thigh, his arm heavy around your shoulders.

You could see it—the war inside him. The part of him that wanted to roll his eyes, to grumble about your antics. And the other part, the one that wanted to pin you against the back of the booth and kiss you until you forgot your own name.

He sighed, but this time, it was different. Less exasperation, more surrender.

And then, suddenly, he leaned in, pressing a shockingly lingering, deliberate kiss to your cheek before murmuring against your skin, “You’re a damn minx.”

You grinned, victorious, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the way his stubble grazed against your touch. “And you love me.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips twitching as he finally let that smirk break free, something softer—something unguarded—lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice rough, gaze warm. “I do.”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, electrifying and impossible to contain. Your breath caught, and before you could think better of it, before his own aversion to public displays of affection could catch up and stop it, your hand was on his cheek, pulling him into a kiss.

And God, it was unbearable. Addictive. The knowledge that Bucky Barnes loved you.

It burned through you, this deep, desperate need to hear it again, to feel it, to breathe it in like oxygen. You wanted to beg him to say it every second, every minute, every hour of every damn day, to brand it into your skin like something permanent.

But you knew better than to push too hard.

So instead, you settled for touching—for kissing.

The taste of him was your favorite thing, the slight burn of his stubble against your lips like a shot of adrenaline straight to your veins. There was no amount of him that could sate you, no dose that would ever be enough.

You sighed into him, fingertips curling at the nape of his neck, ready to melt further, ready to let the rest of the world slip away when—

A cough.

A single, awkward, throat-clearing cough.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

You both froze.

Bucky was the first to pull away, moving like a soldier caught off guard, instinct sharpening his gaze. But not before he flicked his eyes toward you, giving you a quick, almost reluctant once-over, like he was making sure you were okay before engaging with the unknown voice.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering, reaching up to cover your kiss-swollen lips with the tips of your fingers, heat flaring across your cheeks as you turned.

Standing just beside your table was a man—maybe mid 30s, dressed casually but with an undeniable nervous energy rolling off him in waves. His hands were wringing the life out of a battered baseball cap, twisting and untwisting the fabric with the kind of anxious reverence people reserved for childhood heroes.

His eyes flickered between you both, a little sheepish but determined nonetheless. “I’m—Jesus, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he rushed to say. “I just—are you—you are Sergeant Barnes, right?”

Bucky’s posture shifted, his shoulders squaring up ever so slightly, that razor-sharp caution sliding into place. 

He nodded, slow, deliberate. “Yeah.” His voice was gruff, edged with wariness.

The man grinned, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Couldn’t be sure without the arm.” His gaze flickered down toward Bucky’s gloved hands before snapping back up, his expression open, earnest. “Man, I just—I wanted to say thanks. My grandpa, he was 107th. Always talked about you and Captain Rogers like you walked on water. He passed last year, but he’d have lost his mind if he knew I ran into you.”

Bucky blinked. You watched him shift in his seat, like he wasn’t sure whether to brace for impact or brush it off. But beneath it—just for a second—you saw something else. A flicker of surprise.

The man barely seemed to notice, barreling forward like he had rehearsed this in his head a hundred times. “He used to tell me a lot of war stories. Always said you were the best shot he ever saw.” His voice dipped with genuine admiration. “Said you could hit a moving target in the dark, wind kicking, rain coming down sideways—didn’t matter. Never wasted a bullet, never missed when it counted.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His fingers flexed against your thigh.

“Was a long time ago,” he murmured.

The man nodded, like he expected that answer. “Yeah, well. He also said you weren’t just some guy with a good aim. You knew how to handle yourself. Wouldn’t go down easy, fought until you were the last one standing.” A small, knowing grin pulled at his lips. “There was this story—think it was in Italy—he swore he saw you take on two Hydra guys with nothing but a knife and a bad attitude.”

Bucky huffed out a breath, shaking his head slightly.

But the guy wasn’t finished. “He told it like you were born for the fight.”

Something flickered across Bucky’s face then. You saw it—the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard, the way his fingers tightened around yours.

You stayed still. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just let him take it all in.

The guy’s voice softened a little. “But he always said the best thing about you wasn’t the fight.” His gaze met Bucky’s, steady and sure. “Said you were smart. That’s the part he never shut up about. You weren’t just a soldier. You were a strategist. You were one of the ones making calls, keeping people alive. Figuring out how to get in and out before the enemy even knew you were there.”

He cleared his throat, shifting his voice into something rougher, gruffer—mimicking an old man’s tone.

“‘Barnes didn’t just fight, he thought.’”

The air between you went still.

Bucky swallowed, jaw working as he exhaled slowly, glancing away like the weight of it sat heavier than he knew what to do with.

You squeezed his hand. Just once.

His grip tightened in return.

“Your grandpa sounded like a good man,” Bucky finally said, voice quieter, more careful.

The guy nodded. “Yeah. And he thought you were one, too.”

You watched the tension in Bucky’s shoulders slowly unravel, watched the way his mouth softened at the edges. His hand in yours, steady and warm, not trembling, not running.

Just here.

“You said he was 107th?” Bucky murmured. “That’s—yeah. They were good men.”

The guy’s throat bobbed, his hands twisting that poor, battered hat between his fingers like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. His voice was quieter this time, more careful, like he knew the weight of the words before he even said them.

“Yeah. He was proud to serve with you.” His eyes flicked up, searching Bucky’s face. “Said you never left a man behind.”

Bucky’s breath hitched—just barely. So small a shift that most people wouldn’t have noticed.

But you weren’t most people.

And God—the look in his eyes.

It could split your chest open.

There was something raw there, something old and aching and too much. A storm breaking just beneath the surface, quiet but powerful, stirring up ghosts of the past like they still had unfinished business with him.

He swallowed hard, lips parting like he wanted to say something—like there were a thousand things caught behind his teeth, all trying to claw their way out at once.

But in the end, he just nodded. Once.

Quiet but steady.

“Thanks for telling me that.”

The guy hesitated, shifting on his feet, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck before letting out a nervous breath.

“I don’t wanna take up your time, but—uh, could I shake your hand?”

Bucky blinked.

It was almost comical, how blindsided he looked—like the request hadn’t even been in the realm of possibility. As if of all the things he had braced himself for, this had never crossed his mind.

Like maybe—just maybe—he didn’t believe he was the kind of man people wanted to shake hands with anymore.

The air between you all felt delicate—like something sacred, something fragile, balancing on the edge of a blade.

You didn’t dare breathe. Didn’t dare move.

Until you did.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you reached for the edge of his glove.

Your fingers brushed against his wrist, slow and deliberate, peeling the leather away, like you had done it a thousand times before. Bucky didn’t stop you. Didn’t even flinch.

Just let you do it.

Let you bare his hand to the open air, to the world—to the man standing before him, offering something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

And then, with a touch so light it was almost imperceptible, your other hand skimmed his elbow. A quiet, steady anchor.

A nudge forward. A silent reassurance. A reminder. That this was real. That he was allowed to have this.

Because if anyone deserved to shake James Buchanan Barnes’ hand—

It was the grandson of a man who still believed in the good in him.

Bucky hesitated, just for a second.

Not out of reluctance. Not out of fear.

But out of something heavier. Like the weight of it all, of being remembered this way, was something he didn’t quite know how to carry.

Then, finally, he moved. His fingers flexed, curling slightly before he extended his bare hand, offering it in quiet acceptance.

The guy took it immediately, gripping firm but not forceful. A show of respect. Of gratitude.

“Thank you, Sergeant.” His voice was steady, but his expression was something softer—genuine. “For everything.”

Bucky’s throat bobbed, and you could see it—the way his jaw tightened, the way his grip lingered just a moment longer than necessary. Not because he didn’t believe it was happening. Because he needed it to be real.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. That the weight of it would press too hard against his ribs, keep the words stuck in his throat.

But then, finally—softly, barely above a murmur:

“…You’re welcome.”

The guy nodded, giving Bucky’s hand one last, firm squeeze before finally stepping back, letting go. His smile was small but earnest—the kind of expression that wasn’t forced, wasn’t for show. The kind of gratitude that didn’t need to be loud to be heard. 

The guy pulled back, exhaling a little laugh, like he couldn’t believe this had actually happened. Like he had just checked something monumental off his list. 

The guy smiled, like he knew when to step back, when to leave a moment untouched, but before he turned to leave, he hesitated just once more.

“He would’ve liked to see you like this,” he said, almost as an afterthought, but his eyes flicked to you for the briefest second—just enough to make it clear what this meant. 

Bucky didn’t say anything. Just pressed his lips together, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. You didn’t react, just let your eyes widen slightly at the stranger, brows rising the tiniest bit in acknowledgement.

And then, just like that, the guy was gone.

The space he left behind felt heavier —thicker. Charged with something unspoken.

Bucky exhaled, long and slow, his shoulders dropping just a fraction as he leaned back into the booth. You could still see it in the way he held himself—the tension, the weight of old ghosts settling deep in his bones.

His whole body was taut, tense in a way you recognized—a tension that wasn’t from anger or wariness, but disbelief. Like he didn’t know what to do with this feeling. Like he had been bracing for something bad, something heavy—but instead, he’d been given kindness.

Your heart ached for him.

For a long moment, you just watched him, time unchecked.

You watched, your heart aching in that deep, familiar way—the way it always did when you saw him like this. The part of him that still didn’t quite believe he could be seen as anything other than what he had been made into.

Watched the way his fingers flexed like he could still feel the handshake lingering. Watched the way his eyes flickered to the spot where the guy had been standing, like he was replaying the words over and over again, letting them settle in places that had been empty and hostile inside of him for far too long.

Then, gently, you reached for his hand again—his bare hand. Lacing your fingers through his, grounding him in the present, in you. His gaze flicked to you then, something soft, raw, vulnerable in those blue eyes.

You squeezed his hand. “How’s it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“To know people like you.”

A sharp exhale—halfway between a scoff and a laugh.

“Yeah, well.” He shook his head, glancing down, rubbing a thumb absentmindedly over your knuckles. “Just one guy.”

You arched a brow, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “One guy whose grandpa thought you walked on water.”

He rolled his eyes, but it lacked any real irritation.

You leaned in just a little, voice softer now, more serious.

“And you never left a man behind. You’re not that different now, Buck.”

Bucky swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his grip on your hand tightening like you were the only solid thing in a world that still felt unsteady beneath his feet. His skin was warm against yours, calloused fingertips pressing into your palm like he needed proof you were real—that you meant what you were saying.

Your thumb brushed along the inside of his wrist, slow and deliberate, tracing the faint ridge of a scar that had long since healed. His pulse quickened just slightly beneath your touch, a quiet, steady reminder. Alive. Present. Yours.

His eyes flickered over your face, searching. For what, you weren’t entirely sure—reassurance, maybe? Permission to believe you? A reason to let go of the doubt curling at the edges of his mind?

A question lingered behind his gaze, wrapped in something softer, something hesitant. Do you really think that? Do you really see me like that?

“Am I not?” His voice was quiet, rough around the edges like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

You shook your head, unwavering, holding him there with nothing but the truth. “No.”

The breath he let out was slow, like he was bracing himself, but this time, when he squeezed your hand, his grip was steadier—more certain.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you nudged him lightly, leaning into his side just enough to feel the solid warmth of him. “Pretty cool, you know?”

Bucky tilted his head, brow furrowing as he picked up the menu again, his arm coming around your shoulders, really tucking you against his side. “What is?”

You shrugged, playing it off like it wasn’t that big a deal, like your heart hadn’t just cracked wide open for him to see. “To be a war hero’s girl.”

His fingers twitched, his head turned to your, and for a second, he didn’t say anything—just looked at you, blue eyes dark and unreadable. But then Bucky’s lips twitched, a breath of a laugh escaping before he shook his head, eyes dropping back to the menu like he was pretending not to be affected. Like the weight of your words hadn’t settled somewhere deep in his chest.

But you knew better.

You felt it in the way his fingers curled just a little tighter around your shoulder, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch. You saw it in the way his jaw worked, like he was chewing over what to say, like he wasn’t used to this—being spoken about like that.

Like he wasn’t used to being someone’s hero.

“War hero, huh?” His voice was light, but you caught the thread of something deeper beneath it. Something careful.

You hummed, tilting your head playfully, hand gliding over his stomach to squeeze his waist. “Mhm. Big damn hero, actually.”

Bucky scoffed, flipping the page of the menu. “I don’t know about that.”

You nuzzled his shoulder. “Oh, c’mon. You heard the guy. You were a legend before you even hit twenty-five. The best shot in the 107th, a strategist, a fighter, an all-around badass.” You grinned. “And you didn’t even need the serum for that part.”

His brows lifted just slightly, but his expression was unreadable. “That what you think?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I know it. You forget, but I’ve read your files.”

That got him.

Bucky finally dropped the menu, his blue eyes settling on yours, unwavering. You could feel it, the weight of it—the years, the ghosts, the history that still clung to him like a second skin. But underneath all of it, there was him. The man who had never stopped fighting, even when the world had tried to make him forget who he was.

The man who had never left anyone behind.

The man who had fought for his life and found his way to you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, his body now loose, relaxed, in a way you knew wasn’t always easy for him. 

And then, because you couldn’t resist, you grinned. “Should I start calling you Sergeant Barnes in bed? I think it has a nice ring to it.”

Bucky groaned, head tilting back against the booth as if the ceiling could save him. “Don’t.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, smirking. “But it sounds so official,” you teased against his ear, dragging out the words just to watch the corner of his mouth twitch. “So dignified. So—”

Bucky cut you a look, unimpressed but visibly bracing for impact.

“—authoritative.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “If you do, I’m leaving.”

You gasped dramatically, hand flying to your chest as if he’d struck you. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His expression didn’t change. Not even a little. You hated when he used his poker face on you. “Wouldn’t I?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for any crack in his resolve. There was none. No amusement, no indulgence, just the same flat stare he used when threatening to take an enemy’s kneecaps off.

Which meant, obviously, you had to double down.

Resting a hand on his thigh, you leaned in like you were about to whisper some dark, forbidden secret, something the rest of the restaurant couldn’t know. “You wouldn’t leave me, James,” you murmured, voice sweet, head tilting as your fingers traced lazy circles through the fabric of his sweats. “We’ve had unprotected sex, you can’t leave now.”

Bucky blinked at you, his expression a slow unraveling of exasperation and disbelief, before a choked laugh escaped him. He scrubbed a hand down his face, shaking his head as if he could physically wipe away the absurdity of this conversation.

“Jesus Christ.”

“No, but you did say I’m a miracle worker… last night,” you quipped, a lewd grin spreading over your lips. “That also makes me your military wife by default. We should get one of those tacky 'Proud Army Wife' little wall hangings for the—"

"Oh my God, shut up," Bucky interrupted, huffing out another laugh, one hand catching the back of your neck as he pulled you in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Enough of that,” he muttered, voice warm and resigned, pulling you into a kiss to shut you up.

By the time you finished your meal and asked for the check, it had already been taken care of—a gift from the 107th soldier’s grandson. The waiter handed Bucky a small note, neatly folded, the edges slightly smudged like it had been held for a while before being passed along.

"Thank you for your service—both then and now. My grandpa would’ve been honored to buy you a drink, but I figured brunch was the next best thing. Hope you two have a great day."

Bucky stared at the words, fingers gripping the edge of the receipt a little tighter than necessary. He stared down at the note like it didn’t quite make sense, like his brain was still trying to process the kindness folded neatly into a stranger’s handwriting.

You reached for his hand beneath the table, lacing your fingers through his. He let you, his grip firm but a little dazed, like he needed something solid to hold onto.

“See?” you murmured, voice softer now, letting the teasing fall away for just a second. “Told you. War hero.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, a quiet, humorless huff. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

You grinned, squeezing his hand. “Not a chance in hell, baby.”

His lips twitched, but there was something else in there, something he was trying to wrap his head around still. A flicker of acceptance still trying to take root.

But you saw it.

And maybe that was enough.

He glanced at the note one more time before folding it carefully, tucking it into his jacket pocket. He didn’t throw it away. Didn’t brush it off with some self-deprecating remark.

Progress.

By the time you stepped outside, the air had shifted—lighter, easier. The early afternoon sun had burned away the morning chill, casting soft gold over the quiet street. Bucky’s arm slid around your waist without hesitation, tucking you close as you walked.

You let the moment settle for a beat before sighing dramatically. "Well, Sergeant Barnes, looks like we’ve got a theme going. First a free meal, next thing you know, people are gonna start saluting you in the street."

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back. “Don’t start.”

"Oh, I’ve only just begun." You grinned up at him, eyes bright with mischief. "Wanna go to the Smithsonian? They've got that Howling Commandos exhibit. Bet they’ve even got some of your old army uniforms on display."

His gaze snapped to you, sharp with suspicion. “What do you wanna see my old army uniform for?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think about it, but the glint in your eyes betrayed you.

"I mean…" You dragged out the word, biting back a smirk. "If I’m gonna be a sergeant’s girl, I should probably start practicing. You know… learn to follow orders, stand at attention, maybe even salute you properly."

Bucky let out a strangled cough, his whole body tensing for half a second before he stopped, eyes on yours—half amused, half warning.

"You really shouldn't say shit like that unless you mean it, sweetheart."

Your grin widened. "Who said I don’t mean it?"

Bucky exhaled through his nose, nose to nose with your, mouth hovering over yours. "You’re a menace."

You batted your lashes at him, all faux innocence. "Guess you must like it."

His lips twitched, but he said nothing. Just reached over, resting a warm, heavy hand on the back of your neck—lingering there, fingers flexing just slightly. Enough to make your breath catch, just for a second.

You swallowed, pulse kicking up a notch. "Something you wanna say, Barnes?"

His thumb brushed idly over your skin, slow and deliberate. "Just thinking you talk an awful big game."

You raised a brow, feigning offense. "Are you implying I wouldn't follow through?"

His eyes darkened just enough to make your stomach flip. "I’m saying you better be careful what you start. ‘Cause if you really wanna play soldier, I don’t half-ass my missions. Never missed a shot, remember?" His free hand tapped the note in his pocket.

Your breath stuttered. The weight of his gaze, the heat of his palm against your neck—it was enough to send a thrill down your spine.

Still, you refused to back down. Instead, you smiled, all slow and syrupy sweet. "Oh, I know. I can still feel all the shots you didn’t miss last night. And this morning."

His jaw tightened. His grip on your hair did too.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you thickened, humming with something electric, something inevitable.

And then, just as you thought he might actually call your bluff—might lean in, might do something—he huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he pulled away.

"You’re real lucky we’re in public."

You let out a breath, your pulse still racing. "Wish we weren’t."

Bucky shot you a knowing look, something dangerous flickering in his eyes before he pulling into a hug, lips pressed to your ear, casual as ever.

"So do I."

[smallestapplin]

Can we please get some more con harem fluff when you have the chance???

I struggled thinking of a scenario, so this is kinda set in the Prime continuity. Mostly with Dreadwing, Arachnid, Soundwave, and implied Megatron (and the rest of the ship-)

-

-

Dreadwing looks at you with mild confusion on his features as you climb up his shoulder, settling down swiftly and cuddling close to his helm. True at first he found the decepticons having a shared human on the ship was…odd, but who was he to argue with Megatron? Though he learned why quickly with how you seemed to have charmed him.

“Little one, while I enjoy your company, what is the meaning of this?”

“What, am I not allowed to spend time with you?”

Though your voice was light and teasing, he can’t help but sigh and shake his helm.

“Stay as long as you wish, but I must get these reports done.”

You kiss his cheek trying to scoot even closer and lean into him, such warmth of your smaller body was always welcomed. Off the corner of his optic he can see you pull out your phone and scroll along it, simply just wanting to bask in his presence. His spark swells at the idea, you merely just wanting to spend time with him is making his wings twitch, trying to flutter behind him but he fights it.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, though only filled with the occasional sound of you chucking and his engine softly purring as you kiss him again and again. Such a sweet beloved he has, you know how to make the boring parts of his job entertaining.

He blinks his optics once, twice, then a few more times as he realized he feels like he’s being watched, there is another in his office and it’s not just you. You hum in confusion as Dreadwing brings a servo up and grabs you, holding you protectively to his chassis.

If he opened it his spark would be easy to attack, but if he didn’t and held you here he’d be down a servo to fight.

“You know, I know you guys don’t usually get along, but Aracnid please don’t drop.”

Dreadwing looks up, following your gaze and sure enough the purple optics of the spider femme bot stare back at him. She sighs, mockingly so.

“Oh sweetspark, must you ruin the fun? I was just coming to see how our little human was doing.”

Dreadwing glares at her, holding you even closer and covering you with his other servo.

“Our human is fine, they are content sitting with me.”

Arachnid hums not at all caring of his words, “yes yes, that’s all well and good, but Lord Megatron wishes to have his pet.”

Dreadwing makes no move as he refuses to trust her word, he does not feel safe lending you to her even if was technically also one of you ‘consorts’ as Megatron called them. Arachnid isn’t to be trusted with a human, must less one of your importance.

“Dreadwing, I would hate to traumatize the cutie in your servos, but I will if you don’t hand them over to me.” Her voice growing agitated as more of her legs move from the ceiling above, and grow pointed ready to attack him.

You sigh, this isn’t really something you can stop, but you know who can. You unlock your phone once more and make a call, and sweetly asking for a little help. And just in time too, as dozens of cables move com the walls, wrapping both Dreadwing and Arachnid up and away from each other.

And one taking you from Dreadwing’s grasp, much to his displeasure, and taking you to the black and purple con standing just at the doorway. You smile up at his screen.

“Thank you, Soundwave, but you didn’t need to do all that. Your help is appreciated though.”

The black screen of his faceplate statics for a moment before emoting a little heart. Walking away, he drops Dreadwing and tosses Arachnid out of the room, uncaring what they do now, as he has his little human. You fit so perfectly in his servos, he can’t help but hold you up and nuzzle his screen against you, another heart emoting as you place a few kisses to his face.

He cares not for the arguing around him, or the two cons yelling at him from down the hallway demanding you back.

He has his human, that’s all that matters.

Until he hears Megatron return to the ship and a sad face appears on his screen. He just got you, he doesn’t want to hand you over just yet, how cruel.

[kcdarchives]

my kcd2 experience

in the following post, i am going to describe my kcd2 experience and how it bred brainworms that have drilled into my grey matter and turned it into ye olde swiss cheese

i think one of the big reasons why i latched so hard onto kcd2 (and hansry) is: i actually went into kcd2 almost completely blind. the main reason i started playing was i read in a news article that there was a gay relationship in the game and i was like "oh! fun! i'm in the mood to play a new rpg anyways!" i had no idea who it was you could romance, or what form it would take. after the opening scenes, i was of course squinting VERY hard at hans. but after the stocks, he fell to the wayside for me as a player. i made henry as reasonable and conciliatory as possible and he still left? for me, as a player who hadn't played the 1st game, i shrugged and said "ok then! fine!" they let me loose and the world was my rpg oyster! i spent over 30 hours wandering around the map, doing side quests and having a generally wonderful time because the game is, above all else, a very well-made game with a ton of attention to detail, fun NPCs, and systems that i still hadn't fully learned even after a few dozens of hours in the game. as i finally attended the semine wedding, i FINALLY ran into hans again (i hadn't found him prior to this) and was reminded "oh! henry's buddy! he's here!" i went from having a funny silly carefree time at the wedding to the plot escalating so suddenly and severely. henry and hans finally reconcile. as a player, i've forgiven hans. his apology was really genuine and heartfelt and i could tell he was also probably a little lonely without the only other survivor from their company. after over 30 hours in the game, i'm VERY attached to henry, and this i am attached to hans, who he so clearly is also attached to. i can celebrate henry finally having a companion again only to have hans wrested away from henry in one of the most distressing ways possible. for whom the bell tolls was an amazingly stressful quest, and definitely one of my favorite main story segments i have played in a video game in recent memory. after this, when the first romantic dialogue option with hans appeared, i was honestly a little stunned. i felt so vindicated with my initial eye-squinting during the opening part of the game, but also, at this point i understood just how much hans was a part of the game's main plot. i was like "oh...this is a romance with...someone actually really relevant and showing up a lot!" when the second romantic dialogue option eventually showed up, that's when i really realized that their romance was going to be tied to progress in the main plot and thus i spiraled into taking several days off of work just to make progress. i was so happy whenever hans showed up and henry got to interact with him. romance aside, their friendship is well-written and it was difficult for me to forget that, besides godwin, hans is the only other person henry really knew before kcd2 that he has with him over the course of the game. so much of the main story is directly related to hans, and the consequences of both henry and hans' actions. i was constantly amazed, thinking "wow, hans is REALLY relevant to the plot! i love to see him involved!" after over a hundred hours in the game, i finally reached the culmination of their romance. and i was paralyzed. as soon as they started talking, i started yelling. i couldn't believe this was happening. it was SO romantic, so emotional, and felt like such a natural progression of their relationship over the course of the story. as soon as the "kiss him" option showed up, I stood up and had to take a minute to collect myself because i couldn't believe it was really happening. and when i finally pressed it.

the screen faded to black.

I was confused. the screen faded back in to a shot of the fireplace. i immediately started cackling uncontrollably. i had a mental breakdown. i thought "oh! they're not gonna show the kiss! that's so incredibly funny! that's so funny i'm going to die." then the shot transitioned back to them sitting on the bed. i had assumed "ah ok, they kissed offscreen. this is what i get after playing through the game for over 100 hours trying to nurture their romance. this is what all of the anti-woke gamer warriors were getting up into arms for. this is so funny. this is so monumentally hilarious." and i could not stop cackling until - wait - henry puts his hand over hans. so sweet! i gasped. perhaps now they will actually kiss? was i wrong? but then he gets up. and i'm once again given whiplash, assuming the scene is over and now he's leaving. do i have to play even further into the story? do they make progress after he comes back from his mission? only for hans to pull henry back to him and my "i sink hundreds of hours into RPGs to eat the little gay romantic breadcrumbs they leave me in relatively unimportant side conversations" brain BROKE.

every single movement elicited a scream from me. i almost couldn't understand what was happening. henry pulls away, he looks like he's going to leave. he's going to leave and they'll resolve this when he comes back? but then he LOCKS THE DOOR!!! HE LOCKS THE DOOR!!! he power walks across the room and I CANNOT STOP SCREAMING. i have to pause the game every 5 seconds so i don't have an aneurysm. the passion!!! i hadn't imagined such passion in all of my years of gaming!!! yes, the fire in the hearth was burning, but not nearly as hot as the flames of their relationship!!!!

the screen faded to black once again after they made it to the bed, and i thought "ok...it's over...i can breathe again...my god...that was crazy...that was so much more intense than i was expecting for a 'kiss him' dialogue option" only for it to fade back in to THEIR NUDE BODIES EMBRACING?? I PLAYED THIS GAME EXPECTING MAYBE A KISS OR TWO???? I was pounding my fists into my beanbag, screaming and yelling, what was HAPPENING ON MY TV SCREEN RIGHT NOW??? then the screen panned over to the shot of the two crossed swords in the foreground and I tell you, I let out the loudest, ugliest, most delighted cackle i have ever made in my life. whoever came up with that shot is so DIABOLICAL. warhorse may actually be the funniest game studio i have ever seen in my life. thank you warhorse for my life. i was exhausted by the biggest emotional rollercoaster a video game romance had ever put me through, but also simultaneously re-invigorated by, i think, perhaps the best video game romance cutscene i have ever had the pleasure of playing through in all my 20+ years of romancing fictional characters.

i ended up staying up all night finishing up the rest of the main story, and then i spent the next couple of days trying to just. absorb everything that happened and process my experience. i know its very early to make this kind of declaration but kcd2 might literally be my favorite game of 2025, and it was SO unexpected for me as something that i just arbitrarily picked up because i was just looking for a new game to play. I was seriously expecting just a kiss at the most, some not particularly important dialogue options that develop a small romantic relationship with a few conversations. maybe a fade-to-black, not much else. the kind of stuff i've grown used to in the games i've played. i think going in with no expectations made its iron-fisted grip on me that much stronger because when it delivered, it did it by crashing the airplane that is hansry into the twin towers of my heart and brain. both the main story and the gameplay just made everything feel so RIGHT and had me so emotionally invested in them, i felt like I was going insane.

for those of you who haven't actually played kcd2 for yourselves, please do try playing for yourself if you have the ability to, or at least watch a playthrough. experiencing how their relationship slowly develops over the course of the game makes the conclusion of it that much more satisfying (i still have to watch/play the 1st game, which i do intend on doing). but also the side quests are so fun and interesting!!! and the other characters are SO charming and likeable.

i am #1 janosh fan!!!

anyways my big rant is over, i feel much better now ahaha

[joeyalohadream]

Ooo gimme combat fatigue!! (Welcome back babe)

❤️Thanks, love!

I've touched on this one before once or twice but I've had this one kicking around in my docs for a looooong time. And I really do want to get back into writing it some day.

The plot in this one is that while John is in England before the rest of the 100th arrives, he attends a briefing given by a Doctor that runs one of the 'Flak Houses' to teach leadership how to recognize the signs of Combat Fatigue in there men.

And as John sits in this briefing, attentive and eager to learn how to be helpful to his men, he starts getting an unsettling feeling as the emotional, cognitive and physical signs are described in detail because he can think back to moments where Gale has already exhibited many of these signs in the years he's known him.

He's always known Gale doesn't talk about his life before joining up, outside of some basic surface-level facts, but he realizes that he's missed something big.

I'm pretty sure I've posted this snippet before but I don't tag my things with any kind of organization in mind and the thought of digging through my own blog gives me a tummy ache. So I'll just repost it here.

“I told you all about my ma, my sisters.” “Well, I haven’t had a mom since I was a boy, and I don’t have any siblings.” Frustration is starting to leak into Gale’s tone and Bucky considers backing off the conversation and just enjoying the bliss of their first post-reunion tryst. Gale is still sweaty and sated, resting on his chest and it would be easy to let it go. But his mind has been tangled up about this for weeks and he can’t bring himself to give up so easily. “Tell me about your dad then,” he runs his fingers down Gale’s spine, fingers gliding easily over the sweat slick skin. He feels Gale tense against him. “No.” Bucky tries not to feel hurt by the finality in his tone. Tries not to take it personally that the person he wants to tell everything, won’t tell him anything. “Why?” “Why won’t you tell me what it was like up there?” He grits his teeth and imagines he can taste the copper in the air, hear the whimpers of the injured navigator, feel the terror of anticipating he’s about to be hit, about to be dead. “That’s not the same thing, Buck.” “What if it is?”

[dumbgoondog]

Choso Kamo Thoughts SFW/NSFW + D-Eval

MDNI NSFW +18

SFW and NSFW Headcanons collection for Choso Kamo. Along with his D-Evaluation

Cw/Tw — cannibalism, Mahito, pregnancy talk, stalking

Choso an empathetic person who takes his failures very personally. Like when he lost Eso and Kechizu. He is secretly a VERY emotional person, he just expresses it differently.

Choso forgets humans can see him. He often just does shit cuz o that. Picking up something from a food stall and jus walkin, jus goin in a theater. You get it.

He’s eaten people. He hates how human passing he is, look at his brothers! To try and separate himself from that humanity tho, he eats humans. He’s very picky tho, only certain cuts, gotta be cooked, and he claims people taste different depending on health issues. It’s not common he eats humans tho, it’s more of a treat.

Choso cooks for the disaster curses! He cooks for game night, and for celebrations but the Otha’s normally don eat. Eso and Kechizu used to help in the kitchen, and he loved it. He also has cooked with Uraume and has learned tricks from them.

Choso friends with Mahito cuz Mahito loves observing this “family unit” and learning Choso’s definitions of family. Choso likes talking about family with Mahito and about what a future for curses might look like, where hybrids would fit, could a curse like Mahito make more curses? They got fertility tests done together with the help of Kenjaku

Choso friends wit Jogo cuz Choso and old soul and that an old man. They like talking traditions and history, culture too, how that will fit in the age of curses. They drink tea and meditate togetha.

Choso acts like he’s dead. Slow, shambling, grunts more than he talks, stares, slow to respond cuz he thinkin. Watches people not cuz he judgin but cuz he can. He often lost in his own head too. Choso is Zombie and vampire coded

Choso is morbidly fascinated by the thought that Mahito could get someone pregnant and if that would make a hybrid or not. It also gets him wonderin, if there’s enough hybrids and they all start gettin it on and have kids are they hybrids or a subspecies of their own now? Choso also wonders about if Mahito got another curse pregnant what would happen?

Choso thinks about a lot of things he should NOT say out loud. Like the last point, he shouldn’t be sayin that to anyone. He might have intrusive thoughts I dunno, but he thinkin about a lot of morbid and morally gray shi

Avid reader. LOVES books. So much so he’s trying to learn other languages to read more. He’s on AO3 reading shi too. He loves seeking out indie works and small works people are makin.

He’s a stalker. Not like Mahito, he’s not a freak about it. He’s genuinely trying to just watch you, like a show or movie. He’s not stealing your stuff, or breakin in anywhere, he’s not bothering you on the clock he just watches from a distance. This has lead him to protect you from other curses and even humans a few times, he doesn’t think you owe him anything for it.

He probably takes Itadori as his last name after finding out Yuji is his bro. He WILL want you to take Itadori too. He wants to start the Itadori clan! A clan for hybrids, his brothers, the family!

He thinks the really small flyheads, are cute! He keeps one like a pet. It’s not sentient after all.

Classical music. Goth Music. And when I say classical I mean traditional Japanese music not Motzart, tho he does want to start branching out to other countries classical music!

Choso Kamo D-Evaluation

GIRTH HELL. 5.7in girth. For ref a toilet paper tube(middle bit) is 6in circumference/girth. Shit gonna stretch ya TIGHT. Length tho 6in. Above average length, pretty good, that girth takes it up high tho. Tight trim, hair kinda messy still tho, well washed. He’s got no visible veins and leans to the left where he tucks it. Thick, hot, loads. Porn animation style. Pretty white color, tastes honestly pretty ok for a dead dude. Kinda bitter tho. He’s got smallish balls which makes you wonder where all that cum from. Surprisingly fertile, but lower fertility. He cums at least twice a session, after the first one his face might start leaking a bit and he pull you on top of him.

[greenleaf4stuff]

Hi and thank you for the tag @gauntletgirlie! <3 The tag game is a wonderful idea, but I want to spread the posivity both ways. So um - I will do it my own way. Aka, I will give the person who tagged me compliments and also compliment the people I am tagging. That way everyone in this post gets the positivity they deserve I feel like. <3

@gauntletgirlie: You already write so well for someone who has just shared their own writing for the first time; I love the way you wrote Adar's and Celebrimbor's dynamic in your silverscars fic, the way Adar tried to keep his distance and Celebrimbor gently but insistently got closer to him and coaxed him into giving into his desires; you had me sitting there like "ohhh I wish this continued" and "I hope she writes more!" after I finished reading <3

Now for the people I am tagging (absolutely zero pressure to respond btw! I mean it! I am doing this because I want to, not because I expect anything in return!):

@plotdesigner Your lore and world building for the uruk is absolutely stunning and wonderful an I love every little detail I learn about them in your fic(s); I love the way you alternate POVs between characters and manage to give them distinct, individual voices and rich inner lives, even going the extra mile to write Adar in the 2nd person POV; you have a lovely way of weaving in little bits of humor that feels very adequate for the circumstances and also humanizes the characters a lot!

@themalhambird Your Adar/Finrod fic had some very well-developed OCs that were very distinct and interesting to read about, each had their own individual voice; the pairing wasn't something I thought I would be interested in but I finished the little fic before I knew what had happened; the way you wrote the interaction between the main pair was sweet and heart-wrenching to the point it made me emotional (I mean that as a compliment!)

@thephoenixandthecrocodile I love the dynamic between Adar, Celebrimbor and Narvi, they all have their strengths and weaknesses and complement each other very well, I love how you give each character weaknesses and humanizing elements that make them so very relatable; I think it is so cool that your first fanfic is a multi-chapter one and already goes on for so long - that is quite the feat! (and that your 2nd is also multi chapter and finished! Congrats!); I'd love to see more of the way your throuple develops Mordor together, the concept of a dwarven/elvish/uruk construction sounds so cool! and also what their relationship will be like in the future!

@gingeragenda The one fic of yours I read (Adar/Balrog) took a concept that should have been difficult to pull off and made it seem effortless; the interaction (cough) between the two was very sexy; despite the fact that the Balrog got sent out for rather sinister purposes, there was a tenderness that I did not expect between the two characters that I quite enjoyed while reading!

@wowstrawberrycow I love how you want to give Adar good, soft and cute things always, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside; I loved the dynamic between him and Gil-Galad in your AU fic, how Gil is taking care of him as best as he can and is a rock for Adar; love the worldbuilding so far, despite the dire circumstances, there is hope shining through and the two are fighting so hard to carve out their happiness. It's really fascinating!

I think I as a writer I am somewhere between "good most of the time" and "every so often I have a good line" tbh; my lovely readers, mutuals and friends on here make me feel like I am a very good writer (TYSM!) while I myself would tend to believe I am...okay? Maybe? If I have a good day. ^_^'

Writing compliment for myself...I manage to write and share my works despite a lot of self-doubt, anxiety and perfectionism? Does that count?

I want to do a compliment exercise. I got the idea from a poll I saw.

First, vote on this poll:

Now, reblog and tag 5 writers that you would want to see do this (no pressure, of course)... and in your CAPTION (not tags), give 3 compliments to the person you reblogged this from's writing. In your TAGS (not caption), put what your answer was.

Give yourself at least one writing compliment too, while you're at it.

If you reblog it from me, don't worry about doing the compliments since almost none of you have actually read my writing (if any of you have 😅).

If you really want to do the compliments for me, you can compliment something else but it isn't necessary when reblogging from the original source.

Let's get a compliment/positivity/love thread going. ❤️

[des2dream]

Thoughts on (Potential) New Character, Leigh

The day after Valentine's Day, viewers and listeners were presented with a new character named, Leigh who is introduced as The Listener's co-worker while Listener is the company's supervisor (or Super V, for short). For a first impression, he gives off the vibes of both Jonah (Video Game BF) and Kayson (the "trapped in locker" BF). Listener isn't very fond of him, but he often likes to play around a bit. I do like how considerate he is when he learns about Listener's current situation with their ex because not many people step in to help these days (likely for reasons such as not wanting to get into other people's business; especially at work because you're not getting paid for emotional baggage unless you're a therapist). Another thing I enjoyed here is that this audio gave off classic Romantic Comedy (Rom-Com) vibes too. Something you often get around Valentine's. I'm not really sure how this series will go on if the audience is interested in allowing it to, but I'd like to see the kind of mayhem you get when you pretend to date your co-worker to make your ex want to sing, "Break up with your girlfriend/boyfriend because I'm bored"!

[sirxaibs]

Keigo Takami / Hawks X Reader (eventually various X reader but that’s if I decide to continue with the burst of inspiration)

If this isn’t that meaty for you…. THEY JUST MET LET THEM COOK

Summary: Small light banter for a first meeting between freshly debuted Hawks and an Isekai’d reader.

Basically after reading copious amounts of amazingly talented stories by amazingly talented writers. “DEPOLLUTE ME, GENTLE ANGEL” by @fallen-w1ngs and Changing History by SummerBlack on Quotev. With “depollute me” the author humanizes the pro hero from being just a symbol. Meanwhile with “Changing History” the author introduces an emotion more attuned to feeling real and how life isn’t just a cycle that is predetermined. So my dynamic of choice was you as the reader have already been thrown in this world for the first 18 years of your life. If you were put in this world why not do the expected? Become a hero. But if all things are fake why take anything seriously?

If you couldn’t gather from that, the reader and hawks will grow and learn that they have the ability to matter and deserve to feel like they belong. I don’t have a very serious style of writing but I do try! Maybe not my best but key emphasis on try! Today we delve into YOU! YOUR CHARACTER!

This was all made on my notes app while on vacation 😺

Word count: 4280 ish, (idk through editing I added some things)

A blur of red and gold emerged first, feathers catching the sunlight just before their owner stepped forward with an easy, lopsided grin. Hawks, the newly minted Pro, looked entirely unbothered by the attention, despite the sudden chorus of excited shouts.

“Hawks! Can you sign this?”

“Dude, your debut fight was insane!”

“Picture, please?”

He laughed, ruffling his windswept hair as he glanced over the eager faces.

“Man, you guys really know how to make a guy feel welcome,” he said, grabbing the nearest pen. “Alright, line up nice and neat, yeah? I’ve got places to be, but I can’t just leave my awesome fans hanging.”

As he signed posters, notebooks, and even the occasional wing-shaped keychain, Hawks kept that signature smirk in place. He’d always known he’d make it this far—but seeing the real, tangible proof of it in the form of starstruck faces and excited voices?

Yeah, this was pretty damn cool.

As the crowd died down, Originally just going to walk away you thought about when would even be the next time you’d see him. Unfortunately since being thrown into this world, the whole concept of canon magnets for main characters was not even a concept in your life.

“You know, if you’re acting like this right out of the gate, I can’t even imagine how inflated your ego will get once you’re officially ranked among the top heroes.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I have no idea where you’re getting that impression.” You almost felt bad for taking away his moment. The disheveled blonde looked like he might’ve been having a sincere, heartfelt moment.

“It’s always the pretty boys with the massive egos,” you sighed dramatically, looking away. Seeing Hawks in all his glory had to come with a little entertainment, right?

He took a step back, eyeing your UA uniform as if sizing you up.

“Maybe the hostility’s coming from jealousy?”

“It’s the Icarus trope for me” you mutter

“Sorry?”

You laughed lightly, rolling your eyes. “Oh nothing! You sure would think that.”

To be honest, you hadn’t meant to bump into him. You were just on your way home from school, with nothing more in mind than a nice nap. Being a third-year at UA in the most boring era of this universe really didn’t leave you with much to look forward to.

“I mean, looks like we’re heading in the same direction,” he said, curiosity creeping into his tone as he took another sip from his drink.

“You’re not wrong, but the flashy vibe you’re giving off? It’s almost alarming.”

He gave you a distraught look.

“Imagine this, I’m getting saved by—wait, what’s your name again?” Oh, it wouldn’t be impossible for actually knowing him. Sure, he had only debuted a few months ago and the crowd that just left that chanted his name every two seconds would be a sign for his name, but you couldn’t help it. In your past life, the sheer amount of content of the show you consumed meant you had to know him but better safe than sorry.

“Hawks,” he replied, deadpan, amusement flickering in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. In response he raised his brow

It probably looked like you were laughing at him, which, in a way, you kind of were. You remembered the draft photos of when his character was first being developed—back when they considered giving him an actual hawk head. The thought alone made you smile.

“Pro hero Hawks saves me, and the sheer massiveness of his ego completely blindsides me. I’m struck by how conventionally hot he is, and then I die in your arms. Yeah, not a good look for you.”

You sighed inwardly. All in all, you were probably born in the worst generation in the My Hero universe. You couldn’t even be part of the middle generation where you could’ve had the chance to work as a teacher with Aizawa and the rest of the crew. It was a possibility, sure, but it felt so far out of reach. And the idea of being around Present Mic—preferably with his hair down and you age-appropriate for him? That would’ve been a dream.

But here you were, a few years older than the main cast. Actually, you were the same age as Keigo. As much as you loved his character, he didn’t really become important until the fifth season. Which meant you had little to no relevance to the plot or any of the major characters. You couldn’t help but feel like you were stuck in some lame generation, unable to make an impact.

Why couldn’t any isekai story go right? You really felt like you’d lost the genetic lottery over and over again. You couldn’t have been born just a few years younger, so you could’ve at least had the chance to be around your other favorite sunshine-blonde character, Mirio. Not being his age had probably made you feel like you’d lost years of your life unknowingly.

“Maamaa, we just met, and you’ve already got a grudge against me?” He teased, giving you a playful frown.

Immediately it springs in your head that you’ve probably come off as a total asshole. Screw the curse of having an outside point of view. The fact of knowing none of this was real maybe gave a bad look on the outside.

You suddenly felt a wave of regret hit you, realizing how your words had come across. His playful tone, the teasing frown—everything made it clear he wasn’t offended, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had crossed a line. You opened your mouth, but your thoughts were tangled, and it took a moment to collect your words.

“Ah, look, I—” You hesitated, eyes darting away, feeling heat rising in your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to sound like that. It’s just… I don’t know, sometimes I get carried away, and—” You mentally cursed yourself for being so awkward. You hated how easily you could go from sarcastic to genuinely sorry in a second.

Hawks gave you an odd look, the smirk still there, though softer. “Hey, no worries. I get it.” He shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but you could tell something about his tone had changed slightly. Maybe he was trying to lighten the mood too, like you were.

“No, I’m serious,” you quickly added, glancing up at him, feeling the need to apologize properly. “It’s just… I don’t know. I’ve been here long enough to see how people get caught up in all the… hero stuff. And I didn’t want to be another person acting all starry-eyed over you just because you’re a pro hero, you know?” God you sounded pathetic. Maybe if you prayed to all might really hard it would go away.

Hawks studied you for a second, then nodded slowly, his expression unreadable for a moment. “I get it. You don’t want to be one of those people who just worship the ground we fly on, huh?”

You sighed, relieved that he understood, but still uneasy. “Yeah... fly on. It’s just… this world, this universe… It’s all so… strange. I mean, I know you’re a big deal, and I respect that. But sometimes it’s hard to take things seriously when everything feels like it’s set in stone. To be so ‘MUCH’ all the time. Anyways I’m literally doing exactly what yours doing for a career so don’t take my words to heart. Heroes are kind of just people that help people and I’m like one or those people and by no means-” You paused, biting your lip.

There was an odd moment of silence before Hawks chuckled, and for a moment, you thought you might’ve said something ridiculous.

“You’re fine.” His tone was soft, genuine this time, as he took another step back, giving you space. “You’re not the first person to think I’m all ‘ego and feathers,’ but not everyone’s as honest about it as you are. So, props for that, I guess.” He tilted his head, his usual cocky grin returning, though it seemed more self-aware now. “But hey, if it helps, I do my best to keep my ego in check. It’s not as big as it looks.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond, but the words that came out were almost reflexive. “Well, you’re doing a pretty good job of hiding it, I guess. You’re going to be one of the top ten. I know it.”

Hawks laughed softly, the sound surprisingly genuine, and you found yourself relaxing a little. Maybe you hadn’t totally messed everything up. “You’re so sure about that? Well then fair enough. Just don’t expect me to give up my flashy style anytime soon. It’s a package deal.” He says that as if he doesn’t get In the top ten within a few months.

You could tell he wasn’t taking offense anymore, but you still felt like you needed to clear the air. “I mean, you’re doing your thing. I just—” You faltered, trying to find the right words, feeling like you were digging yourself into a hole. “I just didn’t want to be some random person making snide comments. You’re a pro hero, and I respect that.”

His eyes softened again, and there was an odd sincerity in his gaze. “Thanks. That means more than you know. You look about the same age as me so as you’re a pro as well, wouldn’t you know it you’ll be up there at the top, maybe we’ll have a hero rivalry” he smirks

“Ah yes the trials and tribulations of endeavour and all might persist in the bodies of 18 year old aspiring heroes” you pause for a moment thinking about it. You know that’s not too far from the original source material

“Well I’m not exactly a pro just yet, give me a few months and I’ll be there”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the awkwardness between you two slowly evaporating. It was strange, how you’d gone from a sarcastic comment to a brief but genuine moment of understanding. And yet, in a world where everything seemed so scripted, the fact that this had played out in such a way felt a little… surreal.

After a beat, Hawks stretched, giving you a wink. “Well, I should probably get going. Hero stuff, you know?” He shrugged, turning on his heel. “But hey, if you ever need a hand or just wanna throw some more sarcastic remarks my way, I’m not hard to find.”

You managed a small, half-smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flashed you one last grin before taking off, his wings spreading wide as he took to the sky, disappearing into the distance. You watched him go, still feeling that odd mixture of guilt and amusement bubbling in your chest.

Shaking your head, you turned and continued on your way home, feeling slightly lighter, despite the awkwardness. At least you hadn’t ruined everything completely. But, then again, in a world like this, there was always something new to look forward to. Maybe you’d even see Hawks again and maybe next time, you’d be a little better at handling it.

Or, you’d at least try to be.

In this world, reports of people with superpowers started popping up everywhere. No one really knew what was causing these Quirks. And before long, the supernatural became the new normal. Dreams became reality, and the world turned into a superhuman society, with 80% of the population possessing some sort of strange ability.

Blah, blah, blah. The world might sound impressive at first, but being dropped into a world where you know everyone’s futures? That kind of ruins the excitement. Save the fun stuff for when Izuku is supposed to take over

You’d think living in a world of superheroes would be a dream come true, but it felt more like playing a life simulator with a DLC attached.

‘Actually if any one had heard that thought, please smite me dead on the spot’

Maybe when you finally met Shigaraki, you two could bond over how lame your lives were.

————

The moment Hawks took off, disappearing into the sky with all the grace and flair of a man who knew exactly how cool he was, you were left standing there, alone in the middle of a busy street. You blinked a few times, processing the bizarre encounter, like a glitch in the matrix where you’d just met one of the to be top heroes, and somehow managed to be the awkward, sarcastic mess you were known for.

Oh god, you thought, did I just make myself look like an idiot?

The awkwardness of the moment hit you all at once, like a ton of bricks. Your brain replayed every word you’d said, every overly dramatic sigh, and every time you’d made some weird comment about his ego. I probably just ruined any chance of ever having a normal conversation with him ever again, you thought with a groan.

But, hey, at least you’d gotten one thing right: you had no idea how to not embarrass yourself in front of a pro hero. Progress, right?

Your feet shuffled along the sidewalk, your eyes fixed on the ground, just in case anyone noticed how ridiculously flustered you were. You didn’t even know where you were going at this point, your legs had basically decided to take you home, but your brain was still stuck on the fact that you’d just made a snide remark to one of the most famous people in the world. That was bound to come back to haunt you, right?

In the midst of your spiraling, a thought hit you like a slap to the face: What if he tells people?

No, no, no, no. Hawks wasn’t the type to hold grudges. He’d probably just chuckle about it with his equally cool friends and forget about it. Right?

… what if he tells Mirko. All you feel is dread

But still, the mental image of him, sitting around with his hero buddies, casually telling them about the weird girl who got all awkward and snarky when she met him, was enough to make you want to curl up in a hole and disappear for the next decade. I’m never leaving my house again, you thought, hands buried in your pockets. It’s safer this way.

As you trudged home, you passed by the same old buildings, the same street vendors, the same couple having a heated debate about the proper way to cook curry (which, honestly, you were kind of invested in now). It was the same old world. But now, you couldn’t help but feel like you were living in some kind of sitcom where you were the awkward side character. This is what I get for getting tossed into this universe, you thought, rolling your eyes at the universe itself. And why am I still here? Shouldn’t I be a sidekick by now?

You eventually reached your apartment building, doing your best to ignore the fact that you’d just been face-to-face with Hawks and didn’t manage to do anything remotely cool or competent. The elevator ride felt longer than it should’ve. It was like the universe itself was giving you a moment to reflect on your life choices. By the time you reached your door, you felt like you needed to apologize to the doorframe for even existing.

With a dramatic sigh, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto the couch. You stared at the ceiling, wondering if you should’ve just said something normal like, “Hey, cool wings.” That’s it. Cool wings… nope absolutely not, move on, but no, you had to act like a nervous wreck who couldn’t even handle basic social interaction. Congratulations, you’re a disaster.

But as your mind started spiraling into self-loathing, you couldn’t help but chuckle a little. The whole situation had been so ridiculous, so out of place, that it was actually kind of funny. You’d just had a conversation with Hawks granted, it was a weird, awkward, almost cringeworthy conversation but still, a conversation! That was more than most people could say.

“Maybe I should just call it a day. Hide under the covers and pretend nothing happened.”

You threw your arms dramatically across your face as if the weight of your shame was too much to bear, but in the back of your mind, a tiny thought crept in: Hey, if I run into him again, maybe I won’t make a fool of myself next time.

Then again, you thought with a grin, Probably not.

At least tomorrow’s a new day, right? You could try to be normal then probably. Or at the very least, you could give yourself a good pep talk, like, “You got this, champ. Try not to make an idiot of yourself this time.”

As you lay there, wallowing in your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Because, in the end, this was just another bizarre chapter in your weird, barely-coherent life in the world of heroes. Maybe next time, you’d at least try to make a good first impression. Or maybe, just maybe, you’d accidentally land on your feet and make it out of another embarrassing moment unscathed.

Who knew? Anything was possible in this crazy universe. Well, except you being smooth. That was clearly out of the question.

————

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and as your classmates hurriedly packed their bags and ran out the door, you sat there, contemplating your life choices. Graduation was right around the corner, and while everyone else was excited about the future, you were just kind of… existing.

You were in your third year at UA, the very school that trained the next generation of Pro Heroes. But here you were, staring at your desk like it owed you money, with no idea what you were supposed to do next.

Let’s be real, everyone else had a purpose. Izuku? He was going to be the greatest hero of all time. All Might? He was the symbol of peace, the beacon of hope, and probably the only guy who could do a cartwheel and not look like a dad on a trampoline. Even Bakugo had a clear goal in mind: to be the best, which, considering his attitude, was more like a “do it or I’ll yell at you until you cry” kind of vibe.

But you? You were just here. You weren’t supposed to be in this world. Seriously, how did you even get here? One minute you were living your normal life, and the next you’re dropped into the middle of a world full of heroes, quirks, and crazy villains, but there’s no manual for how to fit in. It was like being cast in the world’s weirdest TV show and being told, “Yeah, just figure it out, you’ll be fine.”

And you were so fine. So fine, in fact, that you didn’t even know what the point of it all was. You had no grand dreams of becoming the next All Might or Deku. You weren’t even sure what your quirk was half the time, maybe you had an ability to be totally average? If so, congratulations, you were really nailing it.

“Look, you’re fine, you’re fine,” you muttered to yourself, giving the window a dramatic look. “You’ll graduate, become a hero, maybe stand by the snacks table at hero events, get a cool costume, the usual.”

You sighed, staring at the city below. Your classmates had their lives all planned out, while you had absolutely no clue what was happening. “Like, how do you even become a hero if you’re not, like, destined for greatness?” You asked, though you were fully aware the universe wasn’t going to answer. Or if it did, it would probably just laugh and say, “Sorry, you’re just here for filler content.”

You turned to the empty classroom, contemplating your entire existence for a moment. “Man, is this what it’s like to be a side character? ’Cause I really didn’t sign up for this. I was just trying to live my best life, and suddenly I’m here, trying to figure out if I should be saving kittens from trees or passing out flyers for charity events.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be that hero, the one who’s really good at handing out pamphlets at superhero conventions. You know, hero stuff. The job that’s always available but no one really talks about.”

You let out a half-hearted groan. “Ugh, I’m like a glorified intern in the superhero world. ‘Oh, sorry, your quirk is literally just being chill? Guess you’ll be a sidekick to the sidekicks!’”

But then it hit you: maybe that’s fine. Not every hero needs to be the big shot. Maybe your purpose was to just… exist. No huge fanfare, no dramatic showdowns with villains, just a random person who shows up at the right time to, like, hand out snacks or prevent a minor inconvenience. You could totally be that person! There’s a whole squad of heroes out there who are doing important stuff without anyone caring about them.

You snapped your fingers. “Wait a minute. Maybe this is my calling! I’ll be ‘The Human Buffer’. I’ll help all the heroes hand out protein bars, hold their coats while they go into battle, be that one person who’s just there to make sure they look good in their hero pose. Yeah, I could be that hero!”

You stood up, grabbed your bag, and strutted out of the classroom with newfound confidence. You might not have a big, world-saving destiny, but you would be the hero who was always there with the perfect snack after a long day of saving people. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a role that needed to be filled, and by golly, you were going to do it.

“Alright, world,” you said dramatically as you walked down the hallway. “You don’t need me to save the day, but I’ll be here when you need someone to tell you where the bathroom is during a fight. Hero work!”

As you passed your classmates, all talking about their big future plans, you couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe you weren’t meant to be the hero everyone else was, but you were still going to make your mark. Whether they needed an emotional support snack or someone to bring them a towel after they worked up a sweat, you’d be there.

And hey, you’d probably get a cool title too: The Most Average, Most Helpful Hero.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like the idea of being a hero. Who wouldn’t want to swoop in and save the day, right? But the thing was, you didn’t belong here. You didn’t have that spark that made someone destined to be a hero. You weren’t meant to exist in this world. You were more like an accidental extra, someone who wasn’t supposed to show up on the hero timeline but somehow did. And now you were just… waiting for your scene to end.

It wasn’t that you didn’t respect heroes, of course, you did! But watching everyone around you with their grand dreams and bright futures made you feel a bit like the odd one out. Even if you’re living in a year with just side characters. They had their roles, their destinies. Meanwhile, you were stuck in a universe where things were already set in stone. It was like showing up to a concert that was already halfway over and realizing you’re just gonna have to sit in the nosebleeds for the rest of the show.

Keigo had mentioned once that it was important for heroes to ease the worries of the people. Isn’t it paradoxical that his future words are the ones giving you a path. That they had to be more than just strong, they had to make people feel safe. And you’d never had any doubts about that philosophy. But how could you be that person when you didn’t even feel like you were supposed to be here in the first place? It felt like playing a game you didn’t know the rules to, in a world that wasn’t yours.

Sure, you were about to graduate from UA and technically become a Pro Hero, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were sort of stepping into a role that didn’t really have anything to do with you. You had no grand dreams of fighting side-by-side with All Might in his final battle. There were so any many risks and what if a simple butterfly effect made the villains win by you being here. Honestly, you’d probably end up being the hero who handed out flyers for charity events or stood at the front of the line for photos to be safe. Was that the kind of hero you wanted to be?

“Well, I guess I’ll be a hero of some kind,” you muttered, though it was more out of obligation than excitement. “But what does it even mean if I don’t have some grand purpose in all this?”

A little chuckle escaped your lips. This was ridiculous. Here you were, stressing over your place in a world that was literally made up. You were a character in a story that already had its plot laid out, and yet you were still acting like you had to be a main character. It was all just so absurd.

But you didn’t want to be that person someone who just complained about fate and waited for something to happen. You could still make a difference in small ways, right? Maybe not as the next All Might or Deku, but as someone who showed up when it mattered, who helped out in their own way. The world was full of side characters doing small but important things, why couldn’t you be one of them?

With a grin, you stood up and grabbed your bag, heading out of the classroom to join the rest of your classmates. Maybe you weren’t the protagonist of this story, but hey, you could still make your mark on it. A little self-awareness never hurt anyone, right? Besides, in a world full of heroes, sometimes it was enough just to be one even if you were doing it a little differently than everyone else.